It didn’t work.
“Grr!” she growled, then punched the sofa pillow dead center. That felt good. She hit it again.
Even better.
She tossed the pillow on the sofa, turned to her side, and beat it with both fists until her hair was in her face and a small sheen of sweat formed on her forehead.
And yet, when she closed her eyes, there he was again, all laughing blue eyes and hands that seemed to know exactly where to go.
“Yagh!” she grunted, pushing herself up off the sofa. There was only one way she knew of to get it all out of her head. It was late and she was tired, but she was still going to have to do it, all because stupid Dermot Finnegan had chosen to come back into her stupid life and make everything stupid.
Big, stupid, redheaded jerk.
She grumbled all the way down the back hallway, grabbed her skates off the bench by the door, slamming the door behind her.
***
Finn’s feet were almost completely numb by the time he reached the shack. He’d refused Joe’s offer of a ride and didn’t rethink that choice until he was halfway there and realized the stupid dog was still following him. It would have been much easier to shake it if he’d been riding in Joe’s truck.
“You’re gonna have to find some other mark, dog,” Finn said, “because tomorrow I’m outta...”
He trailed off as some movement on the lake flashed in his peripheral vision. Thick clouds blocked most of the moonlight, and after watching for a few moments, he realized that even if there was something out there, he wouldn’t be able to see it. Still, the black ice held his attention. Just about every major turning point of his young life had happened out there—first swim, first kiss, first Winter Festival where he picked his first pocket—and being back after being gone for so long made its pull feel stronger, somehow.
And suddenly, with a clarity so sharp it cut, he realized something.
It wasn’t any better. The thing, the whatever inside him that had gone off-kilter... it wasn’t any better. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight any more than he had been able to sleep in the past year. He’d been sure that returning Tessa’s car would set him right, put him back to the guy he’d always been. He was happy being that guy. No strings. No commitments. No one depending on him, or expecting anything from him. The girls were good-looking and temporary, and the jobs were just jobs. No guilt, no complications.
Good times. Until he tried to steal a bird that ended up being more trouble than it was worth. Since then, everything had been wrong. The dreams began, and Tessa had starred in all of them. The locales varied, but the conversation never did.
You left, she’d say.
There are penguins in the park, he’d reply, despite the fact that he wanted to say, It was for your own good.
I had all my things packed, she’d say.
That’s a spicy meatball, he’d say, really meaning, You were gonna go to college.
I waited all night for you, she’d say. Just sat on my porch, waiting in the cold, until sunrise.
Five tomatoes for a dollar, he’d say, aching to tell her he was sorry, but unable to get the words out.
She’d watch him and sigh, then turn away, trailing one last comment behind her.
I loved that car.
And then she’d disappear.
Returning the car was supposed to have put an end to that crap, but standing there, staring at the lake, he knew the restlessness hadn’t gone anywhere. He could feel it like a stone in his gut.
“Five tomatoes for a dollar,” he muttered to himself. He was about to turn back toward the shack when the clouds parted, allowing some moonlight to spill out, and he saw her. She was on the other edge of the lake, near the road. He had to rub his eyes and take a few steps closer to the lake to be sure it was really her.
It was, and the moment he saw her, he realized he should have expected her. Whenever Tessa was upset, she headed for the lake, swimming in the summers and skating in the winters. When she skated, it was always the same routine, over and over, until she felt better. Forward, turn, backward, hop, twirl, forward, turn, backward...
She was mesmerizing. The moonlight played off her dark curls, and it looked as though the tiniest stars Finn had ever seen were dancing around her like... like...
Like nothing he’d seen before. He took a few more steps toward the ice. The dog whimpered a bit and scratched at the door. Finn ignored it, his eyes following Tessa as she glided over the ice, and for the first time ever, he fully felt the weight of his regret, ten years in the making and tied to the very spot where he stood, which—give or take a few feet—was where he was standing when he first realized he loved her, while watching her dance on the ice.
Forward, turn, backward, hop, twirl, forward, turn, backward...
