by Liv Rancourt
“Maeve.” Vickie O’Connor scowled at her daughter.
Maeve raised an eyebrow as if daring her mother to shut her up. Rhonda stalked into the room.
“Niall wants another beer,” Rhonda said, her smile dropping into the frigid zone.
“I’ll grab one,” Vickie said, her blue eyes extra wide, as if the rest of them weren’t snorting with laughter at the awkward timing. Ryan had once bet Joey how long it would take Maeve and Rhonda to get into a full-on hair-tearing screamfest. So far the women had avoided outright war, though Ryan figured they’d get into it one holiday or another.
After sending Rhonda on her way with two more cans of Coors, Vickie turned on her daughter, fists cocked on her hips. “I hope when you get married, we all get to vote beforehand, because God forbid you end up with someone who doesn’t win the majority.”
“As if,” Maeve said, arms crossed on her chest. Ryan and Dani exchanged sideways glances, sending a surge of heat south, to parts of his anatomy that shouldn’t act up in his mother’s kitchen. It was hard – literally – to be around her without getting closer than he should. He’d been dumb to think his biggest problem at Thanksgiving dinner would be the chores his mother asked him to do.
“Someday you’ll meet the right guy, Maeve Mary,” Vickie said, “and paybacks are a problem. Now could you girls set the table?”
Ryan volunteered to hang up their coats, and when he came back into the kitchen, Dani and Maeve had spread a white linen cloth over the big dining room table and were setting out plates and silverware.
“Why only seven plates?” Maeve asked.
“Well, Joey’s still in Indiana, and Eamon’s having dinner with friends.” Vickie peered into the oven, releasing a wave of roast turkey smell. “Dad’ll be back any minute with the wine, and dinner should be on the table in an hour.”
Great. An hour spent knocking off chores from Mom’s Honey-do list, of filling up on cheese and crackers in the den, of pretending to like football, of watching Maeve and Rhonda take shots at each other.
An hour spent keeping his hands off of Dani Jacobsen.
After dinner, Danielle helped Maeve and Ryan clean up. Rhonda took off to see her family, while Niall went back to his football game. When the dishes were done, Maeve curled up next to Niall on the couch, lying on her side and tucking her toes under his bum. Within a few minutes, she fell asleep. Danielle sat cross-legged on the rug, resting her back against a chair and staring at the television. Her belly was so full she couldn’t find a comfortable position.
“Hey, anybody want to go for a walk? It’s not raining.” Ryan stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.
“Fourth quarter, dude,” Niall said, keeping his eyes on the television. Maeve snored softly beside him.
Danielle straightened up, glancing toward the big front windows. A walk sounded intriguing, despite the overcast and the fading afternoon light. Right. After sitting across a table from Ryan, making casual conversation and pretending he was just a guy who did some work at her house, her self-discipline was frazzled. “Yeah, I’ll go.” She reached up to wake Maeve, but Ryan caught her with a single, long glance. The reach turned into a grasp, a simple move using the edge of the cushion to leverage herself to a standing position.
Maeve shifted, snuffed, and slept on.
Danielle’s dressy leather mules weren’t meant for winter walking, though the problem was easily solved. In minutes, she and Ryan were tromping along the sidewalk in the direction of Green Lake Park. Vickie O’Connor’s hiking boots fit Danielle fairly well, as did her puffy down jacket, which was light-years warmer than Danielle’s leather coat.
The air was cold and the dampness made it feel colder. Two blocks in, Danielle’s cheeks tingled, then her nose started to numb. She had to pay attention to where she put her feet because the sidewalk was cracked and uneven in places. Of course, she could always grab onto Ryan for support. The way he’d watched her at dinner made it pretty clear he’d be open to any grabbing she wanted to do. She just needed to decide when and how much.
Huge rhododendrons sprawled around the houses, providing a note of continuity in the otherwise mixed bag of architectural styles. Doing her best to match Ryan’s longer stride, Danielle kept her hands stuffed deep in her pockets as she walked, stifling any urges to touch him, fishing for something clever to say.
