by Beth Andrews
She swallowed hard. “Do people really eat after their pets?” She used the spoon to scoop out more peanut butter. Ate it, though she wasn’t sure she could get it past the tightness in her throat. “That doesn’t seem very hygienic.”
“You’re like a teenage boy,” he grumbled.
She choked back a surprised laugh. “Not sure that’s an accurate assessment, but seeing as how it’s so late, I won’t hold it against you. What are you doing up? Couldn’t sleep?”
He grunted.
“Do you happen to have a pocket translator I could borrow?” she asked. “I don’t speak caveman.”
“I heard footsteps.”
Instantly contrite, she sat up straight. “I’m sorry. Elvis and I thought we were being very stealthlike.”
“You probably were, but Zoe hears every sound. She woke me, I heard you moving around and here I am. What’s your excuse?”
She wished she knew. For weeks...months...she’d been restless. On edge.
Unhappy.
No, she corrected quickly, not unhappy. More like...dissatisfied. Unsure of what she should do next, where she should go. Sometimes she was even unsure of who she was anymore. Who she wanted to be.
“Elvis and I just wanted a snack.”
“How can you be hungry? My mom had enough food at the party for two hundred people.”
“I didn’t get a chance to eat much.”
“That’s because you didn’t stop talking long enough to take a breath, let alone eat.”
“I’m sociable and people want to chat with me. It’s a burden. Hey,” she said, remembering her earlier promise to the dog, “want to order a pizza?”
“Where are you going to find a pizza parlor open at two forty-five in the morning?”
Good question. Panoli’s, her favorite pizza place in Shady Grove, was probably long closed. “We could drive into Pitts—”
“Sadie.” His voice was soft, his gaze patient. “What’s wrong?”
His kindness undid her. “I screwed up,” she admitted, injecting a lightness she didn’t feel into her tone. “Nothing new there.”
Nothing new except that this time—for the first time—screwing up, failing so spectacularly, bothered her. It had been weeks, and she still hadn’t been able to shake off the sense of malaise, of disappointment in herself.
She shook her head. Tried to smile. “Hey, I have something for you,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
She hurried up the stairs and into the room on the left, dug through her suitcase until she found the brightly wrapped package. When she returned downstairs, he was on the couch, his legs straight, his head resting against the back.
“Happy birthday,” she said, holding the present out.
Looking from her to the gift and back again, he sat up.
But he didn’t take it.
For some stupid reason, nerves settled in her stomach. “I hope you don’t mind that it’s technically late—though I’d like to point out only by a few hours.”
Finally, he took the present. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Of course I did. It’s your birthday. Besides, I’m hoping this’ll make up for not getting you anything the past few years.”
He stared at the package in his hands. “I don’t expect anything from you, Sadie.”
He didn’t. Never had. She appreciated it. Counted on it. “I know, but I saw this and I had to get it for you.”
James was so thoughtful, always sending her flowers or her favorite chocolates on her birthday while the most she usually did was give him a call. It wasn’t as if she didn’t think about him—she did. Often.
“Besides,” she continued, “this isn’t the first gift I’ve given you. Two years ago I sent you that subscription to National Geographic.”
“It was four years ago. And you sent it a month late.”
“I did?”
Not seeming upset about it, he nodded and unwrapped the present. His smile bloomed, slow and warm. “This is great.”
Relieved, she sat next to him. “You like it?”
“Are you kidding?” He opened the first-edition copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, his long fingers smoothing the aged pages. “I love it.” Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, he gave her a quick hug. “Thank you.”
She had to force herself not to lean into him for longer than necessary, but he felt so good, so solid and warm and strong. Steady. She may not want steadiness in her life too often, but it might be a nice change of pace now and again.
Brushing her hair over her shoulder, she eased away and swung her legs up so she sat cross-legged. “I’m glad you like it.”
Silence surrounded them, the quiet hush of night, the only sound their breathing, the dogs’ nails clicking as they walked across the floor. It was peaceful. She’d never craved peace before, had always preferred the exhilaration of the next adventure, the surprise of jumping off that cliff, seeing how far she could fly before having her wings clipped.
But this, being with James in his overly drab house, was nice.
It was also dangerous. Sitting so close to him, wearing nothing more than a pair of cotton shorts and a T-shirt. He shifted, his knee brushing her bare thigh. He stiffened at the contact, but didn’t pull away. His gaze flicked to her chest before jerking up to her face again.
Her breasts grew heavy. Her heart pounded in her ears.
Dangerous. Exciting.
Two of her very favorite things.
Afraid he’d go to bed, that he’d leave her, she blurted, “So, what’s been going on with you? How’s work?”
“You know me,” he said, setting the book on the coffee table. “Same old, same old.”
“That’s good. I mean, that is how you like things. No surprises. No...bumps in the road.”
“That what happened in New Orleans? You hit one of those bumps?”
