“Take your time.” He was opening a book from the library when Lacey entered the room.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” He caught her looking at the flowers in his hand. She caught him looking at her in that dress. The color was somewhere between green and blue. The skirt fluttered like a whisper as she walked closer. The neckline ended at a V that whispered something else entirely.
“At first I wasn’t sure how this first-date idea was going to go,” she said.
He met her in the middle of the room and handed her the bouquet. The flowers had been an afterthought. Witnessing the pleasure she took in them made him wonder what else he’d left out in the past. “And now?” he asked. “How would you say it’s going now?”
“So far so good.” It was a phrase he’d heard her use often. She was the same Lacey. Or was she?
Their gazes met, held, slid away and met again, and it felt very much like a first date, full of potential and excitement and discovery. Her hair waved close to her face, the ends resting lightly at the delicate ridges of her collarbones. Her lips were shiny, her cheeks bronzed, but her eyes stole the show. Bluer than blue, they were surrounded by lashes that looked a mile long.
“I would offer you something to drink,” she said, “but I only recently moved back in, and I started a new job today, and I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance to go to the store.”
It was exactly the sort of comment someone would make on a first date. “We can get something to drink at the restaurant,” he said. “Do you like Italian food?”
He knew she did. And he knew it was going to be a memorable first date when she burst out laughing. This was Lacey. Only better. He was himself, but he was going to be better, too.
She put the flowers in water and switched on a lamp so she wouldn’t come home to the dark. Slipping the purse she’d kept him waiting for over her shoulder, she preceded him out the door.
After she’d buckled her seat belt and he’d buckled his, he said, “I just returned from a little trip myself.”
He had her in stitches as he described his and Marsh’s encounter with Oxman this afternoon. By the time he’d told her about the size-six shoeprint the wrong Julia Monroe had left on the private investigator’s cheek, Noah was laughing, too.
The restaurant he’d chosen was one of those chains that had popped up in college towns throughout the Midwest these past few years. Decorated in faux old-world-Italy style, it wasn’t exactly five-star, but Reed had said the food was good, the waitstaff was prompt, and there wasn’t a television or a paper napkin in the place.
Since it wasn’t the kind of establishment that took reservations, they’d had to wait to be seated. Not long after the hostess led them to a table under a window, their waiter appeared. “Could I interest the two of you in something from the bar?”
Normally Noah’s drink requests leaned toward a shot and a beer. Tonight, he ordered a bottle of the house wine, and watched as Lacey turned her attention to her menu. He put his down. He knew what he wanted. He’d already decided what he was going to order, too.
Lacey could feel Noah’s gaze on her. Glad to have something to focus on, she continued to peruse the menu, still deciding between the lasagna and the baked chicken. In the back of her mind, she thought April was right. Noah was having trouble keeping his eyes off her in this dress.
April had brought a cache of products with her when she’d arrived. There were potions and lotions, makeup, perfume and jewelry. She’d helped Lacey decide how to wear her hair, and inspected her makeup when Lacey was finished applying it. Lacey had taken April’s advice and applied another coat of mascara and a spray of flowery perfume, but she’d decided against wearing a necklace and earrings. The dress was enough.
The waiter arrived with their wine and took their orders. While Noah poured, Lacey studied him unhurriedly. He’d never been pretty-boy handsome, not this man. His features were too rugged to be considered classic. Pretty boys had never appealed to her. Noah had always been a little rough around the edges. Earlier she’d noticed that his belt and shoes were a tad scuffed and his chocolate-brown pants sat just below his waist as if they’d been made for him. The combination of his shaggy hair and tan skin above the open collar of a finely tailored shirt was declaring open season on her senses.
She asked him questions about his work and his travels as if she didn’t know him from Adam. And he asked her about hers the same way. Their meals arrived, and they refilled their wineglasses, and they talked about anything and everything under the sun. Much of what they said was simply a refresher course, and, yet, refreshing it was. Somehow it all felt brand-new.
Last night he’d told her they would look back for years to come and remember it as the night they began anew. By the time the waiter brought Noah the check and a take-out box containing the uneaten portion of her entrée, Lacey had already forgotten much of what they’d talked about tonight. It wasn’t the conversation that made the night memorable. It was the care Noah took to make sure she had everything she wanted.
She didn’t miss the significant look the waiter gave Noah when he took his credit card, or the slight smile Noah gave the young waiter in return. She’d seen that kind of male communication before. It was the equivalent to the beat of distant drums and smoke signals, and it meant go for it!
She wasn’t certain what Noah was planning, but she could tell what he was thinking by the way his gaze lingered on her mouth, and the base of her neck, and the V of her dress. And knowing sent those butterflies aflutter.
He held the door for her as she got in his truck. Now that the evening was winding down, she rolled her window down and let her hair blow in the onrushing breeze. He rolled his down, too, and to Lacey it felt a little as if they were flying.
