Kitabı oku: «Hailey's Hero»
She caught him watching her.
Hailey welcomed his presence. His strength. His support.
She slid a glance at the one-time bad boy, caught his profile, the square cut of his chin, the angular cheekbones. Something told her there was still a bit of rebel in the detective, something she found far more appealing than she should.
Don’t get too close, her conscience ordered. Nick Granger may be easy to lean on today, but he’s not the kind of man you want or need.
And he wasn’t.
Even if he did happen to be her temporary lover.
And the father of her baby.
Dear Reader,
Well, we hope your New Year’s resolutions included reading some fabulous new books—because we can provide the reading material! We begin with Stranded with the Groom by Christine Rimmer, part of our new MONTANA MAVERICKS: GOLD RUSH GROOMS miniseries. When a staged wedding reenactment turns into the real thing, can the actual honeymoon be far behind? Tune in next month for the next installment in this exciting new continuity.
Victoria Pade concludes her NORTHBRIDGE NUPTIALS miniseries with Having the Bachelor’s Baby, in which a woman trying to push aside memories of her one night of passion with the town’s former bad boy finds herself left with one little reminder of that encounter—she’s pregnant with his child. Judy Duarte begins her new miniseries, BAYSIDE BACHELORS, with Hailey’s Hero, featuring a cautious woman who finds herself losing her heart to a rugged rebel who might break it…. THE HATHAWAYS OF MORGAN CREEK by Patricia Kay continues with His Best Friend, in which a woman is torn between two men—the one she really wants, and the one to whom he owes his life. Mary J. Forbes’s sophomore Special Edition is A Father, Again, featuring a grown-up reunion between a single mother and her teenaged crush. And a disabled child, an exhausted mother and a down-but-not-out rodeo hero all come together in a big way, in Christine Wenger’s debut novel, The Cowboy Way.
So enjoy, and come back next month for six compelling new novels, from Silhouette Special Edition.
Happy New Year!
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor
Silhouette Special Edition
Hailey’s Hero
Judy Duarte
To Christy Freetly and Gail Duarte, who spent hours reading my books
in manuscript form, even those drafts that may never see the light of day.
If God hadn’t made us family, I would have chosen you both as friends.
And to Mahnita Boyden-Wofford, who turned a blind eye when I
played hooky from the day job to dream up stories and chat with
my critique partners on the telephone. Thanks for looking
out for our family over the years.
JUDY DUARTE
An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy Duarte always wanted to write books of her own. One day, she decided to make that dream come true. Five years and six manuscripts later, she sold her first book to Silhouette Special Edition.
Her unpublished stories have won the Emily and the Orange Rose, and in 2001, she became a double Golden Heart finalist. Judy credits her success to Romance Writers of America and two wonderful critique partners, Sheri WhiteFeather and Crystal Green, both of whom write for Silhouette.
At times, when a stubborn hero and a headstrong heroine claim her undivided attention, she and her family are thankful for fast food, pizza delivery and video games. When she’s not at the keyboard or in a Walter Mitty–type world, she enjoys traveling, spending romantic evenings with her personal hero and playing board games with her kids.
Judy lives in Southern California and loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 498, San Luis Rey, CA 92068-0498. You can also visit her Web site at www.judyduarte.com.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Bayside, a fictitious beachfront community near sunny San Diego, where love and romance await the unsuspecting men known as the Bayside Bachelors.
This new miniseries has one common thread. All of the heroes were once troubled teens—bad boys—who turned their lives around thanks to the guidance of Harry Logan, a retired detective who took them under his wing.
In each book, you’ll meet everyday heroes like cops and firemen, doctors and navy pilots, men who can’t quite shake a stubborn heart, a crooked smile or the rebellious nature that still flows in their veins. I don’t know about you, but I’ve always liked stories of redemption, stories of regular people who overcame the odds and made tremendous and, oftentimes, heroic changes in their lives.
I had fun creating the Bayside Bachelors and the women who would touch their hearts. May you experience that same pleasure as you turn each page, as you enter the world of Harry and Kay Logan, meet the men they’ve grown to care about and watch each romance unfold.