He knew her well. Too well.
She almost didn’t answer. She was feeling too vulnerable now. But this was James. He’d never take advantage of her weak state. And she was still strong enough not to give too much of herself away.
“Actually, things were going great in New Orleans. Really, really great.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t say I hit a bump. More like the bottom dropped out. I wasn’t able to make enough tending bar and Doug—”
“Who’s Doug?”
“My boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.”
“What happened to Tim?”
“We split up a year ago.” He’d dumped her for not being adventurous enough in bed to agree to bring in a second woman. As if she’d subject another woman to Tim’s clumsy hands and short...stamina. “Doug worked on an oil rig, but that was only until he got his big break.”
“Don’t tell me,” James said blandly. “Doug is a musician.”
“Artist.” Though he’d had that whole rock-star vibe to him. Long hair, scruffy facial hair, a penchant for wearing ripped jeans and his battered leather jacket. And then there was his Harley. Man, don’t get her started on that—talk about sex on a stick. Doug was perfect for her.
Until he’d found another muse.
Oh, well. Easy come, easy go.
“Anyway, Doug and I split a few months ago, and since the whole organic beauty products weren’t working out, I decided to come home.”
Had wanted to come home. To be home.
“That’s it?” he asked, studying her in that way she hated, as if seeing through all her bullshit, right to her soul. A girl had to have some secrets, didn’t she? “There aren’t any warrants out for your arrest? No ex-boyfriends you owe money to?”
“Of course not,” she said primly. “You know I don’t borrow money.”
&nb
sp; It was a line, one of few that she refused to cross. Fail or succeed, she did it on her own.
He linked his hands together behind his head, causing the muscles in his arms to bulge and flex. “What are your plans?”
“I don’t know.” She didn’t do plans. It’d never been a problem before. If something didn’t work out, she moved on to the next venture. If she got bored, she packed up and heeded whatever new idea called to her.
Except the idea fairy must not be able to get through because she was blank. She had no clue what she wanted, where she should go. It didn’t help that her choices were limited, thanks to her bank account being depleted, her two credit cards being maxed out and her wallet holding exactly sixty-three dollars and forty-seven cents.
“I guess I’ll stick around here for a while,” she said. “Get a job or two, save up until I have enough to start over. Phoebe—you remember me telling you about my friend Phoebe? From Austin?” He nodded. “She and her partner moved to Napa and have a vineyard. She said I was welcome there anytime.”
“Head West, young woman?”
“Maybe.” Though the idea of being on the other side of the country from her family and friends gave her a twinge of panic. “Not that I know anything about working in a vineyard.”
“When has that ever stopped you?” He took her hands in his. “So you didn’t set the world of organic beauty products on fire. You’ll find your niche.”
She snorted. “I barely made a spark.” Hadn’t made her mark yet. Was starting to wonder if she ever would.
“Doesn’t matter. Listen to me, you’re one of the most capable, smartest people I know. You’re able to adapt to any situation, find the good in just about everyone and you’re fearless. You took off when you were barely eighteen and you’ve made your way across the country and back again on your own. You’re not afraid to take chances.” His thumb brushed the back of her hand, shooting sparks of awareness up her arm. “I admire that.”
She glanced down at their hands, his large and tan and work-worn, hers pale and soft in comparison. “You do?”
His lips curved. “I do.”
Her entire body warmed. She exhaled, felt as if it was the first time she’d been able to breathe freely in weeks. Months. Because of James. He believed in her. He saw more in her than she even saw in herself.
And when her wings failed and she fell to the ground, he was her soft place to land.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE WAS HIS own personal addiction, one who tormented him, kept him awake, made him crazy. One he couldn’t overcome, no matter how hard he tried.
And she didn’t even know it.
James slid his hands away from Sadie’s, pretended to look at the book she’d given him as an excuse to put a few more inches of space between them.
Space he desperately needed.
He never should have come out of his room. He’d just dozed off when Zoe’s whining had woken him up, and he’d heard Sadie moving around out here. But he should have left her alone. Should have turned and walked back to his room when he’d seen her curled up on his couch, her toned legs bare in a pair of pink shorts. She was braless, her small breasts round and enticing under the thin material of her shirt, her nipples pressing against the fabric.
Sweat broke out along his lower back. He curled his fingers into his palms. “What kind of job are you looking for?” he asked, his voice rougher than he’d intended.
“You know me, I’m not picky.” She lifted a hand to her hair and twisted a long strip of it around her finger. It was a nervous habit, one she’d had since they were kids.
It was about the only thing about her hair that never changed. The last time she’d been home it’d been chin-length and platinum blond. Now it poufed around her face, thick and wavy and back, mostly, to her natural dark blond.
That was how he liked her best.
Not that he’d tell her. He feared she’d notice that he paid too much attention to her, took note of the changes in her.
