Ian lifted one shoulder in admission. “Maybe a little.”
There was one question she had to ask, to assure herself that she’d made the right decision. “Do you remember that evening when I came over to your house with the apple strudel?”
His smile widened into a mischievous grin. “How could I forget that kiss?”
“Before that. You told me you’ve accepted that you’ll probably never know who killed your mother. But do you think you can ever really put it behind you, without ever knowing?”
Loosening his hold on her, Ian rested on one elbow as he considered her question. A troubled look flickered through his features, though only briefly. “I can’t drive myself crazy for the rest of my life, Brooke. By the looks of things, the bastard who ran her down will never be brought to account. My only hope for justice is that the knowledge of what he’s done might eat him up inside every day for the rest of his life.”
Dropping her gaze, Brooke caught her lip between her teeth. She had no idea whether the guilt of what he did had tormented Ross Kinley until his dying day—but she did know that it would remain with her until she took her last breath.
“I thought we weren’t going to dwell on the past,” Ian reminded her.
Brooke forced a smile. “You’re right.”
Sliding his arm around her waist, he drew her closer to him. “If I didn’t have an appointment in fifteen minutes, I’d take you back inside and—”
With a quick kiss she cut off his next words. “Another time,” she assured him—wondering, as she made her promise, whether she could make love to him with her secret still wedged between them.
Ian sighed. “I know, you’ll let me know when you’re ready. But you can’t fault a guy for trying.”
Chapter Seven
“Don’t peek yet.” Ian kept his hands wrapped firmly over Brooke’s eyelids. “We’re almost there.”
“I’m not peeking, I swear.” Her lips stretching into a grin, she giggled in nervous anticipation as he guided her step-by-step along the sidewalk. He’d taken pains to ensure she had no idea what to expect, and he couldn’t wait to see her reaction.
When he finally lifted his hands from her face, Brooke blinked several times at the empty storefront in front of them—then stared for a long moment at the hand-written sign taped to the window that read Brooke’s Baked Goods.
She turned to Ian, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “What’s this?”
“You don’t have to use that name. It’s just to spark your imagination.”
Her gaze drifted along the papered-over window, then paused to examine the For Lease sign on the door. She swiveled her head to look up and down the block, discerning that they stood on the west side of Church Street, among a cluster of charming boutiques that drew tourists in droves during the summer months.
“Wasn’t this the old tea room?” she asked, remembering the location, although the sign had been taken down and the gingham curtains removed from the windows.
Ian nodded, excitement still fluttering in his chest. “I called the landlord, and he’s willing to give you a fantastic deal on this location.”
“For what?” she wondered, still baffled.
“A bakery, of course. Brooke, it’s perfect. You don’t want to go back into finance, so why not try something completely different, something you’re passionate about?”
She stared at him, wide-eyed, as his intention finally sank in. “Open my own bakery?”
“Why not? Eastport doesn’t have a bakery; your stuff will sell like hotcakes—or like black forest cakes and fruit pies and pumpernickel bread, or anything else that strikes your fancy.”
Ian watched her expression, willing her to envision the place as he did—though it needed new furnishings and fixtures, and some decorative touches, he could already imagine it as an old-fashioned country bakery, with the aroma of baked goods drifting out through the door to draw customers in from the street.
He could just as readily picture Brooke coming home to him at the end of the day and sinking into his arms, tired but contented, her hair suffused with the scent of fresh-baked bread. Over the past weeks, as they grew closer, he’d allowed himself to believe her mind was turning toward a decision to stay in Eastport.
But first things first. She didn’t look as taken by the idea of the bakery as he’d hoped.
“I don’t know, Ian. I love baking as a hobby, but would I enjoy it as much full time? Besides, I’ve never run a business. It’s hard work.”
