by Nancy Thayer
Well, she could at least come out and clean up the flower beds, prune back the privet, and perhaps it wasn’t too early to bring some of the lawn chairs out. She’d love to get over to the Cape to buy some new cushions for the wicker furniture on the back porch. She longed for deep pillowy cushions in pastel colors…she was in such a nesting mood these days. She and Jesse couldn’t get married this summer, they’d both be working straight-out crazy insane hours. But if they married in the fall, she could have a baby next spring…
The front door slammed. She heard voices. Jesse and her dad were home. Back in the kitchen, she turned the heat up under the pasta pot and poured olive oil into the skillet. Ralph clicked into the room and stared at her with shy, hopeful eyes.
“Hi, sweetie.” She bent to nuzzle and stroke the dog.
“I hope you’re going to wash your hands before you touch the food.” Jesse stood in the kitchen door. He had sawdust in his hair. He looked sexy and exhausted and cranky.
Clare made a face. “Hello to you, too, Sunshine. When did you get so frightened of dog germs? Don’t answer that. Sit down. Have some wine.” She washed her hands dutifully, poured him a glass of wine, and handed it to him. “Where’s Dad?”
“I think he went into the den.” Jesse collapsed in a chair and put his booted feet up on another chair. “I’m beat.”
Clare began to stir-fry the veggies and scallops and fresh tuna. “You’ll feel better soon. I’m making a yummy meal.” She glanced over her shoulder. “How are the dressing rooms going?”
“I’ll be through tomorrow night.”
“So it’s not such a big deal.”
Jesse grunted.
Clare put the pasta in to cook, wondering what on earth was bugging Jesse. He was usually the sweetest man, patient, full of jokes and bonhomie. Perhaps it was just exhaustion, overwork, and the kind of psychological pressure every islander felt as the island population geared up to expand from the winter’s nine thousand to twenty, then thirty, then, in August, fifty thousand residents. While the pasta boiled, Clare filled Ralph’s bowl and set it down for her. She had planned to encourage her father to be responsible for the dog’s meals, but it was still early. Her father had taken the dog for a walk; that was enough for today.
“I don’t know why you got that thing,” Jesse remarked, staring at Ralph, whose tail wagged happily as she wolfed down her food.
Surprised by the tone of his voice, Clare turned to look at Jesse. “Why, I told you. I think it will get my father out of his chair and out of the house.”
“Yeah, if you nag him to do it. Be honest, Clare, you’re going to be the one responsible for that animal. Which means you and I are going to be tied down even more than we already are.”
“Tied down?” Clare’s heart made funny jiggling movements.
“Yeah, like how can we travel?”
“Um, I didn’t know we were planning to travel.”
“You know I’ve always wanted to travel.”
“True, but when we do get the chance to travel, well, by then Dad will be capable of caring for the dog.”
“I’m not so sure.”
The buzzer sounded. Clare poured the pasta into the colander to drain. “Jesse,” she said over her shoulder, “what’s up with you?”
Jesse looked away. His face was cloudy. “I just guess I wish you had consulted me before you went and got the dog. I mean, his presence changes my life as much as yours.”
Clare’s jaw dropped. “Oh, Jesse, you’re right. I never really thought about that. I’m sorry, honey.” On the stove, the sizzling oil made a crackling sound. Quickly she poured in the cream and stirred it with a wooden spoon. “Jesse, dinner’s ready. Could you get Dad in here? And let’s talk about the dog thing later, okay? I’m sorry, though, truly, if I seemed thoughtless.”
“I’ll get your father.” Jesse rose and left the room.
Clare prepared a plate with pasta and the creamy seafood sauce. As she carried it to the table, Ralph dashed between her legs so quickly she trod on one of the dog’s feet and tripped, nearly sending the plate of food into the air. But she managed to keep her grip, and when she set the plate down safely on the table, she said to the dog in a very harsh voice, “No! Bad dog, Ralphie! Go lie down!”
Ralphie cringed at the sound of her voice.
Clare felt just completely miserable.
NINETEEN
At six o’clock on a windy spring evening, Jesse was at the back of Lexi’s shop, hammering away. He’d been here for three hours, and so far Lexi had managed to act normal, or at least no more klutzy than usual. She had so much to do, she kept busy, zipping here and there around the shop, forcing her mind to focus on her work even though every cell in her body was tuned toward Jesse’s presence. She turned up the volume on her radio, filling the room with sound so that she and Jesse didn’t seem quite so very much alone here together.
She entered the far cubicle and sat down, trying out the corner bench Jesse had built. It was fine. She would put the first coat of paint on tonight.
“There,” Jesse called over the dividing partition. “Done.”
She stood, still planning. “Jesse, um, do you suppose you could come back tomorrow and do just a few more little bits? I’m so hopeless with a hammer.”
Jesse came around the dividing wall and leaned on the open cubicle entrance. He smelled like new wood and soap and, just a little, of sweat. “What else?”
