“You look familiar, Miss Martin. Have we met before?” Her mouth twisted. “Oh, I’m sure. My mother is Cynthia Martin.” That can’t be right. He should have recognized her right away. Three full seconds ticked by before he choked out, “Rebecca?” “Do I know you?” Her gaze narrowed, and she tilted her head, appraising him. He turned away. He should have known. She didn’t recognize him, and he hadn’t recognized her name when she’d made the estimate appointment. Never in a million years had he expected his Rebecca Martin to show back up in town. The truth of it cut, but he shrugged away the pain.
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