That made him laugh. “You just reminded me of something. He used to quote Abraham Lincoln. ‘Whatever you do, be a good one.’”
“I think I just saw a saying on the wall with that.”
“You probably did.” The first thing he’d done was give the place a good cleaning, but he hadn’t begun removing all the knickknacks and things that lined the windowsills and numerous shelves and the big curio cabinet in the living room. It was almost as if some part of him was still waiting for his grandmother to do that. It seemed like the worst sacrilege to do it without her. The kitchen window was open, and a fluorescent light that ran over the top of the window bathed the kitchen in whitish-blue light. Roman flipped a switch that lit the fixture over the table.
“Is that fresh?’ Bella asked, immediately zeroing in on the table where a pizza box sat. The faint odor of garlic and warm crust infused the room, indicating that it certainly was.
“I figured we both probably missed dinner,” he said. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“For Santoro’s? Always.”
He found himself smiling. Had she ever passed up pizza? It was a strange relief to see that at least her appetite hadn’t changed.
He grabbed up the box and a bottle filled with amber liquid that sat next to it, along with two snifters, and asked her to bring the two plates he’d carefully laid out. She followed him onto the front porch and sat in one of two big white rockers. He lit the candle in a lantern that sat on a little table between them. He hoped everything didn’t look too preplanned. Like he knew she’d come.
He sat down and offered her the open box. “I ordered the kind with artichoke and garlic sauce. That still your favorite?”
“Oh yes,” she said, clapping her hands a little. She pulled a slice off the pie, cheese trailing for a mile, and managed to get it on a plate. Then she loaded the other plate. He was happy she was excited about the pizza, but he was eager and uncharacteristically nervous for her to taste his brandy. Tell him what she thought of it.
He opened the bottle, then poured some of the pure golden liquid into a brandy snifter.
“This is the old-fashioned way to drink this, but it helps to concentrate the aromas at the top. Try it.” He was about to hand her a glass, but he stopped. “On second thought, wait a minute,” he said, taking the snifters and running into the house.
He came out a few minutes later and handed her a glass. It was warm.
“What did you do?” She took the glass, cradled it in her hands, and looked up at him with her soft brown eyes. Her face in the dim light, outlined against the glow of the house lights, did something indescribable to him. It made him picture lying with her by a roaring fire, or sitting with her on the couch watching TV or across the table at a restaurant . . . it made him picture forever. Crazy.
“I flamed it over the stove burner just for a little bit to warm it up. The flavors are better that way.”
She was carefully examining the glass. She knew enough not to swirl it. He tried not to look like what she thought mattered. Like he was holding his breath. So he forced himself to sit back and picked up his own glass. “Go ahead. Try it.”
“Is it cognac?” she asked. “Brandy?”
“You tell me,” he said. Why did he feel so nervous?
“Okay.” She brought the snifter up to her chest and nosed it. Then she brought it up to her chin and smelled it again, inhaling through her nose and mouth. Then looked directly at him. “Apples.”
Jackpot. “Very good.”
She swirled and smelled again. “I’m not very good at picking out all the different flavors.”
“Just have some.”
She took a tiny sip. “Wow,” she said.
“Wow?” He was pleased. More pleased than was safe. And he tried to tamp down his pleasure.
“Yeah, it’s good. Smooth, apple-y, vanilla-y, woodsy. I don’t know. All I know is it’s very good. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s much stronger than wine.”
“Much more concentrated. It’s apple brandy. Applejack’s the informal name for it. It’s an old drink. George Washington and his troops drank it.”
“Did your grandfather make it?”
“I did.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable. He couldn’t hide it. Didn’t try to.
She frowned. “Doesn’t brandy take years to age?”
“Very good, bella dolche.”
Sweet Bella. She opened her mouth, probably to protest that he’d called her that silly endearment from years ago that was probably too . . . intimate. It had just slipped out. A little embarrassed, he walked over to the porch railing and looked out over the orchards in the distance.
