Gwynneth Ever After

by Linda Poitevin

  She sorted through her cluster of keys, searching for the one for the house. The entire bunch thudded to the porch floor.

  Katie swooped down, snatched up the keys, and handed them back to her without missing a beat in her tale about the red squirrel that had climbed her leg to get a peanut. Gwyn clutched, missed, and closed her eyes as the keys dropped a second time.

  “Mommy!” Katie’s voice was exasperated.

  “Here, Katie,” Gareth’s deep tones said, “I’ll open the door for your mum.”

  Gwyn opened her eyes and watched him turn the key, push the door inward, and herd her children inside. He turned to her.

  “Are you coming?” he asked, with that familiar, faint trace of humor.

  I haven’t decided yet. She moistened parched lips with the tip of her tongue – and immediately regretted the action when a muscle in Gareth’s jaw tightened and flickered.

  “Gareth, come see my pinecone!” Nicholas demanded, reappearing in the doorway and tugging at Gareth’s arm. “I found the biggest one!”

  “Did not!” Maggie’s muffled voice denied from inside the house.

  “Did too! Gareth, are you having supper with us? Mommy’s making Goldfish soup.”

  A dark eyebrow rose above sunglasses. “Goldfish soup?”

  With a mighty effort, Gwyn regained her voice. “Tomato soup with cheese crackers shaped like fish.”

  “Ah.” He squatted down in front of the little boy, removing his sunglasses – finally – and tucking them into his inside jacket pocket. “Tell you what,” he said, “I need to talk to your mum for a bit, and then I’ll come see your pinecone, all right?”

  “And mine?” Maggie’s hopeful face appeared in the open doorway over his shoulder.

  Gareth reached around and poked at her belly with his finger. “And yours,” he promised. “But you have to let me and your mum talk first.”

  They both nodded and disappeared back into the house. Katie arrived next in the doorway.

  “Can I have – ”

  “May I have,” Gwyn corrected automatically.

  Katie heaved a pained sigh. “May I have a glass of milk? Please,” she added quickly.

  Gwyn nodded. “Pour some for your brother and sister, too, please.”

  Three sets of feet thundered toward the kitchen at the back of the house, leaving the two of them alone. His eyes no more readable now than they’d been behind his sunglasses, Gareth stepped back in a silent invitation for her to precede him inside. As he followed her and closed the door, she removed her coat and hung it in the closet, then began picking up the items strewn about the hall floor by her children.

  Any other day she would have called them back to do the work themselves, but for now, with the tension building in the front entry the way it was, the task kept her hands busy. Unfortunately, it did nothing to keep her mind off the image of Gareth standing next to another woman, her face turned up to his…

  Gareth cleared his throat.

  Maggie’s hat fluttered to the floor.

  “Gwyn – ”

  Panic prodded her to speech. She whirled to face him.

  “I’m sorry, I’m being rude,” she said. “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee or something? You must be frozen after sitting on that porch.”

  A faint smile curved his lips. He leaned back against the door, his fingertips tucked into the front pockets of his jeans; his leather jacket opened to reveal the same snowy fisherman’s knit sweater he’d worn when they first met; his hair loose, the way it had been the last time they’d stood in this hallway together…

  Gwyn gulped. If the tension didn’t do her in, the memories very well could.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” he said.

  Gwyn picked up Maggie’s hat a second time. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble, because I was going to make myself something anyway – ”

  “Gwyn, we need to talk.”

  She tucked the hat into Maggie’s wicker basket on the closet shelf. She tried to take a deep breath, but it lodged in her chest, forming a painful lump that pressed against her breastbone. She stooped to collect Nicholas’ mittens.

  Gareth shifted his weight against the door. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked quietly.

  Her children’s voices floated down the hallway to her. She hesitated, tuning in to the sound. Absorbing it. Letting it fill her, ground her. Then she steeled herself and turned to face Gareth, lifting her chin.

  “We’ve already said everything that matters.” Fierce pride stabbed through her at the firmness she heard in her own voice.