“You guys are just as … rambunctious as I remembered.” It wasn’t the most original thing she’d ever come up with, but it was honest.
Ryan snorted a laugh, showing a puff of frosty breath. “Wait’ll Joey’s around. He makes Maeve look like Mother Theresa.”
Maeve was one of the best pot-stirrers Danielle knew. “Yeah, he was like six years old the last time I saw him.”
They reached an intersection and stopped, waiting for the light to change. Very few cars were on the road, but people in Seattle waited for the walk signal regardless of traffic. Ryan knocked into Danielle’s shoulder with his own.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing.” He did it again.
“What?” She used more emphasis, laughing at the way his grin showed both dimples, loving the way his blue eyes shone in the misty air.
“Just checking.”
They headed for the three-mile trail that circled the lake. As fast as the light was fading, it would be dark by the time they got back to his parents’ house. Ryan put a hand on Danielle’s lower back as they started across Green Lake Way. She liked the feel of it, the weight of it. She liked the sound of his voice, resonant and laced with humor. She even liked the icy numbness of her nose and the way little needles of cold prickled her face. His hand slid away and she missed it, feeling a cool spot on her back where it had been.
Neither had much to say. Ryan walked and Danielle more-or-less floated, drifting along in the current of his presence. Being near him warmed her, and she found herself shooting glances in his direction, memorizing the way his hair curled around his face under his black watch cap, the way his sideburns faded into his five o’clock shadow, the way the cold reddened the tip of his nose.
They passed a tiny box of a house and Ryan pointed at the big front window. “I’m not sure it’s historically accurate to have a flat-screen TV covering one wall of your 1940s home.”
“Must be time-travelers.” Danielle smiled with stiff lips, nerves fluttering under her breastbone when he smiled back. She loosened up enough to deal with something that had been bugging her all afternoon. “So … can I ask you a question and you promise you won’t get mad?” Because I’m apparently thinking like a thirteen year old right now.
He tilted his head and gave her an affable smile. “Maybe.”
Danielle’s cheeks flamed up. “I mean, this is kind of embarrassing, but I want to know what’s up with you and Cherry.”
The space between them grew by several inches and Ryan’s grin tightened up. Despite the risk of ruining the day, Danielle pushed him for an answer. “Maeve said the two of you got together to try to work things out, right?”
He stopped, rubbed his mouth with the palm of his hand, and laughed with just enough bitterness to make Danielle feel bad.
“I’m sorry.” She tried to sidestep her apparent social gaffe. “I was just curious.” Her voice trailed away. She’d expected either a flustered explanation or some kind of Rico Suave cover up, not frank frustration verging on anger.
He stuffed his hands deeper in his pockets and walked along. “I told you when we first met. I’m done with her,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder like saying them made him tired.
In that exhaustion, she heard the truth. “Hey, Ryan.”
He stopped. “What?”
“I said I was sorry.” She took a step toward him, the rushing in her head louder than the random traffic noise. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
She reached his side.
He nudged her with an elbow, the tension fading from his body. “Okay.”
A coup
le ducks paddled along the edge of the lake and a lone jogger whipped past them. They walked quietly, the cool air and shifting water settling them both down.
“I got another question for you,” Danielle said.
His laugh held a touch of concern. “Now what?”
Danielle giggled into the evening gloom. “What were you like in high school?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you were the bad boy.”
Some memory or other flashed through Ryan’s eyes and he snorted a laugh. “Yep. I was the rowdy one.” He bumped her with his shoulder again. “Mostly fighting, a little pot, getting drunk before class. You know, nothing too serious.”
“You’re so mellow. I can’t imagine you fighting.”
“Dad got me into boxing because he wanted me to put my fists to good use.” He gave her upper arm a couple demonstration punches. “Guess I did my cutting loose when I was young.”
