Except now she remembered how they’d laughed their way through those summers, she and Mel and Blythe, the walls of their grandmother’s house ringing with their shrieks of glee. As had her grandmother’s ears, most likely. Oh, there’d been no peace back then, she thought, smiling.
But there had been something even better:
Joy.
Excitement shuffled through her as she realized what had been before was still here, more than sufficient to trump the bitter memories her mother wanted to believe had infected the place. That’s what had been at the root of that silly childhood dream of one day owning the Rinehart property, that had made her jump on the opportunity to buy out her cousins.
Another burst of laughter went up, this time from the dining room, along with the bumps and knocks and scraping of furniture being rearranged, and tears burned her eyes, happy tears, as she pictured all the weddings and anniversaries and family gatherings she hoped to host in the coming years. Then the men began trooping in, Patrick demanding they all remove their shoes, not touch anything until they’d washed their hands, and her heart warmed, then cramped, as she replayed his mother’s words in her head.
Because being an adult was all well and good, but not at the expense of snuffing out—or letting outside influences snuff out—that ember of childlike bliss that made life worthwhile. Sure, kudos to the man for overcoming all he had since his life-changing event. Courage, fortitude—he had them in spades. Still. Coping wasn’t the same as living. Far from it. And maybe, just maybe, she could stoke that ember.
You don’t know that.
Very true. But she didn’t know that she couldn’t, either.
And she wouldn’t know unless she tried.
Chapter Six
Leaning against the inn’s kitchen counter, his daughter sacked out against his chest, Patrick said to his mother, “So what were you two talking about?”
Chuckling, she glanced over at him as she dried the turkey platter prior to lugging it back home. It’d driven him nuts, not being able to pin her down until now. But there was no way to have a private conversation with two dozen people around.
“This and that,” Ma said, setting the platter on the counter before slipping into her coat. “Girl talk, mostly.”
“Meaning you’re not going to tell me.”
“Nope.”
She checked the clean kitchen one last time, then excused herself to visit the restroom. His dad wandered in, chewing on a toothpick as he gave the space an approving once-over.
“I wouldn’t’ve thought it possible, what those gals did with the place.” He climbed onto a stool behind the massive island, smiling for Lili. “Brings back memories, how you kids used to pass out like that. Sometimes I miss it.” He paused. “You hear from her mother today?”
“No. Not that I expected to.”
“Shame. For her sake,” Pop said. “Although for yours I can’t say I’m sorry Natalie’s not in the picture anymore.”
Patrick frowned. “You never said that before.”
“Didn’t feel it was my place.”
“And now it is?”
His father was quiet for a long moment, chewing the toothpick. Then he said around it, “She’s something else, huh?”
“Who?”
“April, who else? And you know what I think?” He tossed the toothpick in the trash bag waiting to be hauled to the mini Dumpster outside. “I think you should ask her out.”
Shifting Lili in his arms, Patrick sighed. “And you’ve been talking to Luke.”
“Maybe. Oh, c’mon—what’s the worst that could happen? She says no. No harm, no foul, right? But you gotta start somewhere, put yourself out there.”
“And why do we keep having the same conversation?” Patrick whispered, cupping Lili’s head when she stirred in her sleep. “I did try putting myself out there, remember? It didn’t work.”
“So you try again,” Dad said, with a slight bow in his direction. “And don’t give me that look. You know yourself you’ve never been a quitter. Right? And anyway, something tells me—” he lowered his voice “—you got a shot with that one, okay?” He grinned. “And you know it, too, don’t you?”
“And you’re butting in.”
Joe shrugged, unconcerned. “Gives me something to live for. Look, all we want is to see you happy again. Like you used to be...uh...”
“Before. Got it.”
“It’s up to you, son, that’s all I’m saying. You’ve got a lot more control over things than you might want to believe.”
“You’re right. I do. And the one thing I can control, or at least try to, is how my actions affect Lilianna. She’s basically already lost one mother. No way am I putting her through that again.”
