by Lavinia Kent
“Guilty as charged.”
She picked up the remote and flicked to Netflix. “Why don’t you pick a couple of possibilities and I’ll get the pizza.” She laughed quietly. “I almost forgot about the pizza and offered to make popcorn. You must be quite the distracting man, Mr. Walsh. I never forget about Gino’s pizza.” She slipped off the couch and headed into the kitchen.
* * *
—
Well, that had gone better than she’d expected, Veronica thought as she settled her hips against the kitchen counter and took a deep breath, giving herself a moment to think. This truly wasn’t the evening she had planned, but she had to admit she wasn’t having a bad time, not at all.
Stepping forward, she opened the oven and pulled the pizza boxes out, enjoying the heavenly scent. She grabbed plates and paper towels. “Do you want another beer?”
“If you want to bring one now, I wouldn’t complain. I’m not quite done, but that way we won’t have to get it later. Can I help carry things?”
“No, I’ve got it, but thanks for offering.”
She grabbed what they needed and, piling everything on top of the pizza boxes, carefully headed back. Brian rose as she entered and helped her place everything on the coffee table.
“God, that smells good,” he sighed, as she opened the first box.
“I was just thinking it was a piece of heaven, but that might have to do with how hungry I am.” She put a couple of slices on each plate.
A brief look at the long couch. And then, knowing that it was exactly what she wanted, she settled beside him, leaning into his strong shoulder and inhaling his scent. “Now, what should we watch?”
Chapter 13
She was asleep. It had taken him awhile to realize, as a few moments earlier she’d been giggling at some particularly ridiculous scene of the movie. It had been delightful having her soft body curving against him, feeling it shake with each gentle laugh. Still, he’d become involved in the movie near the end and hadn’t realized that she’d dozed off.
He sat for a few minutes as the movie wound through the credits, wondering what to do but enjoying every minute of having her pressed against him. There was a scrape of claws on the floor as Baxter came up and rested his nose on the sofa, staring straight up at Brian. He wasn’t demanding, but his need was clear.
Brian turned off the TV and looked down at the dog.
Perhaps that was the answer. He’d get up and take Baxter out and when he returned Veronica would hear them enter and wake. Then they could decide exactly how this evening should proceed.
Easing himself away from Veronica, he stood and went to get Baxter’s leash.
Fifteen minutes later, they were back. Baxter’s nails clattered into the living room. Veronica didn’t stir even when the great hound heaved himself onto the couch, filling every inch of remaining room. The pizza box still sat on coffee table, along with the empty beer bottles. Brian gathered it all together and took it to the kitchen, throwing away the trash and loading the dishwasher.
He glanced back at Veronica slumbering in the living room, and then filled the coffeepot and set the timer. There didn’t seem to be much else to do, so he scribbled a quick note, took a throw off the back of a chair and spread it over Veronica, then turned down all the lights. He let himself out, locking the door behind him.
A low, steady whistle left his lips as he walked home. It had been an incredibly pleasant night. Next time he just hoped they were curled in her bed when she crashed. He’d have to see if she had a TV in her bedroom or suggest that they watch on a laptop.
* * *
—
She must have fallen asleep—or rather, they must have fallen asleep. There was no mistaking the heavy weight against her back. Light was beginning to peek in the windows. She closed her eyes again, stretched, trying not to disturb the man at her back. Then she opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder.
Baxter.
She should have realized it right away. It was the second time it had happened. She’d spent enough years sleeping with Baxter to know the feel of his nose between her shoulder blades, even if he was much more apt to spread out on the floor than try to wedge himself on the couch behind her. He must have been jealous of Brian.
So where was Brian?
She stretched again, sitting up, ignoring the hound’s grumble. The pizza and beer were gone. That was good. She liked a man who understood that some duties were shared.
Unfortunately, Brian was clearly also gone.
That should have been a good thing, but it would have been nice to have some slow morning sex. That was what she missed, of course. Sex, not the man.
There was a slight beep from the direction of the kitchen and the drip of water. He’d set the coffeemaker again. He just might be too good to be believed. She’d have to ask Mrs. Clouster who had trained him. Whomever it was deserved a medal—unless it was some past girlfriend. That would be a whole different story.
And she was not going to think about it. Not when it was Sunday morning and there was coffee dripping.
She stood. Another stretch. It was good that she’d been wearing comfy clothes. It was a bummer to wake with her bra wire piercing her armpit. With only a slight stumble, she headed to the kitchen and the coffee.
Ahh, that was good. So good.
Baxter’s claws sounded behind her; she turned. “He must have taken you out late or you’d be complaining now. Let me get you your breakfast and then I’ll take you. Maybe I’ll even go for a run myself. It’s been way too long since I did that. Should I try to take you or will you stop? Oh, you’ll stop, won’t you. I’m glad you don’t deny it. Now, the next question is whether I put on something cute, in which case there’s not a chance that I’ll run into Brian, or do I go with old sweats, in which case I’ll run into him instantly? Of course, if I look awful, I’ll also run into Charlotte and everybody else I don’t want to see. So cute it is.”