“It can’t be any more stressful or time consuming than what you were doing in Toronto,” he pointed out. “Come on, think about it. You know I’m biased; I want you to stay. But I really think you’d be happy here. This town may not be flashy or exciting, but it’s peaceful, and people around here think the world of you. Especially one particular individual.” Enfolding her in his arms, he dropped a soft kiss on her temple. “What more could you ask for?”
Brooke tilted her face up to him, a small smile curving her mouth. “All right, I’ll think about it.”
“Great. Now come sit with me.” Releasing her from his arms, he took her hand and drew her down next to him on a nearby slatted bench affixed to the sidewalk. “I have something else for you.”
“Oh?”
Ian reached into his pocket, his hand closing over the small velvet box he’d stashed there before leaving the house. The slight tremour in his hand as he withdrew it caught him by surprise; he hadn’t expected the emotion of this gesture to overwhelm him, or his heart to batter quite so heavily against his ribcage as he held the box out to her.
Brooke’s cheeks glowed pink as her gaze fell on the box. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She hesitated, unsure of what life-altering proposition to expect after his last surprise.
“Don’t look so worried—it’s not an engagement ring,” he told her lightly.
“I didn’t think it was,” she said, though her shoulders relaxed as she took the box from his hand, her lips twitching upward at the edges.
Lifting the lid, she stared down at the contents, her expression bemused at first. Then her jaw sagged and she darted him a wide-eyed glance. Carefully she lifted out the roped silver chain holding a teardrop pendant, its Celtic-knot design identical to the one on her bracelet.
“How in the world did you find a necklace that matches the bracelet you bought me twelve years ago?” she asked, inspecting it as though she couldn’t quite believe what she held in her hands.
“I’ve had it all along,” Ian confessed. “It was my mother’s.”
Brooke’s slim brows drew together. “I don’t understand.”
“The bracelet was my mother’s, as well,” he explained, locking his gaze on the necklace as he relayed the memory. “You see, I couldn’t afford to buy you a nice present for your sixteenth birthday, so I went through her jewellery box and picked out the piece I thought you’d like the most. I was too embarrassed to tell you at the time.”
Hearing Brooke draw a shaky breath, Ian glanced up, the abrupt shift in her expression startling him. The colour had drained from her face, and her dark eyes shimmered with moisture. “Oh, Ian, you shouldn’t have done that. You should’ve kept it to remember her by. You should keep this, too.”
Coiling the chain back into the box, she tried thrusting it into his hands, but he pushed it back toward her.
“I wanted you to have the bracelet then, and I want you to have the necklace now.” Maintaining a steady tone as he struggled to make her understand, he grasped her free hand, threading his fingers through hers in reassurance. “I know my mother would’ve approved of you wearing them. She never got the chance to follow her dream, but maybe these items will inspire you to find yours.”
Brooke dropped her chin in a slow nod, offering a tremulous smile as she relented. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so touched.” Her voice was nearly a whisper, choked with emotion. “I just think … you should give these to someone very specia
l.”
“I have given them to someone special.” Ian felt his chest tighten, troubled that she didn’t realize, even now, how much she meant to him. He’d never come close to offering his mother’s jewellery to another woman. “But I didn’t mean make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I was just surprised, that’s all,” Brooke added quickly, widening her smile. But as she met his gaze, unease lingered in her eyes—and he sensed it ran far deeper than gracious reluctance to deprive him of his treasured keepsakes.
Damn it, what was she thinking? It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her gaze cloud over when he expressed his feelings for her, only to be offered vague explanations when he questioned her. She was still holding something back, well beyond the limits she’d placed on their physical relationship—which in itself was driving him nearly out of his mind. But he supposed his only choice was to be patient and hope she’d grow to trust him.
“Will you wear it to the party tomorrow night?” he asked.
Brooke nodded. “Of course.” Kissing him briefly, she wrapped her arms over his shoulders, her body trembling as she clung to him.
