by Dawn Atkins
“That makes sense.” He looked down at his feet. Did he feel sorry for her? God, no. “I bought a condo,” she blurted, as if that were a substitute for true love and marriage.
“Yeah?”
“In Scottsdale. Great view. It’s the top floor.”
“A penthouse...wow.”
“It was a killer deal from a client. I put in an extra month after they ran through their budget for my services. We were so close to this amazing employee-management agreement that I had to see it through. They were selling the condo they used for visiting execs, so they gave it to me for a great price.”
“Very cool.”
“Yeah. That project was the cover story of my professional association’s magazine, and got included in a feature in Business Week on innovative management. The publicity brought me customers.”
“Plus, you got a penthouse out of it. What’s it like?”
“It’s a showplace really. High ceilings, huge windows, warm wood floors, tons of built-ins, a chef-worthy kitchen.”
“You cook?”
She laughed. “I should learn, huh? I haven’t really settled in, I guess.” She paused, thinking that through. “It’s funny, but I’ve been there five months and I still feel like I’m in a pricey hotel, not my home, you know?”
“It’s probably all the travel.” He honed in on her, waiting for her to say more, letting her sort her thoughts.
“Maybe.” The truth was that no place she’d lived had ever felt like home. She used to blame it on the fact she’d always rented and never for long. “Now, here, your place, this feels like home. It feels...cared for, personal.”
“I like it. I don’t spend much time here, though. Juggling the two jobs has me keeping crazy hours.”
“I’ll bet.”
He looked at her for a few seconds, as if he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure he should.
“What?” she said. “Tell me what you’re holding back.”
“It’s just that I plan to change that. The juggling.”
“Yeah?”
“Once the Wharton batteries hit the market and the demand increases, we’ll be in great shape. My plan is to quit the company and work for the town full-time.”
“Full-time? Wow. Can they pay you?”
“Not at first, no. But I plan to write development grants to increase our infrastructure. I want to bring in new businesses, more housing and tourism for the river area. It has untapped potential. It’ll take time and work, but I’ve got good people on the council and serving on commissions. A lot can be done and I plan to do it.”
New energy had come into his face, and his gestures were big; his whole body seemed lighter.
“I’m impressed. You really want this.” He looked the way he used to when he talked about college. It made her chest tight to think that he’d waited ten years to do what he really wanted with his life.
“I do. I figure within a year, I’ll be safe to leave Ryland Engineering.”
“How will your dad handle that?”
He shot her a look. “He’ll be fine. The company will be on solid ground. Victor Lansing, our factory manager, will take over for me. I’ve been briefing him.
“And your dad knows?”
“Of course,” he said, frowning, irritated, she could tell, that she kept bringing up his father, who she could imagine would be damned hard to convince of anything he didn’t want. “I’ve let a few key people know. The guy I want as my deputy director. Troy Waller. He’s vice mayor now. A couple of town council people.”
“Sounds like you’re prepared. You were into student government, I remember. You headed the social service club. You’ve always been a leader.”
“It’s what I want to do. It’s important. I like working for people. I’m good at solving problems, working out compromises. I’d like to see Wharton be more than it is.” He looked almost boyish with pride. Her heart squeezed with tenderness.
“They’re lucky to have you, Dylan.” She fought the feeling that he was wasting himself, that he could do so much more in a city, hell, in state government, maybe Congress.
“Who knows? In a few years, this place might be big and sophisticated enough you might actually like it.”
“Yeah, right.” She assumed he was joking. Then she caught the light in his smoky eyes, the quirk of his lips. He wanted her here. In Wharton. It was sweet, actually. Impossible, but sweet. “Anyway, I hope it all works out the way you want it to.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your good wishes, Tara. It means a lot.”
She felt a rush of affection for him and lurched forward to hug him. It wasn’t easy with the drink in one hand. She lifted her face to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before she backed away. Totally friendly and supportive. But his fingers pressed into her back, his chest against her breasts. He took a ragged breath. Her own pulse pounded in her ears. She backed away, unsteady on her feet. Her pulse pounded in her head. It felt so good to be in his arms, to touch him.
The glass in her hand sloshed some of her drink onto the tile. “Whoops. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he said, looking at her, his eyes a little hazy.
She couldn’t keep staring at him, so she jerked her gaze to the left and noticed a sculpture on a stand beside the slate fireplace. “Wait...is that what I think it is?” She walked closer.
“The battle bot, yeah,” he said, clearly relieved by the shift in focus. “I had it repaired and painted afterward.”
“How cool.” It had been the night of Reed and the motorcycle, the night Dylan and Tara first got together. Dylan had staged a battle with a science club friend as part of the kegger in the desert. “I won fifty dollars that night,” she said. They’d all placed bets, turning it into a drinking game, which was how Reed got plastered.
“You never said you bet on me.”
“All the girls did. You were hot for a geek. Why would I give you the satisfaction of telling you? I was pissed. You had to jump in like Captain America and save the girl. Reed wasn’t that drunk.”
“He dropped his bike.”
