“So what’s today’s breaking news?” She placed a cup in front of him, steam curling. Set a bowl of fruit she had cut earlier on the table.
“Why did Huck leave?” Wyatt had the infuriating habit of answering a question with a question.
“Work called. He owns a landscaping company. Most of his clients are businesses in town. It’s fall planting season.” She shrugged.
“So he left you up here alone?” Wyatt raised his eyebrows.
“I’m a grown, capable adult, Wyatt.” Hannah felt the spark of annoyance. She didn’t need his misplaced sense of chivalry. “I’m not some fragile thing in need of being cared for.”
He laughed then, reached across the island and plucked a strawberry out of the fruit bowl and popped off the greens. He cocked his head, gave her a meaningful look. “Well, but aren’t we all?” He sat forward, tapped her hand once across the island, the touch making her skin burn. “I just meant there’s a lot going on. Your uncle dying, your aunt recently passed . . . you haven’t been back here in what, seventeen years? Dealing with Julia—we found a body, for God’s sake. It’s a lot; that’s all I meant. I never meant to imply that you weren’t . . . capable.”
He was dressed down: jeans and a short-sleeved button-up shirt. He looked like he was on the way to a backyard barbecue. She felt her heart betray her, a syncopated beat against her rib cage. She couldn’t help but notice the flush on the back of his neck, the line of his jaw as he spoke, his perfect straight teeth when he smiled, his hair in need of a haircut, a reddish-brown curl at his collar. A brief image of running her hands through it. She hated his compassion, his ability to tune in. So opposite Huck’s steady pluck.
“So what is going on, by the way? Do you have any more information on Aunt Fae’s accident? Or the remains in the woods?” Hannah cocked her head to match his.
He laughed, then turned somber. “I have nothing on the accident. We have evidence in queue at the state labs, but I can’t comment on anything else.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask you about Ellie Turnbull.”
“Everyone’s favorite topic of conversation lately.” Hannah felt her edges go sharp, the dislike of that girl so close to the surface even now, after all this time. Suspicious of the coincidence. First Lila had brought her up, and now Wyatt.
“What does that mean?”
Hannah waved her hand around. “Forget it. What did you want to ask?”
“Eh, call it a hunch. I can’t prove it, not yet. I haven’t talked to Warren. So this conversation is . . . casual. I’m not on duty right now. It’s off the record, okay?” He studied his coffee, and Hannah was reminded of Jinny staring at the dregs of tea in the bottom of her reading cup.
“I’m not keeping a record, Wyatt.”
A chuckle. “Can we talk about that last summer?”
“Maybe. What parts?” Hannah felt brazen but tired. Tired of dancing around half truths and innuendos.
Wyatt paused, studied her face. His eyes, flecked with gold, so close to hers. They were separated by the island, but Hannah had been leaning on it. She straightened up.
“I’m sorry for everything. For hurting you, you know.” His voice was soft, but he looked surprised. He hadn’t planned that part, she gathered.
“For the part where you took my virginity? Or later, when you kissed my sister?” Hannah felt the rage zing through her, a surge under her skin.
“All of it. I was a stupid kid. A young, horny, stupid teenager. You know that, right? Both of you had me in a state that summer.”
“I loved you,” Hannah blurted, and she felt the shock of saying that for the first time out loud. She felt bolstered by the invisible presence of Huck. His existence proof that she didn’t still love Wyatt, couldn’t possibly, and she could have pointed to it as tangible evidence: See, I’ve moved on from you. You meant nothing to me. You still mean nothing to me.
“I know.” Wyatt winced and then looked at her earnestly. “I didn’t use you. You have to know that . . . that I was in love with you. Julia . . .” He took a breath. Then another. “It was complicated, Hannah. She was more my age. Listen, no eighteen-year-old with two beautiful girls vying for their attention would handle it one hundred percent correctly, okay? It’s not just an excuse.”
“Sure it is,” Hannah insisted and felt her breathing hitch. She suddenly couldn’t take a deep breath. She remembered this Wyatt. The one who spoke plainly, with an earnestness reserved for lovers and confidants. The one who made every encounter feel intimate. The one who made her do the same. Except she was a different Hannah now: she’d learned how to build walls, cordoned herself off. How easily he’d come back into her life, in whatever aspect, and how quickly she’d given up her feelings, resorted to her teenage self, free with her own emotions. I loved you. Who said that? She was engaged. Huck didn’t deserve this: her racing heart, her inability to breathe properly. No good could come from this. She suddenly felt furious with herself.
“Wyatt.” Hannah held up her hand. “I’m fine, okay? You don’t owe me anything. Young love”—she stumbled over the word, now when it mattered so much less—“is always fraught and messy. It’s how we all learn, how we form real relationships later.” She didn’t say it to wound him, even if that was how it came out. She had no idea if she hit the mark.
Wyatt said nothing.
“Are you married now?” Hannah asked, realizing she didn’t know. Knew so little about him now. Maybe had known so little about him back then.
“Divorced.” He gave her a rueful smile. “So maybe I didn’t learn enough.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I was a decent father but a shit husband.”
Hannah felt her head snap up at this. “You have a child?” She could easily imagine this with his moral compass and what she knew of him as a teenager: playful, fun, insightful, emotionally available.
“I do. Her name is Nina. She’s ten. Knows everything about life and is trying to teach me. And mostly failing.” Wyatt half stood and reached into his back pocket; his shoulders strained against the fabric of his shirt. Hannah looked away. He produced a wallet, snapped it open to reveal a photograph. A child with dark hair, laughing in a field in a gingham dress. Holding a daisy. “My wife—ex-wife—does portraits every year. This was this past spring.” His voice lowered. “She’s amazing. Parenthood is amazing.”
A pang right under her breastbone. Hannah could see it that quickly: Wyatt as a dad, a little ringleted girl on his shoulders, pointing out shapes in clouds, pushing her on the swings, never tiring of it.
“And your ex?” Hannah prodded, then instantly regretted it. It was none of her business.
“Liza? She’s great.” He shrugged. “I didn’t take marriage seriously. Probably didn’t take her seriously. We married too young, maybe.”
Liza Rendell. Hannah vaguely recalled her from the kids in town. Pretty. Dark hair. Tall and gangly. Quiet. Kind. “You married local?” she teased.
“Yeah.” Wyatt smirked at her. God, his smile was so nice. “Well, you didn’t stay. I didn’t have a choice.”