It was a small thing, but she didn’t want any reminders of what had happened last night. It wouldn’t stop the neighbors from glancing askance at her for the next little while, but it would make her feel better. As though she’d done something to move on. Fortunately the police had had Steve’s car towed last night, so she didn’t have to deal with that this morning, too. She still couldn’t believe he’d gotten behind the wheel so drunk. But she couldn’t believe a lot of things about the way he’d behaved last night.
She swept the glass into a pile and used her dustpan and broom to transfer it to the bin. She felt marginally better as she wheeled Alice back into the house.
She spent the morning tidying, putting the house to rights in an attempt to do the same thing with her mind. She was contemplating what to have for lunch when a knock sounded at the front door. Her gut told her it was Harry and for a few seconds she considered not answering. Then she reminded herself that she was a grown-up, not a sixteen-year-old, and that Harry deserved more from her than silence.
She gasped when she saw him. His right eye was black and blue, the skin swollen. It took a real act of will not to reach out and touch him.
“Is it okay?” she asked, gesturing with her chin toward his eye. “I mean, is your vision all right…?”
“I’m fine. How are you? Did you sleep okay?”
She shrugged. She’d slept badly, but it was neither here nor there.
“Can I come in?”
She bought some time before responding by jiggling Alice and glancing down into her face. She was afraid of what he might be about to say to her. Afraid of how appealing she found him. Of how weak she was.
“Pippa… I just want to talk.”
He could only hurt her if she let him. If she was stupid enough to put her trust in him.
The thought gave her strength. She stepped to one side, tacitly inviting him in, then turned and walked to the kitchen. She sat at the table, Alice in her lap, eyeing him across the scrubbed pine tabletop.
“I want to start again,” he said.
As an opening gambit, it wasn’t what she’d been expecting.
“I’m sorry?”
“I want to start from scratch. No get-out-of-jail-free cards. Just you and me.”
Despite everything—last night’s revelation, this morning’s grim determination—something lurched in the pit of her stomach. She was very afraid it was hope.
“It’s a nice idea, but it wouldn’t work,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because we want different things from life, Harry.”
“You don’t know that.”
She gave a small smile. “I do, Harry. I know you.”
In a way, she wished she didn’t. She could have indulged herself for a few more weeks. But the outcome would have been the same. She would have been left high and dry once the fun times wore out.
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do. Or maybe you’re confusing me with someone else.”
He meant Steve. She held his eye.
“I’m flattered, Harry, I won’t lie. But I’ve played this game before.”
“I’m not him, Pippa.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
He was utterly focused on her, his gray eyes demanding a response. Yesterday, she would have been thrilled to hear him saying these things. She would have been over the moon.
Yesterday she had been living in a fantasy land.
“I know you’re not Steve. You don’t have his temper. You’re funnier. I like spending time with you a whole hell of a lot more. You’re a better lover. You’re sweet with Alice. You’re generous with your time…”
The furrows in his brow deepened with every word she said.
“But?”
“But you don’t do serious, Harry. You said it yourself. You’re a bad bet romantically speaking. You’re not looking for a mortgage and 2.5 kids. You want to surf and hang with your mates and kick back.”
He started to speak but she held up a hand to stop him.
“There’s nothing wrong with any of those things. At all. But they make you pretty much a disaster from where I’m sitting. I have a little baby girl who looks to me for everything, Harry. Everything. I am her world. If I fall over, she falls over. If I have a bad day, she has a bad day. She wears the consequences of all my mistakes. I can’t afford to make a mistake with you.”
He shifted in his chair, leaning forward. Before she realized what he was doing, he’d captured her hand. He held it in his, his gaze locked with hers.
“What if it’s not a mistake? What if the mistake is pushing me away?”
She tried to ignore the warmth of his hand, the strength of his fingers.
“Sadly, Harry, that’s a mistake I can afford to make, because I know what that looks like. That’s my life now. That’s the gallery and university and Alice. But I can’t afford to go on a fishing expedition with you. I can’t afford to believe in you and start building a life around you and then have that all pulled out from beneath me when you realize that playing house and playing daddy aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”
His chin jerked back and she knew she’d offended him.
“You think I’m a kid, that I don’t get it, Pippa? That I’m not serious? That this is some kind of game?”
God, he was saying all the right things. Doing all the right things, too, sitting there looking so earnest and sincere and gorgeous, his hand gripping hers, his body leaning toward hers. If this were a movie, she’d be in tears by now, flinging herself into his arms and into the life he was offering.
But this wasn’t a movie. This was real life—her life—and she didn’t have the luxury of finding out how far the novelty of her situation would carry Harry. One month? Two? Six? How long before he started to slip off to the pub on Friday nights for a “boys’ night”? How long before he resented the time and love and attention she devoted to Alice? How long before he started weighing his lost freedoms against the everyday domestic tedium of family life and finding one far greater than the other?
