A Small-Town Reunion

by Terry McLaughlin

  In another hour or two, they’d all be finished. They’d shove the putty into the came, sprinkle whiting over the mess, scrub with stiff brushes, cut the putty from the edges and vacuum it all away. By the time they’d buffed their projects with steel wool and vacuumed a second time, they’d see the beautiful results of all their hard work.

  And then her first leaded-glass class would be over. She’d learned a lot from the experience—including the fact that she didn’t want to repeat it anytime soon. The extra cash was nice, but she hadn’t realized how exhausted she’d be at the end of each class day.

  “I had no idea so many steps went into making a stained-glass window.” Barb shook her head. “I have new respect for the time that must have gone into all these pieces in your shop, Addie.”

  “You’d get faster with practice,” Addie told her. “But it’s not the easiest craft to learn. And you’ve all done very well.”

  “Even Dev,” Rosie said.

  “Even Dev.” Addie shared a secret smile with him. He’d arrived when the shop opened that morning, marched to the work area behind her counter and labored diligently—and with little assistance—to apply the came to his pieces and catch up with the others.

  He’d been a good sport, considering all the teasing he’d taken. And he’d been amazingly patient, considering he’d signed up for all the wrong reasons.

  He nudged Rosie, nearly knocking her off her stool, and she grinned and nudged him back. He was a good sport with ten-year-old pests, too.

  Addie made one more circuit of the table, checking the consistency of everyone’s putty, and then demonstrated how to apply it to the edges of the came. “Be sure and stick it against every bit of lead. Don’t worry about working it in—we’ll do that next. Just get a good amount of it stuck along those edges.”

  Because Dev and Rosie worked as a team, they finished long before the others. “May I wash my hands now?” Dev asked.

  “Go ahead. I’m sure Rosie can handle the messy parts from here on out.”

  “All right.” Rosie grinned. “This is definitely the best part.”

  “I thought you’d enjoy it.”

  Addie crossed to the grinder bench and reached beneath it to haul her shop vacuum from its storage spot.

  “Let me get that for you,” Dev said, placing a hand on her back and leaning over her. “You smell like linseed oil,” he murmured in her ear.

  She froze, hoping that none of the other students would notice the way he’d moved in close, trapping her beneath him. “It’s cheaper than perfume,” she whispered.

  “And every bit as sexy.”

  She grabbed the hose and tugged it loose, hitting Dev in the stomach with the nozzle. He backed out of her way and into the path of the fat canister. One of its wheels bumped over the toe of his scruffy sports shoe.

  “Is that the kind of things friends notice?” she asked.

  “Certain kinds of friends,” he answered with a smug grin, rubbing his midsection. He looped the hose back over the top of the machine and dragged it to the worktable.

  The bell over her front door jangled, and she moved into her shop area to help a customer choose mosaic tiles. She glanced over her shoulder to see Dev browsing through the cutter selection.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked after her customer had left.

  “Am I going to get detention?”

  “You’re supposed to be supervising Rosie.”

  “She promised she wouldn’t eat the steel wool or drown herself in the bathroom.” Dev shrugged. “I figured she’d be okay on her own for a couple of minutes.”

  “Do you trust her with Barb?”

  He craned his neck to peer past the display shelves. “She hasn’t drowned Barb in the bathroom, either.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To treat you to dinner tonight. As a thank you. For letting me come in early and take up your entire day.”

  “It wasn’t any trouble.”

  “Then let me treat you just because. How about takeout?” he added when she hesitated. “We could eat here, if you’d like.”

  He’d always had a talent for making it impossible to say no. And she’d waited so long to be able to say yes.

  Yes, Dev. Yes.

  “Yes,” she told him, her fingers spread over the flutters in her stomach. “I’d love to.”

  ADDIE WAVED GOODBYE to Virgil as he pulled his truck from the curb outside her shop. Teddi and Barb had left earlier, with proud smiles on their faces and beautiful stained-glass pictures in their hands. Shortly after they’d gone, Dev had walked Rosie around the corner to Tess’s office, promising to return with dinner.

