For the Love of Pete

by Sherryl Woods

  “Because you know I’m right,” he said, satisfied with the admission.

  She frowned at him, and for a minute it seemed as if she might continue the debate until Pete was forced to kiss her to prove his point. Unfortunately, though, she finally drew in a deep breath and leveled a cool look into his eyes. “Would you prefer green beans or peas with dinner?”

  Pete knew better than to laugh at the quick retreat to neutral turf. She might have felt compelled to take him up on his impulsive bet and, truthfully, he wasn’t the least bit sure if he would have been able to resist.

  The kitchen was filled with the scent of onions and garlic and tomato as Jo’s spaghetti sauce simmered on the stove, but it was the pheromones swirling in the air that were getting to Jo. Somehow in the last few hours, she’d completely lost her mind. What she’d been doing ever since Pete had arrived rivaled the stupidity of waving a red cape at a bull. Did she want the man to seduce her?

  Okay, yes, of course, she did. At least she wanted to know that he wanted to take her to bed. And it was about the rebound thing, no matter what he said to the contrary. She wanted to prove to herself that she was still a desirable woman, and who better to prove that than a man who’d once walked away from her? If she could attract Pete now, wouldn’t that prove…something?

  She tried to figure out what exactly it would prove and couldn’t. Maybe it would only prove that she really was an idiot.

  “How about some wine with dinner?” Pete asked. “I found a bottle of merlot in the wine rack.”

  Not a chance in hell, Jo thought. She needed all her wits about her if she was going to negotiate the minefield she’d set up for herself tonight.

  “No, thanks, but you have some if you’d like.”

  He shrugged. “I’m okay with a beer. Are there any in the fridge?”

  “There should be,” she said, opening the door. There were half a dozen bottles of beer inside. She took one out, twisted off the top and handed it to him. “Want a glass?”

  “Nope. The bottle will do.” He kept his gaze locked with hers. “Anything I can do to help with dinner?”

  “The sauce is almost ready. You can drain the pasta, if you want to.”

  He put his bottle on the table and picked up the heavy pot, held it over the colander and dumped in the boiling water and pasta. More of the angel hair slithered down the drain than into the colander.

  Jo chuckled as he tried to grab a handful. “Let it go,” she said. “I made more than enough. We won’t starve if some of it gets away.”

  He gave her a frustrated look. “You didn’t warn me how slippery it would be.”

  “Haven’t you ever cooked pasta before?”

  “Sure,” he said. “From a can.”

  Jo rolled her eyes. “Please don’t ever let Maggie hear you say that. You’ll absolutely destroy her respect for you. She thinks it’s disgusting enough that I don’t own a pasta machine so I can make my own.”

  “If Davey wants spaghetti, we go out,” Pete said defensively. “I like the stuff in the can.”

  “See if you can still say that after we’ve eaten tonight,” Jo said. “Of course, Maggie is right about one thing. This would be even better if we’d made the noodles from scratch.”

  He regarded her with surprise. “You can do that?”

  “If you’re asking if it’s possible for a person to make pasta in his own kitchen, the answer is yes. If you want to know if I personally can do it, then, no. I’m hopeless at anything complicated—piecrusts and pasta are beyond me. The prepared stuff suits me just fine.”

  He grinned. “Nice to know there are some principles you’re willing to compromise.”

  “Not the important ones.”

  She watched as he expertly wound some of the angel hair onto his fork, then took his first bite of the homemade sauce that was one of her Italian father’s specialties. He’d insisted all his daughters learn the recipe. “It’s a family tradition,” Max D’Angelo had told them. “I won’t have it dying out with me, so no matter what else you learn to cook, you’ll learn this sauce.”

  Maggie was the only one who’d inherited his love of cooking, but the rest of them at least had this one dish they could use to impress guests. Pete was no exception. He regarded her with an expression bordering on awe.

  “I think I love you,” he said after his first bite.

