by Beth Andrews
“You do remember what I looked like in high school, right?”
He helped himself to a huge slice of the sausage bread. A long string of mozzarella stretched from the loaf.
“Now you’re just torturing me,” she muttered, pouting.
“Do you want some?”
“Am I sitting here, living and breathing and smelling how good it smells? Of course I want some.”
He cut her a small slice. “Then you should have it. Why deny yourself? So you were skinny in high school. You ask me, you look better now.” He set the plate in front of her. “You’ve blossomed. You were cute back then. Now you’re beautiful.”
She blinked. Blinked again. Her mouth opened and shut.
He’d made her speechless. Just by telling her the truth. Just by telling her his thoughts.
He’d have to try it more often.
“I’m going to eat this,” she said, picking up her fork. “But only in celebration of you stringing together that many words. Who knows when a miracle like that will happen again?” She bit into the bread. “So,” she said around her mouthful, “tell me why you chose to become a carpenter.”
“It wasn’t a choice,” he said. “It just...was. I never even thought of doing anything else. From the first time I made something with my dad, I just knew.”
“It must be nice, being able to make...to build...something out of nothing. To see it in your head and make it a reality. It takes a lot of creativity, doesn’t it? And math skills—never my strong suit.”
“Weren’t you in the top twenty percent of our graduating class?”
“Ten.”
Ten percent. Of course. “I’m betting your math is fine.”
“Only because I worked my butt off to keep my grades up. Calc about did me in.”
“I don’t use much calculus in my work. Just regular addition and subtraction. The basics.”
“Please. I’m sure you have to work with percentages, fractions, volume and square footage. Right?”
What could he do but nod?
“See. Just the idea of all that figuring makes my head hurt.”
“At least I don’t have to read Shakespeare anymore.”
She grinned. “Me either.”
Their dinners arrived and they dug in. She even helped herself to a second slice of sausage bread.
“Did you travel after school?” Harper asked him.
“I did the summer thing, went down South—which was a mistake. Never go to the deep South in the summer.”
“I bet.”
“What about you?”
“I worked at Cass’s daycare center the summer after graduation and went to Clarion University. It’s a small university about an hour and a half away from here.”
“You stayed close to home.”
“Relatively speaking. I thought I wanted to get as far away from Shady Grove as possible but it wasn’t meant to be.”
“You got homesick?”
“Nah. Although that may have played a part in it. Only child, doting parents. I’m not sure how any of us would’ve done if I’d been too far away. I applied to Georgetown. It was perfect. Far but not too far.”
“What made you decide not to go there?”
“They decided for me. I didn’t get in.”
“But you were in the top ten percent of our class.”
“Actually, I was in the top five percent. I didn’t want to brag,” she said, blushing. “It didn’t matter to them that I was smart and in the top of my class. I was upset at first, for months actually, but it was a great lesson to be learned. There are always people smarter than you. There will always be someone who has more success, someone who has less. You can’t get picked for every club, school or organization. Not everyone is going to like you. I didn’t like learning those lessons at the time but I’ve come to realize how important they were to me. I went to Clarion, I got a great education, I became a teacher like I always wanted and I made some lifelong friends in the process. I got a job in my hometown, met Joan who introduced me to her son and fell in love with a good man. I married him. Had his daughter.” She smiled softly. “All in all, it wasn’t such a bad deal. And I can’t help but believe things worked out exactly as they were meant to.”
“You can say that even after what happened to your husband?” he asked quietly, awed by her strength. Her faith.
“You know, when I didn’t get into Georgetown, it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. But a few months after Beau died, I realized how incredibly blessed I’d been all these years—was still blessed. Because even though I didn’t have him in my life anymore, even though I still miss him every day, I can’t help but be grateful for the time we did have together. Both as a couple and as a family. He loved me. That makes it easier to get through each day. But I hate that Cassidy doesn’t remember him, that she’ll never know what a truly wonderful man he was, how much he loved her.”
“She’ll know.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Cass will know her dad loved her, that he was proud of her, that her parents loved each other and were happy together. She’ll know,” Eddie repeated, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut, afraid he’d say the wrong thing, “because you’ll tell her. But more importantly, because your memories of Beau will keep him alive for her. Will help her know him.”
She smiled, as if he’d given her so much more than a few of his thoughts put into words, and squeezed his hand again.
Maybe he was better at this whole talking thing than he’d realized.
* * *
SHE’D HAD FUN.
Harper wasn’t sure what she’d expected. If she hadn’t thought she would have a good time, why would she have shown up in the first place? Eddie hadn’t talked much but he had talked and, better yet, he’d said exactly what she’d needed to feel better about Beau.
Your memories of Beau will keep him alive for her. Will help her know him.
Eddie was direct and insightful—more than she’d realized, and she’d enjoyed getting to know him better. They’d discussed mutual acquaintances and friends, their parents, his family and their work.
They hadn’t talked about Max or his issues at school. They hadn’t talked about their pasts—when they’d been in school or his marriage.