She reached out and laid her hand over his, steeling herself to say what needed to be said. A little amazed that she was able to find the strength, frankly, when he was offering her what was pretty much her secret fantasy: Harry, for always, in her bed, in her life, walking through the door each night, telling her stories and making her laugh and giving her daughter the love, attention and adoration she deserved.
But something had shifted in her last night. Hardened. Maybe she’d taken the last, final step into full, responsible adulthood.
Or maybe she was simply running scared, absolutely terrified by how much she wanted what Harry seemed to be offering.
Either way, she’d learned a vital lesson last time she’d gone down this road with a charming man: she’d learned how to protect herself.
“Harry, you’re a great guy. I have loved my time with you. But you have spent the last ten years avoiding exactly this situation. Am I supposed to believe that I’m the exception to the rule? That I’m the one woman who makes you want to give it all up?”
“I don’t see it as a sacrifice, Pippa. Don’t you get it? I love you.”
She sat back in her chair, jerking her hand free from his grip.
“No.”
“It’s not a yes or no proposition, Pippa.”
She stood, clutching Alice to her. “I’m, um, flattered, Harry, but it doesn’t change anything. You should g-go....”
She trailed off as her treacherous voice betrayed her. A light came into Harry’s eyes and she knew that he’d seen into the secret heart of her in that one, revealing moment. He’d seen something that she’d kept so well hidden that she hadn’t even acknowledged it to herself.
He stood and rounded the table. She retreated, matching him step for step as he approached. It took three steps for her back to hit the wall. Harry stopped, leaving only inches between them.
“Tell me you don’t
love me, too, Pippa.”
“I-don’t-love-you.” She said it very quickly, the words running together.
He should have looked disappointed. She’d said it, hadn’t she?
He smiled. She swallowed nervously as he moved closer still. His face lowered toward hers. She turned her head, offering him her cheek instead of her mouth.
She wasn’t stupid. She wanted him too badly, even now, to be able to keep him at arm’s length if he kissed her.
His lips brushed her cheek, then moved to her ear. “Fibber.” The single word slid across her skin like a caress.
She opened her mouth to deny him again but he kissed the sensitive spot below her ear, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. She closed her eyes, reminding herself that she was holding her daughter and that she was fully clothed and that there was no way he could know how much his touch affected her.
His lips nibbled the lobe of her ear. A shudder went through her. Hard to believe they’d made love only yesterday. She felt as though she’d been starving for his touch for years. Decades.
“Pants on fire, Pippa.”
He pulled back enough for her to see the glint in his eyes. He was so charming, and so confident in that charm. It was his stock in trade. The honey he’d used to lure many a woman over the years. And she’d been so determined to be different from them all....
She looked down at Alice, reminding herself of everything that was at stake. Alice stared back at her unblinkingly.
So much trust. So much faith. So much vulnerability.
She lifted her gaze to Harry again.
“My pants don’t figure into this,” she said.
Some of the confidence leaked out of him.
“At least give me a chance, Pippa. Let me prove that I love you and Alice. Let me prove how much I want both of you in my life.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I think it’s best if we just end things and go our separate ways.”
“Because you’re afraid you’ll cave? Because you want me as much as I want you?” His eyes held hers. “Because you love me?”
“Because I made a promise to myself. And to Alice.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond, slipping away from him. She put a good bit of distance between them, shifting Alice’s weight from one hip to the other.
Harry eyed her from across the room. “I’m not giving up.”
There was a determined note underpinning his voice that both thrilled and scared her.
“I was never yours to give up.”
“Yes, you were, Pippa. At least be honest about that.”
She couldn’t hold his gaze, letting it slide down his chest.
“I’m not giving up, Pippa,” he said again.
He left the room. She remained where she was until she heard the click of the front door. She walked into the sunroom and sank onto the couch. She laid Alice carefully on her play quilt on the floor, then pulled her legs up onto the couch and backed into the corner, resting her forehead on her knees.
Then and only then did she let herself cry.
Because of course she loved him. How could she not? He’d ridden into her life in his shiny black car and rescued her and infuriated her and seduced her. He was larger than life, warm, generous, charming, sexy, clever…
And not for her.
So not for her.
Did you hear what he said? He loves you. He loves Alice. He wants both of you. What is wrong with any of that?
She pressed her forehead harder into her knees, trying to keep quiet so Alice didn’t pick up on her distress.
She wanted to believe in Harry’s love so badly. She wanted to believe in him so much she ached.
But what if she got it wrong again?
She gave up on being quiet then, letting her tears fall, sobbing helplessly into her knees.
She was afraid. That was the truth of it. Afraid she wasn’t enough. Afraid she wouldn’t be strong enough to survive another abandonment. Afraid of letting down her daughter again.
There. She’d admitted it. It didn’t change anything, but she’d admitted it.
Now she had to remain strong and hold her ground.
* * *
HARRY FOUND Mel and Flynn in the herb garden, both of them sporting garden gloves and tans and hats to protect them from the harsh midday sun.