  Addie flipped her shop sign to Closed. She turned off the lights and stood alone in the welcome silence, soaking up the peace. She supposed she’d miss the chatter and activity in her work area during the coming weeks, but it would be nice to have the space back to herself.

  She had a major repair job to finish.

  A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. Outside, a mustached gentleman dressed in a waiter’s formal black-and-white suit stood holding an armful of snowy white linens.

  She opened her door. “Yes?”

  “Takeout dinner delivery for Signorina Sutton. From Amalfi.”

  Amalfi—the most expensive Italian restaurant in town. Stunned, she stepped aside as he entered her shop. He was quickly followed by two other men, one of them in a chef’s double-breasted white jacket and toque.

  “Where may we set your table, signorina?” asked Mr. Mustache.

  “Back here.” She led the way through the shop, past the counter and into the work area. Opening her apartment door, she gestured toward the small, round table in the center of her living space. “I hope this will do.”

  “Perfectly. Grazie.” Mr. Mustache lifted the centerpiece of drooping roses from the table and handed it to her with a fussy little bow, and then he flapped one of the linens into the air like a sail, settling it theatrically over her table. Candles, flowers, crystal, a silver bucket of ice and sparkling place settings quickly followed.

  This couldn’t be happening. Things like this—beautiful, extravagant, romantic things—didn’t happen to her.

  “Hi.”

  Addie turned to find Dev slouched in her apartment doorway, one shoulder against the jamb and his hands in his pockets. “Pizza okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, speechless.

  Mr. Mustache lit the candles. The chef whisked silver domes from trays of artistically presented antipasto, chocolate-drizzled cannoli and two small pizzas. The sommelier showed Dev two bottles of wine for his approval and then they all trooped out. Dev followed, and Addie heard the click of her shop door lock.

  “What is all this?” she asked when he returned.

  “A takeout dinner.”

  “This isn’t takeout.” Her words spilled out in a high-pitched, panicky rasp, and she swallowed to clear her throat. “Well, I suppose it is, technically, but—”

  “Addie.” He walked slowly toward her, lifted one of her hands to his mouth and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. His hot, dark gaze kicked her pulse into overdrive.

  “What was that?” she asked as she tried to tug her hand free. He couldn’t be doing this, not to her.

  “A thank-you kiss.” He drew her toward the tiny galley kitchen arranged along one of the side walls. “We should wash our hands before dinner.”

  He twisted the old porcelain tap, and she moved in to hold a palm beneath the water that flowed into the deep farmhouse sink, checking the temperature. He shifted behind her, crowding her against the counter, encircling her within his arms as he reached for the soap.

  His body pressed along her length, one of his knees rubbing the back of one of hers, and his breath puffed warmly against the side of her neck. He took her hands in his and began to soap them. Slowly, slickly, he laced his fingers with hers and squeezed. “I love the way your soap smells,” he murmured against her hair.

  She
was grateful for the support of the counter. She wasn’t sure she could remain standing on her rubbery knees. “It’s lemon.”

  “When I smell citrus, it makes me think of you.” He nuzzled a sensitive spot at the base of her shoulder, and his end-of-the-day whiskers tickled the side of her neck. “Where’s your towel?”

  “What?”

  “Your towel.” He nipped at her earlobe, sending shivers in a cascade down her spine.

  “Here.” With trembling, clumsy fingers she pulled the checkerboard-print cloth from its hook near her plate rack and quickly scrubbed it over her hands before handing it to him.

  He moved to the table and lifted one of the bottles. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  She pressed a hand against her stomach, wondering if a drink would calm her jitters. And wondering if she’d be too relaxed to deal with him. “Yes, thank you,” she answered. “Thank you.”

  He poured red wine into two goblets and handed one to her. “Here’s to the end of my first—and most likely my last—stained-glass class. And to my beautiful teacher.” He touched his glass to hers with a quiet clink and stared at her with that same unnerving intensity as he sipped.