“So you’re gonna live like a monk until she leaves for college?”
“Joe, for heaven’s sake,” his mother said, returning to dig in her purse for a tube of hand cream. “Leave the boy alone. You want us to take the baby?” she said, squirting the goop into her palm then briskly rubbing her hands together.
Suddenly the thought of letting Lili go was like a stab to the chest. “No,” he said, nuzzling her temple. “I’m going straight home. Soon as I talk to April, catch her up on where we stand. With the grounds,” he said at his parents’ simultaneously lifted brows and faint smiles. “So you two go on, I’ll talk to you later.”
After a kiss and hug from his mother, a slap on the shoulder from his dad, they left. Took a few minutes to find April, though, in the huge house. But he finally did, in a small den off the gathering room that was part of her private suite. She was curled up on a love seat, wrapped in a throw and staring into the flames in the gas fireplace. At his knock on the door frame, she jumped, then turned that demon-defying smile on him. Those soft sea-colored eyes. And at that moment he knew the worst that could happen, should he do what everyone kept telling him to do, wasn’t that she’d say no.
The worst that could happen was that she’d say yes.
* * *
She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, of course. And as it was, she’d hied her little booty away the moment she realized Patrick and his father were talking about her. But she’d heard enough. Enough to realize that Patrick and she had reached some sort of tipping point or whatever you wanted to call it, where they needed to face this thing head-on and make a conscious decision that nothing was ever going to happen or to give it a shot.
Oh, she’d have to take the lead, that much was obvious. Even though that went against every ounce of Good Southern Girl training she’d ever had. But sometimes, a girl just had to channel her inner brazen hussy.
“Hey,” she said softly as the hussy checked her makeup, spritzed on some more Aqua Net. “I thought you’d gone.”
“Almost,” Patrick said. After a long, assessing look that made her toes curl. Or the hussy’s. Somebody’s. “But we never really had a chance to talk about the damage.”
“Oh. Right.”
More assessing. More curling. “Although it’s not as bad as it looked, thankfully.”
“You don’t have to stand there, you know. Come on in. Sit.”
He did, sitting on the very edge of the wing chair across from her, cradling the tiny girl on his lap so she molded to him. April smiled, trying to ignore the squeeze to her insides. Wasn’t working. “Somebody’s plumb worn out.”
Then he smiled down at his daughter and the squeezing became almost painful. “I think we all are.” He glanced around at the room, done up in muted jewel tones. “I hadn’t seen this room before. It’s nice.”
“Yeah, since we cleaned out an entire Dumpster’s worth of worthless junk my grandmother had accumulated over the last ten years. But I like that it’s cozy. The gathering room feels overwhelming when it’s only me.”
“I can imagine.” A slight frown marred his brow before his gaze fell back to his daughter, a bundle of limp adorableness in a bright green hoodie and purple tutu. The thought of all that fluff in Patrick’s big, rough hands ma
de April smile. Finally he looked up, the picture of concern. “Are you okay? I mean, all by yourself in this big place?”
“Oh, sure. Although I’ll admit it was a little creepy at first.” Was it okay to admit she’d never lived on her own before her marriage? That she’d moved into an apartment after Helene’s death because she didn’t feel like their house was really hers? “I can’t wait for my first guests. And I think I’m going to look for some kind of live-in caretaker. Maybe a couple. Haven’t decided yet.”
“Sounds like a plan. So anyway...” His gaze slipped slightly to her left. “We saved most of the plantings for now. We can come back on Monday to rebuild the gazebo, replant the few things that are too far gone. It’s covered,” he said with a slight grin. “Remember? Because you didn’t haggle?”
“I see.” She fingered the arm of the sofa. Thought she’d take a stab at teasing. “So you did overcharge me.”
He actually laughed, loudly enough to make Lili stir. “No. But stuff happens. At least this time we don’t have to eat the loss.”
