Act of Contrition

by Linda Rettstatt

  “You are, too.” Shelly stood. “We better get back down there before the guys start to alter the rest of the food with their idea of seasonings. Greg thinks he’s a fabulous chef, but his artistry begins and ends on the grill.”

  The spread of food in the kitchen presented options for every preference—shrimp, four-alarm chicken wings, Swedish meatballs, fresh veggies with dip, twice-baked potato puffs, and chocolate fondue with fruit and brownies, accented with an array of chips and other snacks.

  They sat in the comfortable living room, telling stories from their high school days, laughing while the two men trumped one another with sports memories.

  Shelly headed to the kitchen. “I need a refill on my wine. Anyone else?”

  “I’ll come with you,” Jenny said, rising from her chair.

  Once out of earshot of the men, Shelly met her eyes. “Does Patrick have some communicable disease I should know about?”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “You’re treating him like he’s contagious. If I’ve noticed, I’m sure he has, too. If he gets within four feet of you, you move. What’s up?”

  Jenny shook her head. “Nothing. You’re imagining things because you think Patrick and I should just roll back the hands of time and fall into one another’s arms.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that, but would it be such a bad thing?”

  Jenny refilled her wineglass and took a long sip. “I’m not ready. I don’t know that I’ll ever be ready for that kind of relationship again with Patrick. Or with anyone. And he’s got his own life and a child.”

  Shelly poured the last of the wine into her glass and extended the bottle to Jenny. “Okay, make a wish.”

  “You poured. It’s your wish.”

  Shelly grinned. “And I give it to you.”

  Feeling silly, but not wanting to argue, Jenny closed her eyes and blew into the empty bottle. She wished she could change the subject.

  Corking the bottle, Shelly smiled. “There. I hope your wish comes true. Now, what were we talking about? Oh, yeah. It would be much easier to be with Patrick than to start dating strangers all over again, don’t you think?”

  So much for her wish. Jenny snorted. “Now there’s a good reason for a relationship. It’s easy?”

  “Yeah, why not? Greg and I have an easy relationship. Not much drama.”

  “Because it’s not easy. Patrick and I have a history. We know too much about one another. It would actually be easier with a stranger who doesn’t know a damn thing about me.”

  Shelly stood beside her, leaning back against the counter. “There’s just one problem with that argument.”

  “What?”

  “A stranger isn’t already in love with you. Patrick is.”

  Jenny let a few beats go by. Her pulse sped up. She and Patrick would always love one another. She didn’t doubt that. But that didn’t mean their being together was a good idea. “I can’t help that. Now, can we change the subject?”

  “Sure. Let’s go play charades. Or…maybe we already are?” Shelly lifted an eyebrow, then turned and headed back to the living room.

  It was times like this Jenny thought that having a friend who knew you through and through was both an asset and a liability. “Shit.” She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, then returned to the gathering.

  After an agonizing hour of charades, Greg glanced at his watch. “Hey, it’s almost midnight. I’ll get the bubbly.”

  “Open it in the kitchen, please.” Shelly picked up the TV remote. “Let’s watch the countdown in Times Square.”

  A loud pop sounded from the kitchen where Greg opened the champagne at the sink, following Shelly’s instructions not to let it spray onto the carpet or furniture. He returned with four glasses, handed Patrick the bottle of sparkling juice, and set the tray on the table.

  The four of them stood in the middle of the living room, watching the countdown. “Five, four, three, two, one… Happy New Year!”

  Greg pulled Shelly against him and they kissed.

  Patrick stepped in front of Jenny. “Happy New Year.” He wrapped her in his arms, and kissed the top of her head. She returned the hug.

  “It’s going to be a better year, Jen. It has to be,” Patrick whispered in her ear.

  She looked up at him then kissed his cheek. “For you, too. Happy New Year.”

  Before she could pull back, though, he brushed his lips across hers in fleeting kiss. An invisible cord tightened in her, and she closed her eyes, leaning into him. His mouth covered hers, his taste sweet like the bubbly white grape juice he had drunk. When the kiss ended, she opened her eyes and was met by his smile.