That she’d see what he desperately needed to keep hidden.
“What about your mom’s store?” he asked. Irene had a high-end clothing boutique downtown.
Sadie let go of her hair, tucked it behind her ear. “Maybe,” she hedged. Her relationship with her mother, he knew, was complicated. “Or maybe you could ask around? See if anyone has any openings?”
No. Hell, no. He didn’t want to find her a job. Didn’t want to continue being her crutch. He also didn’t want to recommend her for a position knowing she’d only come home because she felt she had no other choice. And that after a few weeks or a month of licking her wounds and regrouping, she’d take off again, filled with big plans, a boatload of sunny thoughts and fantastical optimism about her next grand adventure. Leaving whoever hired her in a bind.
Leaving James to wonder what he had to do in order to make her stay.
“You don’t have to,” she added quickly, reading his silence correctly. “I know how busy you are. I’m sure I’ll find something on my own.”
She would. He had been honest when he’d told her she was capable. Bright. Quick to pick things up and eager to learn. She was also hard to say no to.
As he damn well knew.
“I’ll ask around,” he heard himself say. Some habits were impossible to break. “See what I can do.”
She grinned, and his heart tripped, threatened to skip happily out his chest.
Christ, but he was a putz.
“Thanks, Jamie,” she said. “It means a lot to me that I can always count on you.”
Right. She could always count on him to come to her rescue. To be there for her, no matter how long she’d been away, no matter what mess she’d gotten herself into.
He would fix it for her.
Because they were friends. Because he was, by his own admission, a nice guy.
He would be there for her even though playing knight in shining armor no longer held much appeal. Even though part of him, a large, loud part, screamed at him to let her figure this out on her own. But he couldn’t. She needed help. Needed someone to fix her latest problem. She needed him.
That used to be enough. Now he wanted more.
Elvis crossed over to them, sat next to the coffee table and laid his head on Sadie’s lap.
Another Sadie Nixon conquest.
“What are your plans for him?” James asked.
She stroked Elvis’s head. “I’m not sure. He doesn’t have a collar or tags so I thought the first step would be to look in the paper and call the local animal shelters to see if anyone’s reported him missing.”
“If they didn’t?”
“I’ll worry about that when—if—it happens.”
That was such a Sadie way of doing things, putting things off, never looking ahead or planning for the future. “You’re not keeping him.”
Sadie didn’t keep things. She collected them—friends, strays, strangers. She loved having people around her. She gave them her time and attention and affection and then set them free.
No, she left. Set herself free so she could follow her next impulse, which, since they’d graduated high school fifteen years ago, included several stints in New York—and a memorable part in an off-Broadway production—and various jobs in at least a dozen cities around the United States.
“I’ll make sure Elvis is healthy—and not missed by some family. If he’s a true stray,” she said, “we’ll find a good home for him.”
We. James shut his eyes. That was right. He’d already agreed to help her find the dog’s owners. How the hell did he get roped into these things?
He knew how. She was used to getting her way. Not that many people argued with her. Hard to disagree with someone who looked like a pixie, was as bright as the morning sun and as cheerful as a singing elf.
/>
Tonight was the first time he remembered her not constantly smiling. Usually she let life’s worries and problems roll off her back—whereas he took on those worries, carried those problems until he could find solutions.
But tonight she’d been different. More subdued. Almost cautious.
He hadn’t liked how down she’d been about her latest venture not working out. Not when she had so much to offer. More than even she knew.
But he couldn’t fault her for the caution. It was time he had more of it in his own life.
Time he put himself first, over his friendship with her, his feelings for her.
“Listen,” he said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here after all.”
Sadie froze, stared at him as if he’d sprouted two heads and told her he was considering taking on cannibalism as a hobby. “What? Why not?”
Because it was torture being so close to her, being around her. He shouldn’t have to put himself through that just so she could avoid her mother and the issues between them.
He shot to his feet, agitated and antsy and too keyed up to sit still another moment. “I have a lot going on right now.”
Not a lie. He always had a lot going on. Work and family commitments, his position on the Historical Architectural Review Board. And Eddie had asked if he’d be interested in helping him coach Max’s basketball team this winter. He was a busy man. A busy, busy man who didn’t have time to be a masochist.
“And it’s not the best time for me to have a houseguest,” he continued, crossing to stand in front of the windows. He glanced at her. “We’ll still see each other.” Only those visits would be on his terms and held in public venues where there were lots of lights and people, and Sadie was fully dressed.
“I’m really sorry we woke you up,” Sadie said, sounding confused. “I promise, no more night wanderings for either me or Elvis.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
She tossed up her hands. “Well, obviously I’ve done something to make you mad.”
“I’m not mad.” Though he’d be hard-pressed to explain the roiling emotions inside him. Frustration. Bitterness. A sense of impatience, as if he had an opportunity to do...something with himself. With his life. That he was missing out.