Page 3

R efusing to let this stranger see her cry, Harlow willed her tears away. She wasn’t sure how she even had any left. She hadn’t seen or touched her little boy since Anthony had been given full custody seven months ago. Her ex-husband couldn’t care less for his son now. He only saw Tyler as a means to an end. The first, to punish her for daring to leave him, and the second was to keep Tyler under his control and, when he was a few years older, to train her sweet little boy to step into the Pressley shoes. God forbid.

“Miss Pressley?”

She startled. What must he think of her, that she could get lost in her head and forget there was someone else in the room? She hadn’t been herself for years, and she didn’t know how to explain it to this man with the soft voice and pity-filled eyes. She hated that his pity was directed at her.

There’d been a time when she was a confident woman, happy in her own skin. Then along came Anthony, and… No, she wasn’t going there. Not with this man’s intelligent eyes on her, no doubt thinking she was a doormat. The sad thing, that was exactly what she’d become under Anthony’s thumb.

“I… I’m sorry, what was the question?” Anthony’s voice filled her head. How is it possible for one woman to be so stupid? There was a time when she didn’t believe she was stupid, but she wasn’t sure about that anymore.

“You were going to explain your situation. I gather your relationship with your ex-husband isn’t a good one?”

She snorted, then wanted to crawl in a hole. Ladies don’t snort, Harlow, Anthony said in her head. She blew out a breath. “Um, I don’t know where to start.”

“At the beginning is always good.”

“Do we have a limited amount of time?” Like did she need to condense everything into a half-hour time slot?

“You have as much time as you need, Miss Pressley.”

“Harlow.” If her son didn’t bear the last name of Pressley, she would have taken her maiden name back after the divorce.

He smiled. “Harlow. Pretty name.”

“Thank you.” She liked how her name sounded when he said it in his soft voice. “My greatest wish is to have nothing to do with the Pressleys. Unfortunately, Anthony…that’s my ex-husband, uses Tyler to punish me.” And to try to still control her even though they were divorced.

“He also lives in Faberville?”

“Yes. The Pressleys own the town. If you ever go there, it’s best to just keep going.” At his raised brows, she said, “Everyone in Faberville knows of the Pressleys, and everyone with any sense tries to stay under their radar.” Well, she knew that now. “After graduating high school, I went to Clemson.”

“Go Tigers.”

Before she realized she was doing it, she smiled. There was something about this man that put her at ease in a way she hadn’t been since marrying Anthony. “That time in my life was some of my happiest. Anyway, I returned home after graduating. I thought I got really lucky when I landed a job as the manager of marketing and events at the Pressley Resort and Golf Club. That was where I met Anthony.” If there was one thing she could do over, she would have never taken that job.

She glanced out the window. “You have a beautiful view.” Yes, she was stalling. It was embarrassing to have to tell this man how gullible she’d been. “I wish I lived closer to the ocean. There’s something soothing about the sound of the waves.”

“Would you like to take a walk on the beach?”

Surprised by the offer, she wasn’t sure what to say.

As if sensing her hesitation, he smiled. “The beach is my happy place. I’m always able to relax even if I’m just walking along the shore. If you pull one more thread, your sweater’s going to fall apart. Just thought a walk along the beach might help you the way it does me. We can talk while we get our feet wet.” He shrugged. “Up to you.”

She stilled her hands and glanced down at the long thread wrapped around her fingers. He was too observant. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel exposed, as if he could see through all her walls and defenses.

“The beach?” he said.

“I think I’d like that.” And if they were walking side by side while she told her story, she wouldn’t have to see the pity in his eyes.

“Great. It’s only three blocks, but we can take my Jeep. I have no way to lock it, so we’ll need to leave our shoes and your purse here. I’ll lock your purse in my drawer.”

This was a strange meeting, she thought, as they rode the elevator down, both of them barefoot. He kept surprising her, but in a good way. It had been a long time since she’d been interested in much of anything except getting her son back. It wasn’t that she was interested in Grayson as a man she’d like to date, or hook up with, or whatever man-woman label applied. She didn’t like men. Didn’t trust them. She used to, but Anthony had cured her of that idiocy.

According to the article she’d read about him, Grayson had been a SEAL. Knowing that, she wasn’t surprised that he wore his blond hair military short. After his smile, his brown eyes were his best feature. Except they weren’t the more common dark brown. His were the color of her favorite candy…caramel. If she’d met him before Anthony, she would have definitely been interested in him. But she wasn’t that girl anymore.

“Wait here,” he said when they stepped out of the building. “The pavement’s hot. I’ll bring the Jeep around.”

She grinned when he tiptoe-hopped across the parking lot. He jumped into a Jeep that had no top and no doors, which explained why he’d said he couldn’t lock their things up. This day was turning out to be nothing like what she’d expected.

When he stopped the Jeep with the passenger side closest to her, she managed to climb in without losing too much of her dignity. Minutes later, he turned into a driveway of a house on stilts right on the beach.

“Um, is it okay if we park here?”

Amusement flashed in his eyes as he glanced at her. “I know the owner.”

“That roof is awesome.” It was a tin roof that was a copper-and-green patina.

He glanced up. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Hang tight for a minute.”

Already, sweat dripped down her back from the heat. After a moment of hesitation, she slipped off her sweater. Her sweaters—a shield even in the summer—were so much a part of her now that she felt naked without it. She almost put it back on, but it would be ridiculous to walk on the beach bundled up as if it were winter.

He reached into the back, bringing out a pair of flip-flops. “These will be big on you, but they’ll keep your feet from burning until we get down to the water.”

“What about you?”

“I’m used to walking on hot sand.”

“Thanks.” She slipped them on, and they were definitely big. As they headed to the shoreline, she chuckled.

He glanced at her with raised brows. “What?”

“I feel like I’m walking in clown shoes. How big are your feet, anyway?” As soon as she asked the question, she cringed. Would he think she was making fun of him? Conditioned to expect criticism or a sarcastic reprimand when she said something inappropriate, she hurried to say, “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

He frowned at that. “It was?”

“Yes. I shouldn’t have made fun of your feet.” Sometimes she hated herself. Things that shouldn’t be voiced came out of her mouth before she thought better of it. Then when she did, she loathed that she instantly turned into a doormat. A kicked puppy. That was what she was. Afraid of being kicked again. Her gaze snapped up to his when he chuckled.

“My feet are pretty big.” He wiggled his toes in the sand. “Size thirteen, by the way.”

“Oh, okay.” He must think she was a ninny.

“You can leave the flip-flops here,” he said as he rolled up his pants legs when they were a few feet from the water. “We’ll pick them up on the way back.”

“What if someone steals them?”

“They won’t, but if Bigfoot strolls by and decides he wants them, I’ll buy another pair.”

She laughed. He was silly. After she slipped them off, they walked along the water in silence for a few minutes. The ocean was cool on her feet, and the sea breeze swirled the hem of her dress around her legs. An odd sense of calm that she hadn’t felt in a long time washed over her. She should make the hour drive to the beach at least once a week.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “Tell me your story.”

How much did she need to tell him to get him to help her?