Knowing You

by Maureen Child

  Tendrils of fog still lay across Chandler like a blanket made of tattered gray silk. Dampness settled against his skin, but it didn’t come close to cooling off the fire still lingering in his bloodstream. He had a feeling nothing short of a blizzard would.

  His gaze swept over the still-sleeping town. Antique street lamps lined wide Main Street where tidy shops sat behind neatly swept sidewalks. A few trees dotted the length of the street, their roots pushing up through the sidewalks until the cement squares looked like rolling hills. The city fathers had tried a few years ago to pull the trees and repair the cement. But old Mrs. Henderson and her Friends of the Trees group had tied themselves to the endangered elms and vowed to stay there until the mayor changed his mind. The mayor, a man dedicated to remaining in office, had finally surrendered and now made do with slapping cement patches on the sidewalks from time to time.

  Paul wondered if he’d surrendered to his feelings for Stevie last night or if he was just patching up the empty places inside with a temporary fix. Great. He was equating his hunger for Stevie with sidewalks. Oh, yeah. He was in good shape.

  He glanced at the morning sky and noted the streaks of rose and lavender bleeding into the horizon, announcing the coming sun. Within the hour, Chandler would start sputtering to life. Stevie would be first of course, with the other early-morning types staggering to her place for coffee.

  But by eight, the town would be awake and bustling. Just like it was every day. Chandler, the town where he’d grown up, was as comfortable and dependable and predictable as an old movie you’d seen hundreds of times. Nothing ever changed here, and that was part of its charm.

  But for Paul, something had changed last night. Pretending nothing had happened wasn’t going to put enough of a spin on it, either. Reaching into his pockets for his car keys, Paul walked toward the gray 4Runner parked outside the Leaf and Bean. He hit the alarm button, the car beeped at him, and he opened the door. Climbing in, he slammed it closed behind him, jammed the key in the ignition, snapped on his seat-belt, and shoved the car into reverse. Steering it down the silent street, he tried to tell himself that there was still a way out of this mess.

  All he had to do was find it.

  * * *

  By the time the morning crowd arrived, Stevie was exhausted. She’d been baking like crazy all morning and still hadn’t managed to work off the frenzied energy jumping through her.

  Amazing, really, she thought, feeling the cells in her body actually skipping. Being with Paul had been a real eye-opener. Nothing she’d ever experienced—not that she was all that experienced—could compare to what she’d felt in Paul’s arms. Which meant … what?

  “Zip, that’s what.” Honestly, why couldn’t she just let it go? Why couldn’t she simply be grateful for the orgasm—make that plural—and move on? What had she told Carla not so long ago? Use a man, then dump him. But this was different, she told herself firmly. This was Paul. It wasn’t as if she could cross his name out of her little address book and never see him again. He’d been a part of her life since she was twelve—and that wasn’t going to change.

  God, Stevie, stop analyzing everything.

  She forced a smile she didn’t quite feel as she leaned across Ben Zion’s table to refill his coffee cup.

  “Ah, Stevie,” he said, inhaling the scent of the rich Jamaican brew, “run away with me and be my Coffee Queen.”

  She grinned at him and patted his lined, weathered cheek. Ben Zion hadn’t seen the sunny side of seventy in more than five years. But as he was willing to tell anyone who’d listen, Snow on the roof don’t mean there’s not a fire in the house. “Ben, if we run off together, what’ll Erma do?”

  At the mention of his wife, Ben winked, took a long sip of coffee, and sighed before saying, “She’d hunt us both down like dogs.”

  “My kind of woman.” Stevie laughed and kept moving, telling herself to concentrate on her customers rather than the twisted mess her life had become. Nodding to her regulars, stopping to chat with the sprinkling of tourists, she wandered the room while Grace Boyd manned the counter.

  Stevie’d been doing this for years now and it was second nature to her. She loved her shop. Loved getting up before dawn to bake the scones and muffins and cookies that her customers wolfed down during the long day. Loved seeing the same faces every day, being a part of Chandler, belonging to the simple, uneventful chain of life that continued to unfold in this small town.