“Dear Lord. Does that happen often?”
“What? Oh. No. Not really. We always charge enough to cover our bu...uh, ourselves. When plants die, things like that—”
Do it, the hussy said, huffily. Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it.
“Ask me,” April said softly, electricity jolting through her. Her cousins would be so proud. Of course, she hadn’t asked him, to which the hussy was rolling her eyes. But at least she’d given him the opening, right? Baby steps.
Patrick’s eyes jerked to hers. “What?”
“Ask me out.”
“April—”
“Nothing fancy,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound desperate. Because she wasn’t. Really. “Dinner at Emerson’s. Maybe a movie. If things work out...” Her heart thumped against her sternum. “Maybe a good-night kiss at the end.”
Oh, dear. He actually flinched. And not, she didn’t think, because he found the idea appalling. Frowning though he was. Strange, and wonderful, the feeling of power that gave her.
“I thought I made it clear—”
“What’s clear,” she said, “is that there’s something humming between us. Agreed?”
After a long pause, he nodded. “Agreed.” Oh. Wow. Okay, then. Except then he said, “That doesn’t mean I feel right about acting on it.”
Well, shoot. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not in the market for a relationship, for one thing. And don’t know whether I ever will be. You, on the other hand—”
“—see somebody I’d like to get to know better. What’s so hard to understand—?”
“Why you’d pick me.”
Although his gaze held steady in hers, that wasn’t enough to distract her from the distrust she saw there. The disbelief. She half wanted to clobber him upside the head with one of Mel’s copper-clad skillets. “Seriously? You’re questioning my judgment?”
“More like...your motives.”
“I don’t pity you, if that’s what you mean. And if that is what you mean I’ve half a mind to take the offer off the table.” When he pressed his lips together, she heard herself say, even as her heart was pounding to beat the band. “I know what happened. Your mother told me.”
On a sigh, Patrick shut his eyes. Opened them again. “She shouldn’t’ve done that.”
“Well, she did. So deal.” When he glanced away, she said, “Are you afraid to ask me out?”
His laugh was rough. “No. Just using common sense.”
Which she took to mean the same thing. Honestly, the man was just asking for that skillet.
“Well I am,” she said. “And I don’t care who knows it.”
“Oh, yeah?” He almost smiled. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice sounding braver than I am.” Even if not a lot of practice at...other things. Although something told her— That mouth. Oh, my—she’d be a quick study. “But inside? A bundle of nerves.”
He seemed to consider this for a moment, then said, “That why you didn’t ask me out?”
“No, I didn’t ask you because, for one thing, I’m an old-fashioned girl—” that got a snigger “—and for another, you need to do this.”
“That so?”
“Yeah.” April stood, tugging down over her hips the sweater she’d changed into for dinner. “But you know what? You’re right. If you don’t think you’re ready, or that our going out would be a waste of your time or energy, or whatever excuse you’re buying into, then I’m done. Because arguing with a brick wall is a waste of my time and energy—”
He practically surged to his feet, shifting Lili in his arms so her head flopped onto his shoulder, her mouth sagging open—oh, Lord, death by cute—and April braced herself for the explosion. Or the Dramatic Exit. His laugh, though—she hadn’t expected that.
“Tomorrow night. Seven. I’ll pick you up. Lock the door behind me.”
And off he strode, God-only-knew-what going through his head and leaving April far too wobbly kneed to move. Finally she did, though, holding on to things as she made her way to the door to flip the dead bolt. Then she slid to the floor, palm flattened against her chest, as the word “ramifications” exploded in her brain.
* * *
“You’re kidding?” April’s eyes glinted mischievously at Patrick from across the white-clothed table in the quiet little restaurant in Salisbury. Although they’d agreed to keep things casual, she’d put up her hair, was sporting a little more makeup than he remembered her wearing before. Just enough to make her mouth look softer, her eyes even bigger. “Your family really doesn’t know we’re doing this?”
