by Irene Hannon
Her last comment jarred him a bit, though he knew she’d been referring to tonight, not his return to Davis Landing. Still, it seemed heavy with meaning. However, he chose to zero in on her other remark. “You haven’t had dinner yet?”
“No.”
“I haven’t, either.”
Surprised, she turned to him. It was difficult to read his face in the dim light, but his response had seemed to suggest they eat together. And perhaps she owed him that, since he’d come to her rescue. “I don’t have a lot in the refrigerator, but I’m sure I could scrounge up something if you’d like to join me.” Her voice was tentative.
Now it was Bryan’s turn to be surprised. He wasn’t sure why he’d thrown out that comment about dinner, and in retrospect he realized it had sounded like he was angling for an invitation. And perhaps he had been. Not on a conscious level, of course. He was sure of that. But perhaps his subconscious had prompted the remark, inspired by a subliminal urge to learn more about the woman she had become.
Already he’d learned a great deal, enough to intrigue him. He’d observed Amy’s considerate and empathetic interactions with staff members, family and friends. He’d found out about her involvement with the meals-on-wheels program. He’d watched her handle, with grace and compassion, the problems that plagued her family. He’d come to recognize the important role that her renewed faith played in her life. In other words, he’d learned enough to realize that if it wasn’t for the history between them, he might consider pursuing a relationship with this woman, who had stolen his heart so many years before. Yet even that obstacle seemed to be diminishing in importance as time went by.
In fact, if he was honest with himself, Bryan wanted to spend the evening with Amy. He was tired of second-guessing his feelings for her, tired of the caution sign that flashed every time they were together, tired of ignoring the thaw that was taking place in his heart. Tired enough to decide that for once he was just going to follow his instincts. And tired enough to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind, which reminded him that doing so could change the course of their relationship forever.
Taking a deep breath, he tried for a conversational tone. And almost pulled it off. “After the day you’ve had, I don’t expect you to fix me dinner. How about I order us some pizza?”
Chapter Ten
Although Amy knew there was little hope that things could ever be put right between them, she couldn’t stop the warm rush of pleasure that washed over her at the thought of spending an hour or two with Bryan. In a day fraught with worry, his offer was the one bright spot. “That would be nice,” she accepted.
After directing him to a parking spot, Amy led the way into the lobby.
“Evening, Amy,” the security guard greeted her.
“Hi, Russ.” She didn’t stop to chat. The smile she’d pasted on her face couldn’t quite mask the grimace of pain underneath, and Bryan knew that every step she took was agony.
He had time for no more than a fleeting impression of the tasteful lobby of The Enclave before they stepped into the elevator. Amy depressed the button with the four on it, and as the door slid shut she balanced herself against the wall with one hand, reaching down with the other one to slip off her shoes. “Sorry. I can’t stand these another second.”
In heels, Amy was only a couple of inches shorter than him. Now the gap widened to five or six inches. She felt small beside him, and somehow vulnerable. In the office, she came across as assertive and strong and in control. Those were qualities Bryan admired. He’d always liked women who had the confidence to step in and take charge. Now, away from the public eye, in her stocking feet, her shoulders sagging under her burden of worry, he had a completely different impression of her. Yet it was just as appealing. Although Amy was the kind of woman who would want the man in her life to hold her hand, not hold her up, he had the feeling that there were times, like tonight, when she might welcome a sympathetic shoulder to cry on—in a figurative sense, of course.
They’d paused in front of a door, and Amy inserted a key, then pushed it open. She flipped on a switch as they entered, and warm, golden light bathed the room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m ditching the shoes. And if you don’t mind, I’m going to change into something a little more comfortable.”
“Take your time.”
She disappeared down a small hall, and he noted that there were only two doors opening off it. A bedroom and a bath, no doubt. The rest of the unit seemed to consist of a spacious living room that opened through an archway into a small dining area, and a compact but well-equipped kitchen.
As he strolled around, he revised his image of The Enclave. While some of the units might be quite elaborate, Amy’s wasn’t. The clean, simple architectural lines were enhanced by tasteful, understated furnishings. A sofa, covered in cream-colored damask, faced the fireplace, which was framed by a brass screen. A side chair in cobalt-blue was angled toward the couch, and emerald-green throw pillows added bright spots of color. So did a soft throw, in a Monet-like pattern, that was draped over the sofa. A crystal bowl filled with foil-wrapped Hershey’s kisses was the sole ornamentation on the glass-topped coffee table. Several large green plants, including a robust ficus tree, were arrayed on the dove-gray carpeting and warmed up the space. The room was elegant and soothing, though by no means pretentious or ostentatious. It was, in a word, classy. Just like the woman.
By the time Amy reappeared, in jeans that hugged her trim hips and a soft-looking V-neck sweater the exact color of her eyes, Bryan had ordered the pizza and set the table. She had on a pair of fuzzy, well-worn slippers, and he grinned when he saw them. “You do look more comfortable.”
“Much.”
“I ordered a pepperoni and sausage with everything except olives. Is that all right?”
Just like old times, Amy thought with a wistful pang. He even remembered her aversion to olives. “Great. Thanks.”