The parking lot was packed but, fortunately, empty of people. Music floated out from the bar, a classic rock song with a fast beat and heavy bass, perfect for dancing.
Harper couldn’t remember the last time she went dancing. “Do you like to dance?” she asked, wondering if she could talk him into going into Pittsburgh —far from prying eyes. They could go to a bar like O’Riley’s where the music was provided by a jukebox or a DJ who played rock and roll. She had a feeling Eddie Montesano didn’t do dance music, strobe lights or techno-anything.
He glanced at her. “I don’t dance.”
“You don’t dance? Or you can’t dance?”
“Does it matter?”
“Sure. The first is a choice. The second is a matter of opinion.”
“I choose not to dance.”
She dug her keys from her purse. The wind picked up, chilled her arms as she’d been running late and hadn’t bothered to grab a jacket. “Too bad. I love to dance. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a horrible dancer. But I still like it.”
“What makes you think you’re so horrible?”
She laughed. “My own father told me it looked as if I’d been electrocuted. And believe me, my dad thinks I can do no wrong. Plus, I’ve seen the video of my wedding day. Not pretty. But I still like to dance.”
“I won’t take you dancing.”
She grinned up at him. “Yeah. I got that. What if I invited you?”
Again, it’d have to be somewhere other than Shady Grove. She might be able to explain away them having dinner together tonight. It wasn’t as if he’d been flirting—she wasn’t sure he knew how to flirt, and it’d been so long since she’d been eligible, her own skills were mighty rusty. So t
hey could play tonight off as the casual dinner it’d been.
But she didn’t want people to get the wrong idea about them. Especially when she wasn’t sure what the right idea was. Keeping their...whatever name you wanted to put on this fledgling relationship...to themselves seemed the best idea.
They stopped by her car and she pushed the button to unlock it. Opened the door and tossed her purse inside.
“If you asked me to go dancing, I’d tell you no,” Eddie said, edging forward to trap her between his hard body and the door. “But if you asked me to go to a Steelers game, I’d say yes.”
“I’ve been known to dance at a Steelers game,” she warned him. “I’ve even been on TV.”
“Sounds as if we’d both get what we wanted.”
You have to decide what you want, wasn’t that what Sadie had told her? Harper still wasn’t sure but she was weakening, her feelings growing for this man before her.
He came even closer. Lifted a hand slowly, giving her plenty of time to back away. She didn’t. She barely breathed as he touched her hair, just the ends of it, then let his hand drop.
“You and Cassidy could come over Sunday,” he said. “Watch the game with me and Max. I’ll even let you dance.”
She opened her mouth to invite him to her house on Sunday. The Steelers were playing Baltimore; it was a fierce rivalry, and she and Beau always hosted a party when the two teams played.
But she couldn’t ask Eddie to come. The party was something she’d done with her husband, something it’d taken her weeks to decide she was ready to do on her own. Her family and his would be there along with their mutual friends.
She wasn’t ready to go public with this. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
“Actually, I have a few people coming over to my place.” She smiled to soften her rejection. “My parents, and Joan and Steve, and Beau’s stepsister and her family.” Sadie and James and Sadie’s sister, Charlotte, and their parents.
Crap.
He was watching her steadily. Not expectant, really, and that was what got to her. He didn’t expect her to invite him to join them.
“Why don’t you and Max come?” she asked. “There’ll be plenty of food and you know just about everyone who’ll be there.”
“That going to be a problem for you?”
“What?”
“Having so many people there that know us?”
She narrowed her eyes. What was he? A mind reader? “It won’t be a problem for me.”
But she wasn’t so sure.
“I’m not sure what Max and I will end up doing.”
She hoped he couldn’t tell how relieved she was, but then again, he seemed more observant than any man should be.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said, feeling sulky—sounding it, too. She brushed it aside; life was too short to be anything other than happy. “I had a good time.”
“Me, too.”
“And you don’t even sound shocked,” she teased.
“I’m not. Much.”
She raised her eyebrows. “A joke. Wow. A couple of beers and you turn into quite the charmer.”
“You okay to drive home?”
They’d both had alcohol but they’d switched to water well over an hour ago. They’d spent quite a bit of time lingering over their dinners. Not because the food was delicious—though it was pretty good—but because they’d been talking. Or she’d been doing most of the talking but he’d been listening.
She hadn’t realized how nice it was to have a man simply listen to her.
Oh, Beau had listened. But he’d also given his opinion, his advice on everything. Not that she wasn’t grateful for his input, but sometimes it was nice just to vent and to figure things out on your own.
“I’m fine,” she said. “That piece of cake you talked me into absorbed the last of the alcohol.”
“Didn’t take much talking.”
“That was a lucky break for all involved.” She liked when he teased her, that he was obviously growing more comfortable with her. She liked him. She wasn’t surprised she’d had a good time with him, but that she’d been able to spend so much time with another man and not constantly compare him to Beau —although there had been moments. But that was perfectly normal. It had to be.
She felt normal. Like a single woman enjoying an evening with a good-looking man. She just wished she didn’t feel so happy about that. So guilty.
