From the Beginning

by Tracy Wolff

“I can see why.” He said it with such a straight face that she cracked up.

  “Use that face on someone who doesn’t know you so well,” she told him. “I am well aware that this place looks a disaster. But structurally, it’s sound, and the rest is all cosmetic. All it will take is time and some TLC. Two things I happen to have a lot of right now.”

  His face softened, and for the second time that evening, he reached for her. She held up the flowers he had brought her, used them as a shield. “Thank you for the freesia by the way—and for the vase. I don’t have one yet.”

  “I figured it might not be top of the list. And you’re welcome.”

  “I have dinner laid out in the dining room, such as it is,” she said, leading the way. “Or would you like a tour first?”

  He glanced up at the peeling paint of the ceiling. “A tour would be fantastic.”

  “Really?” She glanced at him incredulously. “I don’t have any furniture yet.”

  “That’s the best way to see a house.”

  “Fine. Let me put these down.” She dropped the flowers on the kitchen counter and then reached for the bottle of champagne he had in his other hand. “Would you like me to open this now? Or later?”

  Simon’s eyes darkened to a deep forest-green, and for a moment she was pulled into them, pulled into him. Taken back through time to the first bottle of champagne they’d ever shared—right after he had won his first Pulitzer for a series of articles he’d written about El Salvador. They’d killed the bottle, and he had drunk the last of it from her naked body.

  It had been one of the best nights of her life. At least until she’d woken up and found herself alone, with nothing but a quick note from Simon telling her that duty called. She didn’t see or hear from him until almost two months later.

  Focusing on that fact, on the heartbreak she’d felt as days and then weeks had passed with no word from him, she yanked herself out of that small hotel room in Jamaica and back to the present.

  “Later’s fine,” he said, his voice strained and eyes ablaze. “Unless you’d like some?”

  “I can wait.” She led him out the other side of the kitchen, trying to ignore the way her knees trembled. Or the way she felt his gaze burning straight through her back. She obviously wasn’t the only one who remembered that night.

  Despite the size of the house, the tour didn’t last long, as there wasn’t much to see—unless you were a contractor.

  They ended the tour outside, in the gardens, just as sunset streaked across the sky. And even though the backyard was completely overgrown, it was still one of her favorite things about the house. In fact, she’d spent most of the afternoon messing around back here with her brand-new gardening tools, clearing a path through the weeds. She had visions of being able to sit out here on early-spring afternoons, before it got too hot, and sip lemonade as she watched the flowers grow.

  It was a small dream, one as far removed from the grand plans she’d once had to save the world as it could get. But it was hers. Something to hold on to, to focus on, when the dark days came. The image of her with the sun on her face and gardenias in her lap. Somehow she thought her beautiful, precocious, flower-loving daughter would approve.

  “Gabby would have liked it out here,” Simon said suddenly, his voice aching just enough that she wondered if he’d somehow read her thoughts. But a quick glance told her he’d taken one look at the wild tangle of flowers and his mind had immediately jumped to their daughter.

  “I think so, too.”

  “I miss her.”

  “Simon—” Don’t, she wanted to say. Please, don’t do this, not now. Not when I’m finally beginning to get my feet back under me. Please, don’t drag me back down.

  But she’d been his daughter, too, and like Amanda, he’d been too busy trying to run away from the pain to grieve properly.

  She lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and he grabbed on to it like a lifeline, holding so tight that she thought he might actually crack a bone.

  “Right, sorry about that,” he said, and he sounded so unbearably British that she wanted nothing more than to comfort him.

  “You mentioned dinner,” he said with a final squeeze of her hand before letting go.

  “Of course, dinner. It’s nothing fancy. I don’t have a working kitchen yet.”

  “But it would be fancy if you had a stove to cook it on?” The blatant disbelief in his voice had her laughing.

  “Hey, I’ve gotten better through the years.”

  “Well, you couldn’t get worse, that’s for sure.”

  She socked him gently in the arm. “I’ll have you know, some people actually like my cooking.”

  “Let me let you in on a little secret,” he said with a snort. “It doesn’t count if they’re starving.”

  She laughed despite herself. “Well, what does that say about you, then? You accepted my invitation to dinner even though you know I’m a terrible cook.”

  “It says I don’t give a damn about the food. That I’m here because I want to spend time with you.”

  She stopped dead, right in the doorway to the dining room, and struggled to make sense of his words. To make them mean something less than they did.

  He stood directly behind her, and then it was his turn to put his hands on her shoulders. She trembled a little at the delicate sweetness of his touch, and he pulled her against him, her back resting on his chest.

  “Simon.” She meant it to come out as a protest, but it ended up sounding more like a moan.

  “I missed you,” he said, brushing his lips over her temple.

  She gave a slight shudder. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?” His mouth skimmed across her cheek to a spot right beneath her ear. It was a spot he knew well, one that lit her up like the Fourth of July.

  “Because I didn’t invite you here for this.” She tried to pull away, but she was too weak and he felt too good.