  Greg lifted his glass: “Here’s to a New Year. May it bring us new opportunities, good memories, health, and happiness.”

  They clinked glasses. “Here, here.”

  Auld Lang Syne sounded from the TV while the crowd in Times Square cheered. Jenny offered a silent prayer of memory for her father, her grandparents, Matt, and Cooper.

  When they prepared to leave, Patrick tested the driveway with the toe of his shoe. “This is all ice. Jen, let me drive you home. I’ll bring you back for your car in the afternoon, when the sun has melted some of this.”

  She was anxious about the drive, but more anxious about being alone with Patrick. No telling what could happen—one touch, one wrong move. “I’ll go slow. It’s only a few miles.”

  “Fine, then I’m following you to make sure you get there okay.” He slid behind the wheel of the truck and the engine roared.

  Jenny eased the SUV out of the drive and headed into town. The wheels slipped and then grabbed, and she was grateful for the all-wheel drive on the Subaru. Patrick kept a safe distance behind and pulled up at the entrance to her driveway, waiting until she had parked and was safely inside the cottage.

  She thought about safety. Patrick had always made her feel safe, had protected her from the time they were children. They why did it feel so dangerous now to be near him?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Spring made a slow, but steady appearance in Maine, with temperatures in the fifties one day, and snow flurries the next. But by April, a warming trend seemed certain. Jenny and Patrick continued to dance around one another. Well, she danced around him. She was torn between her fear of getting too involved again, too fast, and a strong desire to slip into his arms and never let go. Tension thickened after she realized that part of the pull toward Patrick was lust. Pure lust. She just plain missed sex. She was like an elastic band stretched to the snapping point most of the time. As she surfaced from depression, feelings came back to life in full force. Along with her sex drive. And she didn’t know what to do with either of them.

  Her other reason for keeping distance from Patrick came in the form of the offer Ashley had made that Jenny could take charge of the newly established Los Angeles office of Harbor Lights Publishing. Something she had dreamed of and worked for all these years. And it seemed a reasonable way to start over.

  Shelly had been right about one thing, though. It was much easier to spend time with Patrick than to even think about dating strangers. Maybe it was possible for her and Patrick to be friends again.

  “Jenny!”

  The voice echoed through the pines and bounced against the living room window. Jenny drew back the curtain in search of the voice’s source. Patrick stood on the dock. A déjà vu moment occurred where Jenny felt thirteen years old again. She waved, then hurried to the front door and pulled it open. “Hey.”

  He tied off his boat and climbed the slope toward her. “I have to make a run over to the island. Thought you might like to join me.”

  “Oh. Uh…” She had nothing better to do. Here she was on her thirtieth birthday with no plans. If she didn’t bring up the subject, she could slide quietly into her thirties unnoticed. “Sure, Why not? It’s a nice day. I’ll get a jacket.”

  She shrugged into a fleece jacket and grabbed a knit cap. It would be much cooler on the water. Patrick
waited on the dock and took her hand to help her board the Steadfast. “Watch your step.”

  He cast off the ropes and tossed them onto the deck, then jumped aboard. “I have to check on the DiGregory place.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. It just sold, and the new owner isn’t sure she locked up after she left yesterday. She’s out of town and called me, so I told her I’d check it out.” The engine purred and Patrick steered away from the dock and into the bay.

  Warmth filled the enclosed cabin; Jenny unzipped her jacket. “You were at Grand Cayman last week. How’s Kari?”

  He smiled. “Great. It was hard to leave her, but I’m bringing her here week after next to stay.”

  “That’s wonderful. I hope you’ll bring her sometime for dinner. I make a great mac and cheese. Cooper used to love it.” She had become more comfortable talking about Cooper in recent weeks. “How’s your father?” she asked.

  “Not much change. I think he’s giving up.” His tone was somber.