Still, she wasn’t in any hurry for the night to end but short of asking him back to her house—not going to happen—she knew she’d have to say good-night any second now. “So much for your lone wolf status.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, after that dinner, I’d say we’re officially friends. I’m thinking of getting us matching ball caps.”
She’d meant it as a joke, as a way to keep things light between them. Maybe even a reminder, for both of them, that friendship was the best course of action for them. But Eddie’s mouth tightened. Under the harsh glare of the parking lot lights, he looked dark and foreboding. “We’re not friends.”
Disappointment settled heavily on her shoulders, weighed her down. She tried to ignore it. “No? Well, you’re missing out because I am a terrific friend. I never forget a birthday or anniversary. I keep in touch regularly, and am a really good listener. Oh, and I give excellent advice on all situations from parenting to elderly parents to your love life.”
“I can handle all those situations on my own.”
“Ah. I can see the headlines now—The Lone Wolf Returns.”
“You think I kissed you because I want to be your buddy?” he asked quietly and, if she wasn’t mistaken, amusedly.
She’d amused him. And he was scaring her to death, making her palms sweat, her fingers tingle. “I—”
“Because I already told you. I wanted to kiss you because you’re beautiful. And sexy.”
“You want to have sex with me?”
Her question, a high-pitched squawk, caught him by surprise. It caught her by surprise, as well. She usually said what was on her mind but at times, not having a filter made for some interesting—and humiliating—situations.
“I want to spend time with you,” he said in answer. “I enjoy being with you.”
“You sound shocked.”
“I didn’t think we’d have anything in common.”
“We went to school together, grew up, live and work in the same town, know most of the same people, are both raising kids on our own.... How much more in common do you need?”
A truck pulled into the lot. They waited while it parked, the driver and a passenger getting out and making their way to the bar’s door. After they were alone again, Eddie said, “We didn’t exactly run around in the same crowd in high school.”
“I was friends with everyone,” she pointed out. “It’s called being friendly.”
He was so close she could see the dark stubble on his face. “I don’t want to be a part of the crowd that you call friends. I’m attracted to you.”
But he didn’t touch her and she wished, oh, how she wished, he would. That he’d take the initiative with his actions as well as his words, words that he was so stingy with but that somehow warmed her heart anyway.
He wouldn’t make any move on her, she knew. Not after she’d already rejected him. If he did, she could claim that he’d taken the decision away from her. If he kissed the living daylights out of her, she could pretend she’d had no choice. That he’d taken away her ability to think, along with her ability to refuse him, with his kiss.
He was a man of actions, that much was certain. She was a woman of words. But she had no idea what to say to get him to do what she so desperately wanted.
She’d have to show him. Would have to make the first move.
Oh, God.
13
ANTICIPATION BUILT INSIDE Harper, mixed with a hefty dose of fear to make her knees weak even as her resolve strengthened.
Why deny yourself?
He’d asked her that a few hours ago but it seemed more appropriate now, even if the hunger she felt was for something much more enticing and dangerous than extra carbs.
She slowly laid her hands on his chest. He was solid. Warm. She wished he didn’t have on a jacket, that she could feel his heart under her hand to see if it beat as erratically as hers. But he didn’t pull away, didn’t reject her as she’d done to him. She’d take those as good signs.
She edged closer to him so that the front of their thighs touched. “Be patient with me,” she said on barely a sound as she rose onto her toes and slid her hands to his shoulders.
Holding his gaze, she brushed her mouth against his. His breath shuddered out, the shakiness of the action giving her courage. Confidence.
“Okay?” she asked.
He nodded, settled his hands on her hips. But he didn’t tug her close, didn’t close the distance between their mouths. This was entirely up to her, every move, every decision.
It was intoxicating, the power and freedom. It was also terrifying.
But she couldn’t stop now. Didn’t want to stop.
She kissed him again. And again. Soft kisses as she learned the shape and texture of his mouth. The stubble on his chin lightly scraped against her upper lip but that, too, was exciting. Different. Every time a thought entered her head, one reminding her she was standing in the middle of a parking lot where anyone could see her, that she was kissing the father of one of her students, that this man—this quiet, reserved man—was not her husband, she pushed it aside.
No, Eddie wasn’t Beau. She didn’t want him to be anyone other than who he was, and she wouldn’t disrespect either of them by thinking of her husband now.
She let her fingers drift into the thick hair curling at Eddie’s nape. Slowed down so that each kiss was longer, deeper. Unable to help herself, she swept her tongue against his mouth and he groaned, his fingers tightening on her hips.
Still, he didn’t take over, he let her set the pace. Let her give him as much as she was able without pushing her or asking for more.
She touched the tip of her tongue to his and, at the taste of him, was lost. Time seemed to stop until she had no idea how long they stood there, mouths clinging, bodies separated by mere inches. Slowly, faintly, sanity and reason returned. The sound of the Eagles’ “Take it Easy” reached her. Someone hailed a friend then laughed. Then it all muted again.