Mortifying as it was to admit being duped, the blame for that was as much on Wes as on her. The fault for what happened next was hers alone. And once Jack heard this part of the story, her loan could be toast.

“When what?”

At his prompt, she twisted her fingers together. Sugarcoating what had happened would help her save face, but she was done misleading people. She had to be honest—whatever the outcome.

“When I made a terrible mistake.” She moistened her lips. Forced herself to continue. “Three months ago, once I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, I invited Tasha out to dinner. I had a couple glasses of wine, which was out of pattern—but I was feeling upbeat that night and in the mood to celebrate. On the drive home, the car slid on slick pavement. I didn’t get hurt, but the car was totaled—and Tasha ended up with a compound fracture in her leg that sidelined her for weeks. Plus, her insurance didn’t cover all of her medical bills.”

He studied her. “You blame yourself for what happened to her.”

“Of course. It was my fault. I was driving—and I’d been drinking.”

“Two glasses of wine shouldn’t have put you over the BAC limit.”

“They didn’t—but I was feeling the effects of the alcohol. I doubt my reflexes were functioning at optimal levels.”

She girded, prepared to insist on her culpability—but after a moment he switched gears.

“If she had any insurance at all, she shouldn’t have racked up the kind of dollar amount in medical bills you asked me to loan you.”

“The money isn’t for medical bills.” Christi took another sip of water. “It’s to replenish her dream fund. She’s had to tap into it for living expenses and medical bill balances.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Dream fund?”

“Tasha wants to open a restaurant. She’s a fabulous chef, and she’s worked hard to save money for that dream. A few months ago she found the perfect spot and signed a contingency lease. She also paid for the remodel design. But two weeks from now, all the money she’s spent will be lost—along with the opportunity—unless I get that loan.”

“Isn’t there anyone else who can help her?”

“No. She comes from a hard-working, lower-middle-class family. Her brother has four kids, one of them with Down syndrome. Her sister’s in graduate school. Her parents are on Social Security. There’s no spare money to fund dreams.” She leaned forward, posture taut. “I owe her this, Jack—and not just because of the accident. She was there for me when my life spiraled out of control.”

A few beats of silence ticked by before he responded. “Your inclinations are admirable.”

Gratifying as his praise was, what mattered was helping Tasha.