Knowing You (35 page)

Then he'd turned into an idiot.

She watched from the sidelines, following Paul with her gaze, keeping an eye on him and wincing every time Nick landed a punch. Nick was getting in some good ones and she was worried. Yes, Paul was an idiot. But he was
her
idiot.

At least he
had
been.

Nick swung wildly; Paul dodged and brought his
fist up into his twin's belly. The blow knocked the air out of Nick and sent him sprawling to the grass, wheezing, trying to suck air into lungs shuddering with its lack. Paul stood above him, swaying, one eye already swelling, blood pouring from his split lip. He looked like an ancient warrior, and just for a second, Stevie's heartbeat quickened in response to his battered, bloodied victory.

Then she remembered reality.

“You're happy now?” Mama shouted, hands at her hips again, in her favorite battle stance.

“Ecstatic,” Paul said, and winced as assorted aches and pains made themselves known. Damn, it had been a long time since he and Nick had gone a few rounds. It was pure hell getting older.

“And your brother? He's alive?”

“Yeah,” Paul said, glancing down to where Nick was already stirring. And groaning, Paul noted with some satisfaction.

“You've got a good right,” Tony said, “but your left hook needs work.”

“I'll work on it,” Paul answered his older brother, but his gaze was locked on Stevie as he left his twin lying in the grass and, stumbling, headed for her.

“I don't want to talk to you,” she said, getting that stubborn glint in her eyes.

God, he loved her.

“Good. You listen,
I'll
talk.” He didn't look at his family. He could only see Stevie. And in his mind, he saw her wrapped in Nick's embrace, and he blurted out, “No
way
am I gonna let you go back to Nick.”

She blinked.

“No way is that gonna happen, Stevie.” Paul kept right on talking, unaware of the sudden tension in her shoulders and the defiant tilt of her chin. “He only wants you because he can't have you. He's no good for you, Stevie.”

“But you are?” she asked, and took a step closer to him.

“Hell, yes,” he snapped, completely oblivious to the interested stares of his family. “
We're
good together. You know it. You felt it. And I'm through pretending that I don't care. I love you. I need you. And I'm not gonna let Nick have you. Not this time.”

“You're not going to
let
Nick have me?” she countered, and finally Paul noticed the sparks flashing in her eyes. “Now that you've decided you love me, everything's okay and I should just fall into line? Who the hell do you think you are, anyway? You don't
let
me do anything.”

“That's not what I meant. I just—”

The wind pushed her hair across her eyes and she reached up to pluck it free so she could glare at him clearly. “You come storming in here, uninvited, and punch Nick in the face while he's
apologizing
to me for hurting me.”

Paul blinked and tried to clear his head and his vision at the same time. Sweat streamed into his eyes, stinging like fire, but his brain seemed to be even more blurry. Nick? Apologizing? Christ. Was it a sign of the Apocalypse?

“Something,” Stevie added, taking another step closer to him until Paul wisely stepped back a pace or two, “I'd like to point out, that
you
didn't bother to do.”

“I tried to apologize this morning, but you wouldn't listen.” Crap, his mouth hurt like hell.

“I'd already read what you thought of me,” she reminded him.

Paul cringed at the thought of that damn list. But there was nothing he could do about it now. “Stevie,” he said, lowering his voice as he at last noticed the avid interest from their audience, “I love you. And I think you love me.” Tears swam in her eyes and something inside Paul ached harder than the jaw he thought just might be broken. Damn, Nick's left was still a powerful thing.

Shaking her head, Stevie said, “It's not enough, Paul. It's just not. I won't be the juicy bone you and your brother fight over, for God's sake.” She planted both hands on his chest and shoved. “Besides, who decided you two could pass me around to the winner of some dumb-ass contest?”

“It wasn't a contest,” he started, but she cut him off.

“And I don't
want
to be with a man who makes up a spreadsheet to help him find ways to
not
love me.” Her eyes flashed, but her bottom lip trembled, and Paul's heart dropped to his feet.

“What?” Carla whispered.

“A spreadsheet?” Tony said.