  Jo’s pulse jumped, but she ignored it. “That’s the sauce talking,” she assured him…and herself. “I’ll send some home with you. You can freeze it and try it out on your son next time he visits.”

  “If you think I’m sharing this with a kid who eats peanut butter and mayo sandwiches, you’re nuts. It would be wasted on him.”

  “I’m sharing it with a man who likes spaghetti from a can,” she reminded him.

  “Not anymore,” he said fervently. “I’ll be here once a week for spaghetti. I’m writing that clause into whatever terms we set up for working together.”

  They ate for a while in silence, but Jo finally worked up the courage to bring up the one topic they’d avoided from the moment Pete had turned up on her doorstep. She figured he’d opened the door by mentioning his son’s love of spaghetti.

  She swallowed hard, then asked hesitantly, “Tell me about your son.”

  Pete’s eyes lit up at once. “He’s something. Sometimes I look at him and marvel that I had anything to do with creating such a great kid.”

  She swallowed the envy crawling up the back of her throat. “Does he look like you?”

  “He looks a lot like I did when I was his age, the same dark hair, dark eyes and the exact same stubborn chin.”

  Jo smiled, thinking about the handful of pictures she’d once seen of Pete as a kid. He’d had a snaggletoothed smile and a dimple that wouldn’t quit. She hoped there was no trace of the sadness she was feeling in her eyes when she asked, “Do you have a picture of him?”

  “Sure.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and flipped it open, then handed it to her. “That’s his school picture. He’s in first grade. Believe me, he’s not normally that neat. I’m sure five seconds after they took it, his shirt was tugged out of his pants and probably torn. He reminds me of that kid in the Peanuts comic strip, the one who’s always going around in a cloud of dust. That’s Davey. Five minutes out of the tub and he looks like he’s gone ten rounds in the mud.”

  “He sounds wonderful,” Jo said wistfully.

  So many times over the past seven years she’d wondered about Pete’s child. A part of her had respected his refusal to turn his back on the boy’s mother, even though it had hurt like hell. So many times her heart had ached at knowing that they would never have the children they’d talked about together.

  Now, looking into that gaping, six-year-old smile, she couldn’t seem to stop the tide of emotions that washed over her—sorrow, envy and even an undeniable trace of anger that she’d been deprived all of this.

  “Jo?”

  Pete’s voice cut through the anguish.

  She forced a smile. “I’m sorry,” she said, handing him back his wallet.

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said, his expression filled with regret. “I shouldn’t have gotten into this with you.”

  “I asked,” she reminded him.

  “Still, I am sorry. It should never have been this way.”

  “No,” she said softly, “it shouldn’t have been.” A lingering trace of anger crept into her voice. “Why was it, Pete? Why did it happen?”

  He regarded her with a gaze filled with misery. “I wish I could tell you that it was all Kelsey’s fault, that she set out to seduce me and trap me into marriage, but I have to be honest. It wasn’t like that.”

  Jo almost wished she hadn’t asked, but she needed to know. “Did you love her?”

  “No,” he said fiercely. “You were the one I loved. I promise you that. But you had gone home. Kelsey and I thought there was no harm to hanging out together, having a few beers. It wasn’t about attr
action or sex or even friendship, though I guess we were friends. We’d known each other since we were kids.”

  “Had you dated before?”

  He shook his head. “No. It was all about being lonely, Jo. I missed you. And I was too damn young and stupid to realize that sleeping with some other woman wouldn’t make that loneliness go away. It only happened once, because I knew right away that sex with anyone who wasn’t you wasn’t the answer.”

  “But once was enough,” Jo said.

  “Yeah, once was enough. It’s an old story,” Pete said. “When I found out Kelsey was pregnant, there was only one thing to do. I wasn’t going to let my child grow up without a dad.”

  “The way you’d grown up,” Jo said, understanding at last. The marriage had been about far more than some moral obligation to Kelsey. It had always been about his son.

  And knowing who Pete was and all the things that had shaped him into the man he’d become, she accepted that it couldn’t have turned out any other way.