  She waited for him to press his advantage, to turn her in his arms and kiss her until she couldn’t remember her name, let alone why sleeping with him was a bad idea. It was what the old Simon would have done. Enjoy the moment and to hell with the consequences. He’d burned her that way many times before, and deep inside she was deathly afraid—despite all the promises she’d made herself—that tonight wouldn’t be any different.

  But she wasn’t counting on the new Simon. Because at the first hint of protest, he gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. Then he released her.

  “I think I could probably use that drink now,” he told her as he walked through the dining room and into the kitchen.

  For long seconds, she stood still as a statue, trying to figure out what had happened. Then, when it became apparent that no explanation would be forthcoming—either from him or from her own brain—she headed after him, trying desperately to convince herself that dinner was the only thing she wanted.

  Unfortunately, it seemed her talent for lying to herself—especially about Simon—had disappeared along with everything else after Gabby’s death.

  Happy housewarming to her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SIMON POPPED THE TOP off the champagne and resisted the urge to drink straight from the bottle. He felt as if he was going to explode, and if he couldn’t have Amanda, then he definitely needed something to calm him down.

  “I forgot to bring glasses,” he told her as she entered the kitchen behind him.

  “I got some.” He heard her rummage around for a second, then she handed him two plastic champagne flutes.

  He glanced at her in surprise.

  She shrugged. “I bought champagne, too. Figured a celebration was in order.”

  “Absolutely.” He handed her a glass.

  “What should we toast to?” she asked.

  He glanced around. “That the house doesn’t fall down around your ears?”

  “Excuse me. We’re supposed to be celebrating my new home, not poking fun at it.” She rolled her eyes, and it was such an un-Amand
a-like thing to do that he stared at her. And then realized his mistake as he hardened to the point of pain. “Besides, it’s not that bad.”

  “I know. I like it.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No, I do. It’s got personality. I think it’s a good start.”

  “Maybe. I hope so.” She glanced around, and though her smile was a little tight, her eyes were clear. “So let’s toast to that.” She held up her glass. “To a new start.”

  They touched glasses, drank, and he never took his eyes off her. He couldn’t. She really did look beautiful tonight, her skin glowing with a health and vitality that had been missing three weeks before. And though she was still too thin, it was obvious that she’d been making an effort to eat regularly. She filled out her jeans and scoop-necked T-shirt a little better than she had the last time he saw her.

  He was glad she was doing well, thrilled that she was slowly moving past the nightmare of Gabby’s death. But he wasn’t sure what it said about him that, after everything that had passed between them, he still wanted her. Even when he knew that she didn’t feel the same way about him.

  “So, are you hungry?” she asked a little nervously, and he realized he’d been staring at her too long.

  “Yeah, sure.” As he followed her back to the dining room, the bottle of champagne still clutched in his hand, he didn’t bother to tell her that food was the last thing he was hungry for.

  He was supposed to be on his best behavior, after all, and accosting her the first time she let him back in was probably not the best way to convince her to continue whatever weird, twisting path their relationship was set to take next. He had no intention of doing anything to jeopardize this newfound truce between them. Even if it killed him.

  And it just might, he thought, watching as she bent down to arrange something on the pretty yellow quilt she’d spread on the dining-room floor. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and trace the gorgeous curves of her ass. To run his lips down her belly and feast again on the sweet, syrupy warmth of her.

  Putting on the best poker face of his life, he sat across the makeshift table and asked casually, “So, what do you have planned for the house? You said you were going to get the kitchen gutted?”

  The look she gave him was half puzzled and half amused. “You don’t really want to spend dinner talking about the house, do you?”

  No, he wanted to spend dinner with her spread- eagled on the blanket as he trailed crushed strawberries over every inch of her before licking her clean. But since that option was obviously not available, he figured hearing about her plans was as good a way as any to try and dampen the raging erection he’d had since she opened the door.

  Much to his surprise, dinner passed easily as she told him about the different phases of remodeling she wanted to do. The kitchen was first—she had hired a company to deal with it, and had already picked out appliances and cabinets. The other stuff—not including plumbing and electric—she planned on doing herself, one painstaking room at a time.

  “I’m hoping it will be cathartic,” she told him over another glass of champagne and the best Turtles brownies he’d ever eaten. “Working with my hands, fixing up the house. If I’m lucky, maybe for each room I put back together I’ll get another piece of who I am back.” She shrugged. “It’s cheaper than therapy.”

  “I don’t think you’re missing that many pieces.”

  “You might be surprised. I’m pretty much a waffling ball of neuroses at the moment.”

  “I’ve seen my share of neurotics through the years, Amanda, and you do not fit that bill.”

  “No? Then how would you describe me?”

  “My best guess? Someone who’s down but not out. You’ve had it rough, no doubt, but you’re making your way back—”

  “Clawing my way back, don’t you mean?”

  “Whatever. As long as you finish the journey, how you do it doesn’t matter to me.”

  She looked away. “I still don’t know if…”

  “If what?” he asked when it became obvious that she wasn’t going to continue.