Wishing you all the best,
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
Hailey Conway didn’t believe in heroes. And hadn’t since her sixth birthday.
Over the years, she’d accepted the fact that a woman couldn’t expect someone to rescue her, to step in and make life picture-book perfect.
So when Hailey walked out of the Granville drugstore and a young man jerked on her black vinyl purse, she didn’t scream for help. Instead, she struggled with the thug until he knocked her fanny-first on the sidewalk.
At the gas station across the street, a tall, dark-haired stranger in a leather jacket yelled to the attendant to call the police, then took off in pursuit of Hailey’s mugger.
Heart pounding and hands trembling, she stood on wobbly legs and grimaced at the pain in her right hip. She didn’t think anything was broken, but her bottom hurt like the dickens. She brushed the dirt from her wool slacks and looked down the street. Both suspect and stranger were long gone.
And so was her oversize purse. But it wasn’t her cash and credit cards she worried about. It was the package she’d discreetly slipped inside that concerned her. A package she’d traveled twenty miles to buy.
Now she was not only missing her purse and her purchase, she was rubbing an aching rear end.
A police cruiser pulled to a stop in front of the drugstore, and a stocky, red-haired officer climbed from the car. “What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”
Hailey explained what had happened, then pointed in the direction the mugger and the stranger had run.
“Your name?” he asked.
“Hailey Conway.” She hoped she wouldn’t have to list the contents of her missing purse. Wallet, thirty-seven dollars in cash, a library card, house keys, a pack of spearmint gum.
And a brand-new box of condoms.
Sheesh. She’d never purchased prophylactics before, had never needed to. But she had big plans for the evening, big enough to make her brave a pending winter storm and travel to a nearby town where she desperately hoped the Walden School librarian wouldn’t be recognized.
So far, her identity was safe, but the whole experience had been a nightmare of embarrassment. The elderly cashier had fumbled about, looking for a small bag, while the darn condoms lay in plain sight on the countertop. Hailey had told the slow-moving woman not to bother and quickly stashed the box and receipt in her purse.
“Is that the guy, ma’am?” The burly policeman nodded up the sidewalk, where the stranger had brought the mugger to justice.
If Hailey wasn’t mistaken, it appeared the teenage hoodlum wore handcuffs. “Yes. The big kid in the blue ski jacket is the one who stole my purse and knocked me down.”
The officer took her address for his report. “Wait here,” he told her before proceeding down the street toward the apprehended mugger. The dark-haired stranger withdrew his ID, a badge of some kind, which seemed to satisfy the Granville patrolman.
While the thief was read his rights, then placed into the police car, the stranger sauntered toward Hailey carrying her purse. He had the look of a guy who wasn’t afraid to take chances, of one who’d seen the seedy side of life. A man who didn’t belong in what was supposed to be a crime-free small town. A worn, black leather aviator jacket suggested he didn’t even belong in Minnesota during the winter.
Dark-brown eyes, the color of fresh-perked coffee, pierced her soul, stimulating her pulse.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice deep and slightly graveled.
“Fine,” she said, although her bottom still hurt.
He handed her the purse, and she clutched it to her chest like a shield, protecting her from his caffeine-laden gaze and the quirk of a smile that taunted her senses without betraying his thoughts.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” He stood tall, more than six feet. Not handsome in the classic sense, but attractive in a young Marlon Brando way.
If she were the kind of woman in search of a hero, this guy would fit the bill. But she wasn’t looking for a savior. In her experience the heroic side of a man only masked flaws of one kind or another. Heroes were just regular guys who sometimes did something honorable.
And sometimes didn’t.
He nodded toward her black vinyl shield. “You’d better check and make sure everything is there.”
Open her purse? With the telltale box of condoms shoved on top? Bare her secrets in front of this stranger? “I’m sure everything is fine. Thank you for going after that guy and getting my purse back.”
“No problem,” he said, as though he risked his life and chased danger on a daily basis.
She offered him a smile, yet held tightly to the ugly but serviceable handbag, her palms sweating in spite of the chill in the air. Surely he’d forget about asking her to peek inside.
“Better take a look,” he said, tapping the bag with his finger.
