I finished the cake, skirted around a huffy Declan and didn't run into Callaghan again. At half two I whisked my bag and coat from the locker room and slipped outside to the car. Part of me wanted to find Trent Callaghan leaning on the front of my battered old ford, waiting for another confrontation. But he wasn't there, and when I started the engine, I felt something nagging at me.
Standing in the school playground waiting for the pre-school children to be escorted out, half listening to someone's mother complaining about PE kits and non-uniform Friday's, I shivered. Usually, when a moment passes by so quickly you remember how you felt later on, but you don't remember the specifics. That's how my brain works, anyway.
But I remembered everything.
His eyes reminding me of molten silve