  With that understanding came relief. She felt a weight lift from her heart. Forgiveness, which had always been an elusive concept to her, flooded in, and for the first time in seven years, she felt at peace.

  “I should have told you all this back then,” he said apologetically.

  “I’m not sure it would have meant anything then,” she admitted. “I was too hurt and too angry.” She met his gaze. “I’m sorry the marriage didn’t work out.”

  It seemed such a waste to her that it hadn’t, that he’d sacrificed so much only to lose his son in the end, after all.

  “So am I,” he said.

  It hurt to hear him say that. A part of her wished that he was glad to be rid of Kelsey, but it was a small, petty reaction. Again, he wouldn’t be the man she’d loved if he’d been relieved that the marriage was over.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but what happened?” she asked him.

  “I wasn’t what she wanted,” he said simply. “I never was.”

  The woman must be an idiot, Jo thought, but kept her reaction to herself. If Pete didn’t cast aspersions on his ex-wife, she certainly wouldn’t.

  “You said they live in Richmond. That’s not exactly around the corner. Do you get to spend much time with Davey?”

  His eyes were filled with heartache when he replied, “Not nearly enough. We’ve worked out a schedule, and Kelsey usually sticks to it.”

  “Usually?”

  “When she doesn’t forget or make other plans—deliberately, more than likely.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “Often enough.”

  “That must be awful for you and your son.”

  He gave her a grim look. “I try not to let it be. I don’t ever want Davey to be some pawn between his mother and me. That’s why I didn’t fight her for custody. He needs both of us. And as long as she’s doing right by him, he’ll never hear a harsh word about her from me.”

  “But if she’s not living up to the agreement—” Jo began.

  “I deal with her,” Pete said. “We don’t need the court involved.”

  Jo’s respect for him grew. “You’re an honorable man. I hope she knows what a treasure she threw away.”

  He laughed, but there was little humor in the sound. “I think she’d dispute that.” He met her gaze. “Enough about me. Tell me about the man who didn’t have the good sense to hang on to you.”

  She gave him a wry look. “You mean besides you.”

  He winced. “Ouch. I deserved that.”

  “You did,” she agreed. “But I promise it’ll be the last time I take potshots about the past. There’s no point in living there.”

  “Amen to that,” he replied. “Now stop avoiding the subject.”

  “The short version is that I came home and found him in bed with someone else,” she said without emotion.

  She had thought the image would be burned into her head forever, but ironically she couldn’t picture it anymore. In fact, it hardly seemed to matter. Seeing Pete again had done that for her. Feeling the stir of those old emotions, knowing that the depth of what they’d once shared was so much more than anything she’d ever felt for her ex-fiancé, had put her heartache to rest. Since her love for Pete hadn’t died nearly as quickly, she could only wonder if she’d ever loved James at all. Maybe that relationship had been on the rebound, despite the years it had taken for her to let another man into her heart.

  Pete’s gaze was steady and serious. “Want me to go beat him up for you?”

  She returned his gaze with a solemn expression. “That’s a lovely thought, but Ashley already offered. I turned her down.”

  “I’m meaner.”

  “You obviously don’t know my big sister all that well.”

  “I saw her use a hammer,” he said, then added with a grin, “She’s a sissy.”

  Jo burst out laughing. “Please tell her that,” she begged. “I want to be there.”

  “Think she’ll pummel me to a bloody pulp?”

  “I certainly think she’ll try.”

  “It’s good to hear you laugh, Jo,” he said, his expression suddenly serious again.

  “It’s good to have something to laugh about,” she admitted. “I was beginning to think I’d lost my sense of humor along with my fiancé.”

  “That would have been the real tragedy,” Pete told her.

  She lifted her gaze to his and felt the familiar stir of old desires. “It would have been, wouldn’t it? I think I’m just beginning to see that.”

  “I could always make you laugh,” he reminded her.

  Because it hadn’t always been that way, she reminded him. “You made me cry, too.”

  “And it’s something I’ll regret till my dying day,” he told her.

