“You hardly know me.” But his hand gripped hers, sending a conflicting message.
“What’s to know? Your favorite color? Your favorite food? Your favorite television show? I’m partial to blue, but if you want to paint the house red, that’s fine. I’ll eat just about anything except curry, and I have a DVR so we can both watch whatever we want.”
He chuckled then, a low rumble from deep in his chest. “You’re a stubborn woman.”
“But you love me anyway.”
“I do. I really, really do.” He pulled her down and settled her head into the curve of his good shoulder.
Chapter Nineteen
Mac was stubborn, too. He insisted upon getting an apartment of his own so he and Callie could date before making long-term plans, and no matter how much she tried to wear away his resolve, he stood firm on the issue. He took the job Nash offered him, and although they had no further word on Falcone—which he and Nash both seemed to take personally—Mac frequently talked about how much he enjoyed the other aspects of the job. Callie began to realize he needed to prove to himself that he could be successful, so she stopped pushing him to move in with her.
She did, however, insist on Christmas. She invited Travis, who’d found a home on Long Island where he could keep a boat, and a few of the other folks from HSE who didn’t have families, including Nash and Lexie. All but Travis declined, however. Erin cooked, and her brother flew in from California with his roommate, and the six of them ate and drank well into the night.
“I was worried about the holidays, you know,” she confided to Mac once they’d climbed into bed in the wee hours of the morning.
“What do you mean?”
“My mother was big into decorating the house, and cooking and presents, and even after she died my father and I kept it up. For the past couple of years, he came here and spent Christmas and New Year’s with me and Erin and whatever strays we brought in. When he died, and I found that picture, everything changed. And when Erin started talking about Christmas, which she did as soon as she got home from work on Thanksgiving night, I wasn’t sure how I would handle it.”
“Because it’s supposed to be about family.”
“Yes.”
“From where I stood, you handled it just fine. But if you were uncomfortable, next year we can go somewhere, spend the holidays out of the country.”
Next year. It was the first time he’d said anything to indicate that kind of permanence. And yet, even without the words, she’d known.
“No. Today was wonderful.”
“Sugar, of all people, you should know family’s not about blood. You didn’t lose all of yours when your dad died.” He tightened the arm he had around her shoulders, pressing her closer to his body. “On the other hand, maybe your family did get a bit too small. Maybe we should think about making it bigger.”
He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying; she’d only just adjusted to the idea of keeping their relationship relaxed. Shouldn’t have had so much wine. She pushed slightly away so she could look him in the eyes. “Bigger?”
He grinned and rolled them so he was atop her, arms braced on either side of her head. He bent his elbows and brushed her lips with his own. “Bigger,” he said huskily, “as in, a husband and a couple kids bigger. Does that work for you?”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Yeah,” she said. “That works for me.” She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him down so the heat and strength of his body surrounded her, pressing her into the mattress. He tried to roll away.
“I bought you a ring.”
“It can wait.”
“I meant to give it to you as a Christmas present.”
“It can wait, Mac.”
And that argument, at least, she won.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Every book is made better by its editor and that has never been truer for me than with this book. Without Leis Pederson taking charge of development and copyeditor Matthew Patin riding herd on the timeline, both the characters and the details would have suffered immeasurably.
Although Paradis de la Mer was created specifically for this novel, most of the other places were not. I’ve altered the geography of the island slightly to make room for the new hotel on the French side. I’ve also altered the time a bit; by 2015 when this book is published and set, the rotting remains of the cabanas on the Mullet Bay property will be gone, but when I began writing they remained as blots on a lovely landscape and they seemed so appropriate as a foreshadowing that I left them in the story even when the actual property began to get cleaned up.
I have been visiting the island of St. Martin for most of my life, and I’ve never been subjected to any violence. It’s important to me that you, my reader, understand that. The violence and pervasive corruption I write about here are entirely fictional though the landscape is real. The Princess Port de Plaisance, where Callie’s friend has his time-share, is a real place. It has a lovely marina and a tacky casino and the people who take you to your room could not be nicer or more helpful. Calmos Café is a real beach bar and the people there are also as helpful and friendly as any you’ll meet anywhere in the world. And yes, there really are goats who run through the shopping center in Marigot of an afternoon.
I hope you all make it to the island yourselves one day to check it out.
Photo © Susan Farley
Laura K. Curtis has always done everything backward. As a child, she was extremely serious, so now that she’s chronologically an adult, she feels perfectly justified in acting the fool. She started teaching at age fifteen, then decided to go back to school herself at thirty. And she wrote her first book in first grade. It was released in (notebook) paperback to rave reviews, and she’s been trying to achieve the same level of acclaim ever since. She lives in Westchester County, New York, with her husband and a pack of wild Irish terriers, which has taught her how easily love can coexist with the desire to kill.
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