Find My Way Home (Harmony Homecomings)

by Michele Summers

  “Hey,” Liza said.

  “Where are you?” he asked. Liza melted a little every time she heard that deep, comforting voice.

  “I dumped Scott at his mom’s and was heading home.” She kept her voice steady.

  “Don’t.”

  Liza gripped the blue rubber cover to her phone. His sigh sounded a lot like frustration and desire mixed together.

  “Come over. I need to see you.” He tempted her with his honesty and his need. She kept quiet. “Don’t you think we should see where this goes instead of avoiding each other?”

  “I’d gotten pretty good at avoiding you,” she finally answered.

  “Yeah? And how’s that working out for you?”

  Like crap. Terrible. More miserable now than fourteen years ago. “We decided a long time ago that this was never going to happen. What happened to that?” she asked.

  “We were young and immature.” He hesitated and Liza held her breath. “Come on. We owe it to ourselves. Haven’t you always wondered?”

  Yeah, that was what got her into trouble the first time. Heart racing, she increased her speed. This could be the biggest mistake of her life. Or…this could be what she’d been searching for. “See you in fifteen.”

  There was a beat of silence. “You won’t regret it.” He sounded relieved, and her heart kicked into high gear. “I’ll be waiting.” And then Cal Anderson ended the call.

  ***

  Keith paced over the subfloor in his gutted kitchen and checked his watch for the fifth time. He remembered ordering Bertie to be here at eight on Monday morning, but he hadn’t called to confirm the day before. He hadn’t spoken to her since he left her standing in her kitchen, looking thoroughly kissed and well satisfied. That night, he’d lost his head and practically done the curvy, bombshell decorator with the killer green eyes and gorgeous breasts on her own kitchen counter. He’d felt the dangerous pull of temptation as he’d drunk the tasteless beer and fought the urge to grab her. And then he’d shaken off the feeling, choosing to be noble and leave her house before he did something stupid. And he’d almost succeeded. Damn. He’d been so close. His foot had been out the door… and then she’d jumped him. No, maybe threw herself at him would be more accurate. Either way, she’d left him no choice. He’d had to grab her. Once he’d filled his hands with her warm body and she’d given him a kiss that almost blew his head off, he’d been a total goner.

  What had he been thinking? He hadn’t. Keith’s palms began to sweat as he rubbed them down his cargo pants. Did he not learn anything from his past? Did his miserable, dysfunctional marriage not teach him a damn thing? He considered himself a fairly intelligent guy. He’d made good grades in school—good enough to attend Princeton. Yeah, his tennis had certainly helped, but even without tennis, Keith’s grades and scores had been high enough to get in.

  But somewhere, somehow, he had a screw loose. He had a masochistic tendency when it came to women and relationships. The more torturous, the more he fell—hook, line, and sinker. Show him a woman who could wreak emotional havoc like a category five hurricane or a mega tidal wave, and he’d attach himself to her like a burr under her saddle.

  The same thing had happened with Adriana. He’d fallen for her sultry brown eyes, her sculpted, talented lips, and her round curves she’d wrapped in shiny spandex and sparkly Lycra. Forget the fact that she’d targeted him because he was a big tennis star. Or because she found a permanent way out of her family’s one-bedroom apartment in Little Havana and into a high-rise on Ocean Drive. None of that registered with him. He had followed her lead like a drooling St. Bernard on a leash, not caring that they were drunk most of the time and playing with fire. He didn’t wake up from his lust-filled haze until she shoved a stick under his nose from a pregnancy kit indicating she was knocked up. Keith remembered staring at that stick and its pink plus sign like he was looking into a crater of molten lava at the exact same moment he’d lost his balance. Terrified didn’t begin to cover his emotions. That pink plus sign sobered him faster than an IRS audit. That powerful little sign marched his ass down an aisle and made him say, “I do.” Not exactly an aisle. More like the courthouse steps, but it didn’t change the end result. Keith had married a woman he didn’t love because she carried his baby.