  She tasted the wine, its rich, fruity flavor blooming in a potent, delicious, glorious bouquet. This was nothing like other red wines she’d sampled, and she suspected the vintage Dev had chosen was more expensive than those she’d tried in the past.

  He strolled toward her cramped sitting area, stepping onto the threadbare area rug that defined the space. “Do you mind giving me a short tour?” he asked. He leaned over her sagging love seat to study the wine-country print hanging on the brick wall above it. “I have to admit, I’ve been curious about what was behind these curtains.”

  She did a quick mental inventory of the state of the area behind the screen. Dirty clothes in their basket instead of draped over the chair, underwear in the drawers instead of dripping from the line in the bath. Dilly had probably dived beneath the unmade bed when the staff from Amalfi had walked in, but she couldn’t trust her naughty cat to stay undercover for long if there was food to tempt him out of hiding.

  “It’ll have to be a short tour,” she said as she recovered the food, “since it’s really just one room. Well, sort of.”

  She took a larger, fortifying sip and joined him in front of the sofa. “Tess gave me this print years ago, after her mother opened the gallery in the city. It’s one of my favorites. One of her father’s paintings. Your uncle’s.” Odd that she hadn’t made the connection until that moment.

  “Yes, I know.” He stared at it for another few seconds. “The original is hanging in my apartment in San Francisco.”

  “It is?”

  “Tess doesn’t know. No one in the family knows, I’m sure. Unless the gallery assistant who sold it to me told Aunt Jacqueline.” He sipped his wine. “It’s always been one of my favorites, too.”

  Addie was beginning to realize she didn’t know Dev as well as she’d always thought. How many other secrets did he have? “And this,” she said, “completes the tour of the living room, dining room and kitchen.”

  “I like it.” He grinned and skimmed a finger from her shoulder to her wrist in a tingling path. And then he wrapped his hand around hers—a warm, solid weight at the end of her arm—and gave it a soft squeeze.

  The simple, affectionate gesture moved her more than any of his seductive touches or smoky glances, and an elemental cadence began to throb deep inside her. Dev, Dev. It was happening again—the same impossible yearning, the same overwhelming temptation. He wanted her, tonight. He was making it clear in hundreds of ways. And she wanted him, too. In hundreds of ways. She wouldn’t be able to resist him, not tonight.

  She’d probably be sorry in the morning. But there was a chance she’d be sorrier still if she never shared this night with him. If this was all she could have—these few days, these few weeks with him—then she should take as much as she could get.

  She shifted her hand, turning her palm up to lace her fingers through his, and squeezed back.

  He shifted closer, leaning in to place another kiss along her jaw, and she moved her head to the side so he’d linger. “What’s next?” he murmured.

  “Everything behind the screen.” She led him around the edge of the folding wooden frame and gestured with her goblet at her bedroom area. “The dresser. The armoire—standing in for the missing closet. The trunk that holds everything that won’t fit anywhere else. The bathroom, behind that plywood wall.”

  “And the tub.” He let go of her hand to skirt the foot of her bed and stare at the claw-foot tub angled across one corner of the room. Old-fashioned plumbing rose to shower height and formed one section of a ring supporting a plain white curtain. “Cool.”

  “Yes.” She finished her wine and set her glass on her nightstand. “Very cool, after about fifteen minutes, when the hot water runs out.”

  “And this is the bed,” he said.

  “Yes.” She raised her hand to her neckline and unfastened one button with trembling fingers. “And this is the end of the tour.”

  He emptied his glass, lowered it to the stack of old crates in the corner and stood, staring at her across the expanse of rumpled quilts. She recognized the reflection of her own nerves in his jerky swallow and flickering gaze, and the thought that she’d unsettled him gave her the reckless courage to undo another button.

  “What about dinner?” he asked, staring at the gap in her shirt.

  “Are you hungry?”

