by Lori Wilde
“I wore a condom.” He clenched his jaw and dropped down on the leather love seat. “It’s not that.”
“You want a beer?”
“Please.”
Ridley retrieved the beer, popped the top, and pressed it into Tuck’s hand, but after one swallow, Tuck didn’t want it. His brother-in-law perched on the hearth, where he sat and just waited.
Tuck started talking. He told him everything. The kissing, the dancing, the watching of When Harry Met Sally, the downing of Baileys Irish Cream. The great sex. The really great sex that came after the sex. And the terrible sex where he got up in the middle of things and ran away.
“Wow,” Ridley said after he’d finished. “You really screwed up.”
“Tell me about it. Thing is, this morning, she wanted to forget all about it. Didn’t even want to discuss it.”
“Can you blame her?”
Misery crawled through him. He pulled a palm down his face. “What should I do?”
If anyone could help him think of a way through this sticky mess, it was Ridley. His brother-in-law could handle temperamental Evie when no one else on the planet seemed to be able to manage that trick. Tuck valued his opinion and his advice.
“Nothing,” Ridley said sagely.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“But I can’t stop thinking about her, and I have to live with her, and how can I wake up every morning and see her and go to bed every night in a separate room and not touch her and …”
“Take a deep breath,” Ridley advised.
“You, you’re the one who caused all this. You put me in your sweat box—”
“Sweat lodge,” he interrupted to correct Tuck.
“And you made me have this vision quest I wasn’t even interested in having.”
“You needed it.”
“I have this pervy sex dream about her and then I meet her in the flesh. It’s spooky. It’s weird. The hairs on my arms go up every time I think about it. Then you tell me she’s a jinx and to stay away from her. Then you come back and tell me you were wrong and that she’s good for me, and and so I started thinking, maybe, maybe …” Tuck was getting light-headed from not pausing to breathe.
“Hey.” Ridley shrugged. “I’m as fallible as the next guy.”
“You could have told me that before I took your advice. Now she’s looking at me as if I’m a leper, and I’ve ruined our friendship to boot.”
Ridley got up, came across the room, and clamped a hand on Tuck’s shoulder. “You, my friend, have a lot to learn about the fairer sex. I can’t believe you were married for three years and never figured this stuff out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jillian’s probably feeling exactly the same way you are. Worse maybe. You did get up and leave her in the middle of sex. What’s she supposed to think? She’s gotta be thinking she repulsed you somehow. So to save face this morning, she comes up with this let’s-forget-all-about-it plan.”
“You really think so?”
“Sure I do and—hey, are those hickeys?”
Tuck slapped a hand over his neck. “None of your business,” he mumbled, remembering exactly when Jillian had stamped him with her love bites.
Ridley cocked his head and pretended to pout, but his eyes were twinkling with laughter. “Evie’s never given me hickeys.”
“Stop feeling jealous. If you want hickeys, ask her for hickeys.”
“She says they’re trashy.”
“Then tell her to give you a hickey where no one can see it.”
“Good idea.”
“Could we get back to the issue at hand? What am I supposed to do about living with Jillian?”
Ridley pursed his lips and placed his hands on his hips. “Move out, I guess.”
His brother-in-law said the words Tuck needed to hear. He knew he needed to hear them, but he still wished Ridley hadn’t said it.
“You know, I’ve never seen you this affected by a woman since Aimee.”
“I never …” Tuck paused, unable to believe what he was about to say. “I was torn in two when I lost Aimee. It was like I had my heart ripped out of my chest, but, Rid, when we were dating, I never felt this kind of torment. What Aimee and I had was quiet and calm and tender. This thing with Jillian—”
All teasing humor was gone in his brother-in-law’s eyes. “Is true passion. That’s why you walked out on her in the middle of sex—she scared the crap out of you.”
A chill went straight through his bones. He didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to feel it. He refused to betray Aimee’s memory and what they’d shared.
“You were pretty young when you and Aimee got married,” Ridley said.
“I loved her.”
“I’m not saying you didn’t love Aimee. I’m just saying there’s more than one kind of love.”
“I’m not in love with Jillian,” Tuck insisted, but even as he said, it he felt something treacherous tighten his chest.
Ridley started humming 10cc’s “I’m Not in Love.”
“Knock it off.” Tuck scowled.
He was not in love. He couldn’t be in love. Aimee had been his soul mate. They’d both known it. You only get one soul mate. Right?
Ridley kept humming.
“I’m not in love,” Tuck growled.
He wondered if Jillian believed in soul mates. She’d told him she didn’t believe in magic, but what they’d shared last night—until he’d screwed things up—had been pretty damn magical, indeed.
And if he admitted it (which he didn’t), then he’d have to confess (which he couldn’t) that the sexual magic between them was stronger than what he’d shared with Aimee.
Tuck shoved the thought away. Jillian was just older, more experienced than Aimee had been. She knew tricks his sweet little bride had never dreamed of; that didn’t mean anything except sex with Jillian had been great. No, beyond great. It had been … well … magical.