“I need the pictures hung up, and mirrors, one in each cubicle and a couple out on the walls. And privacy curtains for the cubicles, so curtain rods should go up here and here—” She stretched to point to the places where the brackets should go on either side of the cubicle entrance. She felt her breasts rise as she raised her arms to touch the board running along the front. This brought her so close to Jesse, she was almost touching him. They were face to face, separated by only a few inches. “And hooks,” she continued, backing up as she spoke. She was having trouble getting her breath. “Nice brass hooks here and here and here, for clothes.”
Jesse entered the dressing room. It was a small space, meant for one woman and some light clothing. With two people, it was crowded, almost impossible to move. Jesse reached into his shirt pocket, then leaned forward. Lexi stepped back sharply, bumping into the wall. Jesse reached around her and made a mark on the wall with a pen. “Here?”
She nodded. She could smell him, she could feel the heat of his body. He put the pen in his pocket. He looked at her. Lexi felt something delicate and enormous approach, a shadowy and unexpected pressure, like the sand sharks that had brushed her legs when she swam at Steps Beach. Something frightening yet compelling, its presence an awesome, breathtaking gift.
“Jesse.” She put her hand on the blue cotton of his shirt, just where it buttoned over his chest.
Jesse put his arms against the wall on either side of her and pressed himself against her and brought his mouth to hers. She closed her eyes. His mouth was soft, his body hot. Sensations churned inside her. She had never felt this way before in her life, and she had no idea what to do, but she wanted this with every atom of her being. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing him closer. His erection was thick between them, so hard it almost hurt her. Sliding her hand down, she lay her palm on the bulge beneath the blue jeans.
He groaned, and pushed himself away from her. “We can’t do this.” He lunged into the other cubicle, grabbed up his tool belt, and strode across the shop to the front door. He slammed out the door, leaving Lexi alone, and trembling.
Brown paper still covered the two large plate-glass windows at the front of the shop while Lexi got it ready for its grand opening. She was glad for the privacy it provided. She walked to the front door and turned the latch. She walked to the radio on the counter and snapped it off.
Then she went back into the cubicle and pressed herself against the wall where Jesse had pressed her.
Never before had she felt so purely, physically, alive. The caressing heat of Ma
ui, the perfumed air of Bali, the powerful surf on the New Zealand coast—none of that had awakened her like Jesse just had. She felt like Pinocchio transformed into a real person. Before she’d been wooden; now her body was supple and warm. And greedy.
Warning voices clamored, but she refused to hear them. Not just yet. For just a while more, she wanted to let her body soak in this extraordinary pleasure. Closing her eyes, she remembered Jesse’s mouth on hers, his body pressing against hers. The soft warmth of his breath. The scratch of the bristles along his jaw.
And the way he looked at her. The look was so powerful, so intense, it was a kind of touching.
That hadn’t been good ol’ take-it-easy, laid-back, my-man Jesse who was with her just now. And there hadn’t been a glimmer of the teasing, cocky, lady-killing Casanova, either. Jesse had looked worried. He’d looked desperate. He’d even looked just a little bit scared, and Lexi thought he’d been trembling, too.
Sinking down, Lexi folded up her knees and hugged them. She sat like that for a long time.
The spell didn’t lift. Those few moments with Jesse buzzed around her like a hive of honeybees. All she knew was that she wanted Jesse to come back—now. She wanted him pressed against her, kissing her, touching; she wanted to run her hands over his warm, hard body—
—and that was something she could never have.
Jesse was engaged to marry Clare.
Clare had been her best friend, was still the best friend Lexi had.
What kind of person lets herself get sexually attracted to her best friend’s man?
But what kind of relationship did Jesse and Clare have, if Jesse could act the way he had with Lexi?
No, not act; Lexi was sure that was no kind of an act. That was real.
Or maybe not. What did she know about the ways of men? Pathetically little.
Remember what you do know, she told herself. Remember your plans. Look around. Where are you now?
From the chaos and humiliation of her marriage and her divorce, she had gotten herself this far, so far. She’d made a plan, she’d worked as hard as she knew how, and she was trying to start her life over. She couldn’t allow whatever had happened with Jesse to derail her new life. Open your damn eyes, she urged herself.
She opened her eyes. The cubicles were plywood. They needed to be painted. The rest of the shop gleamed with new, luminous color. She was creating more than a shop here; she was creating an entire world. She’d started her life fresh. She was friends with Clare.
She couldn’t allow herself to be alone with Jesse ever again.
TWENTY
Jesse hadn’t slept over, and as Clare stretched, warm and healthy in her bed, a piercing sadness, like resonant chords from an oboe, strummed through her. She’d been dreaming of babies, Penny’s baby, the fantasy baby she and Jesse might have some day…
Closing her eyes, she rolled on her side, pulling the down comforter to her shoulders. It was still early. Could she fall back to sleep? Sensing something, she opened her eyes again and found herself staring right into Ralph’s bright doggy eyes. Ralph saw Clare’s gaze and sat up straight, quivering with her efforts to be patient. Clare was trying to make the animal belong to her father, but her father always shut Ralph out of his bedroom, so she slept in the hallway, tiptoeing into Clare’s room at the first sound of Clare stirring. She was such a good-natured animal; she tried so hard not to pester Clare.