“Younger.” She emphasized the second syllable. “I mean, you’re still young.” She smirked at him and he shook his head.
When it was nearly dark, they left the path around the lake and cut up to the street because the light was better. Most of the stores and restaurants were lit up for the holiday, with fairytale white lights and fat colored bulbs wrapped around just about anything that didn’t move.
The cold had worked its way in, first hitting her fingertips, then sliding down her neck. When she gave an involuntary shiver, Ryan put his arm around her.
“Closer is warmer,” he said.
He was right.
Danielle looped an arm around his waist, trying not to think too hard about how natural it felt.
They were a couple blocks from his parents’ house when a red light stopped them. Ryan rubbed his cheek against her forehead. “Better?”
Her lips were numb enough that she didn’t want to talk. “Mm.” They hadn’t been this physically close since the first night they met, and she had to swallow hard against the twittery feeling in her chest. The bulk of his muscles cuddling her shoulders carried through the padding of their winter coats and made her want more.
And more.
Her hand slid into the back pocket of his jeans, molding around the curve of his ass. Damn. The feel of his breath on her cheek both calmed and excited her. She did an internal run-through of all the reasons they shouldn’t get involved, a litany she practiced daily. This time, she ran straight into Braden. His imaginary incarnation kissed her casually, then jogged off toward the Saab parked next to her Honda in their condo’s garage. Like every other morning of every other L.A. day, except on this day he hadn’t gone to work.
He’d moved out.
Instead of cupping Ryan’s ass, Danielle’s hand loosened and fell down to her side.
Instead of snuggling under his arm, she shifted. Taking one step away, then two.
“What?” he asked, mostly puzzled, a little wary.
What? Danielle wanted to crawl under the safety of the sidewalk. She’d been so focused on Ryan’s ex-issues, it never occurred to her she might have some of her own.
Shouldn’t have been a surprise, since she’d basically shoveled her emotional dirty laundry into a pit the day Braden left, covering it with the hope it would just go away. If any of her friends had tried something similar, she totally would have called them on their stupidity.
The light changed and they stepped off into the crosswalk. Traffic was minimal, only the occasional pair of headlights passed them in the dark. Danielle’s foot hit an icy patch and skidded forward, forcing Ryan to change his grip to keep her from falling on her butt.
“Watch out there.” Ryan’s hands circled her waist, the question still plain in his tone.
They paused in the middle of the crosswalk and Danielle rested her hands on his chest, balancing against him, balancing on the edge of a decision. “Thanks.”
He nodded, his silence giving her space. Either he was the most mature twenty-four year old in the history of ever, or her back-and-forth frightened him.
And if he was frightened, then at least she had good company.
“We should go,” she said, easing away. “Your parents will be wondering about us.”
A car pulled toward them and tapped its horn, and they scrambled up onto the sidewalk. Danielle took a couple steps, but Ryan pulled her close. She tipped her head up to ask him a question and almost ran into his mouth.
She gasped, startled by his proximity, startled by his warmth, startled by how desperately she wanted to close that distance. Kissing him seemed like the best idea she’d had in a long time.
“Do me a favor,” he whispered, his lips so, so close to hers.
“’Kay.”
“Don’t listen to the shit my sister says.”
“’Kay.” Oh crap we can’t do this. Imagining Maeve’s quirky grin froze over any enthusiasm Braden had left standing. Danielle jerked to the side, nearly skidding again. She caught herself and picked up the pace, ready to get back to the safety of the O’Connors’ house.
Ryan let her go for a few steps, then caught up. They walked side-by-side the rest of the way, trapped in a cold and painful silence.
Chapter Six
Saturday morning, Danielle was at her grandmother’s house, painting the dining room molding with stripper to remove the mustard-colored paint. What the hell, Gram? Danielle’s fingernails were trashed from all the sanding and scraping. Little sacrifices, worth her time, though the more she worked on the house, the more memories she unearthed.
