He pulled his phone out and navigated the touchscreen, eager to pull his hand away from hers. “I’m sure I’ve got some in here.”
It was embarrassing just how many months passed in so few swipes. At one time, he had insisted on taking his share of the photographs so that Angie wouldn’t suffer the same fate as his mother and look back on their family memories and wonder where she’d been. Now, however, his phone’s carefully archived photo list went straight from Today to August.
He winced as he handed his phone to Marissa. “It’s a little old.”
“That’s okay. It’s not like I take photos of my kid every day either.”
Declan’s eyes brightened in interest. “That’s right. His name’s Aiden?”
Marissa glanced down at the phone, distracted by the question as she nodded. Before Declan could ask any more questions, she pointed at the photo. “They’re beautiful.”
Declan’s lips lifted in a half smile. “That was taken about a week after Angie was diagnosed. Laney was only a few months old, and we were planning on taking a family photo at Christmas. Once we heard the diagnosis, Angie asked me if we could have a photo shoot with one of her photographer friends. I kept trying to tell her she’d beat cancer. That this wouldn’t be our last photo as a family—”
The waitress arrived and delivered their hot chocolate and pie. “It’ll be another couple minutes on those onion rings.”
Relieved for the interruption, Declan offered the waitress his thanks. Marissa, however, flicked her attention back to Declan as she left, waiting for him to tell the rest of his story.
A man standing by the register turned toward their table. “Hey Belinda, you gonna give me my phone order or what?”
The waitress smiled her apologies to Declan as she turned back to the register. “Oh, hold your horses, Harold. It’s not like Missy doesn’t know you’re ordering a burger and fries when you’re supposed to be at the gym.”
Declan unwrapped his napkin and caught hold of his utensils. “Something tells me there’s a story between those two.”
Marissa looked over her shoulder. “Belinda and Harold?”
He shook his head. “Oh, there’s definitely a story there, but I was thinking between Harold and Missy. Either she shakes her head and laughs about it or he’s coming home to some broken dishes.”
Marissa snorted. “That’s terrible.”
He shrugged, remembering the handful of humdinger fights he’d had with Angie in the years they’d been married. They’d never broken dishes, but it hadn’t all been fun and games either. “That’s life.”
Marissa took a bite of the pie and sighed, apparently savoring the velvety chocolate on her tongue. “Okay, now I’m glad my sister made me come to this reunion. The pie was worth every second of her lecture.”
Declan looked up from his own piece of pie, which he had to admit wasn’t half bad. “That good, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. How about yours?”
He shrugged. “It’s good. I just can’t tell if it’s objectively good or if it’s good because it’s been a year and a half since I had pie.”
She gaped at him. “Not even at Thanksgiving?”
He shook his head. “We didn’t really have Thanksgiving last year. Angie died on the second. We were—I was still trying to process. Mom made chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes for the kids, but I was up to my eyeballs in paperwork.”
Marissa looked down at her lap, and Declan couldn’t tell if it was because she was respecting his grief or if she was uncomfortable with the change in topic.
He shifted in his seat. “Sorry.”
Marissa shook her head before she lifted a compassionate smile to him. “If anyone can relate to being overwhelmed after the death of a loved one, I can. You don’t have to apologize to me.”
Declan took another bite of his pie, simultaneously grateful and uncomfortable for the camaraderie. “Anyway, you were saying your pie was good?”
She pushed her plate toward him the way she would have if they were still kids. “Try some.”
He waved his fork in the air. “I told you already I wouldn’t eat any of your pie.”
She pushed it another half an inch toward him. “Then trade me.”
He raised an arm to protect his plate from her approaching fork. “Oh no. This is my apple pie. You’re the one who ordered the chocolate silk.”
Marissa rolled her eyes. “One bite won’t kill you. I’m just proving a point: the food here got better.”
“Seems the same to me. Maybe your memory is fading.”
“Are you calling me old? Because you’re three months older than me.”
He grinned as he raised his arms in defeat. “As the resident expert, I’m here to tell you that the memory’s first to go.”
She threw him a pointed look. “I bet I can tell you how we first met, and you won’t have a clue.”
He swiped a forkful of pie through his ice cream. “First time we met or the first time I saw you?”
Marissa blinked. “There’s a difference?”
He’d caught her off-guard. A note of pleasure thrilled through him, unexpected in the wake of his sense of loss. Maybe it was that his heart conflated the hole Angie had left with the one Marissa had left almost two decades earlier. Maybe life was starting to feel exhilarating again. All he knew was that he didn’t want it to end.
He smirked. “The first time I saw you was when you and your mom came to register you for classes freshman year.”
Her jaw dropped. “How did you—?”
“I was waiting for one of the guidance counselors to help me iron out a schedule conflict when the principal walked you and your mom into the office. You had your schedule in hand before I’d even gotten in to see my counselor. Even though you were distracted by what your mom was saying, you returned my smile and gave me a tiny wave.”