  Gareth straightened from his post, shaking his head. “I don’t think we have because it matters that you saw me with Catherine today,” he said. “And we haven’t talked about that yet.”

  Catherine…knowing the woman’s name didn’t make the hurt any less. Or change what she needed to do. Had to do, not just for the kids, but for her own sake. She stiffened her resolve.

  “Who you take to a restaurant is your own business.”

  “I didn’t take anyone to L’orée du Ruisseau except you. Catherine is my ex-wife. We had some…business to discuss, and she suggested the place because it’s out of the way. The local paper has caught wind that I’m in town, and Catherine isn’t fond of the media.”

  Gwyn forced herself through the flood of relief brought on by the words ex-wife. It didn’t change anything, she assured herself, because it still wasn’t any of her concern. And neither was that oblique reference to business. “You don’t have to tell me this.”

  “I wanted to explain.”

  She turned to the closet and stuffed Nicholas’ mittens into the nearest basket, her labeling system forgotten. “Friends don’t need explanations.”

  Silence followed her words.

  “Friends,” Gareth repeated, his voice low. Gruff. “Is that what you want us to be?”

  Gwyn couldn’t have forced a reply through her constricted throat if she’d tried, and so she contented herself with a nod – an affirmation of a lie. Her back still to Gareth, she closed her eyes and concentrated on not diving headlong into the closet in a desperate attempt to escape.

  His voice dropped an impossible octave lower. “And what if I don’t want to be just friends, Gwynneth with two n’s? What if I want more?”

  Her eyes shot open. She heard him move, felt the heat of his body behind her, the warmth of his breath stirring her hair. Oh, dear God.

  “Are you finished talking yet?” Nicholas demanded.

  Gwyn sensed Gareth’s sudden, coiled tautness, heard his sharp inhale. For the life of her, she couldn’t turn around.

  “Not yet, buddy,” he said.

  “Then can we watch a movie?”

  “Gwyn?”

  The word caressed the nape of her neck. She jerked her head up and down, hoping he would interpret the movement as the agreement for which it was intended.

  “Your mum says yes,” he informed her son.

  “Mommy says we can watch a movie!” Nicholas bellowed, thudding into the living room behind them.

  Katie and Maggie’s footsteps sounded in the hallway, headed toward them from the kitchen. Gareth muttered a curse behind her and she smothered a giggle - Lord, hysteria was the last thing she needed right now. The kids’ footsteps moved into the adjacent living room. She took a deep, steadying breath and sidled sideways, edging out of the closet and away from Gareth’s overwhelming nearness.

  “That won’t work, you know,” Gareth’s voice rumbled.

  She shot him a quick look over her shoulder.

  “Running away,” he elaborated.

  She stopped sidling and turned to face him, wiping her sweaty palms against the seat of her jeans. The closet door frame nudged between her shoulder blades. “I’m not running away.”

  But she’d like to.

  “Good.” His hands still in his pockets, Gareth studied the tile floor. “I didn’t come just to explain about Catherine, Gwyn.”


  Gwyn’s heart thudded against its confines.

  “I meant what I said on the phone. I really do want to see you again. And not just today.”

  “B-but you’re leaving – ”

  He smiled. “And coming back. Friday, I hope.”

  That hadn’t been what she meant, but try as she might, she could put together neither protest nor explanation. She stared at him, seeing the tension in his shoulders, the muscle flickering in his jaw, the outline of hands curled into fists in his pockets. Her belly quivered.

  You’re a consenting adult, Gwyn Jacobs. A grown woman. If your very own private fantasy is this insistent…

  Gareth raised his gaze to hers, eyes dark with intensity, determination, desire. Memories of motherhood scattered to the four winds. The hollowness beneath her ribcage settled lower in her belly, becoming an ache. A hunger.

  A woman’s need.

  “Gwyn?” The rough sound of her name carried a multitude of questions.

