She stiffened but was noticeably calmer. “I don’t like to fly.”
“Ah. This was a bit of a panic attack?”
“It was a bit of an ‘I’d better get the roast out of the freezer’ attack.”
He grinned. “All right. Let’s go get the roast out of the freezer. I might have to stay for dinner after all.”
She shifted her gaze to him. “Sure. That’d be fine.”
She wriggled out of his arm and resumed her course across the field, if at a less manic pace. Dylan watched her, thinking about their conversation, her body language—thinking past his attraction to her to what she was communicating. Being nervous about flying was one thing, but he had a feeling he was on the right track about her and her reasons for returning to Knights Bridge.
He ambled next to her. “Who screwed you over in Boston?”
“What?” She cut him a shocked look. “What are you talking about?”
“A client? A coworker? A friend or boyfriend?”
Her chin snapped up. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m right, then.”
“And you love being right.”
She was obviously trying to divert his attention, but he said, “Yes, I do. It pays the bills and most of the time it feels good. Not always. Like right now. I don’t want you to be here because you’re running from someone.”
“I’m not running from anyone or anything. I’m taking the bull by the horns and realizing a dream.”
“The timing’s not on your terms. It’s on the terms of this person who hurt you. I’m guessing…” He slowed his pace deliberately, letting her get ahead of him. “I’m guessing it was a friend.”
She kept going as if he hadn’t said anything.
“A colleague—someone who worked at the same design studio as you?”
He watched her jump over a soggy patch in the field, then caught up with her again. She angled a look at him. “Nobody did anything to me. It was just business.”
“It’s always ‘just business’ when you’re getting screwed. When someone does you a good turn, it’s because they love you. It’s not because you deserve it.”
Olivia raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s cynical, don’t you think?”
“Nope.”
“Eye of the round,” she said abruptly. When Dylan frowned at her, she let her smile broaden. “It’s the roast I’m thawing for dinner tonight.”
He realized he wasn’t getting anything more out of her and stopped trying. Instead, he decided to enjoy being attracted to her as she led the way back over the stone wall to her house. Somehow she’d gotten more mud on her butt. He didn’t mind. Not at all.
Seven
After finishing her last meeting, Jess window-shopped at the expensive stores on Newbury Street, taking the opportunity to appreciate Boston’s slightly warmer temperatures. She was looking at a display of jewelry when her cell phone buzzed and she saw that her sister was calling. “Hey, Liv, what’s up?”
“You have to get back in time for dinner,” Olivia said.
“Why?”
“I’m cooking. I have a roast thawing. I never cook a roast, and here I am…Mom and Dad were supposed to come, but they just called. They had to bail.”
“They did? Why?”
“Problem at the mill. They said it’s nothing serious. Jess, I accidentally invited Dylan McCaffrey, and he’s coming.”
“How do you accidentally invite someone to dinner?”
“I don’t know. I just did.” Olivia gave a mock groan. “I’m not sure I want to be alone with him.”
“Oh, come on, Liv. He’s not a criminal.”
“He’s a rich ex-hockey player,” her sister said, then ran down what she and Maggie O’Dunn had discovered about him. Olivia sighed, calmer. “You’re right. He’s harmless. Never mind. He’s heading back to San Diego tomorrow. The chances of him returning to Knights Bridge are somewhere between slim and none. I’m making myself nuts over nothing.”
“It’s because you saw Mom this morning. Those pictures of California get me going every time. I swear I pick up her anxiety.”
“She’s looking forward to going—”
“Liv, there isn’t a chance in the world she’s making that trip. You know there isn’t. She won’t even drive to Boston. Flying across the country?” Jess moved from the jewelry story to a window decorated with spring clothes on skinny mannequins. “You haven’t been around her that much until lately. It’s bound to get to you.”
“Maybe that’s it.”
“Relax, Liv. Being alone with Dylan McCaffrey can’t be that big a chore. Enjoy having him in town while you can.”
