by Susan Wiggs
She knew what he was saying. When most people looked at her, they saw blond hair and big boobs, a girl who liked to party. Very few bothered to look deeper than that. She put the gravel rake and the rest of the tools into the wheelbarrow, and he pushed it up the new path. The gravel made a satisfying crunching sound under their feet.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked as they put everything into the shed.
“What the hell. I might as well see what it’s about.”
She studied him, the face that looked like it ought to be on billboards for edgy male fashions, the lanky form, the amazing hair. He was amazing, period. Under different circumstances, she might let herself have a major crush on him, but not now. Not when her family was exploding. Right now, it was all she could do to like herself, much less a boy. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go ask my dad.”
They found him and Max busily digging and planting a small garden plot between the two biggest cabins. “Dad,” she called. “Hey, Dad. Mr. Davis is taking us to Kingston to—What are you guys doing?”
Greg straightened up, took off his baseball cap and wiped the sweat from his brow. He gestured at the freshly turned earth. “Planting a memorial garden.”
She looked at him, and then at Max. Her brother did his best to emulate their dad, peeling off his own cap, wiping his brow. “Memorial to what?” she asked.
“Bullwinkle,” Max said simply. “And Yogi. And all their friends.”
“The trophy heads,” Dad explained.
Daisy felt a twitch of humor. “You buried the trophy heads. The ones that were in the main hall.”
“Yep. And we’re planting photinia and salvia for a memorial,” Max said.
“The heads creeped him out,” Dad explained.
“Hey, me, too,” Julian said, giving Max a high five.
“They creeped everyone out.” Daisy had never liked the dead glass eyes, the bared teeth, the moth-eaten hides. “Nobody wants to look at a moose trophy head or a stuffed wildcat. But we have about five Dumpsters around here,” she added. “You could have just thrown them away.”
“We gave them a proper burial. To show respect,” Dad said.
One thing about her dad. He always managed to startle her. She’d spent more time with him this summer than she had in years, but she still hadn’t quite figured him out. “Okaay,” she said. “So is it all right if we go to Kingston?”
“What’s in Kingston?” Dad asked.
Always with the questions. She was so sick of the third degree. “Dad—”
“Sir,” Julian said, “Mr. Davis—Connor’s father—offered to give us a lift because there’s an air force recruiting office in Kingston. I’m looking into signing up for the ROTC. To pay for college.”
Daisy almost laughed at the way her dad’s jaw unhinged. He was so used to her slacker guy friends, he wasn’t even sure what to do about a boy who showed a little initiative.
“Well,” Dad said. “Well, that’s commendable, I suppose.”
“I give Daisy the credit,” Julian said. “Never even thought about going to college, but maybe there’s a way for that to happen.”
“Good job, Daze,” her dad said. “Now, how about your own plans for college?”
She glowered at him. “I knew that was coming.”
“And?”
“And, in case you forgot, you’re sending me to a school that makes getting into college a graduation requirement.”
“Really?”
“Well, almost.”
“Good. Then maybe I won’t gripe about the tuition bills so much.”
When he went to pick Olivia up later that afternoon, Connor saw that she and her father were waiting for him in the lobby of the building. From a distance, they resembled the usual elegant, WASPy residents of the Upper East Side, successful and self-possessed, confident of their place in the world. Yet when he went to introduce himself, Connor saw that the rich weren’t that different after all. Just like anyone else, they made mistakes, hurt each other and hid things.
Philip was tall and slim, wearing expensive-looking shoes, every hair in place. As Olivia made the introductions, Connor had only a flicker of recall. He’d seen Mr. Bellamy once or twice back when they were kids, on Parents’ Day at camp.
“I appreciate you driving Olivia to the city,” Philip said.
“Not at all,” Connor replied. He felt awkward, tongue-tied. What the hell did you say to a guy who just learned he had a grown daughter? Congratulations?
Bellamy wasn’t exactly passing out the cigars. “Olivia tells me you’re doing a great restoration job up at the camp. I know my parents will be delighted.”
“I hope so.”
“We should go,” Olivia said. “Try to miss the worst of the traffic.” She lifted up on tiptoe and kissed her father’s cheek. “I’ll be in touch, okay?”
“Sure, sweetheart. Thanks for coming.” Then he added, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
Connor helped her into the car and went around to the driver’s side. Just watching her in this uptown world of doormen and delivery entrances reminded him of the differences in their lives. She had become the woman she was meant to be, privileged and purposeful. He wondered why she didn’t seem to be happier about it. Sure, the meeting with her father had probably been intense, but it wasn’t that bad, finding out your parent had a past. People did stupid things all the time, and their loved ones had to endure the fallout. God knew, he was proof of that.
He waited until they crossed into Jersey and headed north until the traffic thinned, and then he started to pry. “Talk to me.”
She stared straight ahead. “Not now.”
“You should talk to me.” He knew firsthand that hiding things and keeping secrets never worked.
“If it’s all the same to you…”
“All right, new topic.” He balanced his hand at the top of the steering wheel. “Do you and your dad always say goodbye like that?”