Jillian probably didn’t think so. She’d been quick to deny it this morning. But what if Ridley was right? What if Jillian had just said those things to save face?
“Tuck?”
“Huh?”
“You might want to set that beer bottle down before you bust it in your hand,” Ridley advised.
Tuck blinked at his brother-in-law. He’d zoned out, his mind caught in the past, worrying the dilemma. He’d forgotten he was at Ridley and Evie’s house. He looked down and saw his hand was wrapped around the longneck Michelob bottle so tightly his knuckles had blanched white. He forced himself to relax his grip and settle the bottle onto a coaster resting on the end table.
“You need to tell her.”
“Who?”
“Jillian.”
“Tell her what?”
“How you really feel.”
“I don’t know how I feel.”
“You do. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“I’m glad you’re so all wise and all-knowing, Rid. Wanna tell me what I’m thinking right now?”
“You’re thinking I should go screw myself.”
“See, you are all-knowing.”
Ridley shook a finger at him. “She got to you.”
“I like her, sure. I’m not denying that. We’re friends. Or we were. Now I don’t know what we are.” Longing mixed with despair, then did the tango with an odd combo of hope and resignation.
“Friendship’s a great way to start a relationship.”
“We didn’t start out as friends. We started out as two people forced to share a space.”
“No one forced you. You could have left the lake house at any time. You could have moved in with me and Evie. You had options. But you didn’t choose to exercise them. There’s a reason you didn’t leave. Why?”
“I don’t know, but whatever the reason, I can’t stay there now.”
“Granted. Not with the way you left things.”
“We can’t go back to being friends,” he mused. �
�No matter how much we both might want to pretend this never happened. Harry was right.”
“Harry? Who’s Harry.”
“When Harry Met Sally.”
“Oh right, I agree with Harry. You can’t stay there and go back to the way things were. So make a move. Either take it a step further and embrace the sex, or forget the friendship and give up the lake house. The deed has never shown up anyway. Just let it all go.”
“It means letting go of Aimee,” Tuck whispered.
Ridley’s eyes were kind. “I know.”
Leave or stay? Did he want to embrace the sex? Yes. He wanted it a lot. Jillian had reconnected Tuck with the part of himself that had stopped living the day Aimee had died, but was he really ready for such a huge step? On the other hand, was he ready to walk away from Salvation? Say good-bye to his memories? Was he ready to let Aimee go?
“Whichever one you choose, just quit ruminating about it. You’re driving me nutty. We’re sitting here after a break in the blizzard gabbing like girls when we should be outside getting stuff done while the sun’s shining. Pathetic.”
Just then the phone rang.
“Good to see we still have communication with the outside world,” Ridley said, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
Tuck took a swallow of the beer he didn’t want.
“It’s for you.” Ridley handed the phone to him.
“Jillian?” he asked stupidly, nonsensically. There was no reason for her to call him here.
“Steve.”
“Steve?”
Ridley handed him the phone. Tuck put it to his ear.
“Yo, my man,” Steve said. “I finally got through. We’ve been trying to call you guys for days. Rang your house first, got no answer, thought you might be here.”
“Blizzard just broke, cabin fever,” Tuck explained.
“Everyone good?”
“We made it through all right.”
“Good. Listen, I’ve got some great news for you about that music box.”
“Yeah?”
“I showed it to my friend, but it wasn’t something he handled, so he passed it off to a dealer who specializes in handmade curios. She displayed it in her shop. Customers went nuts over the box. I knew they would. Anyway, she received offers upward of twelve hundred dollars.”
Tuck was stunned. “For a music box?”
“There’s no substitute for craftsmanship. The dealer said it was like everyone who picked it up fell under its spell. Get this, she took orders.”
“On my behalf?” Tuck didn’t know if he liked that or not.
“For customized boxes.”
“Before asking my permission?”
“Don’t get mad. She got thirty-five special orders at twelve hundred dollars a piece. She hasn’t taken any money. She told them she didn’t know if the artist could deliver that quickly, so you’re not obligated. I’m telling you, that music box is bewitched. The Magic Man rides again.”
“Huh?” Tuck couldn’t believe it.
“Listen, here’s the best part. Stella Bagby—that’s the dealer’s name—is going overseas for the winter. She’s willing to let you stay in her place in Midtown while you make the boxes and she’s scouting out wholesale deals for the wood to maximize your profits.”
“You want me to come back to Manhattan?”
“Just for the winter. Just until you get this new business established.”
“You’ve put in a lot of effort on my behalf.”
“Hey, you gave me a job when I sorely needed one. Plus, Desiree and the kids would love to have you so close. We miss you. Ridley and Evie have had you long enough.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Just let me know soon. Stella wants to sublet if you’re not interested, and she leaves for Europe next week.”
“That’s not much time.”
“The stars are aligned; it’s time to make a move.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Steve.”
“Don’t mention it. Either way, you’re coming up for Christmas with Evie and Ridley, right?”
“Right.”
“You bringing Jillian?”
“No.”
“Ah, that’s a shame. Des and I really liked her.”
Me too. “Listen,” he said. “I gotta go. Lots of postblizzard things to do.”