  He’d been atoning for his sins ever since. He didn’t need a therapist to tell him that his mother had fucked him up. He knew it already, and having a therapist confirm it with a bunch of psychobabble only made him feel worse and more out of control. He felt abandoned after his dad had died and his mother flitted from house to house and then country to country. He spent more time in boarding schools than in a stable home. He reminded his mom of what she’d lost—his dad. The love of her life.

  He got all that. On paper, it all made perfect sense. But it still didn’t stop him from wishing he’d tried harder, showed her more affection, and listened to her talk. Even when it was hard and she rambled or, worse, cried. Instead, he sulked and hid in his room. Maybe if he’d been a better son, they could’ve made it work as a family.

  Keith shook his head. Yeah, when birds grew lips. He needed to break his cycle of fucked-up relationships. The hard-knock lessons he learned from his mom and the drama from Adriana should be embedded in his skull. And he should be smart enough not to repeat the past. He had Maddie and this broken-down house. One was perfect and the other would be as soon as the renovations were complete. He’d been given a second chance by his interfering, domineering, but well-meaning aunt. Maddie deserved a better home and a loving family. And Keith planned to give it to her. He already had the perfect candidate picked out. He needed to stay focused and keep his eye on the ball. Even on his worst days on the tennis court, as long as he kept his eye on the ball and relied on his training, he could turn a bad match around. One point at a time. Because, like tennis, he had no intentions of losing.

  Keith picked up a broom and started sweeping the dust from the construction. It would be only a matter of days before he needed to move out completely. The major overhaul had started. The kitchen and master bath had been gutted. Each day, he breathed and ate more dust. He looked up at the sound of the front door closing and waited.

  Bertie entered the kitchen wearing dark jeans with a long green sweater that covered her entire torso and fell mid-thigh. The sweater did a great job of hiding her shape—but not good enough to keep him from remembering. She’d twisted her hair in some sort of knot or bun, reminding him of his third-grade teacher, but without the pinched, disapproving expression. No. Bertie wore a wary expression. No smile. Just wide, green eyes that looked as if they might pool with tears any minute.

  “Thanks for coming so early,” he heard himself say, clearing his throat. Bertie gave a jerky nod. “Uh, about what I said—”

  “Please. Don’t.” She stepped farther in the kitchen, clutching her orange tote as if it held rare jewels. “I was out of line, and I’m sorry for my behavior.” Her gaze darted around the room, taking in everything from the holes in the walls to the exposed plumbing pipes, but not him. “You have every right to fire me.” She lifted her gaze to him finally. “I hope that you won’t, but I’d understand if you did.”

  Keith leaned against the broom handle, thinking that this frightened gal apologizing for kissing the hell out of him and allowing him to worship at the altar of pure feminine perfection didn’t resemble Adriana at all. Stress, and maybe even fear, ruled her face. She didn’t look at all like the person who jumped him and pressed herself to him in fiery need and desire. Or the person who allowed him to touch her in all the right places. No. She looked as if she wished the entire episode had never happened and she’d made the biggest, stupidest mistake of her whole life. Which kind of pissed him off. He couldn’t stop thinking about how close he came to being inside her and how he burned to be there. She appeared to have been beating herself up for twenty-four hours, waiting for the piano to drop.

 
“I wasn’t referring to that, and please, don’t apologize. If anybody should apologize, it should be me,” he said. She bit her lower lip and listened. “I’m sorry for, uh…” He cleared his throat. “For attacking you the other night. It was wrong, and I won’t let it happen again.” She crossed her arms as if hugging herself and nodded. “And I’m sorry for what I said about Maddie. I don’t have a problem with you working with her.” Relief and a little color washed over her subdued face. “We spent the day at the beach yesterday and she was so…um…excited about her room.” Bertie inched closer, her troubled eyes cleared with anticipation. “Anyway, Maddie really likes you and…” Keith leaned the broom against the wall. “I want you to fix her room and make it special.”

  Bertie nodded but remained silent. Keith moved close enough to catch the trace of blooming flowers that seemed to float around her as if she lived in a garden. She had dark smudges under her eyes, probably from lack of sleep or stress or fear.

  “I’m still on the job?” she asked.

