“I shouldn’t have to. Havre de Grace is charming, but it is a small town. Nothing compares to the opportunities and experiences New York offer.”
“I never thought of living in New York before.”
“And now you can. You should at least consider the possibility, and who better to win you over than someone who calls New York home?”
Delight coiled through her. “I suppose I could take the train up on the twenty-fourth.”
“Take the commuter flight; I’ll pick you up. You could be there in time for breakfast.”
Her smiled widened. “I guess I could.”
He leaned down and kissed her again, stealing her breath and her thoughts.
Her head was reeling when he finally pulled away. “I…guess I will,” she whispered.
“Better.” He smiled. “I can’t wait.”
Brandon dropped Holly back at her home and did not drive off until she let herself into her house. Just as she closed the door, her cell phone rang. For a moment, she fumbled with her large tote bag before finding the phone and accepting the call. “Hello?”
“Holly?”
His voice jolted through her. “Peter?” She belatedly recalled that his name would not show up when he called; he was not in her cell phone directory.
Irritation ruffled the smoothness of his tenor. “It’s my day with Aidan, and I’m here, but apparently, Debra and Aidan are not. She’s not answering my calls either.”
“I don’t know where they are.”
“I didn’t think so. I figured that, since I’m in town, could I come by? Hang out, just like old times?”
“I…sure.” Had he noticed her hesitation?
“Great,” he said. “I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
Holly rushed upstairs to freshen her makeup. Her cheeks were flushed—she hoped from the brisk wind, although she suspected that Brandon’s deep and lingering farewell kiss had more to do with it. She raced back downstairs as the front doorbell rang. The lock jiggled; Peter had turned the doorknob.
Had he expected her to leave the door unlocked for him?
Holly slid back the bolt and opened the door. “Hello, Peter.”
He grinned at her and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “How’s it going?” He sauntered into her foyer and turned to face her.
“Just fine,” she said, wishing her heart wouldn’t skitter like an unsteady fawn learning to walk. For several moments, they stood in the hallway staring wordlessly at each other. “Uh…” She gestured to the living room. “Shall we?”
“Have you had lunch yet?”
“Yeah, I just got back.”
“Oh. I haven’t eaten yet. I’m starving.”
Silence followed, and Holly realized with a jolt that Peter was waiting for her to say something. She blinked at him as her mind came up blank. “Uh, would you like me to make something for you?”
What the hell? She could have kicked herself. Why had she said that?
Peter’s grin widened. “Sure, I’d love it.”
And he had expected her to say it.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, she cursed herself, but ingrained manners made it hard for her to do otherwise now that her mouth had run ahead of her brain. She stalked into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door with more violence than was necessary. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich? Iceberg lettuce salad with bacon bits?
She reached for the leftover roast chicken and the black beans and rice she had prepared for the children’s dinner the previous night. Sixty seconds in the microwave got it up to an acceptable temperature, and she dumped the contents into a plate and brought it to the dining table.
Peter stared down at the plate. “Not cooked fresh?”
At her icy silence, he looked up. Alarm flashed into his eyes. His grin turned sheepish. “I was just kidding.”
“I’m not finding it funny.”
“Jeez, where did your sense of humor go? We used to kid around like this all the time way back when.”
She chose to keep standing. “Way back when was a long time ago. I don’t think you appreciate just how much we’ve both changed.”
“Why are you trying to pick a fight?”
“Why are you coming in here and dictating to me?”
“Dictating? I said I was hungry.”
“And expected me to immediately jump to fulfill your needs.”
“Jeez, Holly.” Peter shoved the untouched plate aside. “How are leftovers asking for too much?”
“When you blithely assume that I’m here to meet your needs.”
“Holly, people who love each other meet each other’s needs. If you had come by my place and said you were hungry, I would have cheerfully fed you.”
And he probably would have, which made Holly feel like a first-class bitch.
Peter continued. “I sure as hell wouldn’t have made such a damned big deal about it.”
Holly ground her teeth against his inevitable logic. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t in her nature to be snippy, but irritation clawed through her. In her current frame of mind, likely nothing Peter could have said would have been acceptable. How could her mood have transformed so dramatically between the point when she had eagerly touched up her makeup and when she opened the door to him?
Tension raked down her spine. As far as she was concerned, the emotional seesaw reflected their on-again-off-again relationship. In theory, their youthful romance had lasted through high school, college, and the first year of her working life. In reality, it had consisted of about eleven different relationships over a period of nine years, each ranging from three months to two years, interspersed with periods of furious, cold silence. Holly and Peter couldn’t stay apart, but apparently, neither could they stay together.
Holly stalked out of the dining room and found refuge on the ratty old couch in the living room. She drew her legs up beneath her and wrapped an afghan around her shoulders. Minutes later, Peter joined her on the couch. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his body but he did not touch her. “I thought you were happy to see me. What’s up with the mood swings?”
She could smell food on his breath. Obviously, his pride hadn’t stopped him from gobbling down the leftovers. Somehow, the thought made her more resentful.