“Like what?”
“By saying you love each other. Or is it because of today?”
“It’s habit. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Just that…it’s nice. In my family, people don’t really talk like that to each other.”
“You don’t tell people that you love them?”
He laughed. “Honey, that is a foreign concept in my family.”
“Loving each other, or saying it?”
He stared straight ahead, concentrating on the road. “I’ve never said it,” he told her.
“Never said I love you?” she asked.
Shit, he thought. Should have left well enough alone.
“Is that because you’ve never actually loved someone, or because you haven’t said the words?”
“Both, I guess.”
“That’s sad.”
“I don’t feel sad. It just feels normal.”
“Normal not to love your family?”
“Now you make me sound like a sociopath.” And how the hell did they get on the topic of his family?
“I don’t mean to. And I think you’re full of baloney, too. For someone who claims he doesn’t love his family, you’ve done a lot of loving things.”
He laughed again. “Yeah, right.” And with that, blessed silence filled the car. He found a station he liked and turned up the radio as it played, appropriately enough, “500 Miles” by the Proclaimers. Connor wanted to kick himself for having let the conversation veer out of control. He never talked with anyone the way he talked with Olivia Bellamy. It seemed to be as true now as it had when he was a kid.
The silence lasted at least a dozen miles and finally, she seemed ready to talk about what had happened. She turned sideways on the seat, drew up one smooth, bare leg and propped her elbow on the seat back. “Okay, my dad had a sleazy affair while he was engaged to my mother, and he fathered a child he never knew about until today. Then, instead of breaking his engagement with my mother, he got her pregnant and had to marry
her after all, and then she had a miscarriage. I just found that out, so forgive me if I’m not bubbling over with news for you.”
Connor cautioned himself not to be distracted by the bare leg, which put him in danger of driving off the road. He forced himself to focus on what she was saying, without showing any sort of surprise or judgment. He used to think people like his mother made terrible life choices because they lacked education and opportunity. Philip Bellamy was proof that stupid choices could cross barriers of wealth, education, class. When it came to matters of the heart, even a genius like Louis Gastineaux could blow it.
“I’m sorry,” he told Olivia. None of this was her fault, yet she was the one who’d gotten hurt. “I want you to know, I do care, and if there’s some way for me to help, then I’m all ears.”
“You drove me to the city today when I could have taken the train. I’d hardly call that nothing.”
“I was glad to do it,” he told her.
“I sure hope I did the right thing. I mean, Mariska never once contacted my father. Never said a word about Jenny to him. Maybe she had a reason for that.”
“You did what you did. Now the ball is in your dad’s court—his problem, not yours,” Connor said philosophically. He turned off the main road. “Executive decision. We’re going to make a stop in Phoenicia.” With a boardwalk lined with antique and curio shops and cafés, the small, picturesque town attracted tourists and collectors.
“I know you’re trying to distract me, to make me feel better,” Olivia said.
“So sue me.” He parked and got out of the car, went around and opened the door for her.
“Thanks, but your plan is not going to work.”
“It will if you let it.”
She grabbed her bag, smiling with an obvious effort. “Why are you really doing this?”
“You said the dining room looked bare and you wanted new chairs for the reception area.” He placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her to the Artisan and Antique Warehouse, which was an old red barn with an ancient ad for Mail Pouch Tobacco still visible on the side.
“I didn’t say I needed them today, but—” She broke off and looked around the co-op of craftspeople and collectors, whose open booths shared the huge, airy space. “This is incredible,” she said, examining a collection of vintage lamps. “It’s exactly what I need. There, I said it. I’m shallow and horrible. I just found out my dad has another daughter, and yet the prospect of buying a wrought-iron lamp has managed to make me feel better.”
“Quit being so hard on yourself. That isn’t good for anything or anybody. Your dad made his share of mistakes in the past but he’s still your dad. He said he’d be here next week. Sitting around and wringing your hands isn’t going to help anyone.”
She took a deep breath as though bracing herself for something painful. “I might as well go for it, then.”
They found everything from old spinning wheels to yard gnomes. There was a booth entirely devoted to salvaged architectural items. A twisted wrought-iron stairway led to an open loft with a display of vintage Catskills travel posters.
Olivia quickly bought several of them, and that was only the beginning. Connor finally got a glimpse of Olivia Bellamy, founder of her own firm, in full-on work mode. She introduced herself to a salesperson. She was decisive and made swift choices. In a remarkably short time, she acquired some major treasures—the posters for the dining hall, lamps and light fixtures, an antique table made of peeled pine logs for the reception area. She ordered bent-willow porch furniture, including a traditional hanging bed, for the lodge she was preparing for her grandparents. She even found a tall, leather-bound hotel register which had only a few entries on the first page, the last one dated 1929, which she wanted to use as a guest book. The saleswoman tallied everything up and arranged for delivery.
“You’re sexy when you’re like this,” Connor said.