“Don’t leave me hanging too long.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Bye.” Steve hung up.
“Crossroads,” Ridley said as Tuck handed the phone back to him.
“Yeah.” He felt stunned, overwhelmed. One minute he was talking to Ridley about moving out and just giving Jillian the lake house, and then suddenly there was this opportunity to move back to Manhattan and start his old life all over again.
“Inevitable and necessary,” Ridley said cryptically.
“Huh?”
“It’s part of the vision quest.”
“What is?”
“The crossroads. Which way are you going to go? Who are you going to be? The decision is now, my friend.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Doesn’t matter. The universe is ready for you to commit. One path or the other. New York or Salvation. Hold on to the past or embrace the future. The choice is yours.”
Tuck sank down in the kitchen chair, his head spinning.
Just as quickly as he’d turn cosmic, Ridley was back to his practical, laid-back self. He walked to the coat rack, took down his parka, and shrugged into it. “I’m going out to chop firewood. You coming or are you getting your period?”
“Asshole.” Tuck grinned.
Ridley cheerfully flipped him the bird and headed out the back door.
Tuck realized that he had firewood of his own that needed chopping. He trooped out the back door behind Ridley and snapped his skis back on, his thoughts on Jillian. He had an option now. A place to go if he left Salvation. But what was he going to do about his feelings for Jillian?
She was so different from Aimee. The two women were night and day and not just in their appearance.
Aimee had loved cooking and sewing and housekeeping. A homebody. An earth mother. She didn’t have strong opinions except in regard to her father and his infidelity that had wrecked their family, and she rarely offered her advice or input. Decision making put her in a dither.
It used to drive him crazy when he’d ask her where she wanted to go for dinner and she’d shrug and say, “Wherever you want to go.” It was as if she was defined only by him and his work. When they were married, he’d thought it was great. Thinking back, it felt one-sided. He’d been in charge of their marriage, and Aimee had been along for the ride. Look up agreeable in the dictionary and the description fit Aimee to a T.
Jillian had no interest in domestic chores. She did what had to be done in the housekeeping realm, but that was it. She had a dazzling, brilliant mind, and she wasn’t afraid to use it. She had so many opinions she could open an Opinions R’ Us franchise. Jillian would never allow herself to be defined by any man, and he admired the hell out of her for having her own life, her own will. If he was told to pick one word to describe her, he couldn’t do it, although gumption would be on the list, along with strong, argumentative, bold, and sexy.
Aimee had never ruffled his feathers. Jillian stimulated him in a hundred different ways. Some good, some irritating, none of them boring.
But was he ready for anything more than friendship and sex? Could he really put his heart on the line again? He was terrified that he could not.
And that was the deal. Jillian deserved someone who could give her his full love. Without reservation or hesitation. The fact he was hesitating said it all.
It was time to let go and walk away.
Manhattan was calling.
Chapter Twenty-one
Two days after the town dug out from the storm, Jillian came in the back door from work, set her briefcase on the kitchen table, and doffed her knit cap and gloves. “Hey, Tuck,” she called out.
“You’ll never guess what happened today …”
Her words trailed off as she caught sight of him standing in the doorway, two big leather suitcases gripped in his hands.
“Tuck?” she asked tentatively. At the same time, it felt as if someone had smacked her in the back of the head with a two-by-four. “What’s up?”
But she didn’t have to ask. The look on his face, the set to his shoulders, she just knew.
“I’m moving out, Jillian.” He set down the suitcases.
“Oh,” she whispered, and felt something inside of her slide sideways. Things had been odd between them the past few days, but she’d put that down to the awkwardness of what had happened during the snowstorm. They still hadn’t talked about it. She thought at some point they’d discuss it, define the new direction of their relationship. She’d been stepping back, giving him time. But clearly, there would be no talking. Tuck was moving out.
Her first impulse was to plead with him not to go, to ask what she’d done wrong, to promise to change. But, of course, she did not do any of those things. She was the Ice Queen, the bulldog, the tough competent lawyer who never showed her tender side. She didn’t whimper. She didn’t beg. She wouldn’t change simply to please a man.
Jillian pressed her lips together and took the hit. “I see.”
They stared at each other.
“Where are you going?” she finally asked, her chest tightening. She was having trouble catching her breath.
“I have a place to stay in Manhattan.”
“Manhattan?” She tried to keep her voice controlled. Not only was he moving out, but he was also moving away. She wouldn’t see him again.
“You were right all along.”
She moistened her lips with her tongue. Her throat felt parched. “I was?”
“I’ve been hiding out. It’s time to start living again. I have a job making music boxes like the one I made for Evie.”
“Oh,” she repeated, and then said inanely, “It is a beautiful music box.”
He shifted, his gaze never leaving her face, but he said nothing.
“Um, what about the lake house?”
“The deed’s never going to turn up. Obviously Sutter lost it. Besides, Blake wanted you to have the house. I was being stubborn insisting on staying here. I realize that now. The place is yours, Jillian.” His eyes clouded. “I … I want you to have it.”