Focusing on the task at hand, she had breakfast ready quickly. She didn’t notice what Micah was occupying his time with until she had put their coffee and plates on the table.
“That’s private,” she growled, snatching a piece of paper from his fingers. “Do you always read other people’s mail?”
He looked up at her. “Only when it has the logo of my charity on the correspondence. Technically, it’s my mail, too.”
It didn’t take her long to bury the letter in a kitchen drawer and slam it closed. She should have tossed the silly offer a week ago. The missive did have the Sinclair Fund’s name on the letterhead, but she was still ticked that he had picked it up and was in the process of reading it when she’d taken it away from him.
“It’s addressed to me,” she told him defensively, folding her arms across her chest.
“I should have recognized you,” he said, eyeing Tessa curiously now. “You’re Theresa Sullivan. I could never place your face, but I knew I’d seen you before. I’ve seen you skate.”
It was no surprise that he hadn’t known where he’d seen her previously. Almost nobody connected her previous life with the one she lived now. The Olympic gold medalist in figure skating from almost a decade ago was long gone. Who would know her now? The disabled deaf woman who helped run a broken-down restaurant in a small coastal town was very different from the eighteen-year-old young woman who’d once shined as a rising star. There was no fancy costume, no heavy makeup, and her hair was a tangled mess that she rarely bothered to try to contain in any sense of style anymore. She looked nothing like she had when she was skating competitively.
Tessa turned her back to him again, nervously fiddling with cutlery and napkins before setting them on the table.
“I’m not that woman anymore,” she finally replied, seating herself across from him.
“Of course you are. You’re still Theresa Sullivan, right?”
“Tessa,” she told him tersely. “Everyone I know has always called me Tessa.” Legally, her name was Theresa, but she’d only used it in competition and on legal documents.
“Okay, Tessa,” he answered, still staring at her with a calculating look that almost scared her. Micah was no fool, and she knew he could sense her anger and frustration. “Are you going to do it?” He locked eyes with her for a moment, his expression curious.
Was he joking? “I can’t. I’m deaf. I haven’t skated since I lost my hearing.”
The letter requesting her to perform in a reunion of past Olympic medalists had saddened her. She’d never be able to be the same woman she’d been ten years ago. Honestly, she wasn’t certain how the Fund’s committee had even learned of her whereabouts. Liam had shielded her, made sure to keep her out of the media. Outside of her circle of friends and some of the townspeople, nobody knew she’d once been one of the most accomplished figure skaters in the world. The small town of Amesport had kept her secret. It had grown over the last ten years, but the original residents had stayed silent, respected the fact that she was healing. Once she’d recovered, Rick had dumped her, and she’d come back home for good, her accident had been old news, and it really hadn’t mattered anymore.
Micah shrugged as he took a slug of coffee and then dug into his eggs, bacon, and toast. “You could still do it.”
She picked up her mug, but froze as she read his response. “I can’t perform. I haven’t skated in years, and I can’t even hear the music. The Sinclair Fund obviously doesn’t realize that I can’t hear.”
One other problem was that the event was taking place in New York City. Tessa was comfortable right here in Amesport. She didn’t want to travel to New York.
Chewing on his toast, he stared at her for a long time before answering, “I didn’t think you were the type of woman to give up easily.”
He was calling her a quitter, and that pissed her off. “I’m retired from the sport. I had no choice. Deaf people don’t do skating performances.” She took a sip of her coffee, irritated that he was making it sound like she had any other option than to give up her skating career.
“The Fund is offering a very lucrative deal, and it’s for a good cause.”
Tessa felt tears of disappointment spring into her eyes, but she blinked them away as she sipped her coffee and then set the mug back on the table. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to do the appearance; it wasn’t possible. They were offering good payment that she could desperately use, and all profits from the event were going to a children’s charity that she really wanted to support.
A single tear escaped as she picked up her fork and attacked her eggs. Eating slowly, she avoided looking at his face.
She couldn’t do it . . . period! Tessa didn’t want to look at Micah and see his disappointed expression. It was clear to her that he really did think she could simply hit the ice and skate again. Maybe he had confidence in her, but she had none in herself when it came to doing the impossible. And she was almost angry at him for making it seem like performing again would be no big deal.
Maybe he could do anything, and thought nothing of risking his life by jumping from places that weren’t made to be launch sites.
Maybe he was cocky enough to think that he was invincible.
She . . . wasn’t.
The last thing she needed was to feel like a failure . . . again. Not when she was only now regaining control of her life.
Most of the time, she could forget who she’d been before she’d lost her hearing, but that stupid offer from the Sinclair Fund had temporarily brought it all rushing back with a vengeance. After her hearing loss, she’d put aside all thoughts of skating again. What was the point? It was a career path that she could never follow, and forgetting had been the sensible thing to do back then. She’d lost her fiancé over her handicap, and she’d taken a lot of emotional blows since she’d left Boston and the man she’d once worshipped.