Flying would have explained why the drive back to Division Street lasted only as long as a blink of an eye. The mercury lights were on in the alley when they got there. The poles were spaced apart so that each circle of light ended before the next one began. Noah parked between two of them. And for the first time since the date began, they both fell silent.
She looked over at him. The little gash on his lip had healed, and his hair was windblown now, too. He was looking back at her, and it occurred to her that she didn’t know how this night would end, not really. It was part of the great unknown. She didn’t have to know. Somehow not knowing added to the excitement and the pleasure.
He drew in a deep breath, and said, “I’ll walk you to your door.”
Her chest filled with wonder. Would their first date really end at her door?
She slipped out on her side and met him at the front of his truck. They took a leisurely walk up the stairs side by side. At the top, she dug through her purse for her key. A tear sheet from a magazine came out with her keys. “I forgot I brought a personality quiz with me.”
“A personality quiz?” He took the key from her and put it in the lock.
“I took it myself last night and brought it along in case we ran out of things to talk about during dinner.”
He faced her. The dim yellow light beside her door was behind him, casting his shadow on her. His eyes looked darker, his expression difficult to read. “You took it, you said?”
She nodded.
“What did the results say?”
For a moment the heat in his eyes made her forget the question. In a moment or two, he was going to kiss her good-night. She wondered if he had any idea that she’d been waiting for this kiss since he’d arrived.
Sliding the torn pages back into her shoulder bag, she said, “It turns out I’m not a morning person.” She hadn’t meant it to sound so sultry and sensual.
“I’ll take that under advisement.” He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, drawing her closer. Their mouths touched, and it felt like the beginning, like one of those childhood wishes to go back and do something over, only better, knowing now what she didn’t know then.
When he’d asked her earlier if she remembered
their first date, she’d told him no. If he’d asked if she remembered their first kiss, she would have said yes. It had happened after he’d finished his six-month stint flying wealthy businessmen from one corner of Texas to the other.
There was a balmy breeze tonight, but that night winter had just begun. It was three days before Christmas and it had been snowing since early afternoon. All anybody Lacey had waited on at The Hill had talked about was Christmas. She’d decorated the tree in the restaurant and another one at home, but she really hadn’t been looking forward to Christmas that year.
That changed when the door opened just before closing time. The movement set off the jingle of the sleigh bells Rosy Sirrine had fastened over the door the day after Thanksgiving. The sight of Noah Sullivan staring back at her, the collar of his bomber-style winter coat turned up against the weather and snowflakes melting in his dark shaggy hair, had set off another round of chimes in the pit of Lacey’s stomach.
She’d exchanged her white apron for her winter coat, and he’d walked her home. And she remembered thinking there was nothing more still or magical than the first measurable December snow. They’d talked all the way to the back alley. She didn’t recall the subject matter, but she remembered thinking that Christmas was going to come early for her that year.
And it had.
They’d been young and impetuous and more than a little wild back then. He’d kissed her at the bottom of the stairs. That first kiss had led to another, and another, and had landed them both in her bed.
It was summertime now, and all these years later Noah’s kiss wasn’t impetuous or wild, as their first kiss had been. Tonight, his kiss was a contradiction and a promise, so deeply etched in her memory it might have been entered in an ancient record and yet so new it seemed to have been invented just for them. Unbelievably intimate, it caused her heart to speed up and her thoughts to slow. It was thunder and lighting and a warm, nourishing rain. If it went on forever, it would be over too soon.
She wasn’t sure if she swayed closer or if he did. She only knew that her body came up against his—thighs, hips and bellies. A moan escaped her at the proof of how badly he wanted her.
A groan escaped him, too, but he imposed an iron will upon himself. Drawing away gallantly, but with obvious reluctance, he pressed his forehead to hers for a moment. “Good night, Lacey.”
“I had a wonderful time, Noah. I mean that.”
He watched her slip out of his arms, and he waited until she’d closed the door before starting down the stairs.
Covering her lips with her fingertips to hold in her cheer, she pressed her back against the door. The lamp she’d left on cast a soft glow through the room. She took a deep breath of air scented of roses and lilies and a handful of other flowers in the bouquet he’d given her. He’d never brought her flowers. As much as she’d loved him, she’d never felt quite like this.
Elation bubbled out of her. She spun away from the door and twirled around and around, her skirt billowing like a dancer’s. Stopping when she got dizzy, she stood perfectly still, waiting for the room to stop spinning. She looked around the apartment that once had been cluttered with her dad’s things. She was beginning to understand what he’d meant by hidden treasure.
She’d always thought she’d wanted one thing. The night they’d broken up, she’d told Noah she wanted a house with a picket fence and a dog and children. Hiding beneath the surface now was something else.
She might always want babies, but she was starting to realize that she could have a rich and meaningful life without having children of her own. She was Aunt Lacey.
As soon as the tavern sold, she would pay off her medical bills, and she would be free to explore another kind of future. Wasn’t that what Noah had wanted?
April was bringing a client to see the tavern tomorrow. Lacey thought for a moment about her Houdini, and wondered where she would go if it sold and a new owner reopened the bar. Again, Lacey wondered about the other woman’s identity. She was probably downstairs getting comfortable right now.
