And Then Forever by Shirley Jump Read Free Book Online Page B

Then their relationship had ended as quickly as snapping a branch, and he was left reeling.
    He was just taking his first sip of the beer when a familiar face slid into the booth on the other side. He’d made a few friends that summer, mostly Darcy’s friends. People who were ordinary, down to earth and welcoming. The opposite of the closed-ranks world he had always lived in. “Hey, Pam. How are you?”
    Pamela Booker, who had been part of Darcy’s group years ago, gave him a grin. “I never thought I’d see you darken this doorstep again, Kincaid. Not after you got all uppity and went off to Harvard.”
    He chuckled. “I was never uppity.”
    She wagged a finger at him. “You definitely were. All crimson and I’m-too-good-for-you-poor-folks. But I heard it worked out well. You’re working at some big-time law firm, probably representing mafia drug lords and raking in the cash.”
    “Yeah, something like that.” How had Pam heard that? From island talk, or from Darcy herself? And why did Kincaid care if Darcy had followed his career?
    “A bunch of us are heading down to the beach after the Shack closes,” Pam said. “Get a bonfire going, crack open some Buds, maybe even roast a few dogs. Just like the old days. You in?”
    Kincaid thought about going back to that quiet little house. His sister would still be asleep, and Kincaid would likely sit up until he couldn’t stay awake, thinking about his choices and the future he had destroyed. “Yeah, I think I will.”
    “Great.” Pam gave the table a smack, then got to her feet. “See you at the spot. Assuming you can still find it.”
    “I’ll just follow the beer bottle trail.”
    Pam laughed at that, then headed back across the room. Another waitress dropped off Kincaid’s burger, while Darcy stayed far from his table. A pop song came on the juke, which pushed a large group onto the cleared space in the middle of the room. A burly guy in a flannel shirt with torn-off sleeves—Jack? Joey? Kincaid couldn’t remember, but knew the guy had been here every time he’d been here—grabbed Darcy by the hand and spun her onto the dance floor. Jack/Joey slid in behind Darcy, and put a possessive hand on her waist, the two of them dancing for a moment, her ass against his hips. Darcy had her head back, laughing, her eyes as bright as the sun.
    Happy.
    And that flicker of jealousy in Kincaid’s chest grew into a flame. He threw some money on the table, then headed out of The Love Shack.

T he B-52s closed out the night again, and Jillian and Darcy began the cleanup process. Darcy should have been relieved, but she was still stressed by seeing Kincaid, knowing he was so close—too close—to the truth. Some insane part of her was glad to see him, still felt thrilled when he made her smile, while the more sensible half wished he was gone. Because she knew the troubled edge she was dancing around just by talking to him.
    “So…Kincaid was here again,” Jillian said.
    “It’s a free country. He can go where he wants.”
    “And he sat at your table, I noticed. Coincidence?” Jillian raised a brow. “I think not.”
    Darcy knew Jillian didn’t mean a table within Darcy’s assigned bunch—but the table that she and Kincaid had sat at night after night when they were young. In those days, they’d sat on the same side of the booth, giggling and touching and barely tasting their food. He’d carved their initials into the wood one night, a mark that had stayed all this time. Most nights, she managed to swipe off the table without letting her gaze rest on those letters. But she could still see them in her mind, remember the way she’d curled against him as he whittled the four letters into the wooden surface. Had he realized it was the same table when Whit sat him there tonight? Had Kincaid looked at the letters, remembered etching them with his pocket knife?
    “It was a busy night,” Darcy said, as if she didn’t care that Kincaid had sat there. “It was