When she opened the door, though, Jonathan was standing there. He leaned heavily against the doorjamb as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. If it was even possible, his hair looked worse than before. He gazed at her solemnly.
She considered him for a long moment. “Hi.”
“Can we talk?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He pushed off of the doorjamb and headed into her room without waiting for an invite. When he sat on the edge of her bed, she put her foot down. “Don’t sit there.” For some reason, having Jonathan on her bed in any sort of manner felt entirely too personal.
Without missing a beat, he slid forward and thumped onto the carpet, legs sprawled out in front of him, his back resting against the bed. “This better?”
“I suppose.” Violet glanced through the doorway but there was no sign of Cade. “Is your friend coming?”
Jonathan snorted. “Some friend. I told him to go f**k off. He just laughed in my face.” He shook his head and rubbed his brow. “Fucker knows he’s right about everything, too. I’m glad you called him here.”
Violet shut the door and tentatively stepped toward Jonathan. Okay, this was a good sign. She sat on the foot of the bed, and then, after a moment’s indecision, slid until she was sitting on the carpet next to him. “So,” she said softly. “Let’s talk.”
“Can we start over?” He extended his hand to her. “Hi. I’m Jonathan Lyons. I make cars and have pissloads of money and I’m apparently pretty shitty at reading people.”
Her mouth quirked with amusement and she placed her hand in his. “Violet DeWitt. Schoolteacher and known to hold a grudge—no matter how petty—for a very long time.”
He gave her a soulful look with those dark eyes of his. “I don’t think you’re being petty, Violet.”
“I know. And I don’t think we can start over fresh. There’s just too much between us to ever clear the waters.” She looked down at her hand in his, but he was still holding it. It occurred to her that she should really pull away.
But she didn’t.
“Violet,” he said in a low voice, gazing down at their joined hands. “When I lost you ten years ago, I lost my best friend. All romantic entanglements aside, I really, really miss her.”
That stupid knot was back in her throat. “I know how you feel.”
“Can we start over, then? As friends? Whatever we had in the past can’t be forgotten, but I know that you’ve moved on and you’re not interested in me. As much as that hurts, I can live with that. But I’d really like to be your friend again, Violet. Please. You can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you.”
Can’t I? she thought, but didn’t say it aloud. Instead, she mulled over his offer. Friendship, nothing more. Partners in solving the mystery of her father’s envelopes, and then she’d go back to her life minus one really big chip on her shoulder.
Could she do it?
She could.
Ever since she’d lashed out at Jonathan and sent him to his drinking binge, she felt . . . not exactly cleansed, but the wound she’d let fester inside her for so long had been cauterized with the confession. Seeing his response had made her realize that perhaps he wasn’t the evil, horrible villain she’d made him out to be. That Jonathan was just as human as she was after all this time.
And she couldn’t hate him anymore.
So she squeezed his hand, still locked in hers. “Friends. I think I can do that.”
The smile he gave her was brilliant, intense, and so Jonathan that it made her ache all over again. “I don’t suppose friends carry headache meds for my hangover?”
Violet gave him a smile. “You only get it if you promise not to drink anymore.” Her smile faded and she squeezed his hand again. “You really had me worried, you know. Just because I’ve been angry at you doesn’t mean I wanted to see you hurt yourself.”
“I know,” he said, staring down at their joined hands. He reached out with his free hand and traced a finger along the back of her hand, gliding over her knuckles. “I just . . . didn’t want to think for a while. It hurt too much.”
His fingertip brushed over her skin, sending tickling sensations through her body. She knew she should drag her hand away, but she couldn’t seem to make herself do it. So she squeezed his hand again. “You weren’t the only one hurt, you know.”
Again, he gave her that wounded-animal look that seemed to gut her. “I know, Violet. God, I know. That’s part of what’s eating me up inside.”
And what could she say to that? She pulled her hand from his—trying not to think about the feel of his fingertips on her skin, grazing delicate patterns there—and gestured at her suitcase. “So . . . are we going to start our madcap little journey again?”
“I’m ready if you are.”
“Um.” She considered his disheveled, hungover appearance. “Please tell me you’re going to let someone else fly the plane this time?”
He laughed. “For you, I can do that.”
She smiled.
—
A few hours later, they were buckling themselves into seats inside the private jet that Jonathan had chartered. Violet had taken one of the seats in the back of the plane, and Cade, Jonathan saw, took a seat in the front, most likely so he could give Jonathan and Violet some privacy to chat.
He decided maybe he wouldn’t kill Cade after all.
Jonathan slid into a seat across from Violet, pleased when she didn’t flinch or frown as he did so. Instead, she gave him a tentative smile and he returned it.
It was a fresh start. He was so f**king relieved that they were trying again that he didn’t even care that they’d vowed to be just friends. He’d take any piece of Violet he could get in his life. If he was friend-zoned permanently, then he’d live with that, just as long as she wasn’t glaring at him with hatred any longer.
Violet fastened her seat belt and tightened it. “Can I just say how happy I am that you’re not flying this plane?”
He tried not to gaze overlong at the way she smoothed her clothes and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Instead, he pulled out his phone and pretended to read something on the screen. “I’ve had hundreds of hours in the cockpit, Violet. I’m a good pilot.”