“I’d love to see her work.” Sarah nudged away her empty plate. “But if you have other plans, Gideon, I can just get my stuff together and catch a train home.”
“No.” I was unreasonably irritated by that suggestion. “I’m going to drive you back down. And I don’t have any plans for the day, so we could go see Gabby, if you wanted.”
Sarah shrugged. “Just let me know. I’m wide open. But if it doesn’t work out, no big. I can take care of myself.”
I knew without a doubt that she meant what she said. Something I’d begun to appreciate about Sarah was that as far as I could tell, she didn’t play games. She said what she meant, and she didn’t expect me to read her mind or anticipate her needs. She was independent, and she was strong. That was a welcome relief. But there was a part of me, a small, quiet voice that seemed to be growing louder by the day, that wanted her to need me. I wasn’t into domination, and I didn’t expect any woman to pretend that she wouldn’t survive without a big, strong, capable guy; but it would’ve been nice, I thought, if she’d at least expressed a desire to spend more time with me today.
Maybe that was it. I didn’t want Sarah to need me so much as I wished that she wanted me.
“Gideon?” My mother was staring at me, her brows knit together. “Hello? Did you hear what I said?”
“I’m sorry.” I gave my head a little shake. “I was zoning out, I guess. What did you say?”
“I asked if you and Sarah wanted to join your father and me later this afternoon. We decided to forego driving to the stadium for today’s game, and we’re just going to have snacks here while we watch on TV.”
I glanced at Sarah, tossing the decision to her. She seemed to waver for a moment before she answered my mother.
“Thanks so much, Mrs. Maynard. I appreciate the invitation, and it sounds so cozy, but I should probably head back home after we visit Gabby. I’m sure you all have a busy holiday week planned.”
“Well, take a raincheck, then.” Mom reached across the table to squeeze Sarah’s hand. “You’re always welcome here.”
I finished my coffee and the toast I’d been tossing down. Sliding back my chair, I stood, turning to Sarah. “If you’re ready now, I’ll just grab my jacket, and we can head over to my sister’s place.”
“It’s only ten-thirty,” my mother pointed out. “You know how Gabby is when her work is interrupted.”
“We’ll meander on the way over. Sarah gave me a tour of San Francisco when I was there, so I figured I’d return the favor.”
Sarah rose to her feet, too, collecting her plate to move it to the sideboard. “The difference is, I’ve been to New York before. I’ve actually seen most of the city.”
I winked at her. “Not the way I’m going to show it to you.”
“Okay. I concede defeat.” Sarah grinned up at me as we stepped back onto the crowded sunlit sidewalk. “You have, in fact, succeeded at showing me that there are things in Manhattan I never knew existed. I didn’t know about the piece of the Berlin Wall, the hidden gardens at Rockefeller or the whispering gallery. I’m suitably impressed by your wisdom and knowledge.”
“Finally.” I lifted one fist in victory. “Do you know how long it’s taken me to do that? To impress you, I mean?”
Her smile faded, replaced by an expression of thoughtful surprise. “Sometimes, I can’t tell if you’re joking or not. I’m so used to you being serious and intense—but then in San Francisco, I got a glimpse of a whole different side of Gideon Maynard. This time, I see even more.” She regarded me, her head tilted. “Who is the real man, I wonder?”
I looked away, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “Maybe there isn’t a real man. Maybe Gideon Maynard is just a series of façades.”
“I don’t buy that. But if I did, I’d have to say I don’t care for the façade who talks about himself in the third person.” Sarah bumped her shoulder against me as we began to walk. “And I’d also lay money that you’re more yourself here, with your family, in your city, than you are any place else . . . unless it’s Peaceful Meadows, of course. I bet that’s where you’re the very realest.”
“I’m not sure that’s a word.” I placed my hand over the small of her back to guide her around a crowd stopped in front of a store window. “I don’t think there are gradations of reality. It’s a state of being, where you either are real or you aren’t.” And why were we suddenly deep in a conversation that seemed to be bordering on the ridiculous?
