by Donna Fasano
“That’s right,” Cathy said. “You carried around a glass of white wine all evening long. And I never saw you ask for a refill.”
“And here I was,” Heather harrumphed, “thinking we were all getting tipsy together.”
Judging from her expression, Sara knew she’d been snared. Where just seconds before she had been beaming with happiness, now her forehead was marred with worry; the anxiety had even etched itself around her mouth.
She pressed her lips together for the span of two heartbeats, clearly trying to decide how much to reveal, and then she whispered. “You can’t say anything about this. I mean it. I don’t know for sure.” Then she admitted, “But I am late.”
Heather and Cathy hooted and grabbed at her, hopping up and down in their excitement.
“But you can’t say anything,” Sara stressed again. “I didn’t mean to open my big mouth. I need to make sure first. I can’t say anything until I’m certain. It’s only fair that I tell Landon first.”
“Our lips are sealed,” Heather promised.
“What do you think he’s going to say?” Cathy asked.
“I don’t know.” Sara’s frowned deepened.
“Aw, don’t worry,” Heather reassured her. “Things are good between you. He loves you, Sara.”
“Do you think he’ll want to get married?” Cathy asked.
“I honestly don’t know.” Sara’s panic quickly escalated.
“Okay, okay.” Cathy placed her hand on Sara’s shoulder to calm her. “I’ll stop with the questions. It’ll all be fine.”
“I might not say this often, but she’s right,” Heather said, touching Sara’s forearm. “Everything is going to be just fine.”
Cathy clenched her fists and shimmied her shoulders. Excitement shook her words as she whispered, “We’re going to have a baby!”
Arching her brows at Sara, Heather warned, “She might have a bit of a problem containing herself.”
“Not a word to Landon, Cathy.” Sara pointed a stern finger at her friend. “Not unless you want a bippy beating.”
~*~
Heather slipped through the back door of the house, not totally surprised to see Daniel sitting at the kitchen table. The scent of vanilla chamomile tea wafted in the air.
“Hi,” she greeted. “You okay?”
He nodded. “Just couldn’t sleep.”
She knew she should excuse herself, tell him goodnight, and slip off to bed. He liked his solitude. But the excitement of the New Year celebration still pulsed through her. She’d never be able to fall asleep yet no matter how hard she tried. “Is the water still hot? Do you mind if I have a cup of tea with you?”
Even worse than not going to bed when she highly suspected he’d rather be alone, she didn’t wait for him to answer either question before turning on her heel and going to the cabinet for a mug. While she busied herself getting a teabag and pouring still-steaming water from the pot, she was overly aware of his silence.
She didn’t agree with Cathy that Daniel was a grump. He could be perfectly gracious, even pleasant, when he wanted to be. However, she did believe Sara was right in her assessment that the poor man seemed very much alone and miserable. Unhappiness radiated off him like heat from a bonfire, and she wished she could do something about it. Help him in some way. Maybe offer him a sympathetic ear, or a shoulder to lean on.
But how could she make such an offer when she knew down to the bone that he wasn’t the type of man who would want such an overture? The quandary had her brows knitting together.
“I want to assure you…”
His voice jarred the quiet like the clash of cymbals and she started.
“…that I’m not allergic to people.”
Horrified, she turned around to face him. “Oh, Daniel. You heard us.”
He stared down into the ceramic mug, his thumb lightly tapping the handle. “I didn’t eavesdrop on purpose.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “I had trouble with the key. I’ve been meaning to tell you that my back door key sticks.”
“I’m sorry.” She moistened her lips. “We shouldn’t have been talking about you like that.”
One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “The acoustics in that alley are amazing. I tried to get inside as quickly as I could. But I wasn’t fast enough to keep from hearing the word miserable applied to me.”
Heather’s shoulders rounded. “Oh, Daniel,” she repeated, shaking her head. She’d already apologized; she didn’t know what else to say.