  She reached up to unfasten one of the clips in her hair, and he lifted his hands, palms out.

  “Stop,” he said. “Just…stop.”

  She froze, gripping a plastic butterfly, iced through with mortification. She’d known she’d be clumsy at this. She’d never seduced a man before, and it had been a major mistake to try the trick now, when every move, every word, mattered so very much.

  Dev moved around the bed and pried her fingers from the clip. “Let me do that,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DEV HAD INTENDED TO take things slow. He’d meant to savor every moment of this first time with Addie—had made big plans for a memorable scene—but his hands were shaking, and his knees were knocking, and his breath was backing up in his lungs. He was afraid she’d drive him stark, raving mad with her innocent striptease. There was only so much a man could take.

  “I love your hair,” he said as he pulled out the clips. He shoved his hands along her scalp and combed his fingers through to the ends. “Promise you’ll never cut it.”

  “I have to keep it trimmed. And besides,” she added, frowning, “that’s not your decision to make.”

  “You’re right.” He framed her face in his hands and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I lost my head.” And another to her cheek. “I can get a little crazy—” and another to the tip of her nose “—on home tours. Especially when there are antiques involved.”

  “Do you like antiques?”

  “Yes.” He slid his hands down her shoulders and reached for the next button on her shirt. “Very much.”

  He worked his way down, grazing her stomach with his knuckles and smiling at her shivers, until he slid the last button through the last hole. He swept her shirt over her shoulders and down to the floor. “Beautiful,” he murmured, tracing the edges of her bra with his fingertips, teasing her with touches that meandered over cotton and lace and skin. “I knew you’d be beautiful.”

  “Dev.”

  “Hmm?”

  “The bed’s an antique.”

  He grinned. “That sound you just heard was my control snapping.”

  He tugged the hem of his shirt over his head, and her hands streaked over his chest, grasping and kneading before he’d untangled his arms from the sleeves. He drew her against him, desperate for the feel of flesh against flesh, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him what he wanted. He tipped her to the side, and she took him with her, and they laughed when they fell
with a bounce onto her bed.

  She scrambled over him, straddling his hips, and raised her arms like a pagan goddess to lift her hair above her head. And then she leaned forward, letting it fall in a silky curtain around his face as he cupped her breasts in his hands. “Beautiful,” he said. “Addie.”

  Her busy hands attacked the fastenings at the front of his jeans, and he arched up, knocking her to the side, to tug a foil packet from his back pocket. She rolled back into his arms, and he crushed her lips with his, sinking into a mindless pleasure. Hands stroked, teeth nipped and someone—he thought it might have been him—groaned.

  “Let’s get inside,” she murmured against his mouth in her siren’s voice.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “I meant inside the sheets.”

  “That’ll work, too.”

  They scooted off her rumpled quilt, drew back the layers of covers and shimmied out of their pants in a frantic race. She kicked off her sandals, and he hopped on one foot, wrestling with one of his shoes and nearly knocking over her nightstand when he lost his balance. “Remind me to buy a pair of flip-flops,” he said as he climbed into bed with her and pulled the sheet over their bodies.

  “I forgot to get a good look,” he said after she’d snuggled close again.

  “That’ll teach you.”

  “I knew you’d figure out a way to give me detention.” He shifted to sprawl over her. “Guess I’ll just have to find my way by feel.”

  She smiled as she lifted her hands to cradle his face. “That’ll work, too.”

  “Addie.” He lowered his head, trying to show her with one kiss what this night meant to him. “There’s so much I want to say.”

  “I know.” She raised a knee, rubbing her soft foot along his leg. “I feel the same way.” She trailed her fingers up and down his spine. “I thought I’d be shy with you, but I’m not.”

  “Was it the dinner?” He brushed his lips over one perfect, rosy nipple. “The candlelight?” He ran his tongue around the other one. “The wine?”

  She gasped and shook her head. “No. It was when you finished your project and turned it over, and there was a piece of paper still stuck to one of your glass pieces.”