Elle glanced sideways and saw a puff of frosty air leave his lips. He had gorgeous lips. Did I know that in high school?
“Anyway, she wasn’t the kind of person to shortchange herself—banker joke—when it came to life. She organized a major family vacation every summer, either we rented a cabin at the lake for a month or did some traveling. One year, we went to the rain forest in Belize. Another time we took a canoe trip in Northern Ontario.”
“Wow. Sounds like you had a great life together. Must be pretty hard, now. To be alone, I mean. Since I never had that kind of togetherness—well, not for long, anyway, I’m used to being alone.”
They’d stopped walking, and he turned so they were facing each other. “Alone and lonely aren’t the same thing,” he said. “I keep busy, like you do, but don’t tell me you don’t have nights when the walls close in and you think you’ll go mad if you don’t have someone to talk to.”
Her mouth went dry. How had he guessed? “That’s what friends are for,” she said, striving for flippancy.
“Friends can only do so much. Your kids have their own lives and can’t be expected to fill in all the gaps. And an electric blanket may warm the bed, but it’s hell to snuggle up with.”
He was inviting her home, she realized. To his bed. To snuggle…and more. But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t take the place of his dead wife.
“I…um…I’m not Sarah.”
He closed the distance between them and put his lips just inches from hers. “No. You’re Elle.” Then he kissed her. A real kiss. The kind she hadn’t experienced in months, or longer. Maybe ever.
Her arms knew what to do even if her mind wasn’t working. She looped them around his neck and kissed him back. Forgetting the fact that they were dressed in six layers of clothing and standing on Main Street.
How long they kissed, she had no idea. Why they stopped, she wasn’t sure, either. But his low chuckle prompted her to open her eyes.
“Wow. I’ve waited nearly forty years to do that.”
His tone was so serious, Elle panicked. She didn’t do serious, right? She was footloose and fancy-free and immune to commitment. At least, that was what she’d always been told. Nobody took her seriously, and this was definitely the wrong time in her life to try to make a personality change.
“Max,” she said, dropping her chin to her chest. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Because your boyfriend might want you back?”
She looked up. A low hit, but deserved. “Because I’m flaky Ellenore Adams. Airhead blonde. All body, no substance. It’s just a matter of time before I screw up, cut my losses and leave. That’s what I do.”
He ran the edge of his leather glove along her jaw, which jutted out defiantly, as if she had a right to be proud of that history. “That was never you, Elle. You let people believe that. Just like your dad let people think he was a bumbling, goofy old Joe, who only knew how to pump gas and change tires. But I got to know your dad before he passed away. He came to all the local chess matches, and he and I would play a couple of times a month. There were times he showed glimpses of brilliance. Daring, gutsy moves that reminded me so much of you.”
Elle couldn’t quite take in what he was saying. “My dad played chess? But I used to beat him at checkers.”
Max’s shoulders lifted and fell. “Did it never occur to you that he let you win? Dads do that for little girls they love unconditionally.”
Tears pooled in her eyes and her nose started to run. She dug in her pocket for a tissue, but Max produced a cotton handkerchief. She’d never met a man other than her father who carried one.
“Speaking of chess,” he said, turning her to one side so he could use the streetlight to see to dry her tears, “wanna play? I have a stack of boards in the back of my truck. Never leave home without ’em.”
She took the hankie from him and blew her nose. “The last time I played was in high school when you tried to teach me.”
He put his arm across her shoulders in a companionable way and started toward his SUV. “And I seem to remember you showed great promise.”
She snorted. “You were probably so busy looking down my shirt you just didn’t see my mistakes.”
“Could be. Feel free to use that gambit tonight, if you’re serious about winning.”
Because she knew he was teasing—the view down her shirt wasn’t that great anymore—she laughed. It struck her that she laughed more in his company than with any other man she’d ever dated. Did that mean she was in love?
The possibility suddenly seemed all too real.
MAX HADN’T BEEN BACK to Elle’s parents’ home since her mother’s funeral. He knew that the house had gone to Elle and the gas station to Jane because Jane’s husband, Phil, had mentioned the arrangement one night at the Elk’s club. He wasn’t surprised to see that Elle had already put her own stamp on the simple, one-story bungalow.
“I like these colors,” he said, admiring the deep, taupe walls of the living room.
“Thank you. Jane said it was ridiculous to paint when my business was so iffy, but I told her I thought fresh paint would attract younger buyers if I do have to sell.” She shrugged off her coat and hung it up in the coat closet.
His was next. Irrational as it seemed, that gesture gave him hope. Would she bother hanging it up if she was going to send him home after their game of chess?
“Cup of tea?” she asked, heading to the kitchen.
“Sure. But nothing with caffeine, please. I’m saving up for my java jolt for the morning.”
The kitchen, he noticed, was relatively untouched. White walls and old-fashioned four-inch square tile that was a mottled blend of tan and brown with dark grout. His kitchen had looked almost identical before Sarah had it gutted just a few months before she died. He’d tried to talk her out of starting such a big project when she was so weak, but she’d claimed it was her mission to leave him a house he could be happy in.