Holly expelled her breath in a heavy sigh. “I thought I was excited to see you and then I saw you…” She raised her hand and let it fall. And it went to hell. “I don’t know…”
“Long day?” Peter’s voice was low and soothing. He shifted slightly and set his hands on her shoulders.
She tensed at the initial contact but slowly relaxed as he massaged the knots out of her shoulders and upper back. His touch was as firm and steady as she had remembered, the deep strokes soothing and relaxing. She closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to drift. Peter had always given a superlative massage, and he had always known when she had most needed one.
Apparently, that aspect hadn’t changed.
“Here, why don’t you relax and stretch out on the couch?” he suggested. “You’ll be more comfortable.”
Holly bit down on her lower lip. Should she? A part of her balked at the thought of extending the physical intimacy of the moment when her mind and her heart had not yet agreed to move forward with Peter. But in the end, big steps forward are made up of many small steps.
Ignoring the shrieking objection of her mind, she turned to lie on her stomach. Tension grabbed her shoulders as Peter moved around her to have better access to her body, but he was nothing but gentle and careful. His adept hands gradually eased the tight knots away. The stress melted as he massaged along the length of her back. The ball of hostility wedged in her stomach and the prickly shield of irritation no longer seemed relevant or important by the time he coaxed her onto her back.
“You’re more beautiful than I remember,” Peter murmured.
She turned her face into his hand as he stroked along her cheek. The familiarity of his touch was like a drug, lulling her into a dee
ply relaxed state. She knew him; her body knew him; and when his breath whispered against her face, she parted her lips and welcomed his kiss.
The taste of Peter was the sweet tartness of fruit-flavored soda—young, fresh, invigorating—the splash of spring combined with the promise of summer. It summoned memories of sunny afternoons spent strolling along the boardwalk and cool evenings at the lighthouse, peering over the horizon. Their shared history, both sweet and strong, was, at that moment, more vivid than the nasty turn of events that had torn them apart.
She suddenly remembered why she loved him.
Tears stung her eyes.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “Always here.”
He’d known her first. He knew her best.
Peter slid his hand along her side to cup beneath her breasts. She drew in a deep breath, as they had both known she would. As he caressed her, the warmth of his body seeped through her thin layer of clothes, adding heat to the sparks of sensation skittering through her body. He did not undress her, but he did not need to. He knew her body. He had always known how to turn her on.
Her body was shuddering and aching, her mind shunted to a distant corner, when his hands unbuttoned her shirt and eased the material away from her shoulders. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered along the curve of her breasts. Her skin tingled where his breath touched. She couldn’t tell where physical heat ended and sexual heat began. She knew only that she wanted his hands on her, everywhere.
Holly arched up against him when he reached around her back to unfasten the hook of her bra. She let him slide the silken material away from her body.
“So gorgeous,” he whispered, his voice reverent. “More than I remembered.” He lowered his lips to the valley between her breasts—
His cell phone rang. The sound jarred her.
She floundered, like a swimmer suddenly losing her rhythm.
Peter pulled away from her and fumbled with something in his pocket. The sound stopped, but before Holly could once again grasp the fleeting sense of peace, the phone rang again.
“Damn it,” he swore. He silenced the offending device, and glanced back at Holly.
She met his gaze and said nothing. The dreamy haze was dissipating beneath the glare of reality.
The phone shrilled its distinctive tune once more.
A muscle twitched in Peter’s cheek.
The moment evaporated. “Answer it,” Holly told him quietly.
His body language screamed with exasperation and frustration as he accepted the call. “What is it?” he snapped.
He listened for a few moments. “Fine, I’ll be there.” He slammed the phone down, disconnecting the call.
“Who was it?” Holly asked.
“Debra. She took Aidan out for a long drive even though she knew I was coming into town. Well, she’s back home now, and she says she’ll have Aidan meet me on the boardwalk.”
He did not, however, make any move toward the door.
Holly stood up and unhurriedly replaced her bra and shirt, all the time acutely aware that Peter stared at her with hungry eyes. When she was fully dressed, she looked at him. “Would you like me to go with you?”
His jaw dropped. “You will?”
“I suppose it’s time to start figuring out the messy family dynamics.”
Peter blinked hard. Hope flared into his eyes. “Family?”
Oh, damn. Had she really said family? A slip of the tongue, obviously, but was it inspired by a brain still hazy with pleasure, or a yearning heart momentarily overruling a skeptical mind? She held up her hands in a just-a-minute gesture. “Don’t…don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“I’m not,” Peter said, grinning widely. “But it’s going to work out, Holly, I swear. It’s going to be like it used to be between us. Perfect.”
He looked so thrilled that she didn’t want to say anything to upset the renewed connection between them.
They did not hold hands as they headed to the boardwalk to meet Debra and Aidan, but they walked closely together, their shoulders brushing. Mojo tumbled ahead of them, his bright pink tongue lolling from side-to-side.
Debra and Aidan were already waiting at the entrance to the boardwalk. Debra’s narrow-eyed gaze shuttled between Holly and Peter, but she made no comment on Holly’s presence. She placed her hand against Aidan’s back and propelled him toward his father. “Call me before you drop him off. Make sure I’m at home.”
