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“Can you blame me?”
“No.”
When he’d first started writing the script, he’d imagined the different ways she might react to his pet project.
Project? He’d built a shrine to the one moment in time that had driven a wedge so completely and thoroughly between them. The agony of the memory made him catch his breath every time he thought about it.
He’d anticipated her initial hostility, and then, later, tears of regret that they’d lost touch. However, shadows shifted through her blue eyes. Her remote and stony coldness hadn’t been on the list of probabilities. The Kizzy he’d known never reacted with anything less than raw emotion.
Guess things changed.
“Well, Dr. Jared Oath,” she said in a tone he’d heard only once before—and back then it’d felt like a punch in the gut. “Aren’t you going to give me a tour of your theatre?”
