Silent Moments

Too bad the lightning had started, or I would have seriously considered going to find a taxi that would be willing to drive through this crap.

“So what do we do now?” Stephen asked.

I went through the mental checklist of things I usually did during slow days, then discovered that everything had been done the day before.

“Not much, to tell the truth. Mom didn’t leave a whole lot.”

“ ‘Mom’?”

“Oh, Mrs. Sawyer.”

“You call your boss ‘mom’?” he asked, laughing.

I noticed something kind of weird when he laughed. Not about him, really, but more like the fact that my heart performed this little jig when he did it. Which it definitely shouldn’t have.

“I call my boyfriend’s mom ‘mom’,” I corrected rather harshly—more to remind myself than anything.

He looked surprised again. I wished he would stop doing that eyebrow thing. “That serious, is it?”

It was my turn to be surprised, because guys didn’t ask questions like that. At least, not any that I knew. But that feeling was quickly drowned out by a crash of thunder, the first big one of the day. I squealed and had to stop myself from diving underneath the table.

The roll of thunder lasted a good five seconds (though if you’d asked me at that moment, I’d have probably said that it was more like five minutes), during which time I dropped my food onto the table and curled into a little ball in my chair, clapping my hands over my ears and squeezing my eyes shut (which was pretty stupid, since you can’t see thunder, anyway).

Stephen was laughing at me by the time I opened my eyes and went back for my food.

“Shut up,” I growled, suddenly testy.

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, but he was still chuckling. I would have told him off, but the thunder rolled past again, just as loud—if not louder—than the one before it.

That pretty much did it for my iron veneer, and I broke into tears.

That stopped the laughter pretty quick, replaced with panic. And it sure as hell didn’t improve my mood either—I detested crying in front of people. Not even Carl had seen me cry, and it had almost been a year since we first started going out. So the fact that I was crying in front of this guy (again) was kind of pissing me off.

And I’m not exactly a people person when I’m pissed off.

What made matters worse—oh, yes, it really could get worse—he decided to be the gentleman and attempt to comfort me, which constituted an arm around my shoulders and that voice in my ear.

I shook him off and stood, backing away until I hit the wall. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” he said, taking a step forward.

I’ll take a big fat helping of déjà-vu for five-hundred, Alex.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I’m fine!”

He held up his hands again. “Just trying to help.”

“Then don’t look at me!” Between my tears, red eyes, slightly splotchy face, and the fact that my voice kept cracking, I was neither sounding nor looking as bitchy as I wanted to.

The panic disappeared, but it didn’t really matter, because it was replaced with a look that I didn’t recognize at all. “Dawn, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everybody’s scared of something.”

It wasn’t what he said that hit me—I knew that it was true. No, it was the tone of voice he’d used when he said my name, because I’d only heard it once before, and let’s just say that it hadn’t come from my boyfriend.

Suddenly I felt betrayed, which was a stupid emotion, really, because it wasn’t like he’d done anything. Not this time, anyway. “You remember, don’t you?” I accused suddenly.