Barefoot on a Starlit Night

by Jo McNally

A terrible car wreck a few years after graduation had left him with a permanent limp and an even bigger chip on his shoulder. His best friend had been driving that night, and had died in the fiery one-car crash. It had been whispered back then that Zayne had been driving, but the police had witnesses who confirmed the other guy was behind the wheel. Still, the whispers persisted, driving Zayne to withdraw even further from society. For a while, he’d lived in his parents’ old trailer up on the hill. His father had died in prison, and his mother died not long after that, probably worn out from trying to keep her fragile family together. But last year he’d purchased a run-down old house out on Manford Road.

  “So tell me, how do you take orders when you can’t get to a house that might be in Omaha?”

  Zayne lifted a shoulder. “It’s up to the clients to get me good measurements. I sketch it out. They sign off on it. I build it to match their specs.” He sipped his ginger ale. “Most of my clients are builders or general contractors, and they usually know what they’re doing. Either way, I get paid. And I’m getting more than enough to stay busy these days.”

  “Listen to you.” Bridget leaned on the bar with a grin. “Talking about clients and specs and making a steady income. Your life has taken quite the turn, hasn’t it?”

  Four or five years ago, Zayne had picked up a job helping Bill Garfield refinish the old trim work inside one of the Painted Ladies of Rendezvous Falls—the Walleston Mansion on the shores of Seneca Lake. Bill had to be almost eighty, but he was a master craftsman in high demand with all of the old homes in town. He’d become an expert on Victorian houses. And he’d given Zayne Rutledge, with one of the worst reputations in town, a chance. Zayne was supposed to just follow Bill around and clean up after him and hand him tools.

  But something shocking happened. Zayne found something in the outside world that he actually liked. Not only that, but he was good at it. He had the patience to refinish and repair delicate gingerbread fretwork in the old houses and make it look brand-new again. Bill gave him more and more responsibility, and by the time Bill was ready to retire, Zayne was ready to step up and take his place. He bought Bill’s shop, and rumor had it he’d been quietly buying more business properties around town. Old Man Garfield still helped now and then. And now he had a website. It was an absolute wonder.

  “Has life changed since high school? Uh...definitely. That’s the whole point to life, isn’t it? Growing up. Working. Giving back.” He raised one brow at her look of surprise. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m the guy who threatened to clock your dad if he didn’t let me run a bigger tab at this place, as if I didn’t already owe him a hundred bucks for booze.” He shook his head. “I was an idiot back then. I’m probably still an idiot, but I’m an idiot with a website as of this morning.” He finished his soda and slid the glass over to her. “And what about you? You’ve changed, too. You’re running the place you couldn’t wait to get away from in high school. And you’re...” He gestured toward her. “Smiling. Didn’t see a lot of that back in the day. My brother says some Irish guy is keeping you warm at night.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Yeah, that’s what’s making the difference. Some Irish guy.” She meant to be sarcastic, but the truth was, that Irish guy really had made a difference in her world. Things were brighter. Lighter. Easier. Sexier. She was starting a future with Finn. She was becoming convinced it was a real one, not the fake story that had brought them together.

  Zayne chuckled. “Whoa. All I have to do is mention him and you’re all dreamy-eyed and distracted. Is this guy the one?”

  Yes. But she wasn’t going to admit that to Zayne Rutledge before she said it to Finn. She laughed off the question.

  “Puh-leez. It’s not like I was some dime-store-novel heroine looking to be swept off my feet.” She wiped down the bar, then lifted the hinged section and stepped out to face Zayne. “But I am having fun.”

  “Good for you, Bridg. You deserve a little fun.” He plunked a few bills on the bar to cover his lunch and drink. “I gotta go. Iris Taggart wants me to refinish that ebony staircase at the inn, and we have to figure out how much she’s gonna pay me. That woman is tighter than bark on a tree when it comes to money.”