Jess thought Olivia laughed as she hung up. Even if her sister’s laughter was just so Jess wouldn’t worry about her, it was a relief to hear. Bad enough that she had her own wild thinking to deal with—she didn’t want Olivia going down the same path. Olivia couldn’t let herself be influenced by their mother’s anxieties, if such a thing were possible.
“Poor Mom,” Jess said to herself as she turned off Newbury toward Marlborough Street and Olivia’s apartment.
The buds on the magnolias that lined Commonwealth Avenue were almost ready to burst into bloom. Jess noticed clusters of cheerful daffodils in tiny, formal yards in front of the elegant residential buildings and felt her own tension ease. She loved springtime in Boston—springtime anywhere, she supposed, but the city felt so energetic, as if it were coming to life after the long New England winter.
She let herself into Olivia’s apartment using keys she’d given to her.
Big change, she thought, from the fancy jewelry shops on Newbury. The late-afternoon sun wasn’t reaching the apartment. Despite the cheerful colors and the good scrubbing she and Olivia had given the place when she’d moved out, it felt dingy and depressing without her personal items and most of its furniture.
Jess stifled a sudden rush of claustrophobia and opened the window above the sink.
Maybe it was her imagination, but she swore she could smell garbage in the alley. Not just trash, she thought, but actual garbage.
Wrinkling her nose, she walked back into the living room, where she’d left her tote bag on the floor by the couch, one of the few remaining pieces of furniture. She had brought work with her but supposed she could head to a coffee shop or a hotel bar to do it. The apartment seemed so lonely, and wasn’t the idea of spending time in the city to be around people? She wanted crowds. Strangers. She knew almost everyone in Knights Bridge. She wondered if Dylan McCaffrey realized what a big deal his presence was in her little hometown—if Olivia even realized it, since she’d been away for so long.
A rich, good-looking stranger in their midst. A man alone.
A man with secrets.
No wonder Olivia was torn about having him to dinner, Jess thought as she stood in the middle of the near-empty room. At least she couldn’t smell garbage anymore, she thought as she contemplated her options.
She grabbed her tote and headed out again, locking the door behind her. She didn’t have a plan. She just didn’t want to stay alone in her sister’s apartment.
As she ran down the front steps, she noticed a dark gray truck double-parked in front of the building.
Mark.
He rolled down his window. “Hey, good-looking. Where you headed?”
She grinned at him, hoisting her tote onto one shoulder. “Be careful. Someone could be calling 911 now. What are you doing in Boston?”
“I ended up meeting some engineers in Cambridge and decided to cross the river and see if I could find you. I was just going to call, and here you are.”
“Go park,” she said. “I’ll whisk you off to dinner.”
Feeling less agitated, less unfocused and restless, Jess waited by a black lamppost, but Mark got lucky and found a spot at the end of the block. She watched him park and then walk toward her with his long, confident stride. He wore a full-length raincoat but left it open.
“You look like y
ou belong here,” she said. “Mr. Urban.”
“I don’t miss the city.”
“Did you hate living here?”
“Not hate.” He winked at her, coming closer. “Disliked.”
“A country boy at heart,” she said lightly.
“Heart and soul. You, too, Jess. A country girl at heart. What do you have in mind for dinner?”
“There’s a restaurant Olivia likes on Newbury. It’s early. Why don’t we see if they have a table? I’m staying at her apartment tonight. That means I can have wine.”
Mark slung an arm over her shoulders. “I’m meeting the engineers again tomorrow. I thought I’d drive back home tonight, but maybe I’ll stay in town. I can have wine, too.”
“And where were you planning to stay, Mr. Flanagan?”
“Your sister’s apartment—”
“There’s no bed. Just a couch.”
“Pullout?”
“I don’t know.”
He drew her to him and slid his arm to her waist. “Either could work.”