“I am miserable,” he said softly. “Sick with misery, actually. You see, I didn’t want to write this damned book. I didn’t want to be cloistered away. Not right now when… well, not right now.”
Her tea forgotten, she crossed the room, slid out a chair, and sat down next to him at the table. She was amazed by his admission, astonished that he was actually confiding in her.
She reached out and slipped her fingers over his taut forearm, and she was immediately aware of the heat emanating from him through the soft cotton of his shirtsleeve.
“Not this time of year. But I didn’t have a choice, Heather.”
Her eyes were drawn to his clenched jaw muscle.
“And contrary to what was said out there in the alley, I’m just as much a social creature as the next guy.”
“I am so sorry your feelings were hurt. We’d been drinking, you see. That tends to loosen our tongues. We say things we shouldn’t.” It was a feeble explanation at best.
“It’s okay. I’m not the thinned-skinned type.” He patted the back of her hand. “You can’t be a writer and allow yourself to be easily offended. There are literary critics who would love to flay me alive if they could.” He looked toward the ceiling and wearily whispered, “Everyone has a right to an opinion.”
She realized that his palm still rested on her hand, his fingertips slipping beneath the cuff of her blouse. The pads of his index and middle fingers lightly rubbed back and forth across her wrist. Of course, he was lost in what he was saying, preoccupied with his thoughts, and completely unaware that he was touching her so intimately.
But every nuance of her attention became focused on the slight friction of his skin against hers, her heart skittering in her chest, her rising temperature making her feel the need to draw air into her lungs a little faster, a little deeper.
“Anyway…”
When he spoke, she looked him in the eyes and saw humor dancing there.
“…you have no reason to apologize,” he said, firmly. “You took up for me out there, and I thank you for that. I just needed you to know that I’m not the kind of man your friends think I am. And I wouldn’t be here over the holidays if I had any other choice. I’d much rather be celebrating the holidays with my little girl.”
He has a daughter. Heather suddenly felt weak.
“If I could be with her,” he continued, “I would be. But that’s impossible right now.”
She knew he was unhappy, knew he had been struggling with something heavy, something extremely stressful, and now the reason had been revealed; he was spending the holidays away from his child. That would be enough to make anyone gloomy and sad.
“So now that I’ve confessed and it’s out in the open,” he said, “tell me about your evening.”
“But… don’t you want to talk a little more about what’s going on with you? It must be very upsetting for you. Being away from your daughter.”
He shook his head. “To tell you the honest truth, Heather, I took a walk tonight to clear the bad thoughts from my head. If I start talking about it, I won’t rest at all. I’d rather let you talk. Tell me, did you have a good time with your friends?”
The sharp turn in the conversation blindsided her. If she could help him quiet his mind by telling him about her evening out, she would do it. Before she had time to think, she was murmuring, “Well, I had as good a time as I could. Being a fifth wheel, and all.”
“A fifth wheel? I was under the impression that it was going to be a girls�
� night.”
She regretted the statement as soon as it passed her lips. His eyes, the color of onyx, were pensive, intensely curious.
“Well,” she began slowly, “Sara’s Landon was our designated driver, so he was with us. And Bradley showed up unexpectedly. He’s, well,” she drew out the word, “a friend of Cathy’s. Not a friend, exactly, but more like…”
Cathy’s relationship with Brad was peculiar to say the least. Too close to be mere friends, yet not close enough to have earned a more intimate label. Cathy, Sara, and Heather were always at odds over how to describe it. Best buddies with benefits? The “with benefits” fit just fine, but the “best buddies” did not. The two of them were so on again, off again. Heather decided it would be best to put an end to the commentary right then and there. Daniel didn’t need to know all the sordid details of Cathy’s love life.
Lust life, more like. Heather bit her lip to keep from grinning.
“Anyway,” Heather stressed, “the point I was trying to make is that Sara was with someone, and so was Cathy. And I was—”
“The fifth wheel,” he finished for her. “Got it. I can see how that wouldn’t be much fun.”