  “Yes, but she’ll also send you home with a bag of Piper’s blueberry biscuits and refer you to ten other people in town.” She knew it was the last thing a guy like Zayne Rutledge wanted, but she couldn’t help herself—she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. After a moment of surprise, his arms folded around her, too. “I’m so proud of you, Zayne. Maybe you and I are just late bloomers. It’s taken us a while to find our paths, but we figured it out.”

  He gave her a quick squeeze and stepped back with a grin. And was that a hint of red on his cheeks? “Thanks, Bridget. We’re both growing up, I guess.” He put his hand on her cheek for just a second. It was surprisingly intimate, in a friendly way. “That Irish dude is pretty lucky.”

  She finished cleaning off all the tables and headed back to the kitchen to get ready for the dinner crowd. That’s when she saw Finn sitting on the other side of the bar. He’d apparently helped himself to a drink, because there was an empty whisky glass in front of him. She grinned, surprised and pleased to find him there. But the smile was not returned, and there were shadows in his eyes.

  “Finn? What’s wrong?”

  His mouth twisted into a facial version of a shrug. “Not a thing, Bridget. Not a damn thing. Just admiring how history likes to repeat itself.”

  “What?” Had she missed something? “Did I do something, or is this about school, or...?”

  “Did you do something? Nothing unexpected, I guess. Got any more of this stuff?” He held up his glass.

  Bridget put her hand on her hip and gave him her most no-nonsense look.

  “I may not have mentioned this before, but I am not a fan of passive-aggressive behavior. Stop talking in circles.”

  “Who, me?” He feigned shock, earning a darker glare. “I’m just that ‘Irish dude’ you’re ‘having fun with.’”

  It took her a second to catch up. He’d been there for her conversation with Zayne. Or at least part of it. “Wait...is this about Zayne? Oh, please. We’ve been friends since high school. Instead of eavesdropping and making assumptions, you should have come over and introduced yourself.”

  Was he being serious? Was he jealous? Offended?

  “Actually, I’d planned to do exactly that, but it seemed awkward with you in his arms.”

  Okay. Jealous. And clearly ticked off.

  “Finn, we’re friends, and he’d just told me some great news. Zayne hasn’t had an easy life, and he’s finally turning it around. I hugged him because I was happy for him.” She paused for effect. “For my good friend.”

  The lines of tension around his eyes eased, but he was still unhappy. As if he wanted to believe her, but didn’t. Now she was the one getting ticked off.

  “Just to be clear, there is absolutely nothing wrong with me hugging a friend, male or female. I’m getting this vibe that you’re expecting an apology, and that ain’t happening. I mean, I’m sorry if you got offended, but now that I’ve explained what happened, you should be over it.”

  He raised his right brow high. Usually she thought it was hot, but right now it felt like she was about to get a lecture.

  “First, you’re supposed to be my fiancé, so PDAs should only be with me. Second, we’re sleeping together. You may call it ‘just fun’ with your friend, but it damn well means something to me.” He seemed to deflate in front of her all of a sudden, as if that was more of a confession than he’d intended. The fact that they were sleeping together meant something to her, too. The fact that she was falling in love with him meant even more. He jammed his fingers through his hair. “I’m so bad at this. I don’t know how to read people anymore...”

  She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to himself. They’d discussed his broken marr
iage several times, but maybe it had done even more damage than she’d suspected. Deeper damage. She reached out and put her hand on his forearm, which was tight and hard.

  “I get it, Finn. Someone broke your trust, and now you’re second-guessing yourself. But you know me. I gave you my word we were going to be monogamous through all of this.” She stepped behind the bar and refilled his glass. “In fact, I’m the one who demanded it. So I’m not going to be the one to go flirt with someone else. Or worse. And I think you know that if you’ll really think about it logically.”

  His laughter was dry and humorless. “That’s the problem, Bridget. I can’t think logically around you. And speaking of my lovely ex, did I tell you she was here this week?” Bridget stepped back. What did that mean? Was he still in contact with Dori? He was staring at the floor now, his face hard. “She showed up at my office yesterday to ‘check on me’ and update me on her happy new life with my former best friend.” The words were spoken in a light tone, but there was a dangerous edge to them. This was a new, darker Finn than she’d seen before. His jaw was rigid, his fingers tight on the glass as he drained it.

