Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(7)
Author: A.L. Jackson

Instead, I found myself on the waterfront. I wore a light coat, my hands stuffed in the pockets as I walked along the paved trail and kept to the side in order to stay out of the way of the runners and cyclists. The air was cool but not unpleasant for an afternoon in early May.

Everything felt so foreign.

I’d been so accustomed to the rush of New York, the surge of the masses, the sense that there was not a moment to spare, but here it felt as if the second hand had been slowed. I faced into the wind and closed my eyes. My hair whipped around my face while the sun warmed it, my senses fil ed with the sound of gul s and the scent of the sea.

In the calm and peace, I’d never felt so alone.

Pul ing out my phone, I dialed. I needed to hear the familiar voice; she answered on the second ring.

“Christian, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Mom.”

“How was your trip?”

I laughed humorlessly. “Tiring.”

“I can only imagine. You should have taken me up on my offer to help you drive out.”

“I wish I would have.”

“So, what do you think of San Diego?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t real y had the chance to explore yet, but . . . it feels lonely.” I supposed I was always lonely, but being somewhere so unfamiliar made it worse.

Claire sighed. “Christian, please . . .” I could hear the urgency through her tone, “Make the best of it, meet new people. It’s a new place, a new start.”

I ran my hand through my hair as I stared out over the water, wishing I could. It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried. I’d dated, once even somewhat seriously, but I’d only ended up hurting her. She’d wanted more than I could give, my heart and my hand, and I refused to marry someone I would never real y love. With that realization, the idea of dating had become pointless, and I refused to wake up in another stranger’s bed, so for more than a year, I had slept alone in my own.

My pause told Mom more than any response I could give, and with the growing unease, I changed the subject.

“When are you coming out?”

“Soon. Possibly in the next couple of months.”

“Good. I miss you already.”

I could sense my mother’s sad smile, and it made me miss her even more. “I miss you too, sweetheart. call me soon, okay.”

“Okay, Mom. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Bye.”

The smal amount of comfort my mother’s call brought passed quickly, leaving me once again questioning my decision to move to California.

I lingered by the water for more than an hour after my call with my mother, immersed in the solitary tranquility of the bay, before final y forcing myself back to my empty condo. I figured since I had taken the day off, I should put it to good use and get some things done before I dove into the massive workload I had waiting for me at the office tomorrow.

Thankfully, I’d purchased a furnished unit, and the moving trucks had already delivered my belongings from my apartment back in New York, but my kitchen cupboards and refrigerator still stood barren. Though I was a bachelor, it was rare to find an empty pizza box left haphazardly on my coffee table or frozen meals in my freezer. It wasn’t that I especial y liked to cook but that I liked to eat wel .

I had to admit there was some draw to San Diego as I climbed into the driver’s seat of my grey Audi A8. I’d had little use for it while living in New York, and I was sure, as I pulled into the huge parking lot in front of the grocery store and parked in one of the many free spaces, it was something I could easily grow accustomed to.

Slowly I moved up and down each aisle, fil ing my basket with every item I would need to stock my kitchen.

The store was not busy, as I presumed was probably common for a Thursday afternoon. I took my time and was in no rush to get back to the emptiness of my condo. I took even more time as I walked through the produce section, inspecting each variety.

As I fil ed a bag with peaches—I felt it—eyes upon me.

The fine hairs prickled on the back of my neck, not in dread, but with a sense of awareness.

Turning to glance over my shoulder, seeking the source, I froze when I was met with the origin.

She stared back at me, looking at me as curiously as I looked at her, neither of us able to turn away. She was absolutely beautiful. Her black hair was pulled into a ponytail, a few pieces that had fal en out, and her short bangs framed her round face. Her cheeks were pink against her pale skin, unblemished by the sun, but it was her eyes that stopped my heart in my chest. Their intense blue watched me in fascination, wide and intrigued and so familiar.

I tried to shake myself out of it and turn away. I was sure my mind was only playing tricks on me, punishing me a little more by teasing me with the idea that I knew this girl.

But then her mouth turned up in an earth-shattering grin, exposing a row of perfect square teeth so smal , there were little gaps between them.

The staggering amount of emotion that hit me nearly brought me to my knees as I fel in love with the tiny person in front of me.

The smal child continued to grin up at me from where she clung to the leg of a woman standing with her back to me. I couldn’t help but smile back at her. It caused her to giggle and made me smile even wider.

The woman glanced down at the girl to see why she was laughing. She fol owed the child’s attention to where I still stood, grinning wildly at her. I reluctantly looked up at the woman, loathe to pul myself away from the moment the child and I had just shared, but immediately felt self-conscious when met with the disturbed expression on the woman’s face.

She was young, maybe in her early twenties, and barely over five feet tal . Her blond hair was cut short above her shoulders, and her body was curvy and clad in a hooded col ege sweatshirt, shorts, and flip-flops. The casual attire was something I was quickly coming to appreciate as very common in this new town.

I studied the woman’s brown eyes, searching for recognition, any proof to confirm the connection my heart had already made. I found nothing. I was certain I had never seen this woman before.

But the child.

With longing, I turned my gaze back to her, sure she was no stranger.

The woman set a protective hand on the girl’s shoulder and gave me a fierce stare, a warning that caused me to look back at her face.

I wanted to say something to explain, but before I could form the words, the woman took the girl’s hand and hurried her away, her voice stern and gentle at the same time as she reminded the child to never talk to strangers.