“This bottle’s XO,” he said. “That’s short for extra old—I made it seven years ago. It’s not bad, but I’ve learned a lot about different flavors since then.”
“It’s excellent,” she said. “Smooth.”
“I came back here to take over the farm, but what I really want to do is start a distillery. I don’t just want to grow apples and supply farmers’ markets and restaurants and ship the bruised ones out for cider. I want to set up a still, fermentation tanks, the whole nine yards. Of course I need backers, and I’m working on that. And I’m trying to get some of the better restaurants in town to try these small batches I’ve made over the past few years. That’s why I’m building the wine bar. A place where people can come and sample this and other unusual flavors. There’s nothing like it in town.”
“That’s exciting. Different.”
“Or foolish. Maybe both.”
She shrugged. “I’m glad to see you’re still dreaming big.”
He turned to her. “I wanted you to know what I’m doing here. I wanted to share this with you. And I want you to know you’ll always be special to me, Bella. We shared a lot once.” If she would just talk to him, maybe they could clear the air. If she could tell him how it was for her back then. Help him to understand what had happened between them, then he could move on from these . . . unsettled feelings. This desire to be near her and hold her that he couldn’t seem to break free of.
She looked at him, worry shadowing her brow like the tall ancient beech trees did his porch roof. “I’m excited for you. I know you’ll make this a success.” A safe answer. Said with a smile. It told him nothing about how she really felt.
She hesitated before speaking again. “Roman, I want to tell you I appreciate your being respectful to my father despite how difficult he is. And I’m sorry for what he said about the pond.”
“Bella, I don’t need the pond.”
She looked at him with surprise.
He laughed a little. “If I need irrigation, I’ve got an entire lake in my backyard. That’s not going to be one of my problems. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t got a lot more. The farm’s neglected. A lot of things need to be brought up to speed. It won’t be easy.” He didn’t want to talk about the farm. He wanted to talk about them.
“Bella, about us. I—”
She put down her glass and walked over to the porch railing. “I—I don’t want to talk about the past. Everything worked out the way it was supposed to.”
“Did it?” He walked up behind her, glancing out at the rows upon rows of apple trees that marched tidily into the distance. If only life were so orderly. He put a hand on each of her arms, holding her from behind. She tensed but didn’t move away. “Did it work out the way it was supposed to?”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
He stood there for a moment, holding her, smelling her sweet scent, wanting her. Without thinking, he slowly spun her around to face him. Their gazes locked, and she gave a gasp of surprise. Her eyes were soft and brimming with feeling—but he had no idea what she was thinking. He was close enough to see the pulse in her neck jump, her full lips part, and in that moment he could swear she felt it too—the sizzling current that had always electrified the air between them.
“I’m sorry, Bella,” he said, still holding her by the arms. Lord, he was sorry,
for everything. For the way he’d left, when everything was still so chaotic. And for his pride, which in all his hurt had prevented him from returning sooner, from truly talking things out with her. He just couldn’t stop the niggling feeling that she wasn’t telling him everything. Because her eyes told him one thing while her words said another.
Or was all of this just that he couldn’t stop himself from acting foolish around her, even after all these years? Seems like he always would. Sense slowly returned, and he took a step back. “For tonight,” he quickly amended. “For being an ass. You may not believe this, but I’ll always feel protective of you. I—I hope we can be friends.”
She broke away, walking back to her chair and picking up her glass, taking a substantial drink. “I’ll take your friendship, Roman, but I don’t need your protection. I’ve done fine on my own. Life happened the way it did, and we both survived it.” She smiled, that same superficial smile that made him want to shake her shoulders a little. “Thanks for the—er—fun evening. I loved the brandy.” She lifted the glass. “To friendship,” she said brightly.
“To friendship,” he said, touching his glass to hers, forcing a smile he didn’t really feel. Friends was good, yes? But it certainly didn’t feel right.