  He’d been quiet last night when she’d crawled between the sheets after midnight, but she’d figured he was tired. Or thinking about his paper. Or the alumni cocktail party coming up that weekend. The one he’d invited her to, explaining how critical it was that she be there as his partner while they schmoozed with potential donors to complete the history building. It was hard to keep track of what was real or fake anymore. Did he need her there at his side as his lover and friend, or as his fake fiancée to save his job?

  But he had woken up last night, and they’d talked briefly about their days before he pushed her back on the pillows and made fast, hard love with her. They’d both fallen asleep after, but still... There’d been plenty of opportunity then, or this morning over coffee, for him to tell her something as important as the arrival of his ex-freaking-wife.

  He let out a long, heavy sigh. “We only have a few weeks left o’ this fake engagement, and then y’ can go off to hug whoever you want without worrying about me.”

  Bridget wasn’t sure what offended her the most—his casual reference to their relationship ending as if it meant nothing, or his inference that he’d ever hold control over who she was friends with if it were real. The first was too complicated to digest in a matter of seconds, so she went with the second.

  “Just to be perfectly clear, even in a fake engagement—or a real one, for that matter—I will never be worrying about what my partner thinks of my friends and how I act around them. You’re being a royal Irish ass right now, and I don’t like it.”

  His eyes went wide in surprise, then narrowed again. “I just walked in to find my partner laughing about me being a bit o’ fun on the side, and hugging another man. I’ve a right to be pissed, Bridget.”

  “And I explained that you saw two old friends celebrating good news. It’s up to you to decide to believe me or not. I won’t defend something that wasn’t wrong in the first place.” She stepped back, her chest tightening.

  This moment suddenly felt...big. If Finn couldn’t trust her, she wasn’t sure how they’d move forward. If he was going to punish her for the misdeeds of his ex, how would she ever be on solid ground with him? As much as she loved him, how could he ever love her if he never saw her? She’d been in one relationship where she hadn’t been valued enough. Had she just stepped into another?

  Finn went still. She had a feeling he’d just realized the importance of this conversation, too. It was more than a disagreement. It was potentially a fundamental roadblock to their future. His hand slid to the back of his neck and he rubbed it, staring off into space in silence.

  “Finn, why didn’t you tell me about your ex-wife’s visit? It seems like kind of a big deal, and it’s obviously rattled you.” She had a feeling that visit had everything to do with this argument. “We could have talked about it instead of letting it fester and bubble up as a silly fit of jealousy.”

  The lines around his thinning mouth deepened, and his jaw worked back and forth as if he was battling himself. Maybe she shouldn’t have called it—or him—silly right now. But she also wasn’t going to let any man, even the one she loved, make her feel guilty just because a troublesome piece of his past had shown up.

  * * *

  FINN TRIED TO hold on to his temper. He counted to ten, then twenty, then thirty in his head. He pulled in air through his nose and blew it out through his mouth, although his lips were barely parted. The emotions swirling around inside of him were mixed up in each other, and he knew Bridget didn’t deserve all of them. But...silly fit of jealousy?

  He was a grown damn man who’d been cuckolded by his wife and his best friend. He was right to be cautious. Suspicious, even. One burned, twice shy and all that. It was smart. Considering the way he’d been wrecked in the past, a defense mechanism wasn’t a bad thing. He refused to think otherwise, regardless of the way his conscience was trying to remind him he was falling in love with Bridget. He wasn’t proud of the way he was suspicious of his own feelings for her, but who could blame him?

  “I think we’d best end this conversation, Bridget, before one of us says something they can’t take back. Like calling the other silly.”

  The flash of guilt on her face told him she knew she’d gone too far.

  “This is obviously not silly to you, Finn, and I’m sorry. But...”

  “We’re just goin’ in circles here, Bridg. You don’t get it, and I’m not in the mood to explain it to you. Let’s just...step back, okay? Give each other some space. You weren’t wrong when you told your friend we were having fun. We were.” She flinched inwardly at his use of the past tense. “We agreed we had an end date, and it’s right around the corner. Maybe it’s time to...”