“What is spreadsheet?” Mama demanded.

“Don't you get it, Paul?” Stevie asked, keeping her voice at a pitch designed only for him. “All my life people have
not
loved me. And then, to see that you'd actually made a list of the reasons to join the crowd—” She shook her head. “No, Paul. I deserve better,” Stevie told him flatly. Then, without another word, she walked past him to her car, parked around front.

As his sister, brother, and mother applauded, Paul stood stock-still in the rising chill wind and watched his world walk away.

*   *   *

Stevie had driven straight home, packed a bag, and picked up Scruffy. She had one thought in mind. To get the hell outta Dodge.

Somehow or other, news of her and Paul's relationship had taken off, and everywhere she went, people were staring. She heard the whispers about “naked driving” and “bathrobes on cars” and wondered how they'd gotten their information. But the bottom line was, she just couldn't bring herself to care.

How could she care what gossips had to say when every cell in her body was weeping for the loss of Paul?

Funny, she thought, the obstacles she'd thought would be standing between them and happiness were gone. Mama, the family, heck, even Nick—all of them were okay with the idea of Paul and Stevie.

Apparently, only Paul had a problem with it. He was the one making up lists. Sure, he'd
said
he loved her, but how could she believe that he loved her when he'd gone to such painstaking efforts to convince himself
not
to love her? What if she believed him and then next week or month or year he found another reason to add to the list? What then? Which one was the breaking point? Which one would mean that he'd walk away, as her mother had? As Nick had? Just how many reasons had to be on that list for Paul to leave?

No. She couldn't trust it. Couldn't take the risk.

She'd lain awake in her motel room last night, listening to the wind roar and the rain pound against the
shingled roof. Alone in her bed, she'd heard nature's fury, but her mind had been lost in memories more devastating than a little squall. Over and over again, she'd read that list in memory. She'd seen the neat columns. She'd seen Paul's face when she'd discovered it.

And her heart broke every damn time.

“But no more,” she vowed as she walked along the beach with Debbie. Her sister, wearing jeans and an oversize sweatshirt, ran along the water's edge, Scruffy yapping at her heels, looking over her shoulder at the footprints she'd left in the wet sand. Her laughter and the little dog's excited barks rang out over the wind and Stevie told herself to count her blessings. Debbie loved her. The girl didn't
need
her; she just loved her big sister. Stevie had come to grips with the fact that Debbie would never live with her. The girl had a life of her own, and that was okay.

A big step for her, Stevie thought. Loving without trying to run everything. Debbie didn't need saving; she just needed loving. And Stevie owed Paul for teaching her that much, anyway.

She'd be fine, she thought, stepping over the driftwood tossed ashore by raging waves the night before. She had her sister. She had her shop. Her home. Scruffy.

That could be enough.

It would have to be enough.

“Hi, Paul!” Debbie shouted, and waved enthusiastically as she and the dog raced back up the beach.

Stevie stopped dead and held her breath. Her gaze focused on her younger sister, she could almost feel
Paul standing right behind her. She didn't trust herself to look at him, so she simply asked, “How did you find me?”

“Wasn't hard,” he said, his words snatched by the wind and whirled around her in a deep, rumbling sound of comfort that she longed to cling to. “Where else would you go but to Debbie?”

She sucked in air and held it tight within to keep her lungs from collapsing. “I guess Margie told you where we were.”

“Yep.”

Stevie nodded, as Debbie came closer, and slowly turned around to face him. Dressed in a black sweatshirt over worn jeans, he looked indescribably handsome, and Stevie's blood thickened just looking at him. Sunlight glinted off his glasses and the wind ruffled his too-long hair. His left eye was swollen and a lovely shade of purple, and a grayish bruise splayed across his jaw. But his mouth was curved in a smile—despite the cut lip—that tugged at her heart.

Scruffy reached them first, plopped onto her butt in front of Stevie, and growled at Paul.

“Hi, Scruff,” he murmured warily.

Debbie ran up to join them and, breath puffing, asked, “Whatcha doing here, Paul? What happened to your face? Does it hurt? Did you come to see me?”