“Nothing like a little retail therapy when you find out about your father’s secret life.” She was trying to be flip, but he could see her vulnerability in the almost imperceptible trembling of her lip. Sometimes, he thought, it was easy enough to forget she had endured so much heartbreak, but he’d always been able to see her, even when others couldn’t.
“So it happened,” he said, wishing he could take away her hurt. “You and your family will survive this.’
“Why do you keep trying to make me feel better?”
“Because it sucks for you, the things you found out today, and there’s no fixing any of them. And because I like you.”
“You like me,” she repeated.
“That’s what I said.”
“How?”
“What?”
“How do you like me? As a person you feel sorry for because I just found out some really bad news? As someone you’ve been working with this summer? As an ex-girlfriend you still have old feelings for?”
“Close. As an ex-girlfriend I have new feelings for.” There. He’d said it. Probably not the best timing in the world, but he wanted to put the concept out there.
“Feelings. That is such a broad term,” she said, visibly bristling with mistrust.
“That’s why guys like it. Lots of ways to interpret or misinterpret.”
“I see. So later, when you break my heart, I’ll say, I thought you said you loved me and you’ll say, no, I said I had feelings for you, and we’ll argue about that, about what you said and what you meant.”
“You’re assuming I’m going to break your heart.”
“You’re assuming you won’t.”
“Nice attitude, Lolly.” He thought about her three failed engagements. She was gun-shy for sure.
“You never did say what you meant by feelings, and I’m not supposed to notice that. Well, guess what? I noticed.”
Connor swore softly and shoved a splayed hand through his hair. “When I say I have feelings for you,” he told her with exaggerated patience, “it means exactly what you think it means.”
She did a quick scan of the barn, and he knew she was checking to see if anyone had heard. Sure enough, two women looking at fruit-crate labels had their heads together as they whispered something to each other. There were three more women examining old table linens a few booths away. An older man scurried away as though to avoid being tagged as a witness.
Olivia flushed red. “We’ll talk about this later.”
Connor didn’t give a shit who was listening. “We’ll talk about this now,” he said. “They’re my feelings. I’ll choose when to talk about them.”
“Maybe we could discuss this in the car—”
“Maybe we can discuss this right now.” He felt himself getting pissed. This was what had ruined them before, her insistence that other people’s opinions mattered. “It’s simple. When I said I have feelings for you, I meant that I think about you all the time. I wonder what it would feel like to hold you in my arms again. I start to think every sad breakup song on the radio is about us. Just a whiff of your perfume makes me horny, and I can’t stop thinking about—”
“Stop,” she said, her voice an urgent hiss. “I can’t believe you’re talking like this in…in public. You have to stop.”
“For God’s sake,” murmured one of the shoppers in the linen booth, “don’t stop.”
Connor tried not to grin. He was enjoying this way too much.
Olivia wasn’t; her face turned even redder. “What’s it going to take to shut you up?” she asked.
He spread his arms, palms out, and surrendered. “Give me something else to do with my mouth.”
She surprised him—and probably herself—when she took his head between her hands and kissed him full on the mouth. She tasted like heaven, but he could feel her pulling back way too soon. He slid his arms around her and held her in place, taking control of the kiss, deepening it until he felt her resistance soften and then dissolve. He would have stood there all day in the dimly lit barn, kissing her, but after a while, she pulled back, staring up at hi
m. She seemed to have forgotten where they were, what people might think.
“Anyway,” he said, continuing the conversation as though he’d never been interrupted, “I guess you got your answer.”
“What answer?”
“That’s pretty much what I mean when I say I have feelings for you.”
Twenty-Five
Olivia’s head was spinning as she followed him out of the antiques barn. She felt herself being swept away, the way she’d been swept away by their kiss. She couldn’t believe she’d done that in a public place, just grabbed him and started kissing him. It wasn’t the sort of thing she did or even thought about doing—until a few minutes ago.
As they headed to Avalon, she kept quiet, though she was replaying his entire too-loud speech in her head. Though she hadn’t trusted herself to say anything, she knew she had feelings for him, too. But she hadn’t figured out what those feelings were, beyond raw lust.
“I’m hungry,” Connor said. “Let’s get dinner.”
“We really should be getting back,” she said.
“We’re going to dinner,” he stated.
“Fine,” she said. If he wanted to stop somewhere for a burger, she was okay with that. She sensed that resistance was futile. And she admitted to herself that it was a relief to surrender, just for today. She, the queen of all control freaks, was going to surrender to Connor Davis. It felt good, relinquishing control. Because it also absolved her of responsibility.
He took her to a place called the Apple Tree Inn, an historic converted farmhouse in the middle of an orchard, with the river on one side and the road on the other. A small red neon sign in the window said, Dinner and Dancing Nightly. Inside were comfortable chairs and candlelit tables with views of an apple orchard and the river. There were warm wooden floors and deep golden lighting. The hostess led them to a table in a corner that was washed by the colors of the setting sun streaming through the windows.
Okay, Olivia thought, so he had something more in mind than a burger and fries. She eyed Connor suspiciously. This was a date restaurant. Were they on a date?