“The worst of it was the stroke of midnight.” She sighed. “Everyone got a New Year’s kiss but me.”
“Well, that’s not quite fair, now is it?”
The tone of his voice had her gaze lifting to connect with his. Merriment sparkled in his eyes. Was he laughing at her? Poking fun?
She slid her fingers from between his forearm and hand, meaning to pull away from him, from the situation that could very quickly turn both awkward and embarrassing for her. Feeling vulnerable was not something she enjoyed. She mentally kicked herself for not keeping the conversation light and fluffy. That’s what he’d expected, wasn’t it? It’s the only kind of conversation that most guys liked. Nothing too intense. Nothing too sensitive. Frivolous. Insignificant. Superficial. That’s what—
He reached out and captured her jaw between his gentle fingers, and she went stock still. With light, steady pressure, he guided her toward him. With excruciating slowness, he leaned forward.
He was close, so close she could feel his warm, vanilla scented breath against her cheek.
What the hell was he doing? She should stop this. She should place her hand on his shoulder and give a good, hard push. But her muscles had gone all spongy and useless. She had no idea what he planned to do, but every cell in her body wanted him to do it.
Daniel tipped up her chin and closed the small gap between them.
His lips were soft and hot against hers. The kiss was—
…over before she had a chance to really enjoy it.
“Everyone deserves a New Year’s kiss.”
His silky soft voice sent shivers spiraling down the full length of her body. She felt giddy, and drunker than any rum runner could ever account for.
“Ha…Happy New Year,” she stammered.
Before she could finish, his mouth was on hers again. This kiss was longer, more lingering, and teetered on the edge of hungry.
When he broke away, Heather heard a strange whooshing, and she realized it was the sound of her blood throbbing at a wild rate through her veins. She swallowed, exhaled slowly, and blinked.
He smiled broadly. “That,” he told her, “was for telling your friends that I’m perfectly nice.”
Chapter Four
Several days into the New Year, Daniel paced the confines of the bedroom. He would pause every so often and stare out the window at the wide expanse of platinum gray ocean. A thick blanket of clouds hovered in an ashen sky. Heavy. Bleak. Gloomy. Dispiriting. Just like his mood. He’d never felt so damned helpless in his life.
Each day seemed to stretch into an eternity. The book was a useful distraction. Usually, he could become lost in the writing of the story, at least for a good, solid chunk of time. The hours he spent creating characters and plotting out scenes offered his mind a respite from worry. But no matter how hard he tried to work, no matter how many times he sat down in front of his laptop, today the words simply refused to come. He’d even slipped on his lucky orange socks, the ones that always demolished the wall of writer’s block. But this time… nothing. He felt that, if he didn’t get out of this room and breathe some fresh air, he would lose his mind.
He picked up his wallet from the bedside table and shoved it into his back pocket. The antsy feeling plaguing him made his skin itch. Snatching up his keys, he headed for the door.
The usual solitary walk on the beach or the length of the boardwalk was not going to help. He couldn’t abide the thought of being alone. His thoughts of Mia were a jumble of anxious chaos, and his imagination conjured up all manner of bad happenings across the ocean. The turmoil would soon send him into a tailspin. The day—and his mood—were too utterly dismal. He needed some company.
The soles of his shoes tapped against the oak steps as he made his way downstairs and he found himself shaking his head, remembering Heather’s claim of wearing socks so as not to disturb him. She was such a sweet soul. He circled through the house, living room, foyer, dining room, library. He’d gotten to know The Lonely Loon well during his five week stay.
Five weeks. How the hell could this nightmare have gone on for five long weeks?
He found Heather in the kitchen, sitting at the table, her head bobbing slightly in time with whatever music was filtering through the ear buds she was wearing. He paused in the doorway to watch her work. She gave the silver plate she was polishing her undivided attention. Who polished silver these days? People who took pride in their possessions, he guessed.