Jess felt warm as they headed back to Newbury Street, then a couple of blocks to the restaurant. They were seated at a small table in the back corner. Jess felt herself beginning to relax. She and Mark settled on an inexpensive red wine—she barely paid attention to what it was—as she marveled at the way her evening had changed.
“How was your day?” Mark asked her.
“Busy. Good. Yours?”
“Dull.” He smiled, then added, “Until a few minutes ago.”
The waiter arrived with their wine, a basket of soft, crusty bread and a bowl of olive oil. They ordered appetizers of spinach gnocchi and eggplant with smoked mozzarella and shared a main dish of fresh seafood over house-made linguine. As she reached for bread, Jess pictured her sister here, meeting clients, enjoying life in the city.
She dipped her bread in the oil. “I’ve never lived anywhere but Knights Bridge,” she said.
Mark eyed her over his wineglass. “Lucky you.”
“I know. I love it there. It’s home. I don’t want to live anywhere else. I just…” She ate a bite of her bread as she watched another young couple enter the restaurant and wondered what their lives were like. Were they engaged? Just getting to know each other? She shook off her questions and picked up her wineglass. “Never mind. I can see us buying land in Knights Bridge. Then you’ll design us a wonderful house—”
“If that’s what you want,” Mark said quietly.
Although not officially engaged, Jess realized that they often talked comfortably about a future together. “It’s what I want. Of course.” She stopped herself, suddenly out of sorts. She didn’t understand why. This man she adored had found her in Boston, and they were having a lovely dinner together—and she was impatient and irritable. She drank some of her wine. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s got into me.”
He shrugged. “Nah. You’re fine. Long day.”
“You don’t have to make excuses for me, Mark.”
“Okay. You’re a crazy bitch—”
She laughed. “All right, all right. Let’s change the subject.”
He settled back with his wine. “What’s up with Olivia and this Dylan McCaffrey?”
“I don’t know. He’s going back to San Diego in the morning.”
“He’s rich. You know that, right? I don’t care one way or the other, but I wouldn’t have expected a partner in a high-tech entertainment company to take a personal interest in an old house in Knights Bridge.”
“His father left it to him. Maybe that’s why. Olivia’s having him over for dinner tonight, but I doubt we’ll ever hear from him again after tomorrow.” Even as Jess spoke, her words didn’t feel quite right. She couldn’t put her finger on why not. “Have you ever been to San Diego?”
“Once.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yeah, sure.” Mark smiled over his wineglass at her. “You have wanderlust, Jess.”
Their appetizers arrived, and she tried the gnocchi, relishing the mix of flavors. “I want to travel,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I don’t love Knights Bridge. I don’t fantasize about living somewhere else—”
“Yes, you do.”
She stabbed more gnocchi and said without looking at him, “Don’t tell me what I think, Mark.”
“Sorry. That’s not what I meant to do. I just want you to say what’s on your mind. Don’t pretend to feel something you don’t feel. If you want to try living somewhere else, we can figure that out.”
“I’m glad you said ‘we.’”
His eyes narrowed on her for a moment, then he tried the eggplant. “You picked a good restaurant.”
Jess tried the eggplant, too. “No wonder Olivia loves this place. She never saw herself staying in Boston forever. I think she’s leaving sooner than she planned, but she was so thrilled when her house came on the market and she could afford to buy it.”
“It’s a risk giving up her job.”
“I’m not sure she had a choice, but she won’t talk about it.” Jess tried more of the gnocchi and eggplant, drank more wine, listened to the murmurs of the other diners as the restaurant filled up. “I’ve never wanted to live anywhere else, but sometimes I think I should want to. Do you know what I mean?”
She half expected him to say no, he didn’t, or to make a joke, but instead he nodded thoughtfully. “I think I do. I left Knights Bridge because I had to—for school. Then I stayed away because what I wanted to do was in the city. I discovered at heart I’m a hometown guy.” He glanced down at his plate. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
Jess reached across the table and touched his hand. “I want you, Mark. That’s all.”