Hailey stepped back and, in an effort to pull the vinyl bag from his reach, the darn purse slipped from her hands and dropped to the ground. In a frozen stupor, she watched the shiny new box of condoms slide onto the sidewalk, all the while praying a hole in the concrete would swallow her up. But she remained standing, her gaze locked on his.
A slow grin tugged on his lips. “Shoplifting?”
“Absolutely not.” Hailey stooped and shoved the box back in her purse. “I have a receipt. You can ask the cashier.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
When she stood, he flashed her a sexy, Marlon Brando smile. She didn’t return it. “Like I said, I have everything I need.”
The moment the statement left her mouth, heat flooded her cheeks. She’d implied that she needed condoms. Darn that man for flustering her so.
“The name’s Nick Granger. I’m an off-duty detective.” He flashed her a badge of some kind, but she didn’t take the time to look at it closely, particularly since it had passed the police officer’s scrutiny.
Ever since her sixth birthday, Hailey had sworn off cops, particularly handsome detectives. As far as she was concerned, they were never around when you needed them.
Of course, this particular cop had been.
“Thanks for your help,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go home and fix dinner.”
Nick bit back a laugh. He didn’t usually tease a crime victim, but the rosy-cheeked brunette who hid condoms in her purse had touched his funny bone, not to mention his libido.
The petite young woman had a pretty face, with long chestnut hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. But it was more than her looks that he found arousing. It was the way she lifted her chin and showed a stubborn sense of pride. The flash of spunk, as she pulled herself together. The shy, awkward way she wanted to hide the condoms from him.
He watched her limp away and climb into a ten-year-old Honda Accord. Some guy was going to get lucky tonight, and he couldn’t help wondering who it would be.
A husband?
No, not a spouse. She was too flustered about the condoms, too shy about them for that. A secret lover then? The idea warmed Nick’s blood and made him grin. He wouldn’t mind being the lover in question.
Whoa. Back up. He hadn’t come to Minnesota to fantasize about an affair with a stranger. He had a mission.
He was looking for a woman who lived in Walden, a small farm town about twenty miles from here. The attendant at the gas station had been explaining how he could reach the county road that would take him there when Nick had spotted the purse-snatching in action.
A cold wind blew out of the north, hinting at the snow to come. Nick zipped his black leather jacket. Minnesota was a hell of a lot colder than southern California.
When he left home this morning, the weatherman had predicted a sunny day in the high eighties. And had his old friend and mentor not needed his services, Nick would have spent the afternoon on the sands of Pacific Beach.
But late last night, Harry Logan had called from his hospital bed to ask a favor, and Nick hadn’t given the request a second thought. He owed the retired detective—big-time. If not for Harry’s involvement in Nick’s sorry life, he might be rotting in prison right now. Or dead.
Harry had given more than one angry delinquent reason to look beyond a crappy childhood. And Nick had found himself wanting to be a man of honor, a man like Harry. It was a goal Nick would never reach, though, because the old man had raised the bar too damn high.
His loyalty ran deep for the aging detective, and like each one of the other twelve or thirteen guys known as Logan’s Heroes, Nick would do anything for Harry. Nick owed the man far more than a trip to Minnesota on the cusp of winter. A hell of a lot more.
Harry had taken Nick to ball games and invited him to backyard barbecues. He’d even paid Nick’s first semester registration at the local junior college, making him feel as much a part of the Logan family as Harry’s own sons.
“Hailey’s my daughter,” Harry had said. “And she’s living in a small Minnesota farm town. I want you to bring her to San Diego. To the hospital, where I can see her. Where I can talk to her. I let her down a long time ago, and I want to apologize, ask her forgiveness.”
Nick found it hard to believe Harry could have let anyone down. Ever. He was too much of a straight-arrow. Too dedicated to his family and the youth in the community. Youth at risk, as Nick had been.
Nick had plenty of questions, but he wasn’t about to force his old friend to say more than he wanted to.
“Find Hailey Conway,” Harry had asked Nick from his hospital bed.
It was as simple as that.
Nick looked at his watch. The sooner he found the woman, the better. He’d promised Harry not to return to San Diego without her.
It was a promise Nick intended to keep.