Now that they were in better light, Bryan was struck anew by the deep weariness in her face. And by the strain. He could see it in the tense line of her jaw, the tautness of her skin, the stiffness of her lips. That’s what long-term stress did to you. That, and other, less visible, things. He wondered how long it had been since she’d truly relaxed.
“Would you like some soda?” She tossed the question over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen.
“Yeah. That would be fine. Although, to be honest, you look like you could use something stronger.”
She reached into the refrigerator and withdrew two Cokes. “Thanks a lot. That’s just what my ego needs after the day I’ve had.” Her words were softened by her teasing tone.
“I’m serious. Maybe a glass of wine would help you unwind.”
“It might, if I drank. Though this would be the time to start, if I was so inclined, with all that’s been going on.”
Memories of the frat party flitted across Bryan’s mind, and he sent her a puzzled look. He’d followed her to the kitchen, and now he folded his arms across his chest and propped a shoulder against the door frame. “You don’t drink?”
She angled a look at him, knowing what he was remembering. “Not for a long time.”
More evidence she’d changed, Bryan thought. Then a smile whispered at the corners of his mouth. “But you haven’t given up all your vices.”
Curious, she stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“I saw the Hershey’s kisses.” They’d been one of her favorite treats in high school. Almost an addiction.
Soft color warmed her face. “Guilty as charged. That’s a love affair that will never end.” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them. They were innocuous enough in the context she’d used them, but not the wisest choice considering her history with Bryan. And he must have felt the same, since silence greeted her comment. Fortunately, the phone rang just then and dispelled the awkward moment. Relieved, she reached for it. “Must be our pizza.” She listened for a second, then spoke. “Thanks, Russ. We’ll be right d
own.”
“I’ll go,” Bryan offered, already heading for the door. “Why don’t you sit down and rest your feet?”
“But I invited you. This is my treat.”
“Not this time.” He was out the door before she could protest. Not that she was inclined to. Her feet were killing her. That would teach her to attempt a marathon walk in high heels, she thought, as she gingerly moved over to the small cherry table and sank onto the cushioned seat of one of the matching chairs.
Bryan was back in no time, and enticing aromas wafted toward her as he carried in the box and set it on the table.
“This smells great!” She pried open the lid, then reached for a large slice. Bryan followed her example, and for the next few minutes conversation lagged as they focused on eating.
When they’d both taken the edge off their hunger, Amy leaned back and slowed her pace. “I haven’t had pizza since your welcoming party at work. It’s one of those things that—” She stopped mid-sentence as a blob of tomato sauce fell smack onto the middle of her sweater. This was getting to be a pattern, she realized. First, her white top at James’s retirement party. Then her linen jacket when Dylan was sick. Now tomato sauce. Bryan was going to think she was a klutz. “I’ll get some napkins,” she said, starting to rise.
A hand on her arm restrained her. “Stay put. Where are they?”
“In the kitchen. Bottom shelf of the cabinet next to the microwave.”
Bryan located them with no problem, grabbed a handful and returned to the dining room. As he set them on the table, something fluttered to the floor, and he reached down to retrieve it, realizing it was a check. For a sizable amount. Signed by Amy and made out to Youth Connections, a sports program targeted to at-risk kids. He’d read about it in the church bulletin.
Touched by her generosity, yet feeling that he’d somehow violated her privacy, he set it on the table without comment. Amy flicked a glance toward it as she dabbed at the stain, and her hand faltered. She kept her charitable activities low-key, the sense of satisfaction she received from being able to help those less fortunate all the reward she needed or wanted. Public accolades held no appeal. Even her family wasn’t privy to the extent of her generosity. Chris was aware of her support of Youth Connections, of course, since he was one of the cofounders and was involved in running the organization. But no one else knew. Until now.
Sensing her embarrassment, Bryan felt obliged to say something. “Sorry. It must have been in with the napkins.”
Lifting one shoulder, she went back to work on her sweater. “I forgot I put it in there. I’ve been a little distracted lately. Well, I think I got as much of this out as I’m going to be able to without—” All at once her eyes widened, and she jumped up. “Ow! Oh, that hurts!” she muttered, limping around in a circle, her face contorted in pain.
Alarmed, Bryan vaulted to his feet as well, almost choking on the piece of pizza he was chewing. “What’s wrong?” he asked between coughs.
“Muscle spasm. Happens sometimes when I’m on my feet too long in high heels.” She tried to put her weight on her foot and winced. “Those shoes are history tomorrow,” she declared through clenched teeth, hobbling into the living room.
Wiping his mouth on a napkin, Bryan came up behind her and took her arm, leading her to the couch. “Sit down. I think I can help.”
“Sitting doesn’t work. I have to put weight on it. Ouch!” Her whole body went rigid as another spasm twisted her foot.
“Look, give this a try, okay?” He eased her down, angling her body toward him, then sat beside her. “Which foot?”
“Right.”
He pulled her feet onto his lap and pulled off her right slipper. “Where does it hurt?”
“The bottom. Near the middle and…right there!” His fingers had found the spot.
“Okay, try to relax.”
“Yeah, right.” She hated these spasms. She got them once in while after a long day in heels, or when her stress level was elevated. Considering both were true today, it was no wonder her feet had rebelled.