She ladled out Baxter’s food and sipped her coffee while she waited for him to eat.
* * *
—
Brian slowed his run, checking the phone in his armband again. No call. No text. Maybe she was sleeping. It was still early. Yes, his note had asked her to let him know if she wanted to have breakfast, but she definitely could be asleep. Or maybe she didn’t want breakfast. He didn’t know if she ate it at all. He knew she loved her coffee, but lots and lots of people didn’t eat breakfast.
And it was still early…
He snorted. If she wanted to get together this morning she’d call or text, and if she didn’t, then it didn’t mean anything. She’d been very clear that they weren’t dating, weren’t seeing each other, and he had decided to try and be agreeable with that.
There was no requirement that you call your hookup the next morning.
Of course, it would be nice if she did…
* * *
—
She was going to die. Veronica contemplated the steps up to her condo. There was no way she was making it. Every piece of her ached—still, she’d finished her five miles. It might not have been smart, but she’d never been a quitter.
And if she didn’t make it up, she’d never be able to sit down to all the work she’d planned to do this afternoon to make up for taking the rest of the weekend off. Her draft of the brief might not be due until Tuesday, but…Maybe she should just stay here at the bottom of the steps.
No, she’d had her fun and would put in the hours. She began to move again.
Halfway up, she collapsed and sat. Maybe she should have started a little slower. It had only been a few weeks since she’d last been running—these past weeks had been so busy—but it might as well have been a few years. Evidently racing for the train in heels didn’t count as exercise, and now that she had Brian walking Baxter, she wasn’t even getting that little bit.
&n
bsp; With a great sigh she heaved herself up a few more steps.
And she’d thought she was in decent shape. She always had been. Hell, she’d been a cheerleader in high school, something she rarely admitted to now. It was time to do something. She couldn’t keep working these hours and not taking care of herself, not if this was the result.
Although, she had made it the five miles before dying. She could take pride in that.
Maybe she should hire Brian to walk her? That might be a type of training she would enjoy. And didn’t that lead to some wonderful thoughts. She bet he’d be really good at it. You didn’t get muscles like his unless you knew what you were doing. Had he ever thought about becoming a trainer? She should ask. But maybe that would seem like she was prying where she had no business—although he’d been willing to talk last night and she’d been the one to stop him. She felt a twinge of guilt that matched the twinge in her calves.
Another butt lift and another couple of steps. If she turned, she could probably crawl the rest of the way.
Yes, that was working. When she reached the door, she pulled herself up and almost fell into the house. Reaching the couch, she collapsed again. Glad that the throw was still there. It was much easier to wash sweat out of than the couch itself.
She was never going to move again. Never.
Baxter walked into the room and lay down on the floor beside her. His face very clearly said, I told you so.
She stuck out her tongue at him and then reached over to rub his ears. It wasn’t his fault she was an idiot. As her hand trailed across the floor to her side, she came upon a piece of crumpled and chewed paper.
“Ah, Baxter,” she murmured. “In the trash again?”
Baxter gave no reply.
She lifted the scrap, expecting to see a well-chewed receipt. Instead, she saw a distinctive male hand. The only words visible were breakfast and Baxter.
Pushing up on one elbow she glared at the dog. “Are you actually jealous? I thought you liked Brian.”
Again, no reply. Not that she expected one. She might enjoy talking to her pooch, but she’d never had any delusions about his understanding.
Had Brian been telling her he’d given Baxter breakfast? It had been too early for that. That he was going to bring her back breakfast? That would have been nice, but given that he’d never shown, unlikely. So maybe he was saying he had to leave because he had plans for breakfast? That was certainly possible. She had no idea when he’d left, and it could very well have been early morning.
Well, it didn’t matter. He’d text her if it was something important.
She did give Baxter one more glare, before deciding that no matter the cost, she had to make it up to her bathroom. A quick hot shower and then she’d sit down and pretend to be interested in real estate. Maybe she could call Brian and ask a question about the math.
* * *
—
Well, she hadn’t called. Brian allowed himself a minute of disappointment and then pushed it aside. He wasn’t the type to mope, and it wasn’t like they had that kind of relationship anyway. It would have been fun to spend the morning together, but he certainly had other ways to entertain himself. He glanced at his tidy pile of books and laughed. Okay, he wasn’t quite sure he’d call it entertainment, but he’d definitely feel better when it was accomplished. And that made him laugh again. Even if he got into med school it would probably be a year before he started. What kind of guy crammed a year ahead of time? A guy who did everything necessary to succeed, that’s who.
“I heard you come home early last night,” Aunt Mols said, entering the kitchen from outside, her cheeks pink from the fresh air.
Early? It might not have been late when Veronica fell asleep, but he’d hardly have called it early. He turned with a smile. “I’m surprised you were home yourself. I’m not the only one keeping some late nights. It’s quite the change.”