“Good morning, Ralphie.” Clare reached out an arm and stroked the dog’s head. “Okay. You’re right. We should go to the beach.”
Clare pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved tee, tied on sneakers, put Ralph in the van, and drove out to Fisherman’s Beach. Her father was pretty good about walking Ralph twice a day, but no matter how Clare urged him to, he never took the dog out for a good run. Besides, she loved the deserted beach at this time of day; it was like the world was starting fresh, full of light and surging tide and spangling air. At eight o’clock, the beach would start filling up with swimmers and sunbathers who didn’t welcome unleashed dogs. But this early in the morning, Ralph ran free.
She loved watching her. Ralph was fascinated and terrified by the ocean. She’d bark hysterically at it, all four legs nearly lifting off the ground in her excitement, and when a wave receded, she’d chase after it, triumphantly wagging her tail, nearly yodeling with exultation. When the waves came surging back in, Ralph always stood frozen for a moment, puzzling over this rebound of bravery on the sea’s part, but when the cold water touched her paws, she’d turn and race up the shore toward Clare, and she’d actually try to hide behind Clare’s legs. Clare would bend to pet her and reassure her, and Ralph would shake out her coat and go into an “I’m just walking here” act, strolling along next to Clare, eyeing the perplexing surf, until optimism once again overcame her and she rushed out to chase another wave back to its place.
Farther down the beach a man was walking, accompanied by a couple of dogs. After a moment, Ralphie spotted them, too, and immediately she bounded toward the dogs, wagging her tail so heartily her entire body undulated.
“Good morning, Clare!” Adam Laney waved at her. “What a day!” He wore swim trunks and a T-shirt and his honey-brown hair was wet.
“Hi, Adam. Don’t tell me you’ve been swimming. Isn’t the water too cold?”
“I like it this way. It’s refreshing.” Adam gestured toward the dogs. They were tearing into a clump of seaweed, lured by the various smelly bits caught inside. “They’re going to need baths.”
“Baths?” Clare echoed in consternation. “Gad. I don’t know if I can manage that before I get to work.” She thought of dog hair in the bathtub, smelly towels on the floor.
“I just aim the garden hose at them and soak them down. Gets the salt off their coats, too. Leave them in the backyard to dry off in the sun.”
“Ah. Thanks for the tip.” She smiled up at him.
“So your father likes his dog?”
“Ralph. He named her Ralph.” They both laughed. “I can’t say he’s wild about her, but he is dutiful. He feeds her and takes her out twice a day. And she hangs out with him when I’m at work, so I know he has some kind of company.”
The dogs were on their backs, rolling in the seaweed. “That’s enough, you jokers.” Adam whistled and clapped his hands. His dogs immediately sprang to attention. Ralph looked up, curious. “Let’s walk,” he urged the dogs.
Clare matched her gait to Adam’s as they continued along the beach. The dogs raced around, bumping into Clare and Adam’s legs, chasing one another, tails wagging, ears flapping, tongues flying.
“Life is so simple for them,” Clare said musingly.
“And not for you?”
She felt Adam’s gaze on her face. All her senses flipped to red alert. The space between her arm and his as they walked seemed glittery with the electricity of attraction. “Well…”
Adam asked, “I’ve got a thermos of coffee up by the dune. Want to share it?”
“Great!”
They sat cross-legged on the sand, side by side, looking out at the ocean. Adam unscrewed the plastic top, poured the cup full, and offered it to Clare.
As she took it from him, their arms bumped. Clare felt herself flush. She brought the cup to her mouth, remembering all those years ago, when just the possession of an apple his lips had touched made her pulse race.
“You were saying…” Adam prompted.
“Oh, well, Adam…I guess I keep thinking about family. My parents were both so cerebral I’m surprised they managed to keep me alive through infancy.”
Adam laughed. “Your father was a great teacher. Your mother was a fine artist. And you turned out pretty well, in spite of everything.”
She looked at him. “Thanks.” She met his eyes. His gaze was gentle. “I want a lot of children,” she confessed, then immediately felt surprised at herself and flustered by the way she blurted out such an intimate thought. She lifted sand in the palms of her hands and let it run through her fingers. �
��I mean, I want to have children and be a better parent to them than my parents were to me.”
“Does Jesse want children?” Adam asked. He stared out at the horizon.
Clare chuckled. “I’m not sure Jesse’s through being a child himself.”
“But you believe he will be, one day.”
Clare traced her fingers in the sand. “Honestly? I don’t know.” Guilt flooded her. She felt as if she were betraying Jesse, talking about him this way. She changed the course of the conversation. “Do you want children?”
Again, Adam remained silent instead of answering. Clare looked over at him. His profile was strong, his nose broken from a football injury, his lashes long and dark.
“I don’t know, Clare. I suppose if I met the right woman.”
“What about Melanie Clark?” Clare asked, and she could tell she was turning beet red at her intrusiveness.
“What about her?”