Hailey pulled aside the lace curtain and looked out the living room window. The sky had darkened to a threatening gray, giving credibility to the weatherman who’d announced a winter storm warning and predicted the next snow would be fierce and unusually cold.
The first flakes began to sprinkle the ground, laying claim to the dormant grass that hid below the frozen surface. The temperature had dropped considerably since she’d left Granville well over an hour ago.
Had Steven made it out of Mankato before the worst of the blustery storm hit? Hailey hoped he didn’t get stranded along the way, because she had big plans for tonight. And condoms in the nightstand to prove it.
She thought about the episode in town, about the good-looking detective who’d known what she had planned for the evening, but quickly shoved the awkward memory aside. She’d had her first and last bittersweet run-in with a cop when she was six years old. A man she’d looked up to, until he abandoned her mother.
Nope. Harry Logan hadn’t deserved the hero worship a starry-eyed child had offered him. That’s why she’d refused to talk to him when he’d called her after twenty years. A personal relationship with the man who’d fathered her was the last thing in the world she wanted.
Since moving to Minnesota, Hailey had set her sights on home, hearth and a man she could trust. And she’d fought too long and hard for her goals to become distracted now.
The little house she’d purchased with her own earnings had grown warm and cozy, and the aroma of roast beef filled the air. She glanced over her shoulder at the table she’d set for two and smiled at the result of her careful preparation. China, crystal wineglasses, tapered candlesticks.
She’d invited Steven to dinner again. The hardworking accountant lived alone and made no bones about how much he enjoyed a home-cooked meal.
The way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, the old adage said. And just in case a hearty meal of meat and potatoes wasn’t enough to make Steven pop the question, or at least make a commitment, Hailey had an alternate route to his heart—a well-plotted but subtle seduction.
It had been a long time since she’d been intimate with a man, too long, probably. In college she’d found herself attracted to the wrong kind of guy, the kind who promised sexual fulfillment but couldn’t offer anything long-term. When she realized her penchant for falling for the devil-may-care type, she’d made it a point to look for the right kind of mate, even if he didn’t sweep her off her feet.
She’d worked hard to make her world predictable and stable. And she intended to choose a husband in the same way she’d selected the little house and the dependable car she drove—with a great deal of care and foresight.
Steven was her soon-to-be fiancé, although he didn’t know it yet. There weren’t too many men like the brilliant accountant. Handsome. Gentle. Honest. Loyal. He was a good neighbor, as well as a friend. His smile might not make her heart soar or do flip-flops, but it did warm her soul. And she had no qualms about pursuing a physical relationship with him.
A glass or two of wine would take the edge off her nervousness. Any more than that, and she just might lose her head. Visions of Lois Lane removing Clark Kent’s glasses and kissing him senseless crossed her mind, and she quickly pushed it aside. This evening was more than a romantic game.
A knock sounded at the door, drawing her from her daydreams. It was probably little Tommy Kuehn looking for his cat again or Mrs. Billings, the elderly woman who lived next door, wanting to share a cup of coffee. Those were the kinds of visitors Hailey had grown to expect in the small community in which she’d chosen to settle down and make a home.
She opened the door and bit back a gasp when she spotted the rugged detective on her stoop, the man who had apprehended the mugger and returned her purse. Her heart began to race.
He seemed nearly as surprised to see her as she was to see him, but he smiled, masking his thoughts, so it seemed.
What was he doing here? Had he taken her name from the police report? Was this official business? Would she need to go to court?
“Yes?” She leaned against the door, blocking him from entering the house, from getting too close, and scanned his broad length. Her gaze focused on a snow-speckled head of unruly dark hair that curled at the collar, a strong, aquiline nose that had probably been broken a time or two, a small but jagged scar that marred the left brow.
“Hailey Conway?”
She merely nodded, not trusting her own voice.
“I had a tough time finding your place.”
She didn’t doubt it. Some of the graveled streets didn’t have signs. “I guess you’re not from around here.”
“I’m not.”
That didn’t surprise her. But she figured it might be a good idea to take a look at the badge he’d flashed the police officer earlier. “Do you have some ID?”
He showed her his badge, and she looked it over this time.
A detective. From San Diego.
“You’re a long way from home.”