“I made it up, then. And I’m okay with that.” She tossed me a saucy glance over her shoulder. “Look at it like this: you put on a mask when you’re playing football, right? It’s a protection. And I think when you’re in Richmond, being Gideon Maynard, QB, you put on another kind of mask. You as much as admitted it to me last night when I teased you about wanting to dance. Here in New York, you’re Gideon, the son, the grandson, the brother . . .” Her voice broke off, and I had a feeling I knew what was coming next. “Or whoever you were to the Berkshires. Which, as you might have noticed, I have been very patient about not bringing up. You promised you’d explain what all that tension was about last night.”
“Yeah, I know.” I’d been hoping maybe she’d forget or just not care enough, but I’d neglected to take into account that this was Sarah, who didn’t ever miss a trick. I was going to have to come clean, at least to some extent. I hoped I could avoid delving into the grittier details. “Let’s stop in here for a minute. We still have time before we can see Gabby, anyway.”
The French-American coffee shop was one of my favorite places to grab a quick bite while I was in the city, and it had been a while since I’d had the chance to eat here. Sarah nabbed us a small table in the corner while I ordered our coffee and some sandwiches.
Sarah’s eyes went round when she saw me coming over to the table with my overflowing tray.
“Dude, who the hell do you think is going to eat all that?” She shook her head. “I had a full breakfast with your parents this morning. I figured that would hold me until I got back home tonight.”
I sat down, sliding the tray between us. “That’s not good. You need to eat three balanced meals a day to stay healthy. And I’m hungry, because I only had toast for breakfast, and then we’ve been tromping around the city for hours. So . . .” I spread out my hands over the food. “Have at it, but don’t worry about anything going to waste. It won’t.”
I unwrapped one sandwich, smoothing the paper down under it before I took a sip of my coffee. Before Sarah could remind me about the real reason for our stop here, I began to speak.
“I told you last night that I’ve known the Berkshires all my life, and I have. They have one daughter, Lilly. I’ve known her all of my life, too. We were friends from the time we were babies, and then when we were in high school, we started dating.” I fiddled with the crust on the sandwich. “We were together for almost nine years.”
“Nine years?” I heard the note of incredulity in Sarah’s voice. “That’s a very long time. Were you . . . I mean, did you ever think about getting married?”
I nodded. “We talked about it a little, and I think we both figured it would happen eventually, but neither of us was in a hurry. I was focused on football and my career there, and Lilly understood that. She had her own passion—she was a social worker. She’d gotten a job in Richmond when I’d been drafted by the Rebels and we’d decided to live together. I bought the condo in the city, and she and my mom decorated it. Made it perfect.”
“Ohhhh.” Understanding dawned in Sarah’s eyes. “The condo, where you were living up until you bought the farm. I see.”
“Yeah,” I affirmed. “Anyway . . . I thought everything was going okay with us, but to be honest, I wasn’t paying much attention to anything off the field, unless it was something that directly impacted my playing. And eventually, ah . . .” Could I do this? Could I honestly brush over what had really happened, what had torn Lilly and me apart? I had to try. “Well, as trite as it sounds, we drifted apart, and s
he moved out. She came back here. Since I knew both of our families expected us to get married, it caused a certain amount of tension between everyone, and that’s what you sensed last night. Lilly’s parents still blame me for the break-up, I’m sure, and I don’t blame them.”
“Gideon.” Sarah reached around the food between us and laid her hand on my wrist. “That’s bullshit. How can they blame you for a break-up, if it was mutual? It wasn’t like you cheated on Lilly, right?”
I shook my head. “God, no. I have a lot of faults, but I’d never do that. Not to Lilly. Not to any woman.”
“Okay, then. Did Lilly tell them that it was your fault?”
I lifted one shoulder. “I don’t think so. That wouldn’t be like her.”
Sarah was quiet for a minute. She sat back in her chair, both hands wrapped around the ceramic coffee mug, her eyes troubled. “I can’t help thinking there’s something you’re not telling me here. If you were together for that long, if you both had that many years invested in a relationship, I’d think it would take more than just a drifting apart to make you end things.”