Happy. How a ten-thousand-dollar remodel job was supposed to make up for losing his mate, he had no idea, but he’d given her free rein.
“You’ve been my only honest-to-goodness Falls regular, you know,” she said from where she stood at the stove, her back to him.
“I kinda guessed that. Can’t figure out why. Your prices aren’t that much higher than other places and your coffee is a thousand times better tasting than that light brown swill they sell at the bakery.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Thank you. I think so, too. Jane says locals are slow to warm to outsiders. I was so dumb I didn’t know she meant me.”
Max heard the hurt in her tone. He walked over to her and put his arms around her. “I’ll never understand your sister, but I do agree that there are quite a few people in small towns with a certain mentality toward change. Give them time, Elle. They’ll come around.”
Her deep sigh pushed her backward slightly in his arms. He liked the feeling. A lot. He loved her scent, a blend of cinnamon and coffee—even when she wasn’t working. “I don’t know how much time I’ve got, Max.”
Her words jolted him. Hard. Like someone had jabbed him in the chest with a cane. “What do you mean?” he asked, stepping back. His voice must have cracked because she pivoted on one heel, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Oh, dear. What a stupid thing to say! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m well. More or less. I think I might be going through the change, but I’m healthy as a horse. What I meant is I can’t afford to keep dipping into my retirement fund to shore up a losing business. I put every penny I could into my 401K when I was working in sales. It’s not a fortune, and it has to last. I didn’t mean to sound like such a drama queen.”
His heart returned to its normal pace. He held out his hand to her. “I should have known that’s what you meant. And if it makes any difference, I know women are all different, but Sarah said menopause was the best thing that ever happened to her.”
“It might have been connected to her treatments, but she was all done with symptoms when she was forty-two. She called her hot flashes ‘power surges,’ and said they served as a reminder to have sex more often.”
Elle chuckled and shook her head. “I think I would have liked her.”
“I think so, too.”
They looked into each other’s eyes for a long while. Max read something that told him she was thinking about sleeping with him. When the kettle started whistling, she turned off the stove and said, “Let’s skip the tea. And chess. I have something better in mind.”
Then she led the way to the master bedroom. A room that might have once belonged to her parents, but now was home to a glamorous, sexy woman who wasn’t afraid to display her treasures.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“CLASSY.”
“You like the color? Jane called it olive-green. I almost kicked her in the shin.” Elle quickly snapped on the bedside lamp, an updated version of a Tiffany design with a heavy sculpted base.
“Sage,” he said, walking from the doorway to the dresser where her eclectic collection of vintage jewelry was displayed. “My favorite color. Sarah redid the kitchen in a Craftsman design and the walls are about this shade. Maybe a little darker.”
He picked up a glittery, slightly vulgar necklace of square garnets, diamonds and finely wrought silver. She’d unearthed the piece at an estate sale in Oakland and loved it on sight. “This is fabulous. Will you wear it for me?”
She swallowed loudly. “Are you kidding?”
“No.”
“It’s early-American harlot. Are you sure that’s the right tone to strike for our first time?” She couldn’t believe she managed to sound so cavalier when inside her heart was barely pumping enough oxygen to keep her from feeling light-headed.
His grin turned wicked. “You’re right. I’ll wear it.”
Elle laughed and some of her nervousness disappeared. She kicked off her shoes and hopped up on the bed to watch him as he replaced the necklace on its clear acrylic stand and moved on to her collection of enamel butterflies. He’d given her her first one. A cheap trinket he said he’d found at a rummage sale. She hadn’t believed him.
She’d framed the dozen or so pins, clips and charms on a black velvet background. He pointed to one with azure wings and a brilliant yellow body. “You kept this.”
“Of course.”
“It’s the first thing I ever bought for a girl. I remember how badly my hands were sweating when I gave it to you. My voice cracked and I thought I was going to be sick.”
She leaned forward. “Really?” She could picture the moment, vaguely. Boys had been giving her things since she’d first developed breasts. She’d accepted it as if she were entitled, not because someone went to a lot of effort to pick out something she would like. “I was a shallow twit. I didn’t deserve it.”
He turned to face her. “That’s not true. Obviously. You kept it. You valued it.” He walked to the bed. “In a way, that says you valued me.”
She couldn’t deny that. Whenever she thought back to her high school days, Max came to mind. He’d been so different from the boys she’d usually dated. He’d made her feel smarter, better somehow. “I’ve always valued you, my friend.”
He put one knee on the bed and leaned close enough to kiss her, but he didn’t. Not right away. Instead he asked, “Do you believe that friendship can grow into something stronger?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
“I do.”
“Show me.”
And he did. Gently, gracefully, intelligently. He kept things simple, making sure she was comfortable with each step. Getting naked. He teased her about the line left by her hipster panties. “No grandma undies for you, I see,” he said, tracing the imprint across the middle of her quivering belly.
Underwear talk made it easy to segue into health talk, which made it very simple to admit that she had a supply of condoms in her bedside drawer…just in case.