“If I’d been on it he’d have driven more slowly. You embarrassed the hell out of me.” Her friends had stared wide-eyed when she let Dylan drive her home. Nobody told Tara Wharton what to do.
“Why did you go with me?”
“I’m still not sure.” But it had been the way he looked at her, like he was concerned and he didn’t care who knew, that he’d do anything to keep her from getting hurt, even risk her rage. No one had looked at her like that before—or since, for that matter. She’d never let anyone that close.
“The whole way home you yelled at me, said I was a macho asshole, a self-righteous jerk, a—”
“Stop!” She cringed. “I was awful to you. Why did you ask me out?”
“I knew you were showing off for your friends. We used to play Parcheesi when our parents had card parties, remember?”
“I do. And I used to cheat.”
“I remember.”
“I couldn’t stand to lose. What a brat I was.”
“I didn’t care. You made me laugh. You viewed the world so quirky. It was like you tickled my brain.”
“I tickled your brain. I think there were more parts involved than that.”
“That goes without saying.”
Zing. It hit again. That low, swooping charge through her body, zooming to the spot between her legs. When her knees gave way, she said, “Let’s sit down.” She barely made it to the overstuffed brown leather sofa. Dylan sat close to her, his knees turned toward hers, eyes on her face. They both set their drinks on the table.
“So that was why? You asked me out because I tickled your brain?”
“Also I’m a masochist.”
She gave him a playful slap, though she knew she hadn’t been easy to be with, restless, always pushing for more, testing his love, his patience. She’d been a pure mess.
“The truth is I asked you out because Reed Walker was an ass,” he sai
d in a low, serious voice. “He didn’t get you. You were wasting your spark on him.”
“Oh.” She felt hot all over. “What a nice thing to say.”
“It’s true.”
“You were good to me, Dylan. I know I was...intense.”
“We were good to each other.” He paused. “When my parents were ripping into each other every night, you made me feel better.”
“You steadied me.” He still did. Since she’d returned, he’d had that effect on her. He’d cheered her, comforted her, made her feel like she belonged...at least for now and at least with him.
“We really had something,” he said.
“It was something, all right.”
“I keep thinking about us.” He smiled wistfully.
“Me, too. The good parts anyway.”
“The sex?” He grinned that wicked grin she’d always loved.
“Oh, yeah. The sex was great.” Why admit it? What was she doing?
“Yeah, it was.” His words sent a charge zooming along her nerves, lighting everything up like a pinball machine.
Tara could smell him. His cologne, laundry soap and that sweet tease that was just his skin. Sometimes, just smelling him would make her feel so light-headed she thought she might faint.
She remembered being in his arms, swept away by a passion so hot that nothing else in the world mattered. That had been mind-blowing. How had she forgotten passion?
Duster gave out a groan, as if he felt the tension between them. He lay below them like he used to when they would make out in Dylan’s living room. Their knees touched, pressed together. Dylan’s arm was across the back of the sofa, his fingers just brushing her shoulder, feeling natural. All she had to do was turn toward him, lean in and they would slide right into it.
It? What is it? Kissing? First base? All the way? Stop acting like you’re seventeen.
“But you can’t go home again,” she said, scooting a few inches away.
“Nope,” he said, leaning into the corner of the couch. “Nothing stays the same, even when you stay.”
They both looked away at the same time, then back, smiling sheepishly at each other, as if they’d gotten caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
“And now I have my own company and you saved your father’s,” she said on a big breath in a bright voice. “Does he realize what you did for him, what you sacrificed?” She sounded harsher than she intended, still reacting to the earlier temptation. It was true, though. Dylan’s father had taken advantage of his son’s loyalty.
Anger flared in Dylan’s eyes, which surprised her. She’d clearly hit a sore spot. “Staying was my decision, not my father’s, and I have no regrets.”
That hurt a little. Her teenage self lurked inside, she guessed. She had needed more than anything to be first in his heart. It had killed her to learn she wasn’t. He’d chosen his father over her. “Really?” she said. “No regrets about giving up NAU? Astronomy? You missed out on all that. It seems sad to me.”
“People change. They grow up. You did.” There was an edge to his voice. “You work for big business now. What happened to the pyramid of exploitation, the evils of corporate greed, all your ideals?”
“Wow,” she said, falling back against the sofa. “You jabbed back. I’m impressed. You always used to fold when we argued.”
“You were a bad loser. It was rarely worth the fight. I figured you could take it now.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, the friction gone.
She laughed. It just burst out of her. “You called me a sell-out, a sore loser and a baby and I’m laughing. Only you could pull that off.” She shook her head.
“I did regret hurting you, Tara,” he said, touching her knee. “I regretted that a lot. I still do.” He looked closely at her, telling her he meant it. His words helped, but didn’t touch the deeper ache—that he thought she was incapable of love.
“I hurt you, too,” she said.
“You did that.” Pain flickered in his eyes, remembering.
“I’m sorry, Dylan.”
“Me, too.” They held each other’s gaze letting the feeling settle and fade.
“That was then and this is now, and we’re friends, right?” she said brightly, determined to get past this. “Like you and Candee?”