* * *
Lying curled on her side on her childhood bed, her cheek cradled in her palm, Brooke saw the brand-new bedspread beneath her as a reflection of her ambivalence toward the future. The fact that she’d gone out and bought the new burgundy comforter could have indicated that she meant to stay in Eastport for a while; on the other hand, she could have used her bedspread from her apartment in Toronto—yet she hadn’t gone back to retrieve it, or any of her belongings, since she’d been away. With no income, she’d been draining her savings account to pay her rent. Soon she’d be forced to either go back to the city and find a job, or move out of her place permanently. Even now, though, she wasn’t quite ready to take a leap in either direction.
It was only eight-thirty in the evening, and light still filtered in through the blinds on her window, casting bars of light and shadow on the far wall. Drained by the day’s surprises, Brooke had come to her room to be alone, hoping to work through her thoughts without interruption. The papered-up windows of the old tea room on Church Street floated continually through her mind. She’d never contemplated opening her own business, and had she done so, she probably would have envisioned an upscale boutique in Toronto’s swanky Hazelton Lanes rather than a quaint little shop in Eastport. Still, she felt a stirring of excitement at the thought of her own bakery, as she allowed herself to imagine her name in bold letters above the door. The more she replayed the image in her mind, the more appealing it became.
Just as often it was Ian’s boyishly eager smile that rose in Brooke’s memory. She wasn’t sure what had touched her more deeply—his efforts in helping her forge a new path for herself, or his ability to see desires in her heart that even she hasn’t recognized. Of course, opening a business in Eastport would mean committing herself to staying—and perhaps, if she truly followed her desires, committing herself to Ian as well.
That line of thought brought her gaze to rest on the two pieces of silver jewellery, newly polished, that she’d laid on the bedspread next to her. Each had been given to her in affection, yet brought with it an agonizing tumult of memories and emotions—a reflection of her relationship with Ian, she thought grimly, as she stroked the smooth, cool band of the bracelet with her fingertips.
It was impossible to look at either piece without wondering whether Mary McCarthy had been wearing it the night she died. Brooke knew she and Faith hadn’t caused the woman’s death, but nonetheless, all these years they had both felt responsible for Ian’s troubled youth. Though it came as a great relief to know he’d been able to put those years behind him, a sense of accountability still weighed heavily on Brooke. She’d thought she could continue keeping the secret, but the more Ian offered his heart to her, the more the shame of it consumed her.
The decision came to her quickly, and with certainty. Rolling onto her other side, she grabbed her cell phone from the bedside table and selected a number from her contacts list.
Relief swept through her when Faith answered; she could say what she needed to now, without preamble, before she lost her resolve.
“I need to let you know, I’m going to tell Ian the truth about his mother. Since the election is tomorrow I’ll wait until the day after.” She drew a breath and continued. “I’m sorry if it’s going to be rough for you, but I have to do it. He deserves to know. I just can’t keep it from him anymore.”
Silence hung between them over the line. Brooke held her breath, her heart throbbing a slow, heavy rhythm as she waited.
“I knew this was coming,” Faith said at last, her tone even. “I suppose if you’re really determined to tell him, I won’t bother trying to talk you out of it.”
Brooke released the air from her lungs in a rush. “Thank you for understanding.”
“He may not speak to either of us again,” Faith warned. “You do realize that.”
“I do. But it’s the risk I have to take.”
Chapter Eight
The last home on the south end of Kings Road, Faith and Ted’s modest two-story house boasted the most impressive front garden in Eastport—little wonder, as it served as the calling card for their landscaping business. Stepping out of Ian’s car onto the sidewalk, Brooke gazed in admiration at the profusion of late-summer blooms lining the stone steps that wound up the gently sloped lawn, their vibrant hues of red and yellow muted in the fading evening light.
From the back seat Ian grabbed the bottle of champagne he’d purchased days before, anticipating Ted’s landslide win in the election. Rounding the car, he clasped Brooke’s hand, and together they ambled up the steps, pausing to examine first the scarlet climbing roses that spanned the picket fence to their left, and then the neatly manicured rock garden below the first-floor picture window to their right.