  She closed her eyes. Enough. She was a mother, yes, but she was also human. She could take no more…could deny no more. As long as she kept Katie and Maggie and Nicholas out of it -

  “All right,” she whispered.

  “I know you’re concerned about your kids, and I respect that, but – ” Gareth’s voice broke off. “What did you say?”

  Her voice still husky, but louder this time, she repeated, “I said all right.”

  “You’ll see me again?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not talking about being friends.”

  She opened her eyes. Lifted her chin. Met his gaze with a steady one of her own. There would be consequences, she knew, but heaven help her, she just couldn’t care anymore. “I know.”

  He took a single step towards her. Locking her knees into place to keep herself upright, she wrapped her fingers around the door frame at her back for extra support.

  “As much as I like your kids,” Gareth continued softly, “this has nothing to do with them.”

  She nodded. Her fingertips lost all feeling.

  He took another step. “This is just you and me.”

  He stood so close now that she could smell his warmth mingling with the clean, sharp scent of his aftershave. Intoxicating. Devastating. His breath fanned her cheek. Her own strangled in her throat. She lifted her chin, closed her eyes…

  “Are you guys kissing?”

  Gareth’s jaw clenched. Gwyn released the air from her lungs in a tortured rush. She opened her eyes again. Lord, Nicholas…

  Gareth dropped his chin onto his chest, sighed, and looked sideways and down at her son. “Not yet,” he told Nicholas, “but that was the general idea.”

  “Gross.”

  Gareth smothered a surprised laugh with a cough. “You wanted something?” he reminded Nicholas.

  “Katie can’t get the movie to work.”

  “Would you like to handle this, or shall I?” Gareth asked Gwyn. Despite the wry amusement dancing in his eyes, heat still glowed in the dark depths.

  She tightened her numb fingers around their anchor. “Be my guest,” she said, not bothering to mention that she didn’t dare move from her post for fear of falling flat on her face if she tried.

  Gareth moved off to help her children – her children – and Gwyn sagged against the door frame. A hot wave of shame swept over her. He would have kissed her if Nicholas hadn’t interrupted just now, she thought. Kissed her the way he had the other night and she wouldn’t have done anything to stop him. Stop him? Dear Lord, she would have encouraged him…

  With her children here. She bit back a groan. So much for keeping them out of it. What kind of mother was she?

  Gareth strolled into the front hall, his eyes dancing. He held up a DVD case.

  “They wanted to see this,” he said, “but I made a judgment call and vetoed the idea. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She blushed. It was one that Sandy had brought over the week before. One of his. And definitely unsuitable for the kids.

  “You never told me you were a fan,” he teased, tossing the case onto the hall bench.

  “I’m not – I mean, I am, but I – ”

  “Mommy watches all your movies,” Katie called from the living room.

  The heat in Gwyn’s cheeks intensified – and began to spread.

  “Does she, now?”

  “Her and Auntie Sandy,” Nicholas added. “But they won’t let us.”

  Not to be outdone, Maggie piped up, “Auntie Sandy says you’re a hunk. What’s a hunk?”

  Gwyn found a semblance of a voice. “Never mind. Watch your movie.”

  Crossing his arms, Gareth leaned against the living room doorway, near enough that she had no trouble seeing the wicked glint in his eyes.

  “And what does your mum say about me?” he asked the three traitors in front of the television set.

  She closed her eyes, sure that even her toes were blushing now, and wished fervently to be transported far away…

  “She says you’re a god,” Katie replied. “And she growls.”

  …very far away…

  Peeking through her lashes, Gwyn found Gareth doubled over in silent, helpless laughter. She opened her eyes and scowled at him. “Are you having fun?” she asked crossly.

  “Oh, Gwynneth,” he gasped, hands resting on knees, “you have no idea!”

  In spite of her absolute mortification, the corners of her mouth twitched in response. She clamped her lips together, refusing to give in to the impulse. “That was dirty pool.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry. Really.”

  The apology lost something in the shaking of his shoulders.