She was beautiful. Graceful.
And she should have had more.
He’d been so stupid. He’d left her, given her up because he thought she could do better. Better than him, better than Lucy’s Lake. All he’d managed to do was double her loss. Boyfriend and mother gone on the same night. Tessa was supposed to go to college, get out of this town. She was supposed to backpack around Europe, write novels in San Francisco, paint in a Manhattan studio. Something cool. Something interesting. Something more than waiting tables in Max’s Diner and making up stories about a guy she should have forgotten the moment he left the town limits.
The dog whimpered and scratched at the door again. Finn glanced behind him at the shack, and when he turned to look at Tessa again, the clouds had once again obscured the moon, and she was barely visible. With some effort, he turned his back on Tessa and trudged quietly to the shack.
Chapter Seven
“Can I get you some more coffee?” Tessa asked, holding up the carafe and blinking her eyes. Skating on the lake the night before had turned out to be a bad idea after all. Although it had worked to calm her for the moment, she’d spent the night tossing and turning, dreaming about tomatoes. Weird.
“No thanks, Tessa,” Joe said, folding his newspaper in front of him. “You look like you could use some, though.”
Tessa gave a weak smile. She’d already had three cups, and it was only ten o’clock. She peeled Joe’s bill off her pad, scribbled “Fire Dept.” on it—Max never charged law enforcement or firefighters—and headed for the front, her eyes bleary and her shoulders tight with whatever was bothering her. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. With any luck, Finn was already gone, on his way back to where-ever he’d come from. So that shouldn’t be bothering her. And Izzy had promised to be on her best behavior, which meant no more crack pipe/biker boyfriend/unsavory tattoo jokes when Mary Ellen Neeley, the social worker assigned to their case, dropped in on one of her home visits.
And just last night while skating, Tessa had decided it was time to stop telling stories about Finn. She’d covered everything up well enough; it was time to let it all go and move on.
So all was well. All was fine. Life was good.
The front door opened, and a woman Tessa didn’t recognize walked in, pushing all other thoughts out of Tessa’s head. It wasn’t that they never had new people there—occasionally, someone’s uncle or cousin would visit from Wichita or Duluth. But this stranger looked as though she’d just stepped out of a Manhattan penthouse, and that was definitely unusual for Lucy’s Lake.
The woman looked to be somewhere in her fifties, pretty with fair skin and large blue eyes accented with light smile lines, which seemed only to make her prettier. Crisp, short blonde hair poked out from under an eccentric Annie Hall-style hat. As her ivory cashmere coat fell open, Tessa saw that the Annie Hall thing was a theme.
The woman smiled brightly and beelined for Max, who instinctively straightened and took a half step back upon seeing her.
“Oh, my,” she said, her face beaming as she held out her hand. “You must be Max. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
Tessa looked from Max to the woman, then back to Max, who seemed
a bit surprised himself, although with him it was sometimes hard to tell. He was rarely an easy read.
“Yeah,” he said warily, reaching for the woman’s hand and shaking it. “Can I help you?”
The woman released his hand and smiled even brighter. “I’m Babs Wiley McGregor. You can call me Babs.”
Max shifted a sideways look to Tessa. Tessa shrugged.
The woman was acting as though they should know who she was, but the name wasn’t ringing any bells for Tessa.
“Oh, Finn hasn’t told you about me, has he?” You-Can-Call-Me-Babs said.
Tessa’s mind raced. Who was this woman? Did Finn have a girlfriend? An older girlfriend? No, it couldn’t be. She wasn’t his type. Although, in ten years, his type could have changed.
But no—
Babs settled on one of the counter stools. “I’m his... well, employer. Of sorts. I guess. It’s slightly overcomplicated, but none of that really matters. Is he here? I need to speak to him.”
Employer. Of sorts. She guesses.
Tessa went from confused to panicked in 1.5 seconds flat.