CHAPTER 11
Nine Years Earlier
“Oh, Ethan, my favorite, thanks,” Bella said one Friday night, taking the large tub of buttered popcorn that he was handing her as they climbed down the narrow aisle of red velvet seats. They were in the Palace Theater, Mirror Lake’s hundred-year-old carefully preserved theater full of carvings, statues, very high ceilings, and the façade of a Moorish castle on either side of the velvet-curtained stage. A city landmark, quirky and beloved. Sort of how Bella felt about Ethan.
She was determined to enjoy herself. Even though the special program was a marathon of John Wayne movies from the fifties and sixties and she honestly couldn’t say she’d ever sat through a Western all the way through without falling asleep. Ethan had been really excited about it, and for his sake, she was forcing herself to try something new. Do something for him for a change, when he always seemed to do so much for her.
That was her mantra lately. She was going to open herself up to new experiences. Live her life to the fullest. Leave the heartbreak of the past behind her even though it was so, so hard. But it was fall break of her junior year and she’d been thrilled not to have class for the past few days, and it was Friday night, the workweek behind her. She was up for a little bit of fun.
And Ethan was so nice, as he always was. So concerned about if she was having a good time, always so patient with her. They’d been sleeping together for a month, and it was good. Not exploding-fireworks good like it had been with Roman, but that had been full-throttle teenage love. She was older and wiser now.
She was twenty-one and she wanted to stop acting like she was eighty-one, in between working all week in Crooked Creek, grabbing a bite and driving the hour to Storrs for evening classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays and for her half-day seminar on Saturdays.
After the movies, which weren’t that bad, actually, Ethan walked with her out of the auditorium and down the stairs into the massively ornate lobby, which was only moderately crowded. His hand was light on her back as he ushered her out the glass doors that spilled them out onto Main Street. That’s why she knew he felt it when she stopped dead in her tracks.
There, on Main Street, directly in front of them, was Roman. She’d practically run right into him as he walked past the theater. He was wearing jeans and a black hoodie, his hands tucked into the pockets from the chill of the fall evening.
She felt like she did once when she was a kid and had attempted a cartwheel but ended up crashing to the ground with the wind suddenly knocked out of her. One second she was fine, the next she was hungrily gasping for air. Unable to take any in, panicked. Yet a reality check told her she was standing in the street, still breathing in and out, in and out. Inside, part of her was screaming and sobbing, yet her eyes stayed dry, her expression calm. She hoped.
He was different, but the same. Three years and his military training had made him more filled out, broader through the shoulders. His hair was buzzed short and he was standing very straight, as if good posture had become second nature. Or maybe he was just on guard because of her. He’d become a gorgeous hunk of a man, all muscle and tall leanness.
Ethan kept his hand on her back, perhaps holding her a little tighter, a little more possessively than before. Bella’s first wild impulse was to shrug off his hand and run to Roman, throw herself into his arms and breathe in the scent that she remembered so clearly. Tell him how much she’d missed him, how she wished every second of her life that they could go back and make different choices, different decisions. Get a rewind that hadn’t ended in tragedy all around.
“Hi, Roman,” Ethan said coolly.
Roman cast his dark gaze from Ethan to Bella. Dread pumped through her veins as he slowly took in Ethan’s arm around her. For some reason, she didn’t want Roman to learn about her and Ethan. She knew in that moment that if Roman had the slightest inkling to talk to her, she would take him up on it. The seas had calmed after three years; they’d grown up and matured. Maybe there was still a chance . . .
“Look, Roman, Bella and I are dating,” Ethan said, his arm starting to feel like it was locked around her. “We’re together.”
Bella felt her face color. That voice inside kept crying out, No! No! Yet on the outside, she somehow kept smiling. Roman said something, but for the life of her she didn’t hear it. There was too much blood rushing in her ears.
“How—how are you doing?” she asked. She tried to get him to look her in the eye, but he wouldn’t.
“Oh well—Bella, you remember Reagan, don’t you?” He motioned to a woman behind him who was turned away in the opposite direction.
