Baby Im Back

girl next to him. Her eyes were as green as grass, framed with a dark fringe of lashes. Her mouth was wide and curvy, and he had the feeling if he could coax a smile out of her, dimples would appear under those high cheekbones. How could he forget such a face?
    “Were you behind me?” he asked. Their high school had been small, a couple hundred kids at most.
    “Actually, I sat directly behind you in sophomore English.”
    He squinted. “We were in the same grade?”
    She nodded and pulled at the hem of her wet shorts. “What brings you back to Sweetness?”
    He took in her fresh face and wide-eyed innocence, and felt a surge of gratitude that she would never have to see the things he’d seen. “A favor for a friend.”
    She pointed as they approached the downtown area. “The boardinghouse is the large building with the porches.”
    Barry looked around at the collection of structures that were so different from the original downtown area—in addition to the boardinghouse was a diner, a general store, a city hall building, a medical clinic, and a strip of storefronts that housed a hair salon and other businesses. Pedestrians bustled around on new sidewalks. In the distance, he saw a new school. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “They really have rebuilt the town.”
    She nodded. “The Armstrong brothers are the driving force for pretty much everything around here. The town’s expanding every day. You can let me out here.”
    He pulled into the parking lot of the diner that sat across from the boardinghouse. She’d jumped out before the Jeep stopped. When she banged the door closed she chirped, “Thanks,” and turned to go.
    “Wait,” he called. “Can you tell me where I can find Porter Armstrong?”
    She gestured toward a narrow side road. “He’s usually at the construction office. You can park here and walk—it’s not too far.”
    “Thanks…Lora. Sorry I got you wet.” He scratched his temple. “And I’m sorry I don’t remember you from school—I guess it’s been too long.”
    She gave him a flat smile. “I went by another name back then.”
    “What was it?”
    “Metal Face.” She lifted her hand in a wave, then looked both ways before jogging across the road.
    Her words resonated in his head like a gong. Metal Face—the name he and his buddies had given to a gangly dark-haired girl in their class who had a mouthful of braces and big, wire-framed glasses. They had teased her mercilessly…how miserable she must’ve been, and how much she must’ve hated him. He didn’t remember directly taunting her, but he certainly hadn’t done anything to stop it. And what did it say about him that he couldn’t even remember her real name?
    Well, if it was any consolation, Lora Jansen had shown them…Metal Face had grown up to be a knockout. Good for her.
    Shoulda, coulda, wouldas flitted through his head as he parked the Jeep. Barry reached for the wood box in the floorboard and hopped out. After collecting a cane from the rear seat, he turned in the direction of the construction office. It would be nice to see Porter Armstrong again after all these years.

    *****

    “Ooh!” Lora closed the door to her room with more force than necessary. It was so like Barry Ballantine to breeze back into town and humiliate her all over again, as if he was still the most popular jock in school and she were still Metal Face. She yanked off the sweatshirt he’d given her, along with her wet T-shirt, then grabbed a towel to dry her arms and squeeze more water out of her hair. Her hands shook, more from anger than cold.
    Of course he would have matured into a gorgeous man, his sandy hair still sun-kissed, his blue eyes even more arresting, his chiseled jaw even more… chiseled , darn it. She hated how she could look into his eyes and revert back to her fifteen-year-old self, clumsy and tongue-tied. She’d heard through the grapevine that Barry had joined the military, which the Naval insignia on the sweatshirt he’d lent her seemed to bear out.
    She released her ponytail and walked to the window while she towel-dried her hair. Barry had parked his Jeep and emerged, taking her advice, she presumed, to walk to the construction office. It came as no surprise that he was tall and wide-shouldered, but she was shocked to see him using a cane and favoring his left leg. As she watched his awkward gait, she zoned in on the injured leg with a practiced eye. The top part of his jeans leg was filled out with