“Harry, hey— Oh, wow. What does the other guy look like?” Mel said as she noticed his eye.
“I need to talk.”
Her welcoming smile faded. “Is everything okay?”
“No.”
She shot a glance at Flynn.
“I’ll go grab us all a drink,” Flynn said diplomatically.
He headed for the house. Mel moved closer and lifted a hand as if to touch his face. Harry flinched away from her.
“It hurts, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Who hit you? Steve?”
“Yeah. But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Okay.” Mel looked confused.
“Pippa doesn’t trust me, Mel. She thinks I’m going to freak out like Steve and leave her high and dry. She says she can’t afford to take a risk anymore because she’s got Alice.” He paced in front of his sister, frustration spilling out of him. “She loves me. She denies it, but I know she does. I can see it in her eyes. But she won’t even give me a chance.”
Mel reached out and caught his wrist. “Harry, you are seriously making me dizzy. Stand in one spot for five seconds, okay?”
He planted his feet and regarded his sister. “I don’t know what to do.”
He was fully aware of the irony of his own words. From the moment he’d looked at girls and liked what he’d seen, he’d known what to do with them. He’d made them laugh and stolen kisses. When he’d grown older, he’d talked them out of their underwear and stolen a whole lot more. Now, here he was at thirty, asking his sister for advice on how to get through to the woman he loved, the one woman who wanted nothing to do with his charmer’s bag of tricks.
“You love her.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes.” More than he could articulate. So much it scared him if he thought about it too much. He loved her, and he loved Alice because she was a part of Pippa, and because when she looked at him or grabbed his sleeve or his finger or laughed up into his face, he felt as though he was a part of something real and good and worthwhile.
“Tell me what she said.”
He sighed impatiently, but Mel made him go over his conversation with Pippa. Then she made him tell her about last night. After he’d answered all her questions, she bit her lip, her expression pensive.
“What?”
“She’s scared, Harry. And she’s got every reason to be. Steve really did a number on her, didn’t he? She must have been terrified, finding herself pregnant, and with him telling her he wanted nothing to do with her or her child.”
He stared at the ground, burning with shame and self-directed anger as he remembered how he’d distanced himself from the whole situation. It had been messy and emotional—and he didn’t do messy and emotional. He’d told himself it was none of his business and assuaged himself with visiting Pippa in hospital once Alice was born.
“She thinks I’m like him, but I’m not Steve.” He could hear the defensiveness in his own voice.
Mel touched his arm. “I know that, Harry. You’d never walk out on your responsibilities. She probably knows that, too. But that doesn’t stop her from being scared. Far, far easier to batten down the hatches and lock the world out than take a chance.”
She said it ruefully and he knew she was thinking about her relationship with Flynn.
“I told her I wasn’t going to give up on her. I want this, Mel. I want to make her happy. I want to watch Alice take her first steps and I want to teach her to ride a bike and I want to scare boys off when they start sniffing around. I want to give her a brother or sister. Maybe one of each. I want to get them out of that dump of a
house. I want—” His voice broke and he stopped, swallowing a lump of emotion.
Mel’s eyes were full of sympathy. “Harry. My God, this is a big sister’s wet dream, hearing you say all this stuff after all your years of messing around. And I can’t take any pleasure in it because I hate seeing you this unhappy.”
“I don’t know what to do,” he said, aware he’d come full circle.
He gazed at the toes of his boots and waited for his sister to offer some insight. When she didn’t immediately offer up a pearl, he glanced at her. She shrugged.
“I don’t have a magic wand, Harry. I can only tell you what worked with me and Flynn. Patience. He hung in there and waited me out.”
Harry frowned at his boots. It wasn’t bad advice. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, because he wanted to be with Pippa now. He wanted to start the rest of their lives now.
But he’d heard what his sister had said. He got it. He’d seen the fear in Pippa’s eyes.
If she needed time, he would give it to her. But he wasn’t going away, and he wasn’t giving up.
* * *
PIPPA WOKE ON Sunday to find an old-fashioned paper shopping bag on her doorstep when she went to collect the morning paper from the front porch. She opened it and discovered a jar of homemade preserves, a pat of Danish butter and a loaf of crusty sourdough from the boutique bakery in Mount Eliza.
She walked to the top of the steps and looked out into the street. She couldn’t see Harry’s car or truck, and she turned back to the house.
She took the bag into the kitchen and considered it.
She’d ended things between them. The fair and honest thing to do would be to drop the bag back on his doorstep, with a polite yet firm thanks-but-no-thanks. She made the mistake of peeking in the bag again then, and discovered that the jam he’d chosen was the same one she’d selected for Gaylene’s Christmas present. She’d made a comment as she selected it, confessing how much she loved raspberries and joking that it was good for your soul to give someone something that you coveted yourself.
He’d remembered. A silly, throwaway line, one of many she’d made as they browsed the shops that day, and he’d remembered.
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