No, not Reagan. As the woman faced them, Bella noted her beauty hadn’t faded at all. The same long, silky hair, the same Lea Michele thousand-watt smile. The same gorgeous boobs.
“Hey, Bella,” she said. “You look”—she hesitated—“great.” She wore the same superior smirk as in high school. Of course she was smirking! Bella glanced down at her own baggy jeans, plain brown sweater, and boring black fall raincoat, mentally comparing her outfit to Reagan’s fashionable, funky sweater cut at different lengths, her skinny leather leggings, and her high, leopard-print heels. Oh, why had he chosen her of all people?
A few more lines of conversation might have transpired, Bella couldn’t be altogether sure. “It was great to see you, Bella,” Roman said. His eyes looked pained. Something deep inside her called out to him, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. She wanted to grab him by the elbow, ask him if they could talk sometime? But Reagan’s smugness and the look on Ethan’s face stopped her.
Ethan’s face. For the first time she saw it, a mixture of anger and hurt that maybe she’d been too blind to notice before. Could it be that he . . . loved her? Oh, she suddenly realized that she didn’t want that, and yet even thinking it made her feel like such a traitor to the man who’d done everything for her in these hard, lonely years.
“Bella, are you all right?” he asked, touching her arm as they began walking again. Actually, she felt freezing. Her head was pounding. Was life always like this, she wondered, where the choices you make are never really choices? You just get swept away on a tide of your own creation until it drags you so far downstream you’re completely lost.
Ethan was looking at her, fresh worry and concern in his eyes. She took a deep breath to hold it together for him. “I’m fine,” she said with a smile. “I’m really hungry,” she said. “Want to order a pizza?”
She didn’t know how she would ever eat it. Or do anything else with Ethan tonight that wouldn’t let him see right through her. After three years, tonight had shown her that she hadn’t really made any progress at all. How could it be that her body kept moving down the street with Ethan but her heart had stayed back there on the sid
ewalk with Roman? And she feared she would never be whole or happy again.
CHAPTER 12
The next Friday rolled around before Bella knew it. Another Friday, another dating nightmare. Bella hated to admit the best thing about the failed cowboy date was spending time with Roman . . . which confused her even more. Still, she was determined to get back on the dating merry-go-round and give it the old one-two try.
“Oh, oh,” Maggie said as she hung up her desk phone and cast Bella an ominous look across her office.
“What is it?” Bella asked. Maggie worried so much, you could never tell from her tone of voice whether things were catastrophic or just mildly upsetting.
“I just spoke to Sam. There’s been a change of plan with your date tonight.”
Bella stiffened. “That sounds ominous.”
“Sam’s got it under control. She wants me to tell you to keep an open mind.”
“More open than usual?”
“Love can come from unexpected places.”
“Now you’re just plain scaring me.”
“No, no reason to be afraid. Just . . . I’m not sure you’re going to be thrilled.”
“Oh, for God’s sakes, Maggie, tell me who it is!”
“Look, you promised us three dates and to keep an open mind. That’s all I’m saying or Samantha will kill me. Now I’ve got to go. Friday night awaits, and I’ve got a date myself.”
“Who with?”
“Two very attractive three-year-old young men. And their mothers. It involves a swim at the rec center and chicken nuggets afterward.”
“Have a blast,” Bella said. “And if you and Sam have thrown me under the bus tonight, I’m giving up on men and joining a convent.”
“Well, you do look good in black,” Maggie said, shooing her out the door before she could respond. “Call me tomorrow, okay?”
Ten minutes later, Bella was standing in the entranceway to Brad Rushford’s restaurant on the lake, Reflections, looking around for her mystery date, thinking that the guy, whoever he was, couldn’t be all that bad if he wanted to meet her here, at the classiest place in town. Finally, after asking the hostess a zillion times if anyone had a table for two and was waiting for someone to show, she ended up sitting at the bar and ordering a glass of wine, praying that she wasn’t being stood up. To make things worse, some businessman who was already tipsy hit on her.
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