Paul smiled at her and only winced a bit when his split lip tugged painfully. “My face hurts a little, and this time I came to see your sister,” he said, his gaze locked with Stevie's.

“How come?”

“Because I want to ask her to marry me.”

Stevie swayed as his words slammed home. She swallowed hard, and as if from a distance, she heard Debbie giggling.

“Are you gonna say yes?” Debbie asked, and without waiting for an answer, went right on talking. “'Cause if you do I could be in the wedding and everything 'cause Marybeth was in her cousin's wedding and she had a really pretty dress and—”

Stevie only half-heard her sister as the girl kept talking, building an imaginary wedding, starring
her
as the beautiful bridesmaid. Stevie was too busy staring into Paul's eyes to hear anything. Well, she stared into the one eye that wasn't swollen shut. And for the first time since she'd known him, he wasn't trying to hide his emotions. Everything he felt was there for her to see, and it stole her breath away.

Debbie picked up Scruffy and nuzzled her. “I think you should marry him,” she said, and moved off, talking to the little dog and laughing at wet, sloppy doggy kisses.

“Smart girl,” Paul said, smiling, then winced and touched a finger to his lip. “Glad she took Scruffy, though. Don't think the little thing was happy to see me.”

“Smart dog,” Stevie said, then added, “You look terrible.”

“You should see the other guy.”

“Paul—”

He stepped in close. Hell, he'd been practicing this speech since last night. It hadn't taken long to convince himself that he couldn't live without Stevie. About ten minutes in his silent house had done it for him. The thought of never being with her again was like staring into a black hole.

Nothingness.

“Stevie,” he said, his voice low, hurried, “I deserved everything you said to me yesterday, I know that, but that doesn't change how I feel about you. How I will
always
feel about you.”

She reached out to gingerly touch the bruise on his jaw, then let her hand drop to her side. “You hurt me, Paul. That list—” She shook her head, remembering the one most damning thing on it. “How could you believe that I could still love Nick and be with you?”

“I didn't,” he said. “Not really. It was just that damned logical side of me.” He choked out a laugh. “Okay, that didn't come out right.”

“That damn spreadsheet, Paul.”

“Stupid, I know,” he said, and reached into his pocket. Pulling out a piece of folded paper, he handed it to her. “But I'm a spreadsheet kind of guy, Stevie. Helps me think when I write it all down. Helps me recognize what's important.”

“I know that. I mean, I know you're a list person. But what was on that list—God, it was just so cold. So damn logical. It made me doubt you. Doubt what I felt. What we had. Doubt us. And—” She looked at the paper in her hand, then shifted her gaze to his. “What's this?”

“The new version.”

Stevie sighed and shook her head. “Another one?”

“Just read it,” he said, his gaze moving over her features like a dying man staring at heaven's gates and hoping for entry.

With shaking fingers, Stevie unfolded the paper and read the now-familiar header, “The Pros and Cons of
Loving Stevie.” Then she read the list itself. It didn't take long. There were only two entries:

Pro: Loving Stevie, have a life
.

Con: Losing Stevie, have nothing
.

Tears clogged her throat and threatened to choke her. Her fingers crumpled the edges of the list, but she couldn't seem to tear her gaze from those few simple words. Paul tipped her chin up with his fingertips until she was staring into his eyes—
eye
—instead.

“Remember when I said I didn't need saving?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I was wrong.” His fingers caressed her jawline, then smoothed her hair back from her face. “Without you, I'm lost, Stevie. Rescue me.”

She smiled softly and shook her head. “A very wise man told me I should retire from the rescuing business.”

“Not so wise,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Not if he could risk losing you.”

“Paul—” Again her fingers traced the outline of the bruise decorating the side of his face.

“Stevie, I've loved you my whole life. I want to be the man you turn to in the night. I want to listen to your dreams and help you make them come true. I want to make babies with you. I want us to get old and cranky together. I want to be there for you, with you.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and, briefly, her mouth. “I want to build a family—a future—with you.”