Falling Again

by Peggy Bird

  As she walked around the room, admiring each photograph, she said, “I think you were underplaying your apartment so I’d be wowed by it. Your photographs alone are amazing. I’ve always liked your landscapes in Amanda’s dining room, but these are even more spectacular.” She gestured toward the bookcase. “And your collection of electronic paraphernalia is truly impressive.”

  His grin acknowledged his pleasure. “Thanks. The art is from my first solo show at a local gallery a few years back. And the gear is an addiction. In addition to what you see, I have another TV in my bedroom and more camera equipment than any sane person should have, even one who makes his living with it. The guy who sold me renter’s insurance couldn’t believe I had so little furniture and so much other stuff, even when he saw it.”

  “So, great images on the wall, expensive—but insured—electronics, enough comfortable furniture to feel like home and not a rat or a roach in sight. Maybe not a candidate for a magazine spread but a nice place for a responsible grown-up to live. Sound like what Amanda needs to hear?”

  “With an emphasis on the responsible grown-up, which she seems to forget I am.”

  “Are you serious? She’ll ask?”

  “She has fussed over me all my life. Part of it is, she loves playing big sister to her baby brother. Part of it is, she’s a fusser. She’ll ask.”

  Fiona started to ask how much of a baby brother he was but wasn’t really sure she wanted to know so she kept quiet as she watched him pour two glasses of a very nice red wine. He handed one glass to her and motioned her to the futon.

  During the course of drinking the wine the conversation turned to what Nick was working on. Fiona was unaccountably pleased when he told about an offer he’d had to shoot a story about recreation opportunities in the Cascade Mountains to begin after his next assignment in Canada. If he took the offer, he’d be in the Northwest for about two weeks, most likely based in Portland.

  As they finished their wine, Fiona asked, “You said you’d made a list of places to eat to impress me with your good taste and sophistication. So where are we going tonight?”

  “Should have known better than to try and slip a statement like that past a reporter. It’s a Cuban place in Adams-Morgan. They have good food and good music. And we have a seven-thirty reservation.”

  The restaurant wasn’t far and the evening pleasant so they walked. Nick took her hand as they started out, which she was surprised to find felt comfortable, as if they’d been a couple for a long time. Focused on his thumb caressing the back of her hand, she almost missed the greeting from a man who called her name as they crossed the street a block away from their destination.

  “Oh, my gosh, Hank. How’ve you been?” She dropped Nick’s hand and gave the man a hug.

  The drivers trying to negotiate the intersection laid on their horns and made the three of them run for the sidewalk.

  “I’m great,” Hank said when they got to the sidewalk. “And you?”

  “Same.” She turned to her date. “Nick, this is Hank Lewis. He used to work for Willamette Week, and then moved up in the world to a gig with the AP here. Hank, Nick St. Claire.”

  “What are you doing just walking around town like you don’t have a care in the world when there’s a hot story back in Portland?” Hank asked.

  “What hot story?”

  “Haven’t you had your phone on? What’ve you been doing for the last few hours?” He looked from Fiona to Nick with a knowing smirk.

  “Come on, Hank, what’s going on?”

  “Guy fired two shots at the mayor during the City Council meeting today.”

  “You’re kidding. Now I know why I couldn’t find my editor this afternoon. Do they know who?”

  “They got him. Some man named Preston Garland. The cops kept everyone in the building from leaving and the mayor and her chief of staff ID’d the guy. Cops arrested him on site.”

  “Not the smartest assassin in the world, apparently.”

  “No, but I heard he has interesting ties to some white power groups.”

  “Oh, shit. Come have a drink with us and tell me more.”

  “Love to,” Hank said, “but I’m on my way to meet someone myself. We can talk in St. Michaels. I assume you’ll be at the wedding tomorrow.”

  He said his goodbyes and Nick and Fiona continued down the block to their restaurant. They were immediately seated and Nick ordered glasses of wine for them.

  Their server returned with their drinks and they ordered dinner—the arroz con pollo and ropa vieja Nick recommended. After the server left, she picked up her glass and took a sip.

  “So,” Nick said, “from what your friend says, things aren’t the usual laid back and mellow in Portland.”

  When she returned the glass to the table, she held the stem in her hands and, staring into the bowl, twirled the glass between her fingers. “Awful, isn’t it?” She moved restlessly in her chair. “I don’t think anything like this has ever happened before.”

  He laughed. “You’re dying to make a couple phone calls, aren’t you?”

  “I’d apologize for being so obvious, but I’m afraid terminal curiosity is an incorrigible part of my personality.”

  “And what makes you a good reporter. So make the phone calls. I’ll have the waiter hold our meals for…what…ten minutes?”

  “Make it fifteen, if you really don’t mind.” Although she tried to keep her expression under control, she was sure he could see excitement on her face about the hot story, mixed with relief she wouldn’t have to wait to follow up on it.

  “Believe me, I understand. Try being around me when the light is exactly at the right angle for the shot I’ve been stalking for a few days. I’d mow over my mother to get what I was after much less put off dinner with a date.”