The idea piqued her curiosity. Was she downstairs right now?
Where did she go during the day? And why had she chosen Bell’s Tavern? How on earth was she getting in?
Lacey’s silent questions led her to her door.
Opening it an inch at a time, she peered out. She knew every hiding place in the alley. She also knew which window was near the pool table. What if she tiptoed down the stairs and took a little peek inside? It was still her tavern, after all. What harm could there be in slipping into the shadows where the mercury light didn’t reach?
She opened her door a little farther. It was midnight. The moon was out, spilling weak silver light onto the stairs. She turned one ear to the night. Voices and music carried from the outdoor tables at the Alibi Bar across Division Street, but the alley itself was quiet.
Lacey slipped out onto the stoop and carefully drew the door shut. She peered down into the shadows. Satisfied that the coast was clear, she tiptoed down the steps. Again, she listened intently. Hearing nothing, she crept silently from shadow to shadow. At the building, she ducked down like a cat burglar and scuttled beneath the first window where the for-sale sign now hung from the inside. Up and down she went until she came to the window in the far corner.
Her heart was racing with excitement now. Rising up on tiptoe, she looked in. Seeing only her own reflection, she pressed her nose closer. She curled her hands beside her eyes like field glasses and leaned all the way to the glass. That was better. She could see one end of the pool table. She inched to the next pane, and studied the patch of moonlight spilling onto the floor. Try as she might, she couldn’t make out the sleeping bag underneath. Or wait. Was someone inside?
Her breath caught at the possibility. She had to go up on tiptoe to see better. Nobody was inside, at least nobody she could see. That had obviously been wishful thinking.
She was in the middle of heaving a deep sigh when a hand cupped her shoulder. A big, heavy, strong, terrifying hand.
Her heart reared up and alarm bells clanged in her head. She spun around and opened her mouth to scream.
Chapter Eight
Oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god. This was it. The moment every woman feared.
Lacey knew better than to skulk around in dark alleys, even in towns with only 25,000 people. This was the price she paid for throwing caution to the wind. How could she have been so trusting, so stupid? She would probably be murdered, her body never found. Or worse.
She spun around. Fright—stark and vivid—lodged in her throat. She couldn’t even scream. Or breathe. Or think.
“It’s okay, Lacey, it’s me.”
She blinked in the darkness. Her heart was racing so fast she thought she’d heard somebody call her by name.
“Are you okay?”
She knew that voice. A man dressed in dark pants and shirt, making him all but invisible, stood a few feet from her. She peered up at him. Noah?
He wasn’t an ax murderer. Or a rapist. Or her Houdini.
It was Noah.
Her heart was racing. It wasn’t a good feeling, and it couldn’t be good for her. Her hands automatically went to her hips and that fighter’s chin of hers went up. “Somebody needs to put a bell on you. You should know better than to scare people like that. What if I had a weapon or a black belt in karate or a bad heart? What are you doing here, anyway?”
He held up the white box from the restaurant. “You left this in my truck.” There was an edge of annoyance in his voice, but he continued his explanation. “I was going the wrong direction when I remembered your leftovers. The cop I saw made me think twice about doing a U-turn, so I parked on Division Street and walked over. I think the question should be what the hell are you doing out here?”
She ducked her head.
Noah knew that tactic. It was a ruse to buy Lacey some time until she thought of a way to change the subject.
“I forgot all about my doggie bag,” she said, gesturing t
o the square box in his hand. “You didn’t have to make a special trip to bring it back. But thank you just the same.”
Noah saw through the innocent act like a picture window. He took a step backward, putting a little distance between them. The near-darkness bleached the color out of everything, so that her pale aqua dress looked silver. Her face was pale, too. He couldn’t see the expression in her eyes, but they were wide-open. Undeterred, he asked, “Why were you looking in the window?”
“Shh.” She glanced over her shoulder. “She’ll hear you.”
She stopped so quickly he knew she hadn’t meant to say that. “Why were you looking in the window?” he said again, intentionally louder.
She covered his mouth with her hand. Making a show of looking all around again, she removed her hand and said, “If I have to tell you I’d rather not do it down here where everybody and anybody might hear.”
She didn’t exactly stomp her feet, but she didn’t make any attempt to be quiet as she led the way up the steps. At the top she opened the door and traipsed on in. She didn’t turn around until he’d closed the door firmly behind him.
In no mood to make concessions, he took the leftovers to the kitchen and stuck the foam box in the old refrigerator. After closing the door with a loud clank and making sure the handle was latched, he retraced his steps and found her still standing in the center of the room. Her color was heightened. Her eyes were large and round, her mascara smudged slightly. Something was going on, and he wasn’t leaving until he knew what it was.
He folded his arms, waiting.
She raised her big blue eyes to his. She must have realized that he wasn’t going anywhere until she told him the truth, because she heaved a great sigh and finally began. “If you must know I was hoping to get a glimpse of Houdini.”
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