Glazed (12 page)

She retreated to the kitchen, where she poured two glasses of the shining ruby liquid.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a proffered glass from her hand when she returned. He took a deep sip and she situated herself on the far end of the couch, raising her own drink to her lips.

The wine was surprisingly good – Peter must really want to impress her. But why? She shot him a suspicious glance over the rim of her glass. Was life going well for him in Baltimore? If so, he probably wanted to rub it in her face, to show her he was perfectly capable of being happy without her. She had to resist rolling her eyes at the thought. He’d never been able to resist gloating at any opportunity. Not that she begrudged him his success – she just wasn’t in the mood for any of his cockiness after such a difficult day.

“So, how have you been lately?” he asked, lowering his now half-empty glass.

“Alright,” she replied, shoving away thoughts of Derek and her disappointment over the building. No way was she going to share either of those losses with Peter. He’d only make her feel worse, if that was even possible. “I’m still working at the steakhouse and planning on opening my café.”

“You’re still into that?” he asked, shooting her a wide-eyed glance.

She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling a familiar spark of annoyance. “Yes.” She lifted her glass to her lips as she braced herself for the coming deluge of scorn and doubt. A part of her wanted to hear it, wanted to tell Peter that she didn’t give a crap what he thought. She’d spent the entire day doubting herself and didn’t need to hear him echo her own fears.

He threw his free hand up in a defensive gesture. “Hey, no offense. I just figured you’d have lost enthusiasm by now.”

She realized she was squeezing her wine glass and hastily loosened her grip, afraid the slender handle would snap. “Nope. Still focused on my lifelong dream.”

He shrugged and took another sip of wine. “Well if you’re still going after all this time, I guess you’re bound to open the place after all.”

She tilted her glass up, taking in a mouthful of pleasantly bitter-sweet liquid as she contemplated what amounted to a rare and unexpected compliment, coming from him. “Thanks.”

“How about another glass?” he asked, raising his into the air, revealing it to be empty.

She looked down at her own. Had she really drained most of the wine already? “All right.”

Her head buzzed faintly as she drifted back to the kitchen, and she realized that the only thing she’d eaten all day had been a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which she’d made out of habit sometime around noon. It was nearly six o’clock now, and the wine had zoomed straight through her empty stomach and into her bloodstream. She couldn’t bring herself to regret her carelessness – the feeling of vaguely giddy light-headedness seemed preferable to the misery that’d been weighing her down all day.

She emptied the rest of the wine bottle, dividing its remaining contents among the two glasses, and returned to the living room.

“Do you like it?” Peter asked, watching her raise her glass to her lips.

Light-headed as she was, it took her a moment to realize what he meant. “Oh. The wine. Yeah, it’s really good.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied. “I thought you would. You always did like sweet red wines.”

“Where did you get it?” she asked. She hadn’t recognized the label.

“At a wine festival in – oh, shit!” He glared down at his right arm, where a large burgundy stain was spreading, courtesy of the wine that’d sloshed over the side of his glass and onto his sleeve.

“Shit,” Kelly echoed, mostly because a large red spot had also appeared on her beige couch cushion.

“Sorry,” he said, standing abruptly and glaring down at every near piece of clothing and furniture. “I’ll reimburse you for the couch before I leave, I promise.”

She stared down at the cushion and started to say that she might be able to get the stain out, but thought better of it. The dark crimson liquid had already soaked into the fabric and she doubted that even the most diligent scrubbing would remove it. His clothing, on the other hand, might be salvageable. “Give me your shirt. The wine should come out if a stain-remover is applied right away.”

He hurried to unbutton his shirt, stripping down to the white cotton tank he wore beneath, and handed it over to her when he was done. She took it back to the bathroom, where a folding door opened into a laundry nook. After applying her strongest stain remover and allowing it to set for several minutes, she tossed the garment into the washing machine. When she turned around she was surprised to find herself face-to-face with Peter, who was now bare-chested.

“A little wine got on my undershirt too. Do you mind?” He extended a hand, the garment in question hanging from his fist.

She took it, found a small red stain near the hem, and treated it before tossing it into the wash with the button-up. Peeking at the frothy, churning water made her head spin. When she turned back around, Peter was still there.

She stared at the diamond-shaped patch of golden fuzz on his chest for a moment, feeling intensely awkward and all too aware of his eyes on her. “Shall we go finish our wine?” she asked as an alternative to telling him to get the hell out of her way.

He nodded his agreement, and they returned to the living room. He picked up his wine glass and settled into one corner of the couch, sprawling luxuriously against the cushions.