Instead of responding, Bryan went to work, his hands firm and sure, feeling out the muscles that were bunched into a hard knot and then massaging them with even, rhythmic strokes, exerting just the right amount of pressure.
After a few minutes, Amy began to relax. “Wow! Where did you learn to do that?”
“I’ve had some practice.”
At his careful, noncommittal response, she suspected that his practice had been with Darlene. Well, whatever. It had been a godsend for her tonight.
When her right foot lay relaxed in his hands, he reached for her left foot.
“That one’s okay,” she told him.
“Right now. But it might give you problems later.”
That was true. Often, just when she got one foot to settle down, the other went ballistic. “Okay, Doctor Healey.”
Her teasing tone brought the flicker of a smile to his lips.
Long after the spasms had been banished, Bryan continued his ministrations. Amy didn’t object. In fact, she wished they would go on forever. His hands on her bare feet felt wonderful. More relaxed than she had been in months, she let her head drop to the back of the sofa. Her eyelids drifted close, and in seconds she was asleep.
When Bryan looked over at her a few minutes later, the tranquil lines of her face and her even breathing told him she’d succumbed to exhaustion. And that it was time for him to go.
But he didn’t want to leave. Being with her like this reminded him of all the good times they’d had, the closeness they’d shared. An unexpected yearning swept over him, a wish that they could revisit or recreate those times. And for a fleeting moment, he not only wondered if that was possible, but believed that it might be.
The question was, did he even want to make the attempt? Or, more importantly, should he make the attempt? Wouldn’t it somehow dishonor the memory of Darlene, and the quiet, deep love they had shared?
Bryan wasn’t sure. And tonight, when Amy seemed vulnerable and he suddenly felt more alone than he had in a very long time, wasn’t the time to find out. It would be better if he left. Now.
Hoping to slip out without disturbing her, he eased her feet off his lap and started to stand. As he rose, she stirred and looked up at him, blinking.
“Did I fall asleep?” she mumbled.
“Out like a light.”
Swinging her feet to the floor, she rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands, in an endearing gesture that tugged at his heart and reminded him of the way Dylan awakened. “Sorry.”
“You seemed like you needed the rest.”
Standing, she tested her feet, and a sleepy smile lifted her lips. “All gone. You must have magic hands.”
“Nope. Just a lot of practice. Darlene liked foot rubs when she was pregnant.” He wasn’t sure why he’d mentioned his wife. Maybe to remind him to keep his distance from this appealing woman until he’d worked through his issues. Maybe to warn her off. Whatever the motivation, it seemed to have worked. Amy’s smile faded a bit at the edges, like an old photograph.
“Lucky woman,” she said.
“I can let myself out.”
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
She followed him in silence, then stood on the threshold, leaning against the edge of the open door as he turned to her.
“Get some rest.”
“Thanks to you, I think I will. I appreciate everything you did tonight, Bryan. The ride, the pizza, the foot massage. I’m used to managing things on my own, but…well…it’s been tough for the past few months, and it felt…nice…to have someone help out.”
For the first time since his return, Bryan realized that behind the independent face Amy turned to the world lay a deep loneliness. Although she’d always been close to her family, they were otherwise occupied. Her father was sick. Her mother was preoccupied with her husband’s health. Her siblings were busy with their own lives. Heather was engaged, and Chris was close to proposing,
if the rumors at work were to be believed. His impression of Tim could be summed up in one word: workaholic; the second-oldest brother seemed to have little time for anything but his job. Jeremy and Melissa were gone. Which meant that, by and large, Amy was alone. Even more alone than he was. At least he had Dylan, and his father was always available for conversation or advice, or to help with his grandson.
Startled by this insight, Bryan stared at the woman across from him. In many ways, she was the same girl he remembered from years before. Her physical features hadn’t changed all that much. But there was a maturity about her that had never been there before, a sense of direction and purpose, an impression that she’d found her place in the world and was at peace with it. In other words, she’d grown up. And, in the process, become even more appealing.
All at once, Bryan yearned to pull her close, to comfort her, to hold her until she felt strong again. Yet he knew that the impulse was driven by more than altruism and compassion. He also wanted to kiss her, to taste the sweet lips he remembered with a sudden, surprisingly vivid intensity from years before, to bury his hands in her silky hair, to hold her in his arms and forget about the past and the future and focus only on now, this moment.
As he looked at her, her eyes grew luminous, almost as if she knew what he was thinking—and that she felt the same way. Without conscious decision, he reached up and brushed some of the silky strands of golden hair back from her face. Her lips parted slightly at his touch, in invitation, and he swayed toward her. She lifted her face and leaned in. He dropped his chin and…
The elevator door slid open, and a laughing couple emerged. Bryan snapped back and dropped his hand. Amy blinked once, then twice, before she lowered her head and took a deep breath.
Bryan waited until the couple had passed before he spoke. “I—I’d better be going.” His voice came out in a hoarse rasp.
“Yeah. Thanks again.” Her own voice sounded shaky, and she didn’t raise her head. But the grip she had on the edge of the door had turned her knuckles white.