  As she waited for Gareth to pull himself together, Nicholas padded out to join them again.

  “Did I miss it?” he asked.

  “Miss what, sweetie?” Gwyn asked. She rolled her eyes at Gareth’s exaggerated attempt at seriousness, and then gave in to her reluctant grin. Well, at least as a tension breaker, Katie’s words had certainly been effective.

  “The kiss.”

  Her smile dropped into oblivion.

  Gareth stepped neatly into her stunned silence to rescue her. “I thought you said kissing was gross.”

  “That’s what Katie says,” Nicholas informed him. “I wanted to see for myself.”

  “I see.” Gareth quirked an amused eyebrow at Gwyn, waiting for her response.

  “I don’t think you need to see anything except your movie right now, Nicholas,” Gwyn managed in spite of the strangulation going on in her throat. “Off you go.”

  Nicholas’ feet dragged with reluctance, but he did as instructed. In the silence of the little boy’s departure, Gareth cleared his throat.

  “So,” he said. “You growl, do you?”

  Gwyn’s toes blushed again.

  Chapter 27

  Gwyn kissed the top of Katie’s head, tucked the covers around her, and tiptoed from the room. She pausing to listen at Maggie and Nicholas’ door for a moment, she satisfied herself that the breathing within was deep and even, and then sat down on the top stair to debate her next move.

  Next move? Who was she trying to kid? She still hadn’t near recovered from her last one. Gareth’s blunt announcement that he wanted more than friendship, while not completely unexpected, had been shocking enough, but her agreement – her instant, unguarded, unequivocal agreement…

  She dropped her face into her hands and stifled a moan. Damn Sandy and her romantic ideas! What had she been thinking? Nothing had changed since Thursday night – if anything, the way her kids had matter-of-factly absorbed him into the family dynamics this evening had underscored, a hundred times over, the danger posed to their hearts if this continued. They were already head-over-heels about the man she’d allowed into their lives, and who could blame them? He was so good with them. Patient, fun. He was a natural.

  She had to face it: even if she could carry off a casual affair with Gareth, the kids wouldn’t escape entirely unscathed. Not anymore
. Which meant she needed to shift into damage control mode and try to keep things from getting any –

  “Are you planning to sit there all night?”

  At Gareth’s gentle, amused tone, Gwyn’s heart missed several beats, completed a series of impossible acrobatic flips, and then began hammering so loudly that he was sure to hear.

  Lord, she wouldn’t have been surprised if the neighbors heard.

  She left her face in her hands. “Maybe,” she mumbled.

  He chuckled, and the warm sound tingled through her. She peered between her fingers. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, thick, dark hair skimming past his shoulders, sweater and well-worn jeans molding to contours that tugged her imagination in tantalizing directions…

  And his jacket in his hand.

  Surprise made her hands drop to her lap. “You’re leaving?”

  Gareth folded his arms and leaned against the stair rail. “I have a plane to catch,” he reminded her.

  Of course. She grappled with a tiny wash of relief – and a tidal wave of disappointment.

  “But that’s not the only reason.”

  It wasn’t?

  His lips quirked. “Well?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you want to know what the other reason is?”

  She shook her head.

  “Chicken.”

  Cluck.

  “Will you at least come and say goodnight?”

  Not at all sure whether the note underlying the invitation was one of threat or promise, Gwyn grasped the banister and pulled herself to her feet. She descended toward him and, when he didn’t move to let her pass, paused one stair up, eye-level with dark, smoldering fire and inches from a potent male aura. Her world tipped sideways.

  “I think you should,” he said.

  She gripped the handrail until the ache in her knuckles remained her only link to reality. She thought she should, too, but it might be prudent to ensure they were talking about the same thing.

  “Should what?”

  “Ask why else I’m leaving.”

  She gulped for air. She absolutely didn’t want to know because it was for the best and reasons didn’t matter. They couldn’t matter. But when she tried to deny him, she managed only a thread of a whisper, a single word. “Why?”