“Hopefully I can get back to the airport soon. Weather’s a heck of a lot nicer where I come from.”
His stance mimicked that of a private eye, the kind seen on television. The kind women tuned in to watch on a lonely Saturday night. She could imagine him as a star.
The Nielson ratings would probably skyrocket for his show, particularly with the female fans. He had a fearsomely attractive way about him, as though he’d just stepped off the set of On the Waterfront and “could’a been a contender.”
“I came to check on you,” he said. “See if you’re all right after that tumble you took.”
He was going above and beyond the call of hero duty, and Hailey hoped he’d leave before Steven arrived. She had half a notion to close the door in his face, but the guy had gone out of his way to chase down her mugger. She owed him some courtesy, to say the least. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Can I come in? It’s cold out here, and I’d like to talk to you.”
No, she wanted to say. But she figured he’d come to ask her something about the purse snatching. She loosened her hold on the door and stepped aside.
Nick entered the warmth of Hailey Conway’s house, and even though he wanted to cut to the chase and tell her why he was here, why he’d come all the way from California on a moment’s notice looking for her, he held his tongue.
He hadn’t expected her to be easy to convince. After Harry had tracked her down, found her phone number and gathered the courage to call, she’d given him what Harry referred to as “a well-deserved” piece of her mind and then promptly hung up.
Nick had expected Hailey to be older, especially since Harry and Kay had been married for forty years and had three sons, one of whom had been killed during Desert Storm.
Her age—mid-twenties—had surprised him, since he’d assumed she’d been the child of a previous marriage. But she’d obviously been conceived during the Logans’ marriage. That surprised him, too, but it wasn’t Nick’s place to judge Harry about an affair.
“I lost touch with her twenty years ago,” Harry had said. “And I’m not sure I can fix things now, but I’ve got to try. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, and not much time to do it.”
Nick slid the small brunette an assessing glance. As a detective, he’d learned to read people, their body language, their surroundings. He’d learned to keep a poker face, to hide his emotions and his assumptions. But recognizing the petite, dark-haired beauty with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen had knocked him for a loop.
Apparently, she was angry enough at Harry to hang up the phone, rather than try to establish a relationship with the father she hadn’t seen in years. Nick supposed there was more to the story than met the eye. But that didn’t negate the promise he’d made to his friend and mentor.
Maybe Nick needed to play good cop for a while, before dropping Harry’s name.
Still, he couldn’t stifle his curiosity, and studied the pretty young woman who bore little resemblance to Harry.
She’d changed her clothes. Instead of winter wear, she had on a simple black dress. Not too revealing, but a hell of a nice fit.
“Have a seat,” she said, indicating an overstuffed, floral-print sofa.
He sank into the cushions, his knees hitting a glass coffee table where a copy of Better Homes and Gardens rested next to an issue of Modern Brides. He glanced at her left hand, noting the absence of a ring, diamond or otherwise.
“Getting married?” he asked.
“No.” A blush on her cheeks indicated embarrassment. She quickly broke eye contact, suggesting a lie or a reluctance to let him in on her private affairs. Still, the knowledge of those condoms lay before them in the awkward silence.
The aroma of pot roast filled the room. A small table in the dining room was set for two, along with wineglasses and new, red tapered candles. Nick slid her a slow smile. “No wedding bells, huh? Maybe the groom just doesn’t know it yet.”
She quickly stood, crossed her arms and flashed him a look of annoyance. The flush on her cheeks deepened, suggesting his comment had struck a chord of some kind. Then she scooped the magazines from the tabletop and placed them in a wicker basket that held other publications. “Did you have something to discuss with me?”
At this rate, Nick had better work on his manners and his ability to reason with her. Maybe he ought to turn on the charm, make nice, then hit her with his plan to take her to California. He’d leave Harry out of the discussion for the time being. “It looked as though you landed on the sidewalk kind of hard. Head injuries can be deceptive.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts, drawing his attention to the way they would fill a man’s hands.
Hell. Where had that misguided thought come from?
“My head is fine. And I bruised my…hip. Nothing’s broken.” The phone rang, interrupting the rest of her words. “Excuse me.”