  Stevie had come to Chandler, her father’s hometown, when she was twelve, and it had been an awakening. She’d never known a regular routine. Or had friends for longer than a school semester. But here in Chandler, life was different from anything she’d known before. Thanks to her father.

  Her parents, the original odd couple, had met in college, when Stevie’s father, Mike, was ambitious and driven. When he made his first million, he married Joanna, and the two of them traveled and partied and played until bad investments cost Mike most of his money—and his wife and child. Mike had moved back to Chandler and taken over the family hardware business, and Joanna took Stevie off to Europe and married her next rich future ex-husband.

  But at twelve, Stevie had gone from being a weary, world-traveling kid to carrying her lunch to school. And she’d thrived on it. Chandler became everything she’d always wanted. It still was today. Stevie loved knowing that she’d made herself a place here. A place where she had friends. A connection. And even a sort of adopted family.

  The Candellanos.

  Frowning slightly, she weaved her way through the cluster of small round tables and tuned the snatches of conversation around her into the background. The Candellanos.

  They’d been her touchstone most of her life.

  And she couldn’t … wouldn’t lose them.

  Although sleeping with two of them could put a chink in the relationship. Oh Lord, could brains actually dissolve?

  “For the love of God, give me coffee.”

  Stevie half-turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Looking up, she stared into Nick Candellano’s bloodshot brown eyes and felt her stomach give a lurch.

  Nick.

  Her ex-boyfriend.

  And twin brother of the man she’d just slept with.

  Oh, good Lord. This was starting to sound like an episode of the Jerry Springer Show.

  “Do I have to beg?” Nick asked.

  “Could be entertaining,” she admitted, and let her gaze sweep over him. Still wearing his tux from the night before, Nick had mud halfway up his pant legs, and his feet were completely covered by a layer of dried mud that made him look like he was wearing cement shoes. His jaws were covered by whisker stubble and his hair was practically standing on end.

  He looked like a poster boy for an antidrinking campaign.

  “You look hideous,” she said.

  “Probably look better than I feel.”

  She gave him the once-over again. “Don’t count on it. But clearly, coffee is needed.” She walked around him to the end of the counter, then slipped behind it to snatch up a large bright red earthenware mug. Filling it to the brim with the strong Jamaican coffee, she slid it across the counter at him and waited while he took a seat.

  Nick’s hands curled around the mug as if he were trying to absorb the heat soaking through the ceramic finish. Then slowly, reverently, he lifted the cup to his mouth and took a long drink. He hissed in a breath as the steaming liquid slid down his throat, then expelled it in a rush. “I may live.”

  “Now where’ve I heard that before?” she wondered aloud. She’d poured coffee for her ex on many a “morning after.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he muttered thickly, and lifted one hand to stop the lecture he was obviously expecting.

  Stevie kept her mouth shut. For the moment. Though she was grateful that at least she’d stopped thinking about Paul. But she had to wonder what the hell was going on with Nick. He’d never been a big drinker before. Oh, he was more than willing to party hard with his friends. But the
last few weeks, he’d been drunk or hungover most of the time. And that just wasn’t like him.

  Still, it wasn’t her business. Not anymore. For years, she’d loved him. Secretly planned a future with him that included the proverbial white picket fence, two-point-five children, and the family dog. She’d nourished those dreams and counted on them more than even she’d realized. Until the night her dreams shattered and lay in jagged shards at her feet.

  Until the night two years ago when she’d gone to Nick’s apartment unexpectedly and found him doing the horizontal tango with an NFL cheerleader. She’d picked up a lamp, tossed it at his head—and missed, unfortunately—and walked out. Then, just like that, she was alone again. At least, in her heart. Her mind. Surrounded by people she loved, yet alone because the one man she’d believed loved her had ripped her heart out of her chest and stomped on it.

  She’d lost her dreams. She’d lost her pride. And she’d lost the man she’d thought Nick was.