“No, actually,” she said, hurrying around the counter to stand next to Babs. “Um. He’s not here. He left. He’s gone.” Tessa put her hand on Babs’s arm and pushed lightly. “Nice to meet you, though. Bye.”
“He left? Already?” Babs frowned, getting up from the stool but not moving any closer to the door. “That’s disappointing.”
“He left?”
Tessa spun around to find Joe standing right behind her, putting a few bucks on the counter and nudging them toward Max, who shook his head and nudged them back. “He’s gone?”
“Um,” Tessa said, looking from Joe to Max and back again. “Yeah. I think. Maybe. He said he was going to leave.”
Joe huffed in irritation. “I told him not to leave town.”
Tessa put her hand over her erratically pumping heart. “What the hell did you do that for?”
Joe sighed. “He might be a suspect in the fire at Vickie’s.”
“There was a fire?” Babs asked.
“Why?” Tessa said, her eyes on Joe. “He didn’t start that fire.”
Joe’s face tightened a bit, but before he could say anything in response, Max picked up Joe’s hand, slapped the bills into it, and closed Joe’s fist around them.
“And I don’t want to hear another goddamn word about it,” he said, then turned and slammed into the kitchen, leaving the door swinging furiously behind him. Tessa and Joe exchanged a look, and then she turned to Babs.
“Um,” she said, “sorry about that. He can be a little grumpy sometimes. But his heart is good.”
Babs raised one eyebrow at the swinging door. “That’s not all that’s good.” Babs used a napkin to fan herself, then turned a grin on Joe. “And you must be Finn’s brother.”
Surprise registered on Joe’s face. “He told you about me?”
“Little bit,” Babs said, “but I could tell because you’ve got the same mischievous sparkle in your eyes that Finn has.”
“I do?” Joe asked.
“He does?” Tessa said, throwing a glance back at Joe.
“You said Finn works for you?” Joe said. “I thought he worked alone.”
Babs scoffed. “Hardly. I get the clients, he just does the jobs. So, he really left, huh?”
“Um,” Tessa said. “Are you hungry? We have a killer lemon Danish ...”
“You said you drove here?” Joe said, settling on a stool next to Babs. “All the way here from Las Vegas? By yourself?”
Tessa’s stomach flipped in panic. Crappity crap crap shit.
“You know, she’s had a long drive; I’m sure she doesn’t want to be pelted with questions, Joe,” Tessa said, shooting him a warning look, then turning a smile on Babs. “How about some coffee? Nothing beats Max’s coffee. Cream? Sugar? Black?”
“Las Vegas?” Babs said, looking at Joe.
Tessa launched herself at Babs, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her toward the door.
“You know,” she rattled as she led Babs away, “I think I might know where Finn is why don’t you let me bring you to him Joe tell Max I had to run out okay I’ll be right back!”
She let the door shut behind them and took a breath of the chill air outside, hoping it would slow her panicked heart. When she regained her focus, Babs was smiling at her with glowing warmth.
“And you must be Tessa,” she said, patting Tessa’s hand. Tessa stopped moving and stared at Babs.
“Yes,” Tessa said. “I am. How did you know?”
Babs smiled. “You’re even prettier than I imagined. Although I knew you’d be pretty.”
Tessa stared at her. “What...? You mean...?” She paused, fought not to say what she was thinking, and lost. “Finn said I was pretty?”
Babs laughed. “No, he didn’t say a word about your looks. That’s how I knew you were really something special.” She moved down the cement steps into the parking lot. “There’s something you should know about men: The less they say, the more there is to say.”
“So... Finn ta-talked about me?” Tessa said, feeling a strange tightness in her throat.
“Of course,” Babs said, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. “You’re the whole reason for this little adventure, didn’t you know? Now, where’s that flower car? I’ve been just dying to see it. Is it really called a Thing? That’s so cute I could just do a tap number right here in the parking lot.”
“Um, it’s at my house, just about a block away,” Tessa said, pointing vaguely in the direction of her place. Babs smiled and hooked her arm in Tessa’s.
“So, you say you know where Finn might be?”