  “Yeah. And I promise not to make it too difficult for you. I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible.” Bertie inclined her head, shuffling her black wedge shoe over the dusty floor. “We can keep the same arrangement for now,” he murmured. His hand reached out of its own accord, and his finger touched the line of her jaw. Bertie trembled. Keith’s palm cupped the side of her face. “The one where Gary oversees the big stuff.” Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. “I think it’s for the best,” he said as he leaned forward and inhaled. Her perfect lips parted on a sigh, and she swayed toward him. “Bertie…I need—”

  “Dad! Where are you?”

  Keith and Bertie jerked back as if a geyser shot straight up between them. Goddammit. He was a sick fuck. He had absolutely no control around this bewitching goddess. He needed therapy and then drugs and maybe even a frontal lobotomy, because she was like a crack pipe that stole his mind and killed his inhibitions.

  Bertie fidgeted with the tote stuffed with samples and crossed the room to the demolished mudroom. Keith rubbed his hand over his face.

  “In the kitchen, honey.”

  Maddie came flouncing in, her hair in a lopsided ponytail and wearing a big smile. Her face shone with pure exuberance mixed with the perfect amount of innocence. She wrapped her skinny arms around Keith’s middle and gave him a big squeeze.

  “I’m so excited. Is Bertie here yet?” she asked. Keith kissed the top of her head, breathing in her clean hair and Maddie-smell that calmed him even in the worst of times.

  “Hey there,” Bertie called from behind them. “I’m ready to go, girlfriend. I’ve got lots to show you.”

  Maddie bounced around Keith and smiled at Bertie, flashing her slightly crooked, but perfect all the same, teeth. “Hey! Where should we start? Do you have fabrics and colors and things like that to show me?”

  “Oh yeah. And much more. Now this is serious business, so we need to focus and make smart decisions.” Bertie started to sling the heavy tote over her shoulder, but Keith stopped her and grabbed it.

  “I’ll take that. Where do you want it?”

  “Let’s get started,” Maddie said, unaware of the crackling connection between him and Bertie.

  Bertie frowned at the dusty kitchen. “I’ve got a good idea.” She turned Maddie toward the door. “We’re going to hit a great showroom in Raleigh, about fifteen minutes away, that has all kinds of fabrics, trims, and carpets. We’ll set up shop on one of their large worktables, and you and I are going to make some magic.” She gave Keith a nervous glance. “If it’s okay with your dad.”

  Keith tugged on Maddie’s loose ponytail. “Sounds good. Listen up, Poo.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Bertie is the expert here, so you need to listen to her. Okay?”

  Maddie nodded. “I know, Dad. She’s my interior designer. I’m not an idiot.”

  Keith’s gut tightened as he chuckled at his smart-aleck daughter. “Just so we’re clear: No black walls. No boy band posters tacked up everywhere. No disco ball hanging from the ceiling.”

  “Dad! I don’t even like black walls. And we’ll talk about the posters.” The imp kissed him on the cheek.

  “That’s settled. Let’s hit the road,” Bertie said.

  “Maddie head on out to Bertie’s car. We’ll be there in a minute.” Maddie skipped from the room, humming. Keith faced Bertie. “She’s really looking forward to this. She talked about nothing else all day yesterday.” Bertie lips twitched into a pleased smile. “I don’t care what you spend, but keep it tasteful.”

  Oh crap. That did it. Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms under the shapeless sweater, outlining her fantastic breasts. Keith could worship at those perfect mounds of flesh for years and never get tired. Focus. She was about to rip him a new one. And he deserved it.

  For your information, I don’t do ‘tasteless’ interiors. I’m creative and clever, and I always give the client exactly what they want—after I’ve convinced them that my way is right.”

  “Uh-huh.” Keith chuckled at her petulant speech. “If you say so. I’ll be looking forward to that convincing part that I already know you’re so good at.” Bertie’s mouth flew open and then she blasted him with a deep scowl. “I’m kidding. Now get moving before my kid bounces her way across town from excitement.” Keith gave Bertie a gentle shove toward the front door.