He grinned at her. “I’ll go with that.”
“I don’t have to try living somewhere else, but I do want to travel.”
“You’re not afraid to? You’re not using me as an excuse, putting words in my mouth so that you don’t have to admit that you’re as nervous about traveling as your mother is?”
“No.” Jess waited as the waiter delivered their main course. She loved the smell of the rich, spicy sauce but wasn’t sure she was that hungry anymore. The appetizers, bread and wine had filled her up, and she could feel her stomach churning at the thought of her mother and her pictures of California taped to her desk. “I’m determined not to let any fears stop me.”
“You’re not just dreaming, then—”
“Like my mother, you mean?” Jess didn’t wait for him to answer. “I want to travel. I’m willing to get on a plane. I haven’t had a reason to fly anywhere since my friend’s wedding in Chicago two years ago, but I did it.”
Mark scooped up a chunk of steaming lobster. “You make it sound like a root canal.”
Jess stared at the seafood, vegetables and pasta and resisted the urge to jump up and run out of the restaurant. “I want to go to Paris,” she blurted.
“Paris? When?”
On their honeymoon, she thought. Wouldn’t that be nice? But she didn’t know if there’d be a honeymoon. Mark liked the status quo of their relationship. They were comfortable. Why would he rock the boat with talk of marriage, a wedding, a honeymoon?
Jess finished off the gnocchi, thinking, and said finally, “I don’t know. Soon. Before the end of the year.”
“Paris is great. I’ve only been there once but I liked it.”
“That doesn’t mean you want to go again.”
He shrugged and didn’t rise to the bait. “Do you have your passport?”
“Not yet. I’m getting one,” Jess said, feeling defiant—as if somehow Mark were doubting her, challenging her. “Is your passport current?”
“I think I’ve got a couple of years left on it. I’ll check.”
“Then you’ll go with me?”
“Jess Frost and Paris… I suppose if I have to.”
She was ready to be offended but saw the twinkle in his eyes and the play of a smile at the corner of his mouth and laughed. “If we weren
’t in a restaurant, I swear I’d throw something at you.”
He laughed, too, and any frustration, anxiety and defiance Jess felt fell away as they chatted and enjoyed the rest of their dinner.
Out on Newbury, Mark slipped his hand into hers. Jess glanced back at the restaurant. “I wonder if Olivia misses Boston. I’m not sure she’s told us everything about why she’s back in Knights Bridge.”
“Maybe not.”
“I think something happened with her work and a friend of hers—Marilyn Bryson. Have you met her?”
“Not that I know of. What about Roger Bailey? Is she doing freelance work for him? I introduced them, but I haven’t talked to him in a couple months. Everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” Jess said.
“Olivia’s not one to discuss her work, especially if there are problems,” Mark said. “I can call Roger, see what I can find out.”
“I just hope she’s okay.”
“She seems happy and excited about what she’s doing, but she has to be careful not to let her pride and stubbornness keep her from asking for help when she needs it, or even just getting a little moral support.”
Jess looked over at him. “Is that what you think I do, too? I’m her sister—”
“But you have me,” he said, his voice low, sexy.
They continued down the busy street. Jess found everything around her energizing. The crush of people, the traffic, the lights. Whatever problems she had were back in Knights Bridge—and she wasn’t. She was here, walking in the city on a cool, early-spring night with the man she loved. For now, she thought, Paris could wait.
Eight
Olivia decided to have dinner in the kitchen, not in the dining room, which would have seemed too intimate, too romantic. She lit candles on the kitchen table and got out her good dishes, white china she had found at a Boston yard sale. Dylan arrived with a bottle of wine and let her be the one to say that the roast was awful. It’d been a while since she’d cooked one, and it was tough and stringy. The sides were decent, though—mesclun salad with a few snips of fresh herbs, roasted Brussels sprouts and butternut squash with a dash of nutmeg.
Secrets of the Lost Summer Page 10