  Jo shook off the desire to weep one last time for all they’d lost. Instead, she met his gaze and lifted her glass of water in a solemn toast. “Here’s to concentrating on the laughter from now on.”

  Pete lifted his bottle of beer and tapped it against the glass. “To laughter.”

  But even as they made the pact, Jo knew that there were no guarantees. The one thing certain about the future was its unpredictability. In fact, she would never in a million years have predicted that she would be sitting here in the kitchen at Rose Cottage sharing a meal with Pete again. Moreover, they’d found a way to laugh together again. That wasn’t just totally unpredictable, it was a miracle.

  But looking into Pete’s eyes, feeling her heart begin to heal at long last, she realized that miracles truly could happen.

  Chapter Six

  Pete cursed himself six ways to Sunday all the way home from Jo’s for having gotten drawn into even the briefest mention of his marriage. Up until tonight, he’d had a hard and fast rule: He didn’t talk about it, not with anybody. What was the point, anyway? It was over and done with. Nobody needed to know the gory details. He’d always told himself he was keeping silent for his son’s sake, but it was more than that. He didn’t want anybody to know just how badly he’d screwed up.

  Tonight he’d broken his own vow, and now he was regretting it. It would have been bad enough no matter whom he’d opened up to, but he sure as hell shouldn’t have gotten into it with the woman who’d suffered because he hadn’t known at twenty how to keep his pants zipped.

  Then, again, maybe he had owed Jo that conversation. Maybe it was long overdue and damn the consequences to his pride. Possibly it would give her some satisfaction to know that he’d suffered too for the mistake he’d made. Maybe the humiliation of reliving it all would turn out to be worth it, if she’d been able to take some comfort in finally hearing the truth about his hasty, ill-advised marriage. Surely she couldn’t think any worse of him than she did already. If she did, so be it. He could live with that, knowing that he’d finally been honest with her.

  If they were ever going to have a second chance, Jo had to know the whole story. The fact that such a chance was even possible was a miracle, Pete realized. Mi
ke had opened his eyes to that and made him see that it was a gift that shouldn’t be tossed aside lightly. Since his attraction to Jo clearly hadn’t died, he should be grateful for every second that gave him time to make amends and explore whether there was a chance for the two of them to recapture what they’d once had and build it into the dream they’d once shared.

  Jo had been so damn innocent back then, so trusting. She’d believed in him—and in them—enough to give him not just her body, but her heart. He’d been way too careless with that gift. Because of that, he wasn’t sure if he deserved a second chance, but obviously fate had other ideas since it had tossed them together now.

  So far Jo had said nothing about how long she intended to stay, but he planned to use every minute to see if there was anything left of the feelings they’d once shared. One look at her had stirred something inside him, something he’d convinced himself was dead and buried. If he’d had to put a label on it, it wouldn’t have been love exactly. No, it was more like hope.

  When she’d been in his arms for those few brief moments, he thought he’d seen a fleeting spark of desire, a hint of longing in her eyes. He knew she’d responded to that kiss they’d shared. In fact, she’d looked as shaken by it as he had been. That could be the building block to something more. He just couldn’t rush it. He had to keep in mind that she was in emotional pain herself. Her break-up was far fresher than his own. Taking advantage of that was out of the question.

  No, he was older and, hopefully, wiser now. He was in it this time for the long haul. No mistakes. No blunders that would leave him racked with guilt and pain.

  And with her entire family watching him like a hawk, he wasn’t about to do anything that would give them cause to question his motives. Nope, he was going to be the perfect gentleman…even if it killed him.

  Satisfied that he’d worked everything out—at least as much as he could control—he walked into his house with a lighter step. Immediately, he heard the phone ringing. By the time he snatched it up, the person had hung up, but the Richmond number on the caller ID told him it had been either Kelsey or his son. Though he had no particular desire to speak to his ex-wife, he couldn’t take a chance that it had been Davey or that Kelsey was calling about his son. He dialed back immediately.