Heather was such a beautiful woman. Light from the fixture on the ceiling glinted off her shiny brown hair. A sturdy, plastic clip secured about half of it at the back of her head, but the rest curled softly around her shoulders and spilled down her back. The urge to remove the clip, to comb his fingers through her hair, welled up in him, clear and sharp. He loved seeing her in the morning as she served breakfast, her thick mane flowing around her like a winter cape.
Her vivid blue eyes twinkled with—
His spine straightened and he was taken aback when he realized she was looking at him. Without disconnecting her gaze from his, she set the plate on the towel-draped table, dropped her polishing cloth, and tugged the buds from her ears.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Were you trying to get my attention? I guess I have this music turned up too loud.”
“No, no,” he assured her. “No need to apologize. I, ah, just got here.”
Her mouth formed a silent ‘oh’ and she nodded slowly. He got the distinct idea that she didn’t quite believe him. And why should she? He’d been standing here for at least a couple of minutes watching her.
“So, what can I do for you?”
Her lips curled into a broad smile that further disarmed him.
“I, um, I, uh,” he stammered. “Well, I guess you could say that, uh, I’m not having the best of days.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I know this is going to seem like an out-the-ordinary request. I’ve been avoiding the company of others since I arrived.” He licked his lips. “But I was hoping you could provide me with a… hmmm, let’s call it a diversion.” He offered her a lopsided grin and added, “You know, some female companionship.”
Time seemed to crawl forward as her expression slowly metamorphosed—her smile slipped, then disappeared altogether, her brows drew together, then a full-fledged frown bit deeply between her eyes. Her gaze went shadowy and he could tell she was doing some fast and furious thinking.
“Well, I guess I could try,” she finally murmured.
It was almost as if she were speaking to herself.
“But I have to admit,” she said, her tone stronger, “in all the years I’ve run this place, I’ve been asked to provide some odd things, but no one has ever asked for a lady of the evening.”
The phrase she used made Daniel’s head jerk a fraction and
he blinked. In an instant, it was as though his brain short-circuited. Words wouldn’t come. Oh, plenty of them bounced around in his mind like a dozen ping pong balls, but he couldn’t quite get his tongue or lips to move so he could actually utter them.
“To tell you the truth,” she continued, “I wouldn’t even know where to find one. You only want one, right? I mean, is there some sort of service I call, or a certain part of town I should visit?”
“No.” The tiny word came out sounding as if he’d just finished running a marathon. He feared she might be thinking he was actually answering her questions and his anxiety shot through the roof. He shook his head from side to side. “No, no, no.”
His overly-animated reaction clearly confused her and she went still.
“No lady of the evening.” He shook his head again, knowing his voice was way too loud, but there was nothing to be done about that. Then he took a deep breath. The quicker he got this rush of panic under control, the quicker he could make her understand. “That’s not what I meant.”
Relief softened her entire demeanor. Her shoulders lowered a full inch, and her facial muscles relaxed. She repositioned the cloth that sat on the silver plate, and when she next looked at him, she pressed her lips together, her cheeks flushing pink.
“Clearly I misunderstood,” she whispered. “I apologize.”
She looked away, and he thought she was embarrassed. But then her eyes went all shiny and she flattened her mouth again in an attempt to hold back her humor.
Laughter rolled out of him like a mighty explosion. It came from deep in his chest, way down in his belly, the sound big and round, and he lifted his face to the ceiling and let it out. He laughed for a good, long time, until his eyes watered and his cheeks ached, and Heather joined him.
“Oh, wow,” he said when he was finally able to catch his breath, “that felt so good.”
“I really am sorry, Daniel.”
He waved off her words. “No apologies necessary. I needed that. Badly.” He inhaled and exhaled deeply, feeling better with the release of tension. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been overwhelmed with genuine laughter.