  “If I can handle being with you again. I invited you here because I wanted you to know that I’m okay, that I’m putting my life back together. But I don’t know how much more I’m ready for. If anything, I mean.”

  “Is being my friend really that stressful?”

  She laughed, but the humor had drained from her beautiful face. “Yeah. It kind of is.”

  Well, wasn’t that a kick in the teeth? And here he’d been on his best behavior all night. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to go?”

  “I don’t know what I want,” she told him passionately. “That’s the whole problem. I can’t figure it out. I mean, I know I want the past two years to never have happened—to go back to a time when Gabby was alive and healthy and whole.

  “But since I can’t have that, I don’t know what else there is to wish for. What else there is to want. And believe me, I don’t expect you to stick around while I try to figure it out.”

  He stiffened before he could stop himself. “So, you don’t want me to stick around?”

  “That’s not what I said. I don’t know what I want right now and that’s the truth. It’s like I’m treading water, trying to keep from drowning. But no matter how hard I try to stay afloat, I keep getting pulled back under.”

  “And you don’t think I can help with that?” He struggled to understand, but it was difficult when all he wanted to do was wrap her in cotton and keep her safe. Even if it meant she never got in the water again.

  “I think you probably could. But I can’t do that again. I can’t put my emotional health and well-being in someone else’s hands, because what do I do when it goes bad again, Simon? I don’t know if I’d have the willpower to do all this again.”

  “You’re so sure it will end?” He held his breath, waiting to hear what she would say. In his head, he knew she had reservations about him, about them, but he wanted the chance to prove her wrong. He wasn’t the same man she remembered, wasn’t the same man who was so caught up in his own control issues that he refused to believe his daughter was dying until it was too late.

  Until she was already gone.

  He’d learned his lesson and he wanted Amanda to know that. Didn’t want to leave tonight until he’d gotten her to believe and accept that.

  “I don’t want to take the chance.”

  “Let me take the chance, Amanda. Let me take care of you. I swear, I won’t run out on you—” He broke off when he saw the look on her face. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Trying to control everything?”

  “A little bit.” She scooted closer, until he could smell the sweet, spicy scent of her and it drove him crazy. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to make love to her until he chased the shadows from her eyes once and for all.

  But then, that was a pipe dream, wasn’t it? Life had given them both a lot of hard knocks until neither of them was the same person they’d once been. He needed to accept that he couldn’t be everything to her this time around. She wouldn’t let him.

  He started to tell her he understood where she was coming from, but was stopped by the feel of her hand cupping his cheek. It felt so good to have her touch him again that he closed his eyes so he could savor every second of it.

  A part of him wanted to reach up and capture her hand, to hold it right where it was until all of her warmth seeped into him. But he knew doing so would send the wrong message, so he kept his hands where they were—resting lightly on his knees—though it was damn hard.

  “I know it’s not fair to ask you to wait,” she told him softly. “I thought we could let each other go and everything would be okay.”

  An instinctive protest rose inside him. “Amanda—”

  “Shh.” She moved her hand until her fingers covered his lips. “But that doesn’t seem to be working out so well for either of us. I missed you these past few weeks, hated being this close to you and not having any contact with you.”<
br />
  Her words were exactly what he needed to hear and he nodded, encouraging her to continue as the beginnings of sweet relief started blossoming inside of him.

  “At the same time, I don’t know how much I have to give to anyone, Simon. Even you. Especially you. Every ounce of energy I have has to go toward making me well.”

  “I understand that,” he murmured against her fingers, then insisted, “I do,” when he saw her skeptical look. “But I was miserable without you these past weeks. Can’t we just take things slow, try to be friends?”

  “You really think we can do that? With everything between us?”

  Hell, no. Not when he wanted her so much that every breath he took was an agony. But if it meant the difference between having her in his life or losing her forever, he’d wear the friend cap for a while. It wasn’t as if he’d never had to do it before.

  “Except for these past eighteen months, we’ve been friends all along, haven’t we?” He did take her hand now, squeezed it. “That’s a lot of history to just throw away.”

  “I feel closer to Gabby when I’m with you,” she whispered.

  They weren’t quite the words he wanted to hear, but he knew what she meant. It was the same for him.

  “I know,” he told her.

  “You don’t mind?”

  “She was my daughter, too.” And her absence from the world was an arrow through his gut every single day of his life.

  Understanding dawned and she scooted closer to him, until he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. “I know. And I’m sorry for all the terrible things I said. At the funeral, when you came for me in Africa. I was in pain, but that’s no excuse.”

  “Believe me, I’m not holding a grudge. I deserved everything you said, Mandy.”

  “No, you didn’t. I was suffering and wanted you to suffer, too. I forgot that you already were.”

  He closed his eyes and lay his head on her shoulder as the old, familiar guilt overwhelmed him. Her arms came around him and she held him for long minutes, neither of them knowing what else to say but neither wanting to break the connection.

  Finally, Amanda whispered, “Simon?”