Marissa sat back against the plastic booth cushion, her gaze going distant as she reviewed their graduating class in her mind. “That was you? I thought—”
He was too easily amused if this was enough to push the dreadfulness of the reunion out of his mind. “My mom made me get a haircut that afternoon. So, when we met in Algebra the next day, I didn’t expect you to recognize me.”
Marissa stifled a laugh with one hand. “I was going to say. The kid in the counseling office looked more like he belonged in a hippy band than you.”
He rolled his eyes, though the lingering smile was probably evidence that he hadn’t taken any actual offense. “It was not that bad. Shoulder length and wavy.”
Marissa raised a hand so she couldn’t see his eyes, as if she needed to picture what he’d looked like with his bushy waves which had gone almost past his shoulders. “Yeah, but there was so much of it that I couldn’t have recognized you the next day if I’d shaken your hand. The only thing I could see was your hair.”
“And the smile. Don’t forget the smile.”
She nodded her capitulation. “And the smile.”
Declan looked down, the amusement dropping from his lips as he caught sight of his wedding ring. He was grieving. It wasn’t right to be laughing like this, was it? To feel alive when his other half was not?
Marissa seemed to follow his gaze as he brought his thumb across his palm to caress his wedding ring. “Emily seemed to think your wife was someone pretty special. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Declan’s irritation flared up as Belinda brought the order of onion rings and a bottle of ketchup. “Don’t start that.”
“Start what?”
He groaned. “You know as well as I do that I’m sorry for your loss leads to If there’s anything I can do which starts a rousing chorus of—”
“Don’t hesitate to call.”
He looked up, almost surprised by Marissa’s grim expression as she finished his thought. “I’ll try to keep the clichés at bay.”
The kindness she’d sent in response to his cynicism surprised him, and the anger which had been simmering since the
fight he’d had with Helen three weeks ago seemed to ebb somewhat. “Thank you.”
She took a bite of her pie. “Your family sounds lovely. I only saw the professional photo, but I saw a lot of love there.”
“Thanks.” Declan swiped one of the onion rings, eager to change topics. “What about your kid? What’s the story there? You said you’d never been married.”
Marissa shook her head. “Nope. Never.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a hand to stop him. “Before you ask any embarrassing questions, I adopted him from foster care. He’s lived with me for about three years, but he’s been mine officially for six months.”
There was such pride and love in her eyes, that he knew she was an amazing mother. Come to think of it, he hadn’t questioned that even when they were kids themselves. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
They fell into silence, and Declan couldn’t tell if they’d run out of things to say or if they were just comfortable enough to not need words to fill the space.
He coughed and took a sip of the ice water Belinda had brought alongside their hot chocolates. “How is Cassie?”
Marissa’s eyes brightened. “She’s good. She’s Dr. Cassandra Lambert now.”
“A doctor? Wow. I don’t have that kind of commitment.”
She chuckled. “You’re an engineer, right? You were going to get a Master’s degree. That takes its own diligence.”
“If you say so.”
Marissa pushed her fork around her plate of pie, and he guessed she knew what he would ask next.
“What about you? Still working for your dad’s accounting firm?”
She shook her head. “I started my own accounting business about five years ago. Gives me a fighting chance with the laundry now that I work from home.”
Sadness seemed to settle over him like a cold blanket. “Still play the violin?”
Her hands stilled a moment before she shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “I still have it somewhere. It’s just—life got so busy, and—”
He nodded as she trailed off. “Yeah. I get it. Parenthood’s demanding.”
She caught his gaze, and he saw the regret and hope intermingled in her eye. Regret for what, he couldn’t quite read.
They fell back into silence as he checked his watch.
“Ready, then?”
He glanced up at her. “What?”
She motioned with her fork to his watch. “Your brother-in-law won’t skewer you for coming home now?”
He was torn. He could lie and tell her he still had a few minutes to go. Maybe they’d laugh over some of their memories again. Or, he could tell the truth, that it had been almost an hour and a half since they’d left the reunion, and that Liam might get worried enough to send the National Guard if he didn’t at least call. That would save him from whatever awkward silence they would have to endure if he avoided talking about how her promising musical talent had dwindled into nothingness.
“I should probably get going.”
“Me, too.”
Declan reached into his wallet and extracted a card, which he waved to Belinda as Marissa reached for her wallet. “Don’t worry about it. My treat. Consider it a thank you for listening back there.”
Instead of setting her wallet on the table, she unzipped it and pulled out a business card. “You know, I’m a good listener, and it sounds like you might not have a lot of those right now. You can call me if you want to talk or if you need help.”
Amusement played on his lips as Belinda brought two boxes and the bill. “That sounds suspiciously like Don’t hesitate to call.”
Marissa didn’t laugh as she scraped almost half of the French silk into one of the small boxes. “It’s just an idea.”
He ran a thumb over the back of her hand the way he might have back when they’d been dating. “And I appreciate it. At least, from you it doesn’t sound like you’re reading a script.”
She swallowed, and he was surprised to see that there were tears sparkling in her eyes. “It’s okay, right?”
Declan lifted an eyebrow in interest. “What’s okay?”