  “You’re terrific. Should I leave or…”

  “No, no, no. Stay here, so I can eavesdrop.”

  He signaled to their waiter while she dug her cell phone out of her purse. She called around her office until someone answered the phone. When she found out Sam Richardson was one of the detectives in on the investigation she called him, too. Sam was the one cop who would always answer her calls—he was married to her friend Amanda and she’d done him a few favors over the years. Now it was his turn to do her one.

  In less than fifteen minutes she had the details of what had happened in City Hall and knew Sam believed someone who worked in the building brought in the weapon, because security remembered clearing the shooter and he had definitely not been armed.

  She waited for Sam to say something about Nick being in D.C. When he didn’t, Fiona was very careful not to let him know she was sitting across a restaurant table from his brother-in-law. Her two evenings spent with Nick would stay her secret until she figured out what he wanted and whether anyone at all needed to know.

  Chapter 4

  The wedding on Saturday was lovely. The bride, who had roomed with Fiona for a couple of years when they were both starting out in Portland before moving to the East Coast for a job on Capitol Hill, looked radiant and the groom handsome. The ceremony was everything it was supposed to be—joyful, festive, celebratory.

  Leaving the church, Fiona cornered Hank Lewis to continue the conversation from the evening before. He gave her a couple ideas on rocks to turn over, but eventually Fiona felt sorry for the woman he was with, who’d never even been to Portland, much less been involved in the city’s local politics, and moved on.

  Sitting in a coffee shop killing time between the noon wedding and the two o’clock reception, she got a text from Nick asking how the wedding had gone. He was off to the artist reception for his show opening in Alexandria himself.

  Hmm, what if she went back to D.C. this afternoon instead of the next day? She could surprise Nick at the gallery. Maybe have dinner with him. She had the rest of the weekend free; he’d said he did. It was tempting.

  Two evenings with him had convinced her there was something between them; something that migh
t be worth exploring. She still wasn’t sure why he had sought her out. Maybe he needed to occupy his time between assignments and she was conveniently in town. That wouldn’t be all that bad, now that she thought about it. No complications. No messy emotions. Not the worst way to get back out in the world after more than a year of self-imposed isolation.

  The signals were all there saying he was interested. She didn’t think she was so rusty she’d misinterpreted him. She was sure by now he wasn’t doing a favor for his sister. Among other reasons, wouldn’t Sam have mentioned it if his wife was behind the meet-up?

  And she doubted his sister would have asked him to hold her hand or put his arm around her, much less give her good-night kisses that left her breathless and wanting more. Maybe tonight…

  The thought of what “more” might mean made the decision for her—if the hot, young guy was interested, so was she. She might not live a life as exciting as a world-traveling photographer but she wasn’t foolish enough to walk away from the chance to spend time with someone who seemed attracted to her regardless of her travel experience. She’d put in an appearance at the reception, say hello to the bride and groom, eat wedding cake, and then head back to D.C.

  The drive back to Washington gave her plenty of time to think about her impulsive decision. Halfway there she began to have serious doubts. Maybe she was kidding herself thinking he was interested. Maybe it would be better to go back to her hotel. Maybe she could get her room back a day early. An infinite loop of the reasons she shouldn’t do what she was about to do ran through her head: he was a kid; he’d have other plans for the evening.

  Oh, God, maybe he had a date. There was a possibility she hadn’t considered.

  Should she call him and see if it was okay to drop in? Just outside the city, she pulled over at a rest stop and tried calling but got his voicemail, texted him and sat watching the screen for fifteen minutes before acknowledging it was likely he wasn’t paying attention to his phone.

  She decided to cruise by the gallery and see if he appeared to be dateless, then make up her mind about going in. If it didn’t look good, she’d head to Capitol Hill.

  Arriving in Alexandria, she located the address and parked a block away. Casually strolling past the place, she glanced in, not sure what she would see or how he would react.

  She needn’t have worried. Nick spied her before she could get past the large front display window, broke off the conversation he was having with an older couple and came out the door.

  Putting his arm around her shoulders, he kissed her. “This makes the evening even better,” he said before leading her inside. His obvious pleasure calmed her last vestige of fear about his not wanting her there.

  His exhibit was a series of black-and-white images he’d taken on a trip to Israel and Palestine with a peace group eighteen months before. He started to explain them to her but was interrupted by the gallery owner, who wanted him to meet a couple who’d just purchased one of the photographs.

  On her own Fiona perused the exhibit. His skill and sensitivity in showing the impact of the long-running conflict on the lives of people on both sides of the issue, without advocating for either, moved her. And shooting the images as he did seemed an interesting choice for a subject so clearly not black and white. Although having once seen the photos shot that way, she couldn’t imagine them otherwise.

  Maybe there was more to this man—not to mention what he did for a living—than she gave him credit for. Nick’s images brought her to understand the conflict on an emotional level in a way all the millions of words written about it had not.

  After she looked over the exhibit, she watched him. She admired the easy manner he had with total strangers, some of whom didn’t seem to know much about either the subject or the art form. She liked the way he handled the questions he was asked about his work—most of them, she noticed, repeats of the ones he’d just answered five minutes before.

