Free Seaside Reunion by Irene Hannon Page A

at the Orchid and raked his fingers through his hair. Last week he’d walked out of the Mercantile when Lindsey had probed a little too deep about why he put himself in the line of fire on the battlefield, asking questions that made him uncomfortable. Questions he’d never dwelt on—or answered—for himself.
    Today he’d repeated that performance.
    So much for hoping to reconnect with his childhood friend. At this point, she probably thought he was a first-class jerk.
    Then again, didn’t he have a right to be angry about her intrusion into his personal material? The piece on The Point had been meant for his eyes only. And it had served its purpose. Putting his feelings about the place into words had been cathartic. Had helped him begin to understand what had driven him to return here after all these years.
    He shouldn’t have left it on his screen when he’d gone out to take the call from his editor, though. If he hadn’t, Lindsey would never have read it.
    And what exactly had she read?
    He sat on the bed, booted up his computer again and scrolled to the section that had been on display before he’d shut his computer at the Mercantile and stormed out.
    A quick skim was reassuring. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. The part where he talked about the vague yearning that had driven him back to this touchstone from his childhood, where he confessed that he’d held onto a vision of The Point—and Starfish Bay Chapel—during those first lonely weeks in foster care, and while he’d watched soldiers die around him in Afghanistan, came later.
    Meaning he’d overreacted. She hadn’t seen anything too revealing.
    Too bad.
    Nate frowned. What was that little echo of regret all about? And why did he feel a vague sense of disappointment?
    Suddenly restless, he rose and crossed the room. He couldn’t see The Point from his window. But it was comforting to know it was there, beyond the trees—along with the chapel and the bench where he’d spent so many happy hours. Material objects that linked him to the ephemeral—memories, joy, hopes, friendship.
    Lindsey understood that. The Point was a touchstone for her, too.
    And she was also a touchstone for him. A connection to a short sojourn in his life when hopes were high and all was right with the world. An idyllic time never since repeated.
    Could that account for his surge of disappointment moments ago? He’d thought he’d come cross country to see The Point, had hoped the journey would help him get a handle on the issues that had been festering in his subconscious for years. But he’d known as soon as he’d laid eyes on Lindsey that she was a key to his journey, too. That reconnecting with her was important. Necessary.
    Yet he’d been putting up roadblocks with her every step of the way. Fighting off every foray she made into his personal life. Backing away or reacting with anger when she got too close, like today.
    And he knew why.
    Propping a shoulder against the window frame, Nate inhaled a long, slow breath. He’d told Jarrod in their first conversation that he’d sometimes been scared in Afghanistan. Yet sharing his past with Lindsey—and taking a hard look at it himself—would require even more courage than facing bullets on the battlefield.
    Because truth be told, the enemy within frightened him more.
     
     
    “That’s exactly the kind of information I need, Jarrod. And you’ve culled through and highlighted the most pertinent sections. Excellent work.”
    Passing the coffee nook with the special-order shovel she’d retrieved from the back room for a customer, Lindsey checked on the duo seated behind Nate’s computer. Jarrod was beaming under the man’s praise, and as Nate looked toward her, he smiled.
    That was a positive sign. She hadn’t exchanged more than a few words with him when he’d arrived for Jarrod’s lesson, but he seemed friendlier today. He must have gotten over yesterday’s hissy fit.
    She continued to the counter and