  “Oh, Patrick. I’m sorry. He was so quiet when I last visited, but I thought he was tired. I’ll stop by for a visit with him tomorrow.”

  “He’d like that. If anyone can make him smile, you can.”

  She scanned his profile. “How have you been?”

  He nodded. “Okay. I’ve been going over the books. I don’t see a way to keep Dad’s charter business running much longer. Last season was rough. I’ve come to terms with the fact that Dad won’t be returning to the business. Jack wants to buy the boats. He has some big ideas about promoting to corporations for company charters. I told him Dad already tried that, but you know Jack, once he gets an idea in his head. Says we don’t use ‘current technology’ enough to promote the business.”

  Oh, she knew Jack and his ideas. He labeled her as being bad for Patrick when they were teenagers and took every opportunity to make it clear to her. But maybe he was onto something with the business. “You won’t take over the business?”

  He shook his head. “No . I have to get back to Grand Cayman eventually. Unless I sell out to my partner there.”

  “What would you do?”

  The boat rolled slightly in the choppy water, and Patrick steadied the wheel. “I’ve been accepted in a program to study photography, but the school is in California. I’ll have to change those plans, for sure.”

  “I hope you follow through somewhere. You’re very talented.”

  “Thanks.” He cut the engines and eased the boat alongside the wooden pier on Cooper’s Island. “Think you can get out of the boat without falling into the bay?”

  “Very funny.”

  Patrick jumped to the wooden pier, then turned and offered her a hand. She bypassed his offer and leaped, landing clumsily, but on both feet.

  He shook his head and grinned. “Proved your point. Come on, Miss Independence.”

  She hustled to keep up with him. “What is this, the Cooper’s Island 5k? You go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

  He stopped and turned. “Am I moving too fast for you?”

  She wasn’t so sure. They’d gone from keeping a cool distance between them to this awkward attempt at friendship. But any time they were alone together, that friendship was laced with desire. She caught up with him. “It’s just like when we were kids. One of your strides is equal to two of mine.”

  “I’ll slow down.” He slipped his hand around hers. “If I speed up again, just tug on my hand.”

  The warmth of his palm against hers sent heat radiating up her arm. Her pulse quickened. But she didn’t let go.

  Patrick took a left onto a gravel path, and she spun on her heel to follow. He stopped suddenly. “I always liked the way this house is situated.”

  She studied the cedar log home with a wrap-around deck that faced the bay. “This is beautiful. Why did the DiGregorys sell?”

  “They moved to Wisconsin.” He released her hand and took the steps two at a time. “This door’s locked. Let’s check the doors around the other side.”

  She rounded the deck and squinted into the shards of sunlight reflecting off the water.

  Patrick pulled on the sliding door and it gave way. “Well, this one was left open. Guess I should check inside before locking up.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll wait out here.” Jenny leaned her forearms on the weather-roughened wooden railing and gazed across the bay to where her small cottage sat hidden behind pine trees. A cool breeze brushed across her face and she closed her eyes, drawing in earthy scents.

  Patrick disappeared into the house then returned to the deck, stepping up behind her. “Remember that day we came over here with my dad? This place was just being built. We sat on a beam right about—” He grasped her shoulders and inched her to the right. “—here.” His chin resting on her shoulder and his stubbly cheek close to hers, he stretched an arm and pointed. “And there’s your house.”

  “I remember.” She breathed in the earthy, spicy scent of him.

  He crooked his arm, drawing her closer. “And then I did this.” He tilted her face to his and brushed his lips across hers.

  An electric current snaked down her throat and exploded low in her belly, setting off a chain reaction of activity. “I remember that, too,” she murmured.

  He gazed into her eyes, tracing along her cheek with a fingertip. “Happy Birthday, Jenny.”

  “You remembered.” Desire for him charged every nerve ending. She needed to break the tension. “I’d like to forget.”

  He grinned. “Not a chance. Come with me.” He took her hand and pulled her along, into the house.