  “Gary will be here in a few minutes to oversee the construction,” Bertie said in a very businesslike tone. “Maddie and I will be working at Carlson Fabric House.”

  Keith opened the car door for Bertie and placed her tote in the backseat. “Good. I’ll drive over to Raleigh around noon and take you guys to lunch. How does that sound?” He peered into the front seat at Maddie who was already buckled in.

  “Will we be done by then?” Maddie asked Bertie.

  Bertie nodded. “We should have enough to show your dad by then.”

  “Great. It’s a date.”

  Bertie fiddled with the key in the ignition. Keith gave a quick wave to Maddie as Bertie backed out of the driveway. He could do this. Bertie and he could have a business relationship. He trusted her design talent and ability. She’d make his falling-down house a real home. And he had a solid, well mapped-out plan that involved marrying a sweet girl with great mothering instincts. But until then, that didn’t preclude him from enjoying Bertie’s company. Besides, Maddie was crazy about her, and Keith didn’t want to take anything away from his daughter’s happiness. Yep. He could do this. They’d work on cordial, businesslike terms…like two old friends.

  Until the next time she jumped him.

  Then, he would not be responsible for his actions.

  Chapter 14

  Bertie smoothed the flowered sheets over the twin bed in her old bedroom. She stood and checked her surroundings: clean sheets, clean set of towels, Kleenex, night-light, tween magazines on the nightstand, and a glass for water. Bertie gave a quick nod of approval. That should do it. She checked her watch. Maddie would be arriving in fifteen minutes for their girls’ night. Since Keith had plans tonight in Raleigh, Maddie had shamelessly begged to sleep over while he was out. Bertie didn’t mind. Maddie had been delightful to work with, and they had forged a nice designer/client bond. Maddie showed a creative flare for bold patterns, which Bertie always enjoyed more. It beat the passé, tired plaids in burgundies and greens that most of her old lady clients preferred.

  For the past weeks, Bertie had been busier than a one-armed paper hanger, placing orders for fabrics and furnishings for every room in the house. Except the master. She hadn’t had the courage to approach Keith about his bedroom. It felt too personal and got her all hot and bothered. She knew his king-size platform bed with the upholstered leather headboard was being trucked up from Miami. But all Bertie could think about was being his personal Sealy Posturepedic. Even though she and Keith had fallen into a compani
onable working relationship, despite the sizzling current that still zapped them, Bertie gave serious thought to dumping the master bedroom plan on Gary. Maybe he’d have better luck in the swooning department.

  Keith had kept his word and allowed Bertie space to do her job. He’d even approved most of the fabrics and colors that Maddie had selected, but he ix-nayed a hot pink hair-on-hide for a bench at the foot of the bed and a bright lime-green accent fabric for pillows. So they compromised and settled on a great aqua-blue stripe and a subtle lavender animal print for the bench, which made Maddie happy and met Keith’s criteria.

  Gary and the construction crew continued to work on the newly designed kitchen and master bath, and Keith worked right along with them, which she had to admit was hot as hell. Of course, he continued to work without a shirt, which was causing quite a stir with the single female population. Yesterday, Bertie shooed three Mrs. Morgan wannabes out of the house and posted a Do Not Disturb sign on the front door. The three-ring-circus atmosphere was slowing down their progress.

  As for her unrequited lust for His Hubbaliciousness, Bertie tamped down her inner kitty meow, going days without jumping his finely formed frame. This had been no easy feat. Every time she’d been by the house to answer questions, she would catch Keith watching her with a certain look in his eyes. A look that had nothing to do with the dark walnut stain she’d selected for the wood floors or the Venetian plaster she insisted on for the walls, but a look that had everything to do with desire, tumbled sheets, and heavy panting, all directed at her. Bertie drank lots of ice water to cool her overheated parts and stuck close to Gary, avoiding Keith as much as possible.

  Besides, she didn’t just fall off the cotton wagon. She knew Keith’s “appointment” tonight was code for “date.” She didn’t need to complicate matters by throwing herself at him to satisfy her craving and end her horizontal tango drought, because it was clear as a bottle of Evian that she was not going to become the next Mrs. Morgan.