She took a seat at the other end. “So, how’s work going?” she asked, searching for a safe topic to break the silence he was filling with loaded looks in her direction.

“Very well, actually. I’ve been promoted.”

“Oh?” She drained the last of her wine. “That’s great.”

“Yeah. I’m going to be manager of a whole new office the company is opening.”

“Really?”

“It’s going to be right here in Blue Mills.”

Her eyes widened. Peter, back in town? She hadn’t expected that. Before, when he’d shared her apartment in Blue Mills, he’d commuted about thirty miles to his employer’s nearest office. But after they’d broken up he’d left for Baltimore – mostly, she suspected, to get away from her. Such a big promotion would probably be enough to draw anybody back, break up or no.

“They’re planning on opening the new office this winter,” he continued. “So, I’ll be moving back into town soon. That’s actually why I stopped by here, to tell you.”

What was she supposed to say to that? Should she thank him for the warning? Finding out in the privacy of her own home was probably preferable to the shock of running into him in public a month or two from now, though the way he was looking at her was beginning to make her regret letting him in. If he thought she’d be up for a one night stand, he had another thing coming.

“I was wondering,” he continued, “whether you might want to get together once I move back. You know, start seeing each other again.”

Her mouth went suddenly dry, despite the fact that she could still taste wine on her tongue. Her head swam dangerously. “Peter, I-”

He leaned across the couch suddenly – or at least, it seemed sudden. Maybe her perception had been slowed by the wine, but before she knew it, Peter’s lips were locked with hers. She felt his tongue push its way into her mouth, and tasted the wine on him as his breath rushed out hot and bitter-sweet to mingle with hers.

She pulled away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Reminding you how much you still want me.”

A swift knock came at the door, saving Kelly from the necessity of immediately coming up with a reply. She hurried to stand, eager to escape the couch and Peter’s advances. No wonder he’d toned down his usual harshness – he was trying to get in her pants. How the hell could he possibly think he had a chance after their break-up? When she’d finally worked up the will to cut him and his negativity out of her life, he’d responded as she’d known he would – with more negativity. Anger and disparagement. His harsh words of departure still rung in her ears. What had she been thinking, letting him into her apartment? As soon as she dealt with whoever was knocking, she’d tell Peter to get out, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Derek!” He stood on the doorstep with a bouquet in one hand. For a brief moment, his eyes met hers, warm and intense. Then his gaze passed her, settling instead on the couch.

Her stomach roiling with dread, she followed his stare to where Peter was reclining on the sofa, half-naked and staring intently at Derek, his blue eyes narrowed in apparent annoyance at having been interrupted.

The flowers fell from Derek’s hand, landing on the cement step in a flurry of abruptly-shed petals. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Kelly dared to meet his eyes, and the look she saw there made her stomach twist and filled her with the urge to reach out and comfort him, to explain. He left before she had the chance. As she watched from the doorway, he climbed into his truck, slammed the door shut and tore out of the parking lot.

She knelt to pick up the fallen bouquet, finding a note tucked among the blossoms on a little plastic prong
. I’m sorry,
it read
, but I know this setback won’t keep you from fulfilling your dream. You’ll make it happen. Love, Derek

She clutched the bouquet to her chest, blinking back tears.

“Who’s the musclehead?” Peter asked, appearing suddenly at her shoulder.

She pulled the door softly shut, unable to bring herself to respond. All she could think about was the hurt she’d seen in Derek’s eyes.

“A boyfriend?” Peter asked, his tone edged with obvious jealousy.

She shook her head, afraid her voice would give away her misery if she spoke.

Peter’s face lightened considerably. “Good.” He placed a hand on her waist, turning her to face him. “What do you say about getting back together then?”

She shook her head and mustered all the firmness she could. It wasn’t very difficult to do when she thought of what an ass he’d been while they were dating. “No, Peter.”

“Come on, baby. I’ll be back in town for good within the month. We’ve already got the building. It’s right in town on the corner of West and Spiller, not far from here at all. I could move back in. Or, better yet, we could move some place better together. I’ll be making plenty of money.”

“Wait,” she said, her heart suddenly in her throat, “the corner of West and Spiller?”

He nodded. “It’s right in town, near Grey Street.”

“I know where it is,” she said, her head whirling more than ever, and not just from the wine.

“Then you see how perfect the situation is.” He leaned in, breathing wine-fumes against her face as his lips brushed her cheek. “Say ‘yes’.”

“No.” She pushed him away, ducking beneath his arm.

“Don’t be like that, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby! I want you to leave.” She was choking back tears now, her mind whirling with thoughts of Derek and the revelation that her perfect café premise would soon be Peter’s new office.