I wasn’t going to lie to Sarah, but neither was I willing to tell her everything. “There was more, but I’m not comfortable with going into it. What happened was between Lilly and me, and it wouldn’t be right to share it. I’m sorry, Sarah, but that’s all I’m going to say.”
“All right.” To my surprise, she nodded, giving a small sigh. “I understand that, and I respect it. Thank you for being honest with me, Gideon—at least as much as you can be, given the circumstances. I appreciate it.”
I jerked my head up and down. “Okay. Thanks.” I pointed to the tray. “We better eat and then head over to Gabby’s place. If we miss her break, she won’t answer the door, no matter how much we knock.”
I attacked my sandwich, needing something to do to keep from jumping up and stalking out of the restaurant. Sarah’s reaction was a relief, but at the same time, talking about Lilly and thinking about those days . . . it still tore me up. I wanted to be as open and free with Sarah as she always was with me, but I owned it to Lilly to respect her privacy. She hadn’t done anything to deserve any less.
We both ate in silence, although admittedly, I was inhaling most of it while Sarah picked at one sandwich and munched casually on a single bag of chips. I watched her surreptitiously out of the corner of my eye. She didn’t seem to be brooding or upset; when she’d said that she accepted my refusal to say more, she’d meant it.
It was entirely possible that Sarah Jenkins was the most uncomplicated, forthright and amazing woman I’d ever met. My mind wandered back to the night before, to how easily she’d fit in with my family, taking their avid curiosity and interest in her in stride, hitting it off with my sister. I thought about how right it had felt to hold her in my arms while we’d danced, how well we’d fit together there, too.
If it were only that . . . if Sarah was only perfect on paper, if her only attraction was how well she got along with my family, then it would be easy to forget her, simple to keep her firmly in the friend column. But there was so much more to her. She challenged me in the best ways; she kept me on my toes, and I honestly liked her. And then of course there was the fact that I could never seem to stop wanting her. Keeping myself from touching her was increasingly becoming an exercise in torture. The memories of our night together were becoming more vivid, not less, as time went on. I wanted to take her to bed and fuck her hard, the way she liked it, until we were both utterly satiated. But I also wanted to sit on the couch with her under a blanket while we watched football and shared a beer.
That, above everything else, was terrifying to me. I didn’t want to just let Sarah into my bed for a night; I wanted to let her into my world for as long as I could convince her to stay.
That revelation was jarring, so much so that I dropped the cookie I’d been in the middle of eating. My appetite had vanished suddenly, and a hundred shoulds began to clamor for my attention. I should suggest that we skip the visit to Gabby. I should tell Sarah that something had come up, and I’d arrange for a car to drive her back to Jersey. I should push her away and put back on the mask she’d claimed I wore so often. I needed to keep her away, to protect myself from the inevitable hurt that would come along with letting her in.
Apparently, though, Sarah was destined to be the catalyst for making me say things I had no intention of uttering, because the next words out of my mouth went against every instinct I had.
“Come to Peaceful Meadows for Christmas.”
Sarah set down her coffee and gaped at me. “What did you say?”
I took a deep breath. I was in it deep now, but I wasn’t going to back down. “You said your trade for being my date last night was an invitation to see the farm. So . . . here’s the invitation. Come spend Christmas with me down there.”
“Gideon.” Her voice was soft. “I shouldn’t have said that, before. Friends don’t keep score of favors, and I had an incredibly good time last night. You don’t have to do that. Your farm is your sanctuary, and I don’t want to take that away from you.”
“But I want you to come.” I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. “You said your—uh, Rick? He’s going to be at your mother’s house for Christmas, right? And you don’t want to be there. So come spend it with me, instead.” I managed a crooked grin. “It’s not a tit for tat, princess. I promise. I want you to see Peaceful Meadows.”
“But what about your family? Won’t they expect you to come home for Christmas?”