Tessa swallowed and forced a smile. “I can only think of one place.”
***
“I waited all night for you,” Tessa said, standing in her skates on the black ice, staring at him with her arms crossed over her fuzzy white sweater. “Just sat on my porch, waiting in the cold, until sunrise.”
Finn tried to move closer to her, but she skated lightly backward, nullifying any ground he gained.
I’m sorry, he thought.
“Five tomatoes for a dollar,” he said. knockknockknockknockknock
He blinked, glanced behind him. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” she said. knockknockknockknockknock
He looked at Tessa, who stared back at him, her arms laden with bags of produce.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with all these tomatoes?” she asked.
Then there was a sudden punch to his gut, and he bolted upright in the cot. Fur in his face, a yelp, sleeping bag to the floor, dog scrambling to its feet.
Finn sat there and stared at a spot on the floor as the events of the last twenty-four hours started to come back.
The car. The shack. Lucy’s Lake.
Fires. Joe. The dog. Max.
Tessa.
knockknockknockknockknock
And a visitor to boot. Who would come looking for him all the way out there? He glanced at his watch: ten o’clock in the morning.
“I’m telling you, dog, I don’t know where home is for you, but if you ever think about going back, take my advice: don’t.”
The dog stared at him, cocked its head sideways, and gave a small huff of a bark.
knockknockknockknockknock
“All right, all right,” he said, throwing his legs over the side of the cot and yanking his flannel shirt on over the jeans and T-shirt he’d slept in. He ran his hand through his hair and shuffled to the door, pulling it open to see a blonde girl staring up at him.
Christ.
“Okay,” he said. “One box of Thin Mints and two Samoas, but that’s all you’re squeezing out of me.”
“Finn?” she said, her voice tentative. She sounded just like Tessa, only younger and less pissed off. He squinted.
“Oh, man,” he said, amazed as he realized who he was looking at. “Izzy?”
She smiled. “Yeah. You remember
ed?”
“Yeah.” He laughed, trying to mesh his memory of the scabby-kneed kid he knew with the pretty young girl in front of him. “Wow. Look at you, all grown up.”
Izzy beamed. Man, if only it was as easy to make Tessa that happy... Well, there was one way he knew of, but the chances of Tessa letting him do that were very small indeed.
“I need to talk to you,” Izzy said, pushing herself into the room.
“Come on in,” Finn said, shutting the door behind her.
“Oh!” Izzy said, clapping her hands and bending over to pet the dog, which was wagging its tail and playing the cute angle to the hilt. “What a cutie! What’s his name?”
“It’s a him?” Finn asked. Izzy shot him a look over her shoulder. Finn shrugged. “I dunno. Not my dog.”
“Yes, it’s a him,” Izzy said, standing upright. She let her backpack drop to the ground, then looked around.
“Nice digs.”
Finn reached down and picked up the sleeping bag, tossing it onto the bed. “Thanks. I was going for rustic with a hint of squatter.”
Izzy surveyed Finn carefully, a light smile on her face.
“She said you were a wiseass.”
“Who? Tessa?”
Izzy shrugged. “Yeah. She doesn’t say much about you, but I remember her saying once that you were a Grade-A wiseass.”
“I prefer social commentator, but potato, po-tah-to,” Finn said. “Speaking of your lovely and mildly dangerous sister, does she know you’re here?”
Izzy remained silent, and Finn nodded, reaching for his pack. “Mind if I smoke?”
Izzy shook her head. “No. Can I have one?”
“No,” Finn said, pulling out his smokes and lighter.
She put on a slight pout. “Why not?”
“One, quitting’s a bitch, so don’t start. Two, your sister would hunt me down and kill me twice if she found out I even let you in here, let alone gave you a cigarette. So pardon my rudeness...”
He put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it. The dog gave a small huff. Finn pulled out a folding chair and set it down for Izzy. He sat on the edge of the cot, took a drag of his cigarette, and exhaled.
The Comeback Kiss Page 7