Aunt Mols batted her eyelashes. “You’re not supposed to notice.”
“Not notice that mountain of a man of yours trying to sneak down the stairs in the wee hours of the night? You might mention that the third step creaks no matter how you step on it.”
“And how would you know that?” She tried to sound rough.
“Well, because I don’t want to wake you when I get up early to run, of course.”
“And I never thought I’d hear you refer to a mountain of a man. Luke is a good two inches shorter than you.”
That was true, but he was also probably fifty pounds heavier. “You’re right. I must have heard somebody say it recently. I don’t think it’s part of my regular vocabulary.” He glanced at the clock. “Can I make you a sandwich or something?”
Mols’s eyes followed his to the clock. “I suppose it’s about that time. I was out at the farmers’ market and ate enough samples that I’m good for a few more hours. I’d appreciate it if you brought my baskets in from the car, however. It never seems like that much until I get home. I may have to do some canning.”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t complain about that. Although, I suppose it’s too late for there to be raspberries. I still dream of that summer when you made enough jam to fill a cabinet.”
“Or the stomach of one teenage boy. I do have some jam left from last year. The crop wasn’t that plentiful this year. I ate them as fast as I bought them—and you did, too, even if you didn’t really notice.”
It must have been right after he’d arrived, when his whole mind was still filled with trying to figure out what life would be like without hockey. It was amazing what a difference a few months could make. “Let me have your keys and I’ll bring in the produce.”
Aunt Mols held out the keys. “Be careful with the eggs.”
“Aren’t I always?” he answered, as he went outside and began to carry in the well-loaded baskets.
When he returned, he found her gazing through his textbooks.
“You’re seriously going to do this thing, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I think so. I know it’s kind of crazy, at my age, but I’ve got time and enough money, so why not do what I want?”
“You know, I’m not sure which was crazier, your giving up school to begin with, or going back now.”
“I just decided that the crazy part is, I am studying for classes I don’t even have yet. And besides, I never gave it up. I received my degree.”
“I know, but you get what I mean—and it wasn’t in college that you gave up. It was sometime in high school, when you started to understand that you could make it pro.”
Had he really? “Why do you think so? I worked to keep my grades up so I could be sure I’d be admitted to a good school.”
Aunt Mols took a seat at the table and gestured to the one across from her. “I know, but it was clear when hockey quit being a hobby and became your path. You’re right that you kept on studying—like you did in college—but it wasn’t the same. There was a point when you’d skip a practice if you needed to study for an important test.”
“I don’t even remember that—and besides, it wasn’t about me. It was about the team. I couldn’t let the guys down.”
Her eyes smiled. “I know—and I understand, but it was a change. Before that, it was all about science. You always give your complete focus to whatever you’re doing.”
“If you say so.” He knew he sounded doubtful. He could remember loving science and thinking it was fun, not understanding why other kids groaned, but putting it first? That didn’t sound like him. For as long as he could remember, it had been about hockey and his team. He knew that was part of what had him unsettled now. Even though he’d felt a little on his own as the goalie, everything he’d done for years had been about moving the team forward.
“I do say so,” Mols said firmly. “And there’s something else I need to say. What are you planning with the Anderson girl? I kno
w you tend to play fast and loose with women, and from what I’ve heard, or not heard, she’s hardly had any boyfriends. You need to be careful.”
Well, he wasn’t so sure about that, but Veronica had clearly succeeded in keeping her reputation intact in Forbidden Cove—just like she’d wanted. And where had that subject change come from? Why was Aunt Mols asking about Veronica? “How do you know about…? We haven’t even begun to really date. Hell, I don’t know if last night actually counts.”
“Mrs. Nelson lives across the street from Veronica and she’s remarked on the hours you come and go. She even called me this morning to see if I knew if you’d had a fight, because you left so early and Veronica was out running this morning—although what that had to do with a fight…And I admit that I’d had my own suspicions. At first I thought you were simply being diligent with Baxter and that Mrs. Nelson was fussing about nothing, but I know what it means when you start to whistle.”
This was not something he needed. He should have put it together when Veronica mentioned her neighbors across the street. He’d met Mrs. Nelson several times and knew right where she lived. “No, we didn’t have a fight. Veronica was tired. And are you actually interfering in my love life now?”
“Love life or sex life? I simply want to be sure the two of you are on the same page.”
He’d forgotten how those quiet eyes could pin him like a bug. “We’ve talked. It’s all just fun.”
“And she knows that?”
“Yes. In fact, Veronica was the first one to make it clear how little she wanted from me.” His bitter edge surprised him. He’d thought he was over it, maybe he was upset that Veronica hadn’t called him about breakfast—that she’d apparently chosen to go running instead.
Mols’s lips twisted to the side. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine any woman not wanting all from you that she could get.”
“You’re biased.”
“Or perhaps she’s heard about your playboy ways. I’m sure you had quite the reputation.”