  At seven, the art gallery owner said, “We’re done here for the evening, Nick. It seemed to go well, don’t you think?”

  “It did, thanks to your mailing list.” He motioned to Fiona. “Adam, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Fiona McCarthy. Fiona, Adam Healy.”

  “I like your gallery, Adam,” Fiona said as they shook hands.

  “Thank you. And thank you for coming to Nick’s reception. Now why don’t the two of you go have a drink or something?”

  “Any recommendations on a place to eat nearby?” Nick asked.

  “Nostrano. An Italian place about two blocks away. You’ll love it.”

  “Sound good to you, Fee?”

  Fiona usually hated to have her name shortened but somehow she couldn’t find it in her to complain when Nick did it. “Sounds great.”

  • • •

  They were just about finished with their coffee and tiramisu when Nick said, “Thank you for coming back early to see my exhibit. I was surprised—and happy—to see you.”

  She ducked her head, not wanting to meet his eyes as she said, “Well, I didn’t know many people at the reception. And your exhibit sounded so interesting when you talked about it. Besides, there were some other things I thought I could do back in the District.” When she looked up, his expression was beyond sexy, the bedroom eyes with lids at half-mast, the tip of his tongue flicking over his upper lip as if lapping up the last bit of cream from a saucer.

  “Oh?” he asked. “What were the other things you wanted to do? I’d be really interested in knowing.” The tone of his voice was low and intimate.

  “Yes, I…uh…well, there’s…” She stopped, not sure how to continue the conversation, wanting to say he drew her back, not his work, but afraid to tell him in case it was a mistake.

  He let the silence build for a few long moments before saying, “Maybe I can finish the sentence for you. You came back early because you feel the same electricity between us that I do, and you want to find out what we can do about it.”

  Gulping hard, she nodded; words still out of reach for her.

  He took her hand as he continued, “And you thought since I’d told you I was free for the rest of the weekend, I might be interested in doing the same.”

  Another nod.

  “Then why are we sitting here when I have a perfectly good apartment waiting where we can satisfy our curiosity?”

  She followed him to his neighborhood, then wasted a frustrating five minutes looking for a parking place. At the point where she would have double-parked and the ticket be damned, she found a place. Nick was waiting outside his building when she finally got there, took her hand without saying another word, and together they went up the steps to his apartment. When they got inside, she could feel her heart rate kick into a gear previously unknown to her and her breathing become almost audible.

  Dear God, he’d barely touched her and she was a puddle of desire.

  Putting his hands on her shoulders he said, “We can go as fast or as slow as you want, Fee. I want to do what you want to do.”

  She answered him by bringing his mouth to hers, brushing her lips over his, back and forth, side to side, teasing, asking him for more. He pulled her into his arms and she relaxed against him, a soft moan coming from the back of her throat as he took control of the kiss. Shifting his body backward slightly, he pulled her onto her tiptoes and hard against him where she could feel his growing erection.

  When he had her where he seemed to want her, he moved his hands up her back and into her hair. Without any urging from him, she parted her lips to let him in, their tongues doing a slow, sensual dance around each other. He found the place at the corners of her mouth that made her gasp and moan again, nibbled at her lower lip as though she was more dessert for him to savor.

  Eventually, reluctantly, she pulled away so she could get some oxygen to her heated brain. “Should we continue this here or…?” he asked, leaving the question open and the decision to go to his bedroom to her.

  Her hands flat on his chest, she smiled up at him a
nd said, “I hear there’s a big-screen TV someplace other than the living room. Why don’t you show it to me?”

  “I have something else in mind to show you, but we can start there,” he said, taking her hand again.

  He had turned toward his bedroom when she stopped him. “There’s one thing you should know.”

  “Unless you’re married to an armed and dangerous man who’s found his way to the building looking for you, I can’t think of anything else I need to know.”

  “Seriously, Nick.”

  He looked like he was trying to control his mouth from breaking out in a smile. “Okay. Seriously, Fee.”

  “It’s been a very long time since…well, since the last time. I might be a big disappointment to you.”

  He let the smile appear. “I hear it’s like riding a bike. It comes back to you very quickly. Besides, you don’t kiss like someone who’ll disappoint me.” To prove his point, he claimed her mouth in another scorching kiss before pulling her to the bedroom.

  When they got there he turned on the bedside light and waved at the TV. “There it is, a big TV as advertised, although there’s nothing I want to see right now…well, nothing on television. There’s my desk, which holds no interest for me either. But this,” he bounced onto the bed and then up again before pulling back an indigo blue patterned quilt to reveal crisp looking white sheets, “I am in the mood for doing something here. How about I get you comfortable so we can figure out what it is?”

  She nodded agreement, afraid to speak for fear she’d be unable to form a coherent sentence. Slowly, almost reverently, he began undressing her, kissing her neck as he slipped off her jacket. Then, as he unzipped the back of her dress, he took her earlobe between his teeth and gently tugged at it before running his tongue over the ridges of her ear. Holding onto his arms for support, shivering with desire, she felt her knees begin to wobble dangerously as he blew his warm breath over her damp ear.