  Her stomach fisted just at the memory of that particular humiliation. For a while she’d hated him, but then that had passed, too. Finally. She could actually look at Nick these days without wanting to either hug him or hit him. She still cared, of course. She didn’t want him to go out and get run over by an 18-wheeler or anything. But she didn’t care care.

  Which was a good thing, considering she’d just had the best sex of her life with the man’s brother. Oh God, no comparisons. Please.

  Jerry Springer reared his ugly head again.

  “Have you seen Tony?”

  “Many times.”

  “Please,” Nick said in a near whisper, “no jokes. In a battle of wits, today I am unarmed.”

  Stevie set the coffeepot back onto its burner, then turned and leaned against the counter, folding her arms in front of her. “Okay, then no. I haven’t seen Tony this morning.”

  “Damn it.” He took another drink of coffee and seemed to sit up just a bit straighter. The gift of caffeine once again to the rescue. “I checked at his office before coming here. He must still be at home.”

  “Probably.”

  His gaze met hers. “Have you seen Paul?”

  “Why would I see Paul?” Jesus! She leaped up and away from the counter as if she’d been burned. Was it stamped on her forehead? Did she have the words Paul Was Here branded on her chest? “Paul hasn’t been here. Why would he be? I mean, he doesn’t live anywhere near here and—”

  “Okay,” Nick interrupted, raising his voice enough to make him groan. “Christ. I was just wondering if you’d seen him. Thought maybe he could figure out what the hell Tony did to my car.”

  “Tony. So all you really need is to talk to Tony.”

  “What I need is three hundred aspirin and a Bloody Mary in a blender.”

  Suddenly irritated—both with Nick and with herself for coming so unglued at the mention of Paul’s name—Stevie leaned in close to him. Then checking to make sure none of the local gossips could overhear her, she snapped, “What you need is to work out whatever’s turning you into the town drunk. It ain’t pretty.”

  “Thanks for kicking me while I’m down.”

  “Hey, you want flattery, call a cheerleader.”

  “Please,” Nick said, groaning, “I beg you to shut up. If I ever meant anything to you, please stuff a sock in it.”

  He had meant something to her once. In fact, he’d meant everything. At least, she’d thought he had. So she did back up and leave him alone. For old times’ sake. And because after last night … she couldn’t be Nick’s life preserver anymore.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TWO DAYS CRAWLED BY and Stevie was getting crankier by the minute.

  Which didn’t make the least amount of sense. For God’s sake, it’s not like she was sitting around waiting for Paul to call. She didn’t want him to call. She only wanted him to come over and—

  Okay, back up.

  She didn’t want that, either—in her more rational moments. But when her brain went to sleep and her body started screaming, Stevie wanted him bad. Any way she could get him.

  Which was so not a good thing.

  Carrying another box of muffins, cookies, and scones out to where her car was parked behind the shop, she went over all of the reasons why she should never see Paul Candellano naked again.

  “One,” she muttered, hefting the box into the trunk and shoving two others out of her way, “he’s a Candellano, God help me.” The cellophane wrap covering the top of the box fluttered at a corner and Stevie straightened it. “The Candellanos are your only family, Stevie,” she went on, and made her voice stern so she would listen to herself. “You think they’ll be happy about you going from Nick to Paul? You can’t bounce from brother to brother, for the love of God. Hell, Beth’ll lock Tony in a closet for safekeeping.”

  She groaned and straightened up. Scooping her hair back from her face, she took an extra second to slap her forehead with the heel of her hand. This was all just so … tacky.

  True, she hadn’t been involved with Nick in more than two years. But once upon a time, they’d been an item. She’d been so sure that Nick was the one man in the world for her. She’d imagined them married, with kids, living in Chandler, having dinner every Sunday at Nick’s mom’s—only then Stevie would have been an official member of the family.

  And it had all been so real. So clear to her that she’d never noticed that the Nick she was dreaming about and the actual Nick were two completely different guys.