  A red and white checkered tablecloth lay on the floor in front of the fireplace. A newly built fire had begun to catch, and damp wood crackled and sparked. Two places were set with white dinner plates and crystal wineglasses.

  She blinked. “What’s all this?”

  “It’s your birthday dinner. An indoor picnic. I slaved over the microwave to heat take-out from the diner, so I hope you enjoy it.”

  She pressed fingertips to her lips, touched by his effort. “But when did you do this?”

  “I brought the food over before I picked you up.”

  Her heart did a flip-flop. “Oh.”

  He arched a brow. “That’s all you can say? I’ve rendered Jenny O’Connell speechless?”

  Nodding, she said, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  Patrick led her to the space in front of the fire. “Sit. Let me take your jacket.” He tossed their outerwear onto the sofa and pulled a green bottle from a bucket of ice. Settling a white cloth napkin over his forearm, he feigned a French accent. “May I recommend zee sparkling white grape juice?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She held up her glass.

  “Perhaps I should have gotten wine for you.” He unscrewed the cap and a puff of vapor escaped.

  “This is fine. It’s nice.” The liquid had the color and bubble of champagne. She used to buy a bottle just like this for special occasions so Cooper could join her and Matt in a holiday toast. As quickly as the memory came, she tucked it away.

  Patrick plopped down beside her and filled his glass before clinking it against hers. “Happy Birthday. I hope this year brings you the peace you seek and the love you deserve.”

  “Thank you. I’d pretty much decided to forego any celebration this year.”

  “Why? Thirty isn’t so bad.” He grinned. “Look at me.”

  And she did. She looked into his eyes and saw the kind, funny, strong, sensitive, intelligent boy she’d fallen in love with so many years earlier. And, studying him now, she saw the man he’d become. “No, it isn’t bad at all.”

  Time seemed to stop for a second before he lowered his glass. “We should eat while the food is hot.” He rose and strode to the kitchen, then returned with Styrofoam containers. “I had Shelly make something special—chicken piccata with wild rice and asparagus.”

  “Mmm, that smells so good. It’s one of my favorite meals.”

  “I know.�
� He lifted her plate and filled it. “Enjoy, but save room for dessert.”

  The fire crackled as they devoured the dinner and emptied the bottle of sparkling juice. “I should’ve gotten wine for you. It doesn’t bother me if others drink,” Patrick said as he poured the last of the juice into her glass.

  “This is fine. I like the taste, and it won’t give me a headache.” She swirled the pale amber liquid. She stared at him until his eyes lifted to meet hers. “I’m proud of you, of the way you’ve taken charge of your life again. And I very much appreciate your thoughtfulness, arranging all of this.” She rose up onto her knees, leaned forward and kissed him.

  His thumb caressed the nape of her neck, pulling her closer while his tongue teased along her lower lip. She parted her lips and allowed her tongue to dance with his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him up to his knees, so the full length of their bodies touched from chest to thigh. Her breasts tingled at the press of his warm body, and his arousal was soon evident to her.

  “Patrick, it’s okay.”

  His response came in the form of a deeper kiss, while his hands slid under her sweater. He searched for the clasp of her bra. Once she was free of the barrier, his thumbs traced over the tender peaks of her nipples, and she moaned with desire, arching against him.

  Breaking contact, Jenny curled her fingers around the bottom of her bulky cable-knit sweater and pulled it over her head, dropped the loosened bra from her shoulders. Patrick lowered his mouth to her breasts, taking time to taste each swell.

  She lifted his shirt and unfastened the metal button on his waistband to work the zipper of his jeans down, cupping the hardness at his crotch.

  “Oh, God, Jenny. I want you so much.”

  “I want you, too.” She slid her hand beneath the elastic band of his boxers and closed her fingers around his hot erection. Her lips trailed from his jaw down across his chest.

  She leaned forward, forcing him to lie back. She took hold of his jeans and tugged. He assisted with their removal, dragging his boxers along with the denim. Then she freed herself from the remainder of her clothing.