Duke shook his head. “The man knew cars. He said he drove the Mustang here. And this car doesn’t look like it would get very far.”
“There were other places to pull over, though. Maybe this is the wrong place.”
“If his mind was in the past, he wouldn’t have pulled over in the wrong place. This is the one Tom said.” Defeat sagged his shoulders. The tension in his neck was back.
“I was so certain this was it. What are we going to tell Vivie and Boone?”
He still had time. He wasn’t going to give up now. But clearly, his optimistic, holly-jolly Zuri was losing heart. He lifted a shoulder, finding his inner grinch.
“See, I told you this whole Christmas miracle thing was a sham. Even you are ready to give up.”
His reverse psychology worked. “It is not a sham!” She lifted her chin and marched over to him. “And I’m not giving up. I’m simply asking what to do next. Don’t accuse me of losing my Christmas spirit.”
And she was back. He released a smile. “Glad we got that straight.”
“Wait a sec. Were you teasing me?”
“Maybe.”
She slugged him in the arm and smirked. “All right, Sherlock, what’s next?”
The light inside her brightened her whole face. He was close enough to see rays of green in her blue eyes, sparkling like the frosty evergreens against the clear sky. He leaned a little closer. Her full lips and—
Whoa, now, Duke.
This was not on the agenda. He couldn’t be thinking about her lips! His spine snapped back to attention, and he took a step away.
“I’ll…uh…call the sheriff’s office. Maybe Cole can run the plates to find the owners. Then we can track them down and see if they know anything.”
Zuri beamed. “I like that plan. See, there’s still hope.”
There was. Because somehow with Zuri by his side, impossible things seemed possible. She didn’t give up easily. She was loyal to her friends. She’d proven she wasn’t the type of girl to bail out on a guy.
And it didn’t hurt that she was gorgeous.
But a partner, even a friendship, was one thing. Anything more than that was asking for heartache.
THURSDAY, 1:37 P.M.
Zuri sat in the cab of the truck, watching Duke pace outside as he called Cole.
For a second it’d looked like Duke wanted to kiss her. The way his gaze had heated and then dropped to her lips smacked of attraction and chemistry. But that was crazy, right? This was straightlaced, uptight Detective Duke Lowry. They’d known each other less than forty-eight hours.
But crazier still, she’d wanted him to kiss her.
Heaven help her. He was dreamy, no doubt. But it was that peek into his heart, his broken and lonely heart, that drew her in. The way he would do anything for Boone and Vivie’s wedding, even though he obviously was not into the Christmas theme. His integrity and insistence on keeping his word, even if it was a silly little promise like finding her hot chocolate with marshmallows. He’d trusted her to talk to Gerald.
And her scars didn’t scare him away.
So yes, she was attracted to him.
But it had to end there.
Her stage makeup career in NYC was just taking off and, well, her family could drive her absolutely nuts, but she couldn’t imagine being hundreds of miles away from them. So what point was there in falling for Duke? There was no future there.
None.
She’d simply keep it friendly, and after the wedding they would go their separate ways.
And yet a quote from her sophomore-year paper on Emily Dickinson whispered doubt into her resolve. The Heart wants what it wants—or else it does not care.
Yeah, not helpful, Emily.
Duke opened his door and hopped in behind the steering wheel.
Back to the real world. They had a wedding to save. “Well, what did Cole say?”
“Not a whole lot. Right as I asked about the plates, they got called out. He said he’ll look them up after they get back from the call.”
“I hope it wasn’t something serious.”
“Domestic disturbance.”
“You must see a lot in your line of work. How do you do it?”
“I don’t know. I guess there’s so much wrong in the world, and I want to do what I can to set things right where possible.” He faced her. “Did you always want to work in makeup and beauty stuff?”
“Beauty stuff?” She laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. I want to showcase the beauty in people. When people feel confident about themselves, they’re more likely to go out and do good.”
“Did your…scars have something to do with your career choice?” He gave her a soft smile, as if hoping to soften the question.
She drew in a breath. “Probably.” She picked a piece of lint off her red wool coat.
“Do you mind me asking what caused your scarring?”
Wow. He wanted to go there? She studied his face. His brown eyes were sincere, curious, like he really wanted to know.
Okay. Fine. After all, they were partners. And she’d never see him again after this weekend.
“Being the baby of the family and the only girl, I was a tad spoiled. My brothers always called me Daddy’s little princess and said I didn’t do much for myself. But one afternoon I was hungry, and Mom was gone. My brothers Joey and Tony were watching the Yankees with Dad. When I whined about wanting lunch, they told me to warm up some soup and leave them alone. So I did. I heated up a ceramic bowl of broccoli cheese soup for eleven minutes in the microwave.”
“Eleven minutes?”
“Yeah. I know. I didn’t even know how to properly warm up soup at ten years old. And when it was done, I reached for the bowl in the microwave above the stove and—”
“You spilled it and burned yourself.”
“Yeah.” Her throat grew tight. “I dropped the bowl, which broke and cut my cheek. The soup spilled on my neck, chest, and shoulder. I just started screaming, and my dad didn’t really know what to do. They started wiping it off…” She could still remember her father’s face—the panic, the horror.
“I can’t imagine how much pain you must’ve been in.”
“It was bad. Excruciating. I was admitted to a burn unit where they kept me sedated. But whenever I woke, my mom or Nonna would be by my side. They never left me.”
“What about your dad?”
“He, uh, he never visited me in the hospital. My mom tried to make excuses, but I overheard Nonna telling her men weren’t equipped to deal with the ugliness in life. I guess she was right, because after that incident he never looked at me the same. Never called me his princess. In fact, he rarely touched me.”
Duke just looked at her. “Maybe he couldn’t handle it.”
“Clearly. And my brothers weren’t much better.” Lost in the memories, she looked out her window to the cold white world. “When I went back to school, kids—mostly boys—called me Scar Face, Freddy Krueger, or other horrible things. And the last time I wore something without sleeves, at my boyfriend’s insistence, he covered me right up and broke up with me soon after.”
“You’re kidding.”
The angry edge to his voice had her turning. She blinked at him.