  He couldn’t even remember what he’d started to say. He was getting lost in the hurt in her eyes as she moved from behind the bar to come around and face him. He pressed forward. “We need to slow this down. I don’t know if I’m ready to be in...” He caught himself before he used the L-word. “I’m clearly not ready for...more. I don’t want to use you. And I won’t let myself be used.”

  She bristled. “Excuse me?”

  He held up both hands and took a few steps back. If he hadn’t, he’d have pulled her into his arms and kissed away her anger and damaged pride. But it wouldn’t help either of them to try to kiss this away.

  “I’m not saying you and I are...over. But...we need to take a break. I need time to think this through. I can’t afford another mistake.”

  He knew it was the wrong word as soon as he said it. It hung in the air between them, sizzling and dangerous. She pulled her shoulders back and her eyes narrowed to slits.

  “So I’m a mistake now? I’m using you? I see...” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “I’m the mistake you crawled into bed with and had wild sex with last night. I realize now it was angry sex that had nothing to do with me. But yeah, I’m the mistake. I’m the user in this relationship. Sure.”

  It hadn’t been angry sex. It had been urgent, yes, but only because she’d set him on fire with just a touch when she crawled into bed. He’d had a shit day and she’d made it better just by being there. He opened his mouth to tell her that, but it was too late.

  “You know what? Screw you, Finn O’Hearn.” She waved her hand in disgust and turned away. “Or should I say I won’t be screwing you? Take your so-called break and figure your shit out. Let me know when you’re ready to be a grownup.” She stalked away, every step angrier than the one before it.

  He had a sinking feeling the only mistake here today was his.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  BRIDGET SAT ON the edge of the bed, staring at the cocktail dress hanging on her closet door. She and Nana had found it in a Geneva secondhand boutique last week, and Nana insisted she had to buy it for Greer’s big alumni event as a surpri
se for Finn. Well, he’d be surprised, alright. If she could ever summon up the courage to go.

  The dark green satin dress had an empire waist and was cut to hug her body. The bodice was beaded, but not in a sparkly, New-Year’s-Eve way. The light lines of green beading swirled across the satin, in almost the same color, with just the tiniest number of gold beads as accent. Understated enough for a bunch of college professors and foundation donors, but cut just low enough—and in the right color, of course—to catch Finn’s eye. But that was back when she thought Finn loved her.

  The cocktail party was tonight. They’d barely spoken a word since their argument Wednesday. A muttered greeting in the hall downstairs, without making eye contact. An “excuse me” when she’d gone to the basement to do laundry and caught Finn there.

  The morning after their argument, he’d quietly told her that he didn’t expect her to carry on their charade publicly any longer. He said he’d make up an excuse for Greer as to why she wouldn’t be at the party. Or perhaps just tell the man the truth. Finn could lose the job he’d worked so hard for. Which meant he’d leave Rendezvous Falls. And Bridget wasn’t ready for that to happen. Sure, it would be easier not to see him all the time if they couldn’t patch things up, but it would also be permanent.

  A quiet knock on her front door made Bridget jump. Was it Finn? She did her best to smooth her hair back and straighten her wrinkled T-shirt, wishing she’d taken time to slap some lipstick on or something. She opened the door as casually as possible, hoping she looked cool and composed.

  “Nana? What are you doing here?”

  “Well, that’s a fine greeting. Good morning to you, too.” Nana gave her a sweeping glance, and Bridget knew the woman hadn’t missed a rumpled detail. “Are you going to invite me in?”

  “Of course. Sorry.” She stepped aside. Nana walked in, taking in the unusually disheveled look of the place. Nana had a lighter spring to her step these days. She was still thin and pale, but she’d just had her last chemo session and the doctor was hopeful that she wouldn’t need a full mastectomy. Her grandmother was a lot more hopeful now. They all were...at least when it came to Nana’s health. Bridget was feeling a lot less hope for herself.