Holly extended her hand as Debra brushed past. “Are you heading off already? Would you like to stay and walk for a bit?”
Debra gave Holly a suspicious look, but to Holly’s surprise, she nodded brusquely and fell in beside Holly, while Peter and Aidan walked ahead.
For several minutes, the two women walked in uncomfortable silence until Debra broke it with, “I wanted to say thank you for watching Aidan last night.”
“You’re welcome.”
“He says he had a good time.”
“I’m glad.”
Debra cleared her throat. “I didn’t expect you to help out.”
Holly shrugged. “To be honest, until the moment I offered, I didn’t expect it either, but times change, you know? Sometimes, people do too.”
The other woman pressed her lips together and nodded. “Are you…are you and Peter getting back together again?”
Holly allowed her gaze to rest on Aidan and Peter as they walked side by side, hardly speaking.
Debra’s gaze followed hers. “I love Aidan,” she said, a hint of defensiveness in her voice.
“I know.” Holly swallowed hard and decided that there was no better time to tackle the awkward topic. “And Peter?”
Debra’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I don’t think there was ever anything between us.”
“Except Aidan?”
“Except Aidan.” She glanced at Holly. “I think it might be good for Aidan to see Peter have a normal relationship with a woman.”
“Even if it’s me?”
Debra drew a shuddering breath. “I didn’t think you would treat Aidan fairly. After all, how could you? Most days, you wouldn’t even look at me when we passed in the streets or the stores.”
“I didn’t know what to say to you.” And I still don’t.
“But yesterday…Aidan came home excited. He couldn’t stop talking about all the cool experiments he did in your kitchen. He said you gave him dinner and dessert.”
“It was just beans and rice with chicken, and a hot chocolate drink.”
“He didn’t know what to expect. I think he was afraid.”
Empathy clawed at Holly’s gut; it was a dreadfully uncomfortable feeling, especially when directed toward her ex-fiancé’s son. Aidan was not a bad kid—she’d discovered that fact yesterday—but she wasn’t quite ready to welcome him into her heart, the way she had welcomed Connor’s children. Sometimes, love—or even just acceptance—took more time.
Mojo’s loud and delighted woof drew her attention to the man walking toward her, a chocolate Labrador trotting at this side. A smile immediately spread over her face. The niggling anxiety that had plagued her since she opened the door to Peter earlier that day melted away.
James stopped briefly to chat with Peter and Aidan as he passed them before continuing on to Holly and Debra. “Hey, there.” He nodded, offering both women a smile. Mojo planted his front paws on James’s sweater and licked his face. “And hello to you too, Mojo.” He ruffled the white dreadlocks obscuring Mojo’s face.
Holly could have sworn that Lucy, who sat at James’s side, sighed. Laughing, Holly knelt in front of the well-trained dog and stroked her head. “And how are you doing?”
Lucy planted her muzzle on Holly’s shoulder—the equivalent of a polite doggy hug. Mojo, naturally, was not tolerating any behavior that even hinted of good manners, so he charged Lucy. Within moments, both dogs were engaged in a playful brawl. Holly suspected Lucy might have won—being younger and fitter—but it was hard to get a nip, even a playful one, through
Mojo’s mass of hair.
James broke up the fight with a single word. “Lucy, come.”
The Labrador immediately returned to his side and ignored all of Mojo’s attempts to start a second brawl.
Debra laughed. “I guess that authority comes with being principal. Apparently, everyone does what you tell them.”
“Only Lucy. Watch.” James stared at the rambunctious white walking rug. “Mojo, sit.”
Mojo continued to prance as if James’s voice was little more than the chirping of a bird in the breeze.
Holly stifled a laugh. James’s track record with Mojo was no better than hers.
“May I join you on your walk?” James asked, his gaze flicking to Holly.
“Of course,” Debra replied before Holly could. She cast an inviting glance at her side.
Holly did not miss the subtle gesture James made with his hand. She had attended enough failed dog training sessions with Mojo to know that James had just ordered Lucy to stand beside Holly. It seemed a natural and obvious move after that for James to walk alongside his dog, next to Holly, with Debra none the wiser.
James got what he wanted, Holly reflected, but he was not cruel in the process of getting it.
“Are you enjoying your vacation so far?” Debra directed the question past Holly, at James.
“Very much,” James said. “I’m just chilling out in between catching up on house projects.”
“Will you be in town this Christmas, or will you be visiting your family in Portland?”
“I’ll be around.”
“No family in town?”
“Not this year,” James said.
His voice was even, but it suddenly occurred Holly that James had to be lonely. He was an outsider—someone who had not been born and raised in Havre de Grace. While he had lived there for almost five years, it took a great deal longer for the residents of the town to overcome their mental image of James as an outsider. His position as the principal of the elementary school set him further apart. The other problem was his age. He was a good decade and a half older than Holly. Most of the folks in the mid-forties bucket in Havre de Grace were married with kids. While James was friendly to all, he was close to none; he simply didn’t have peers to hang out with.
Haunted: A Love Letters Novel Page 7