“I would have expected nothing less, Ellenore. You always were far more responsible than anyone gave you credit for being.”
His praise felt good. So did his hands on her breasts, and his heat against her skin. A shiver of desire shot through her and a silent voice chortled, “Power surge.” Loving and being loved was a powerful sensation. Life-affirming. She’d missed sex, she realized. But more than that, she’d missed this feeling of rapture, though if she was honest, she could honestly say she’d never before felt quite like this.
My hand is touching Ellenore Adams’s breast. The thought was so mind-boggling, Max almost laughed. But explaining his giddy reaction would definitely ruin the mood.
And the mood was amazing. Comfortable but far, far from complacent. He wanted to do everything, taste every inch of her, find out what made her breathless, hot, wild. But he also wanted to savor every salty drop of sweat and sweetly smothered cry.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, looking into her eyes.
Her grin said she didn’t believe him. “You’re in pretty amazing shape yourself. Chess did this to these shoulders? Who knew?”
He laughed. “I started working out at a gym when Sarah’s cancer came back. A friend who lost his wife a couple of years earlier said exercise would keep me sane, plus she’d need my help as things got bad.”
She ran her hand, lovingly, over his shoulder and down his chest. The muted light hid a few imperfections, but it couldn’t hide the fact that their bodies were much older than when they first were attracted to each other. “It seems surreal that we’re here in bed together, given our history.”
He didn’t want to get into that again. There wasn’t room for any ghosts in this bed—hers or his. He tossed back the covers, exposing them both to the chilly air.
“Max,” she exclaimed.
He rolled them both over so he was on top. With arms braced so only their bellies were touching, he said, “Elle, once we do this, things change. There’s no going back. You mix certain chemicals and they not only stay mixed forever, they become something new. You understand that, right?”
She wiggled her hips and ran her hands down his back to his chilly butt. “Max, this is sex, not a science lesson. Get on with it.”
And he did. Teacher became student. Friend became lover. The chemistry worked…for both of them.
CHAPTER NINE
ELLE COULDN’T BELIEVE how fast the weeks had flown by. Today was Monday, February 12. Only two days left before her big party.
She and Max had been together half a dozen times since that first night at her house. “We need to take things slow,” she’d told him. Both because of the uncertainty of her business and to avoid the inevitable gossip that came from living and owning a business in a small town.
Elle didn’t know if Jane had heard about them or not. She and her sister hadn’t talked since their big blowup. Jane hadn’t called or stopped by the Cup, even though Elle saw her drive past on her way to the office every morning.
The snub hurt more than her sister could possibly know, but Elle tried to rationalize that Jane had been busy lately. Becca had mentioned that in addition to the crush of tax preparation, her mother had been volunteering to help the Conner family. Not only was Rachel Conner undergoing treatment for cancer, but the poor little girl and her mother had been involved in a terrible car wreck during the blizzard that hit the area.
Elle and her friends hadn’t gotten together for one of their wine and whine sessions in way too long. Becca, it seemed, was constantly on the run. She’d suffered a creative crisis not because of Jane’s bullying but because of Will Blakely. The man had publicly denounced the sentiments in Becca’s Valentines, without realizing she was the artist who’d made them.
Elle and Will’s daughter, Penny, had tried to collaborate on a scheme to bring the two together, but, so far, their efforts had been a bust. Elle wanted her niece to be happy—as happy as she
was, but she knew love followed its own path, with or without help from meddling aunts, well-intentioned friends or, it seemed, the Internet.
She looked around Cup O’ Love and smiled. A dozen patrons, at least. All occupied with their morning brew, a newspaper or their online connections. She could now name eight or ten regulars who were eagerly awaiting February 14. They were most vocal about their online suitors and readily discussed the state of their courtships.
Elle, however, had nothing to report. She had yet to receive an e-mail from anyone remotely interesting enough to consider asking to the party. She couldn’t decide if this was because the few who’d responded to her page were just all wrong for her or because she’d already found Mr. Right—Max—and none compared to him.
She smiled, picturing him asleep in her bed as he’d been when she’d left for work that morning. Humming under her breath, she stirred the tomato bisque soup once more then moved the Crock-Pot to the self-serve stand. She replenished the crackers and made sure there were plenty of spoons. The wind had picked up again during the night, resculpting the snow drifts in a way that made the landscape look harsh and cold. People needed hot soup on days like this.
She wondered if Max would be in for lunch. He usually took a lunch, but on the nights he stayed over, he had to return home, shower and dress for school and make a lunch. She glanced at her watch. Eleven-thirty. She had time to check her Cupid’s Picks page.
“Wow. Twelve entries. Now this is more like it.”
As she read the first one, her smile changed to a puzzled frown. Ron B. He was single. No kids. He liked older women. Dislikes: “People who think it’s funny to call other people names.”
“Huh?” she murmured, hoping the man included a photo. So far, only a few of her rejects had attached an image, and those had been so blurry, she would have been hard-pressed to pick them out in a lineup.
Who Needs Cupid? Page 6