“Like me and Candee.”
“But without the benefits.” She winked and tapped his glass with hers, proud of her jaunty tone, though she felt heavy inside, weighted down, as if she were saying goodbye to something she didn’t want to lose.
“I need to check the chicken,” Dylan said, pushing to his feet.
She followed him through the kitchen—cranberry-red with dark granite countertops, fancy pots and pans hanging over an island—and out to the patio, where a table was set with colorful pottery plates and cloth napkins rolled around flatware.
Dylan opened the grill to baste an upright chicken, its skin just browning. The aroma was mesquite smoke and dark beer. “Mmm, smells like Ruby’s minus the cigarette smoke,” she said.
He laughed. “Ruby’s doesn’t smell like cigarettes anymore. No smoking in restaurants, remember?”
“Right. Probably ruins the food.”
“You’ll see. I’ll take you there—” He stopped abruptly, probably realizing he’d sounded like they were a couple, making dinner plans. “Anyway, looks like another fifteen minutes. The rest is ready inside.”
He sat at the table. She sat across from him. “You must be a great cook. You’ve got all that gourmet cookware.”
He laughed. “I got talked into buying all that. Long story.”
“Judging from your face, it was a woman, right?”
“Yeah. Candee. She does these home sales parties—candles, jewelry, handbags. She’d been hounding me to come to one and I figured cookware was about as masculine as they were going to get.”
“How sweet. You help out your ex-wife.” Candee was lucky to have such a generous and kind guy in her life. Tara envied her.
“There were no benefits involved, okay?” he said firmly.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But you were thinking it. I know you.”
“You do. You do know me.” Better than anyone ever had. It had been ten years. The thought made her stomach drop. She finished her drink in one swallow. Dylan did the same.
Beyond his pool on a concrete rise, she noticed a telescope on a stand. “You still do astronomy?”
“Yep. That’s computer guided. You can really see a lot.”
“I took an astronomy class, you know,” she said. “Freshman year.”
“You’re kidding.”
“After all you raved about Lowell Observatory, I had to. I mean, I hated the snow, so I had to get something out of being there.”
“Sorry about that.” He winced. NAU had been his choice, not hers.
“It’s fine. I got what I wanted. I escaped Wharton and didn’t let my parents buy my way into an Ivy League school.” She shrugged, remembering that time. “I was lost at first. I knew who I didn’t want to be—Abbott and Rachel Wharton’s screwed-up daughter—not who I wanted to be.”
“We all have to figure that out, whether or not we have a town named after us.”
“True.” There was more she wanted to say, more questions she wanted to ask, and she could feel that Dylan felt the same, but she knew they were tender around each other and always would be. They’d crossed lines not meant to be crossed, gotten too close, hurt each other too deeply. You truly couldn’t go home again.
“How’d you end up in the business you’re in?” he asked, clearly changing the subject.
“I took a sociology class, and there was an expert on corporate culture. He walked us through a few of his case studies and it just set me on fire.”
“Yeah?” He leaned in, eyes focused on her face, eager to hear whatever she had to say. He’d always been a good listener.
“What we do is fix employee-manager dynamics in the workplace. Managers become more humane.
Employees feel empowered. People over profits, you know? See? I still have my ideals.”
“I never doubted that.”
“It’s about relationships. Building trust. Open and honest communication. Shared values.”
“Sounds like marriage counseling.”
“It’s like that. Companies are families, really. There are issues, conflicts, personality clashes. Our job is to develop better ways to be together.” She hadn’t needed a shrink to tell her that her own terrible family played no small part in her passion for her field. “I talked the guy into an internship, ended up working for him until I opened my own company a year and a half ago.”
“I’m glad you’re happy.”
“I feel the same about you.” They were wrapping it all up and tying it with a bow. They’d been in love, they’d broken up, they’d made happy lives for themselves, so long forever. Something in her resisted that. She didn’t want to slap on a friendship bracelet and call it a day, dammit. There was more here. Lots more.
Tara took in the gorgeous sunset, the orange light making the telescope glow. “I used to love sitting out in the chill, taking turns looking into the eyepiece.”
“Tonight’s a good night for stargazing,” he said. “If you’d like that.” His tone said they were talking about more than a telescope. Tonight was a good night for stargazing and getting naked and tangling in the sheets, and not leaving the bed for hours, days, weeks....
“I would like that.” She felt herself being pulled into this moment, like the tug of stars on their planets, steady and sure. Irresistible. She saw that same tug in Dylan’s smoky gray eyes.
They were daring each other to go for it, to kiss, to make love. She tingled with the thrill of it, the burn and ache of it. It was like the time they’d challenged each other to jump from higher and higher ledges into the river. They got to the highest spot, dripping, breathing hard, looked down, then at each other and burst out laughing, chickening out at the same time.
“I’ll make more drinks,” she said, jumping up, her heart racing, her cheeks on fire. Despite their earnest, wish-you-well speeches, she wanted something to happen. She thought he did, too. Her hands shook as she dropped in ice, added a splash of vodka and poured in Mountain Dew.