Danielle smiled at her eight-year-old self, running full-tilt down the stairs and out the front door, then leaping off the porch like she could fly over the lawn. Or her sixteen-year-old self, kneeling on the old couch that used to sit in the front window so she’d see Maeve’s car pass the laurel hedge. Or standing in the kitchen with Gram watching rain squalls roll in off the ocean, each one fiercer than the last. She’d tucked those memories away like they were nubby woolen sweaters.
Danielle had no use for sweaters in L.A., but this was home.
Where did that come from?
She’d been sanding for about an hour when Christopher called. Once they established that she remembered meeting him the night before Thanksgiving, he got down to business.
“So … next weekend,” he said, letting his words trail off, teasing her with their promise.
She let the pause settle before prompting him, halfway dreading what he would say. “Next weekend.”
“I’ve got a couple tickets to see the UW men play basketball Saturday.”
“That’s cool.” Sort of. She plopped down in the wing chair. She leaned back, stretched her legs out, and then curled them under, tipping forward and planting her elbows on her knees.
“My buddy Jason’s got a pair, too, for him and Maeve.”
A double date would be perfect. Christopher wasn’t Braden, wasn’t under thirty, and wasn’t related to Maeve. As a bonus, he had a nice voice, a blend of warmth and confidence she couldn’t help but like. Going out with him might actually be fun.
Except it felt a little like eating vegetables or getting enough exercise.
“That sounds great. Who are they playing?” she said, the artificial enthusiasm adding vibrato to her sound.
“Oregon. We can grab some dinner over at University Village before the game.”
University Village was a trendy outdoor shopping area where the young and beautiful accessorized the high-end stores and pretty restaurants. It would be just like the dinners she used to have with Braden and their friends, except everyone would be paler and wearing more layers, their faces mirrored in the rain-splattered windows.
Christopher offered to pick her up about five-thirty. She agreed before giving herself any time to think, because thinking would give her a chance to come up with excuses not to go.
She hung up the phone, proud of herself for taking a stand. Her goal was still to get the house sold and get back to L.A. Christopher would be a divertissement; fun, enter
taining, someone she could walk away from without causing any pain.
Unlike her best friend’s younger brother, who was an addiction in the making.
A key jiggled in the front door. She wasn’t expecting Ryan, but it had to be him. Danielle’s breath got tight and her pulse hit double-time. She jerked to her feet, convinced he’d overheard her phone call.
Not like just seeing him would cause so much excitement, would it?
He came through the door, smiling like his dimple was a peace offering after the awkward end to their Thanksgiving walk. His eyes were sleepy and his hair looked like he’d combed it with his fingers, and Danielle had to squash the image of Bedroom-Ryan before she could talk. “You don’t need to work today.”
“Chubb’s coming over in an hour to help me haul your antique appliances to the dump.”
He hung his leather coat on the arm of the wing chair, and for a moment they both shifted their weight forward, like magnets pulling together. Danielle stopped first. “You’re starting the kitchen for real?”
Ryan took a step toward the stairs, his dimples fading a little. “We’ll pull out the appliances, then you and I can figure out where you want the new boxes for your cabinets.”
“I’ll have to make a sketch to visualize how things’ll work,” she said.
“Sure.” Ryan headed for the kitchen. “It’ll be easy enough to take some measurements for you.”
Danielle followed at his heels, doing her best to keep her mind on the remodel and not Ryan’s butt or the way his muscular shoulders moved under his waffle-weave shirt. The cuffs were frayed, and her eyes tracked him as one at a time he shoved them up over his elbows.
“I’m thinking stainless steel appliances.” She waved into the vintage kitchen, trying to focus, trying to ignore the fizzing energy between them. Trying to act like an adult.
She hated being the grown-up.
While she scrambled to remember the things on her to-do list, his gaze traveled from the top of her sloppy up-do down to her worn-out Keds. He spent an extra moment on the Chili Peppers logo across her chest, and his raised eyebrows made it plain he liked the gap between the hem of her tee shirt and the waistband of her jeans.