  How many times over the years had she cried on Paul’s shoulder about something Nick had done or said? And now she’d gone from crying on that shoulder to biting that shoulder and—she closed her eyes. “Okay, hyperventilating probably won’t help.”

  She slapped one hand to her chest and took several long, deep breaths. Her heart rate slowed down and her breathing evened out, but nothing else had changed. Stevie was still sitting in the middle of a potential catastrophe.

  What if Mama and the others found out about her and Paul? Stevie swallowed back the knot of anxiety lodged in her throat and held on to the raised trunk lid to keep from swaying unsteadily.

  Mama Candellano had always welcomed her, and the woman had been delighted when Nick and Stevie had become a couple. Eventually, Mama, too, had dreamed about Stevie and Nick getting married and making some beautiful grandchildren for her. And when it had ended between her and Nick, Mama had still made sure that Stevie remained a part of the family. Stevie thumped her forehead against the raised trunk and closed her eyes.

  Just last year, Mama had hinted that she thought Stevie was Nick’s one chance at stability. At making a U-turn on his fast-living road. Mama’d counted on Stevie’s loyalty and her long-standing affection to save Nick from himself. But it hadn’t worked out that way.

  Stevie couldn’t save him. Nobody could. That would have to come from Nick. Instead, she’d chosen to save herself, by leaving Nick and standing on her own two feet. Mama had said she understood—but Stevie had the feeling that the older woman was still waiting patiently for Stevie and Nick to get back together.

  What would Mama say if she knew that not only was that not going to happen … but Stevie was now with Paul? Would Mama think her some kind of tramp for skipping from one brother to the next?

  “Yes. Of course she would.” God, Mama would give her “the look.” That look that left a burning ache in Stevie’s chest and an emptiness in her heart. The look that said Mama was disappointed in her.

  They’d all hate her. They’d have to. What family wouldn’t? Heck, if she didn’t know herself better, she’d hate her, too. This was all so … sleazy somehow. Stevie rolled her shoulders and winced. She’d never thought of herself as sleazy, and yet … if the Scarlet Letter fit …

  Plus, she knew darn well, if it came down to choosing sides and picking either Stevie or Nick and Paul … she’d be on the outside looking in. The Candellanos would close ranks and she’d lose the only family she’d ever known.

  She’d be alone again.r />
  Every cold, lonely corner of her heart suddenly ached fiercely.

  “Are you going to lose it all because of an attack of hormones?” she muttered, and slammed the trunk shut. Metal crashed against metal and she absent-mindedly patted her car in silent apology. “No. No, I’m not.”

  She never should have let that night with Paul get so out of control. Heck, she still wasn’t exactly sure how it had all happened. All she knew for certain was that she’d like to have it happen again. If there were no consequences. If no one would be hurt. If beggars could ride. If wishes came true.

  No chance of that.

  So no chance of reliving that sense of magic.

  And knowing that was enough to make her nuts. Especially in the middle of the night, when there was only her heartbeat in her house. When the only sounds of life were the voices coming from the television that she routinely left on for company. When she lay there in her bed, feeling more alone than anyone should have to be. When the thought of Paul touching her was enough to light backfires in her bloodstream.

  That was her only problem.

  If she could just avoid nighttime, she’d be good.

  Except of course for times like now … when it was broad daylight and all she could think of was Paul.

  “Damn it.” Disgusted, she walked to the driver’s-side door, opened it, and climbed in. Firing up the engine of her trusty red Blazer, Stevie pushed thoughts of naked Paul out of her mind and concentrated on getting to the local shelter in one piece.

  * * *

  He was doing the right thing.

  That was important.

  It was, in fact, one of the main rules Paul lived by. Do the right thing. Maybe that made him some kind of Boy Scout or something, but it had always seemed like the smart thing to do. Not to mention the easiest.

  When you started lying and creating all kinds of diversions to get you out of whatever you should have been doing in the first place, it became a real time waster.

  “So why,” he asked himself, staring out the second-story window of his office, “isn’t it easier?”