“You’ve met my family,” he said, tilting his beer glass to his lips. “Would you tell them?”
“Good point.”
Obviously nothing would come of this, he thought over the pinch of guilt. But sometimes it was easier to play along until the other party realized pursuing a dumb idea doesn’t make it less dumb. So he’d been a little taken aback, frankly, at how easily they’d chatted on the ride here, thanks to April peppering him with questions about his family. About Lili. Stuff he could talk about without thinking too hard.
Of course, nobody’d told him to bring her here, to a place with tablecloths and candlelight and picture-free menus written in some fancy print. He could’ve taken her to Emerson’s, like she’d suggested. Could’ve honked for her in front of the inn, let her climb up into the truck on her own instead of going around and helping her in. Could’ve responded to her questions with monosyllabic grunts. He wasn’t a prick, but still. There were all sorts of ways to put a woman off the scent.
Speaking of scents, her perfume...
Damn.
April messed with her fork, made a fist, tucked both hands underneath the table. “So who’s taking care of Lilianna?”
“Grad student who lives downstairs from us. She and Lili are nuts about each other.” Although Lili had still pouted when he’d left, her lower lip quivering when he’d given her a wave as he walked out the door.
“Not to worry,” April said, “my cousins don’t know, either.” She took a tiny sip of her white wine, eyeing the glass when she set it back down like she didn’t quite trust it.
“The wine okay?”
“Um, sure. I guess.” A smile flickered. “I don’t really drink much, as a rule.”
“Not even in college?”
“Never went to college. No time. Or money.” She shrugged. “I worked all the way through high school as well. Had to.”
There she went again, stating a fact but somehow without playing the sympathy card. Just letting him know that things hadn’t been that great, no biggie. Then she reached up to tug loose a strand of hair slightly tangled in the drapey neck of her soft blue sweater, twisting it around her finger for a moment before catching herself, like she had with the fork earlier. It was both weirdly appealing and damned unsettling, how she’d seesaw between being bodacious one minute and like a
kitten exploring the big wide world for the first time the next. And, no, that was not protectiveness surging in his gut—
“Hey.”
Her gaze touched his.
“You nervous?”
“Heck, yeah,” she said on a little laugh. “It’s been...” Her lips scrunched together as she reached for the fork again, carefully lining it up with the edge of her napkin. “I never really dated much.” One side of her mouth canted. “Either.”
“Before your husband, you mean?”
“No. Ever.”
“Here you go,” the cheerful, tattooed waitress said, setting a shrimp cocktail in front of April, oysters on the half shell for him. “Need anything else, hon?”
“No, thanks,” Patrick said, almost abruptly, leaning toward April as soon as she left. “You and your husband never dated?”
Fine, so sue him—he was curious. Or maybe it was the perfume fumes.
She shook her head, not looking at him as she stabbed her first shrimp. Over and over. “Clayton and I...” She cleared her throat, then pushed out another breathy laugh before finally dispatching the poor mangled shrimp. “And this is where you can tell I’m real inexperienced at this, since I have no idea what’s considered proper first-date conversation.”
And feeling bad for her was not part of the plan. At all. No, the plan was that he’d be polite, sure, but boring. Attentive, but not too attentive. “How about we make up our own rules? Say whatever we feel needs saying.”
“Works for me.” She shoved another shrimp into her mouth, licking off a smear of sauce on her lower lip. “Long as you don’t leave me stranded.”
“Nah,” Patrick said after a moment. “I’ll make sure to call your cousin after I’ve disappeared to the men’s room.”
She laughed then, and it made him feel good.
So good it made him mad, which he supposed didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
Then again, life in general didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
“So. Clayton and I—”
The crash made him yell, duck, bolt to his feet in the space of a second, his heart about to tear through his chest. Dizzy, disoriented, he gripped the top of the booth, his fragmented brain desperately trying to kick in, make a decision.
A Gift for All Seasons Page 9