“You. Me. We’re—we’re okay?”
The urge to comfort her was so strong he almost couldn’t stay in his seat. “Yeah, of course, Riss. We had sucky timing. It’s still not great, if I’m honest.”
He didn’t know what meant by that last line. Couldn’t afford to delve into it. Fortunately, he didn’t have to. She breathed a sigh of relief and seemed to know what he meant. “Thanks.”
There was something hanging between them, and he wasn’t sure he could spend the next twenty or thirty years wondering what it was. “And?”
Marissa bit the inside of her cheek, a level of insecurity in her eyes he hadn’t expected to see in this more mature woman. “I know I didn’t know her, but I’m sure that any woman you would love—well, I’m sure she’d want you to be happy again one day. I don’t think she’d hold that against you.”
She looked down at her hands as she muttered something that sounded like I know I don’t.
As if on cue, Angie’s voice seemed to echo in his mind. She’s got a point, love.
They didn’t speak as Belinda returned with Declan’s card and a couple copies of the receipt. He quickly signed the flimsy paper as Marissa pulled her purse back onto her shoulder and grabbed her leftovers. “That was fun. Thanks.”
He bobbed his head, still trying to process the last few moments. “More fun than the reunion.”
“Much,” she agreed.
His heart pounded as they stood there in the diner. It was like being sixteen again, on their first date and trying to decide if he would lean in for a kiss or just go for a nice, safe hug.
But this wasn’t a date, and a kiss was out of the question.
Wasn’t it?
The thought threw him for a loop, and he didn’t know which end was up or down. He shuffled his feet on the tile and reached out a hand. “Good.”
She looked down at his hand before she gently brushed it aside and leaned in for a hug. She wrapped her arms around him, and all the awkwardness melted away as her cheek pressed to his in the embrace. As one of his hands pressed against her back and the other brushed against her hair at the back of her neck, he sighed. It was like coming home.
Emotion thickened her voice, the whisper in his ear strangely intimate. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
He swallowed. “You, too.”
She shifted in his arms, and he knew a split second before her lips touched his cheek what was coming.
Except. . .
He turned and caught her lips against his own, feeling her arms tighten against his neck in surprise even as her knees relaxed and she let him hold more of her weight in his hands.
His eyes flew open as he pulled away, that sense of wrongness coming over him again. He’d been widowed less than a year, and he was kissing his high school sweetheart? What was wrong with him?
Marissa worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she stepped back, that regret back in her wide, brown eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
She didn’t finish her thought, and before he knew what was happening, the bell on the diner door tinkled as she raced out into the parking lot and across the street.
His jaw flexed as he watched her go. What had he done?
DECLAN TOOK HIS TIME leaving the diner, hesitating to pick up his jacket again because even in his hands, he could smell the faint floral and fruity notes of Marissa’s perfume lingering on it. Which just replayed the feel of her soft, pliable lips against his. Only to remind him of how they’d both stiffened almost at the same time as they realized, apparently in tandem, the wrongness of that kiss.
Or was it the rightness they’d rebelled against?
Declan groaned. What was wrong with him? Three weeks ago, he was just realizing how he’d let his family fall apart after Angie’s death. He was only now feeling like he had a solid foundation under his feet again,
only now feeling like his role was clear again.
Laney and Luke had started warming up to having a dad again, and Tabitha—
Well, Tabitha would take a little more work, but she would come around.
He looked up at the sky, dark not only with the onset of evening but also with a pack of clouds rolling in. “Was I stupid for thinking the reunion was your idea? That all the progress I’ve made over the last month in getting back to normal was because you wanted me to get on with my life.”
He could hear Angie’s laugh as if she stood beside him. He couldn’t see her or anything—he wasn’t crazy—but the memory of her laugh filled his mind. And as strange as it seemed, it was just the thing she would find funny.
A smile flitted onto his lips. “I told Liam I was going to be clumsy at this moving on thing.”
Angie’s voice filled his mind. You weren’t kidding. That was painful. Were you always this awkward with women?
He couldn’t help himself; he snickered. “Like you don’t know.”
His relationship with Marissa had started gradually, beginning when she shared half her ham sandwich with him before musical rehearsal one day. She played violin in the pit orchestra. He was one of the unnamed Jets in West Side Story.
They never really sat down and talked about whether they were dating. They just found themselves going to the library to do homework even though they weren’t in the same classes. Or they’d call each other up and ask if they were interested in going to see such-and-such movie that had just come out. Even asking Marissa to the junior prom had been chill, just a question about what color cummerbund he should get for his tux and where she wanted to go for dinner.
The only surprise in that relationship was when she’d broken up with him. Truth be told, it was something he still didn’t fully understand. What had been so wrong about him offering to join his life to hers in the wake of her parents’ deaths? Why was insisting that she follow her dreams instead of becoming some reincarnation of her father such a bad thing?
Not that he wished things had gone differently, necessarily. If he and Marissa hadn’t broken up, he wouldn’t have met and married Angie. He wouldn’t have their three beautiful kids.
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