I shook my head. “No. We already talked about it—I have a home game that Sunday, so I don’t want to risk traveling. My parents understand—this isn’t the first year we’ve been apart for the holidays. We’ll celebrate afterward.”
She stared at me for so long, her forehead creased in thought, that I was afraid she was trying to figure out a way to gracefully decline. Maybe I’d read her all wrong, and she didn’t feel the same way as I did—
“Okay.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, smiling at me. “All right. If you’re honestly sure you want me—”
“Oh, I do.” I rushed to assure her before I realized what it might sound like. “I mean, I do want you to come down. For sure.”
“And you’ll tell me if you change your mind between now and then? You’ll be honest if you start second-guessing the idea? Also, if I get there and you decide a week is too long, you can kick me out.”
I snorted. “As if I would. Why the hell would I kick you out?”
“I’m not saying you would, but I want you to have the option. I won’t get mad if you say, Sarah, I need you to go. Got it? Will you promise?”
“I’m not going to do that, but if it makes you feel better, sure. I promise.” I went for broke and stretched out my hand to tangle my fingers with hers. “I really want you to come enjoy my farm.”
Sarah tightened her grip on me, holding my hand awkwardly over the food and wrappers on the table between us. “Then I’ll be there.” She laughed suddenly, rolling her eyes. “I can’t believe it, but we’re doing this. We’re going to spend Christmas together.”
The weirdest, most wonderful part of the whole thing was that I wasn’t at all freaked out at the idea. I was actually looking forward to it.
Hell if I understood why I was excited about it, but for now, just for this once, I was going to stop second-guessing every decision and just enjoy myself. Even if it killed me.
11
Sarah
It was snowing.
I couldn’t believe it. When I’d left New Jersey early this morning, it had been cold but clear, with a blue sky so bright it hurt my eyes and sunshine galore. By the time I’d picked up my rental car and crossed the bridge into Delaware, heading south, I’d noticed a few clouds beginning to gather, but still . . . I was going south, so I fully expected that the temperature would rise and the weather would only get better.
As I’d followed 95 south through Maryland and DC, smiling slightly
as I passed my old exit, I’d been too preoccupied to pay much attention to the increasingly gray skies. The past month had been . . . challenging. When I’d thought about spending over six weeks living with my mother and sisters, I hadn’t painted the scene with rose-colored glasses. I knew there’d be some rocky times; after all, I hadn’t lived at home since high school.
But that had been before Mom had dropped the Rick bombshell, and also before I’d announced, following my trip to New York, that I would be driving down to spend Christmas in Virginia. That news had not been met with joy, to say the least. My mother had built up in her mind the expectation of a happy family reunion, the equivalent of a Norman Rockwell painting that apparently needed me to be complete. By taking myself out of the picture—literally—I’d upset that particular apple cart, and she was both hurt and angry.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d been in San Francisco, across the country, but instead, I was working from the house in New Jersey, where I had to see my mom’s disappointed, reproachful face on a daily basis. I also had to cope with my youngest sister’s increasingly belligerent behavior, her flagrant disregard of our mother’s rules and her outright rudeness toward me. As often as I could, I escaped to a local coffee shop to work in peace, but it wasn’t frequent enough. I was living in a constant state of tension, among unhappy people, and it was taking a toll.
And then there was the fact that just about every day, I wondered if spending the holiday with Gideon was really the best idea. I’d agreed because his invitation had surprised me so much, and because I’d sensed on some level that he really did want to spend time with me. But did he, or had that been wishful thinking on my part? And was he having second thoughts, as well?
Our communication since he’d driven me home that Sunday before Thanksgiving had been sporadic at best, but that wasn’t Gideon’s fault. The Rebels were down to the wire this season, and Gideon had had to focus all of his energy and attention on the games in December. They’d won big on Monday Night Football after Thanksgiving, but then they’d lost the next two weeks. The score in the second game had been close—the boys from Richmond had nearly pulled it out in the last two minutes—but in the end, close hadn’t been enough. It was unlikely that Richmond would make the playoffs this year.
Sway (Keeping Score Book 6) Page 20