“Quite the display,” Ian remarked, as they approached the front door. “An atmosphere for romance. Do we really have to go in? I’d much rather spend the evening out here with you.”
“Wicked man. I promised Faith we’d be here, and we’re already late.”
Brooke took a step toward the door but Ian tugged her the other way, veering off the walkway to steer her behind the hydrangeas lining the front of the house.
“All right, but before we go in, I need a moment alone with you. I can’t help myself; you look irresistible.” As his palm slid down her arm to settle on her hip, his eyes raked over her red cotton dress; the knee-length gown gathered becomingly at the waist, its low V-neck framing the silver pendant that hung against her chest. She’d wanted to look her best for him tonight, taking the time to gather her hair at her crown and fasten it with a silver clip, leaving a few tendrils loose to fall about her face.
“Only a moment,” she said, reflexively fingering the necklace as his gaze lingered on it.
“I’m happy you wore the necklace. It looks perfect on you.”
Brooke smiled softly, his approval warming her. “It’s a beautiful pendant.”
“More so on the neck of a beautiful woman.” The hand on her hip drifted to the small of her back, as his other arm wound behind her to draw her closer. She flinched when the cold champagne bottle touched her skin.
With a sheepish grin, Ian lifted the bottle away from her. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I could use it; I’m overheating,” Brooke said, half-joking. In his embrace she felt warm and protected, even as the crisp evening air stippled the bare flesh of her arms.
The vivid green of his eyes gleamed as he bent to skim his lips gently over hers, stirring a deeper heat in her belly. After a languid kiss he paused, nuzzling close to her ear. “I know we’re here to celebrate Ted’s victory in the election, but I’m the one who’s on top of the world. I’m in love with the sexiest, most enchanting woman I’ve ever known.”
Brooke drew a quick breath, her hand clutching the sleeve of his jacket as his mouth covere
d hers again. It was the first time he’d said he loved her, and she let the words melt through her, embracing them in her heart.
But her joy lasted only a moment before trepidation swept it aside. She’d made a decision to tell him the truth and intended to follow it through. As much as Ian loved her tonight, tomorrow his feelings might take a far different turn.
No—she refused to let fear tamp down the sweet excitement coiling through her. Tomorrow would unfold as it would, but for tonight she would simply enjoy being loved by him. She gripped Ian tighter, returning his kisses with a fervour that seemed to both catch him by surprise and stoke his passion. His hand on her back curled downward to caress the rounded curve of her bottom, drawing her closer to mold her more firmly against him. Closing her eyes, Brooke relented to the electric heat spiraling between them, holding in her memory the shape of his body and the taste and masculine scent of him.
When at last they drew apart, Ian gazed into her face, his eyes alight with hunger and expectation. Brooke held her breath, struggling to speak; if she could only find her voice, she could tell him now that she returned his love—that her whole being ached with love for him.
Footfalls on the steps behind them jolted her. She spun her head to catch sight of an older couple she didn’t recognize headed up the walkway, arm in arm.
“Hey, do we need to get a bucket of water to cool the pair of you off?” the man inquired with a chuckle, grinning wickedly.
“Evening, Ben. Rachel.” Dipping his chin to the couple in greeting, Ian eased his hold on Brooke. She shivered as their bodies parted and the cool air seeped between them.
Rachel slapped her husband’s arm lightly. “Don’t listen to him, you two. There are plenty of worse things to stumble upon than a couple in love, after all. I don’t believe we’ve met your young lady, Ian.”
Ian introduced the couple as the Hendersons, former clients of his and proprietors of Eastport’s new hardware store. Stepping forward to shake their hands, her cheeks flaming, Brooke glanced down briefly at her dress, relieved to find the perspiration dampening her skin hadn’t soaked through the fabric.
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