She turned and walked toward the kitchen. The hem of her black midlength dress brushed against shapely calves. She was a striking young woman, Nick realized. And stubborn. He wondered whether he could break down her defenses. Touch some tender spot in her heart and make her agree to see Harry.
Not if he didn’t stop thinking about her as an attractive woman. A man didn’t hit on his friend’s daughter.
Nick scanned the small living room of the house she’d made into a home: floral-printed cotton, coordinating plaid pillows with ruffles, light oak furniture. Sheesh, Hailey was a nester—just the kind of woman Nick tried to avoid.
If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was a woman who expected a guy to be home by five and spend weekends doing fix-it projects. Nick wasn’t Ward Cleaver or Tim the Tool Man, nor did he want to be.
On the fireplace mantel, delicate picture frames—some silver, some crystal—displayed photographs. The feminine touch revealed a romantic side of the young woman, an emotional side he hoped to tap into.
He glanced to the kitchen, where she stood talking on the telephone. He figured she was going to ask him to leave. Well, what did he expect? A dinner invitation? His stomach grumbled like a small kid in the back seat clamoring for attention.
After talking to Harry at the hospital late last night, he’d gone home, packed his bags and headed for Lindbergh Field, hoping to catch an early-morning flight. He probably should have picked up a burger and fries along the way, but he’d been intent upon finding Hailey before checking into a hotel or grabbing a bite to eat. That might have been a mistake, he realized, as his stomach rumbled again. He should have eaten more at the airport than a sweet roll and black coffee, but he had been determined to reach Walden before the storm hit.
While Hailey talked quietly in the kitchen, Nick stood and made his way to the fireplace. He lifted a silver, heart-framed photograph from the mantel. A picture of a dark-haired girl in pigtails, missing a front tooth and straddling a two-wheeled bike, smiled at him, begging him to get to know the daughter Harry had let down.
He glanced at Hailey, who stood in a tidy, well-stocked kitchen. She had those cupboard doors that were mostly glass, the kind you could see right through. Every plate, cup and glass had been neatly stacked. Each can of vegetables lined carefully in a row. He thought of his own kitchen back home.
Thank goodness no one could see how he’d shoved his junk in each cupboard. And the drawers seemed to collect stuff he wasn’t ready to throw away yet. It was a man’s place, he noted. Just the way a guy liked it.
“Well, sure,” Hailey told the person on the other line. “I understand. I’m disappointed, but I’ll save you some leftovers.”
The guy who was going to have a candlelit dinner of roast beef? Too bad. Fast food, Nick’s usual dinner fare, wouldn’t taste half as good as this meal smelled. He actually felt sorry for the guy. Sort of.
He looked at Hailey again, watched as she balanced the phone on one shoulder and checked the pot in the oven. She looked at home in a kitchen. Competent and capable. A real homebody, the kind Nick steered clear of ever since that time he’d let Carla move into his apartment—a big mistake on his part.
Carla had questioned his every move and never understood why he couldn’t leave a stakeout to be home by the time dinner was ready. Nope, a cop needed a different kind of woman. One that didn’t expect promises a guy couldn’t keep.
“When do they expect the storm to let up?” Hailey asked the caller.
So Hailey’s dream date wasn’t going to make it at all.
She twirled her finger around the phone cord, then glanced Nick’s way. When their eyes met, something unspoken passed between them. An awareness, he supposed, of each other. The attraction he’d felt earlier and shoved aside muscled its way back—front and center. It caught him off guard. Her, too, he guessed, because she quickly turned her back to him.
“Take care, Steven. Bye.” The telephone clicked against the wall mount as she hung up the receiver, and several moments of silence followed.
“Does Steven have a last name?” Nick didn’t know why he asked.
“Not one that matters,” she said. “If you have something to talk about, you’d better get it said. The storm has hit hard just south of here, and at least one road is closed.”
He needed more time with her, time to figure out a good way to broach the subject and explain why he was here. And he needed time to understand why she wouldn’t speak to Harry and how Nick could persuade her to change her mind.
When he didn’t respond, she shook her head, then walked to the window and gazed out. She sighed heavily. “It’s snowing. You’d better get out of here before it’s too late to get back to your hotel. Where are you staying?”
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