Until There Was You (21 page)

“OMG. Y
OU
SLEPT
WITH
him? Tell me everything. Every detail. Does he manscape?”

“What does that mean, Jon? I’m not gay, remember?” Posey smiled. She was feeling rather smug. And deeply satisfied. And still a little tingly. She’d slept with Liam Murphy (holy Elvis!) and he’d actually asked her out again, even if he’d been very clear on what he didn’t want. But men always said stuff like that…at first. Right? And sure, in some cases, they continued to say it. But something told her Liam was different.

“Manscaping means does he have hair on his back? Tell me no. Please.”

“No back hair. Tattoo on his shoulder, though. A Celtic knot or something.”

“A little cliché, but we’ll let it pass. Hi, Lorraine, would you be a saint and give me a little more coffee? It’s so good today.”

She and Jon were eating breakfast at Rooney’s, the tiny little breakfast place on Miner Street. Generally speaking, you’d have to wait an hour to get a table on Founders’ Day Weekend, but as Jon knew and was adored by all in the food industry, the beauty industry, the retail industry and the school system, he’d only had to wave to get them a table on the patio outside, as well as two cheese Danish, on the house.

“By the way,” Jon said, “I’m getting you a Keurig for your birthday so you can stop drinking that swill of yours. Now, back to the dirt. Shovel.”

“Oh, I love Keurigs! Thanks, Jon! Okay, dirt…” She took a bite of her omelet and chewed smugly, if a person could do that. “Well, I always had this nickname for Liam. God’s Gift. God’s gift to women, right?” She grinned at her brother-in-law. “And he is. It was worth the wait.”

“The two-decade wait?”

“It’s more like one and a half, but yes.”

“He looks like he’d be a great kisser. Is he? Think he’d kiss me, just so I could tell?”

“No, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t, and
yes,
he’s a great kisser, Jon. Like…legs shot out from under you kind of kissing.”

“Oh, hooray! Now I have something to picture when Henry’s at the hospital all night.” Jon took a long sip of his coffee, looking at her over the rim of the thick mug, his hazel eyes kind.

She knew that look. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Something. You have reservations.”

Jon winced. “Well, okay, as your best friend—and brother-in-law—and cooking instructor—I have questions, let’s say.”

“Shoot.” She took another bite of the massive omelet, which didn’t taste quite as good as before.

“Back in high school, he was kind of a slut, right?”

She gave a half nod. “A bad boy. He took what was offered, let’s put it that way. Until he met Emma Tate, that is. The girl he ended up marrying.”

“And Emma…what was she like?”

“Oh, you know. Squeaky-clean, super nice. She’s the one who fixed me up for the prom.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows rose. “Ah. The prom. Where you had such fun?”

“My date stood me up. It happens.” She took a sip of coffee.

“It seems like more than that, since you still refuse to chaperone. Anyway, back to the Taming of the Bad Boy. He meets the princess, and they lived happily ever after until she dies. Is that right?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Is he still—how did you put it?—taking what’s offered? Still a slut? Because I’ll beat him up if he is,” Jon said, and Posey smiled.

“Home-ec teacher takes on mechanic. I like it,” she said. “But no. I mean, I’ve seen women talking to him, but I think he’s pretty focused on his daughter these days.”

Jon nodded. “That’s what I’ve heard, too.” Jon had his thumb on the pulse, as a high-school teacher. “So, is this the real deal for you, Posey?”

Time for a mega-bite of home fries to stall. “Um…it’s all new. Just Wednesday night, you know?”

“But you already look like you’re in love.”

“Please,” she said, though she felt a telltale heat in her cheeks.

“Oh, dear,” Jon said.

“It’s just that…well, he’s not exactly a stranger, right?” Her brother-in-law nodded encouragingly. “I had the biggest crush on him.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Jon said kindly. “Just try to be careful. I mean, if he feels the same way, bliss. But if not, we’re back to the Dante situation.”

“I wasn’t in love with Dante,” Posey said. “I mean, I wouldn’t say I’m in love with…you know…the other one, either, but…”

But nothing. Since the moment she’d bumped into Liam in Guten Tag a month and a half ago, it had been impossible not to think about him. Even before last night, she’d felt a jolt of heat every time their paths crossed, every time she thought of him. She’d never been in love before, not really, unless you counted Ron, the Anderson Cooper fan. With Dante, she’d felt attraction, definitely, and she liked a lot of things about him, but the truth was, she hadn’t known him well enough to feel more than that.

But since yesterday morning, she’d been walking around as if she was filled with a buoyant, glowing warmth. Every flash of memory caused a surge of heat so delicious that twice she’d broken off midsentence, causing Elise to ask if she was okay. Even Gretchen had noticed at the restaurant yesterday. “Posey, what’s wrong? You’re all blotchy,” which of course caused Stacia to leap for a thermometer.

Yep. Felt a lot like love to her.

Jon chuckled. “Hello? Back to earth, sweets. Listen. I’m happy for you, hon, and I hope he deserves you. I never thought Dante Bellini was good enough for you. That pasta is like…well, okay, the food is amazing, and if you tell Ma I ate there, I’ll deny it with my last breath, but Dante Bellini is a poser.”

Posey put down her mug. “Speaking of Dante, I guess I should officially break up with him now,” she said in a low voice. “In case there was any…doubt.”

“Has he called you since you put things on hold?”

“Um…no.”

“Well, something tells me he’s not heartbroken. And here’s your chance. He’s getting out of his poser car right now.”

Posey looked out the window, and sure enough, there was Dante’s midnight-blue Audi, pulling up in front of Inferno.

“I’ll get this,” Jon said. “You go. Make a clean break, and here, take my bagel. I have to wear tights for the float, and God knows what I was thinking. You and your brother are freaks of nature. It’s not fair.”

“You have to wear tights?”

“Of course! Who do you think is playing the part of the prince?” He smiled proudly.

“Typecasting,” Posey said. “Thanks for breakfast.” She took Jon’s bagel, smacked him on the shoulder and crossed the street. It was a gorgeous spring day, sunny, temp in the upper fifties, breeze light and salty. Perfect parade weather, if it held for tomorrow. Today was the sidewalk stroll, a band concert on the green and fireworks over the river. She, Mac and Elise would be staffing a little booth on the green, featuring some of the smaller pieces from Irreplaceable—a few stained-glass windows, some signs, ceiling medallions and a few other things that could be easily transported. They usually sold out, and it was nice, seeing the other merchants. Maybe Liam would be there with one of his motorcycles. She’d hoped for a phone call yesterday, but no.

Didn’t matter (even if it did, a little bit). The birdies sang, the colors gleamed, the flowers smelled so sweet, the entire world seemed brighter. Amazing what a little some-some could do. Especially when the some-some had been so…well…heavenly? Would that be too strong a word? She pondered. Nope. Seemed to fit perfectly.

Oh, Elvis, the man could kiss! Sometimes, those bad-boy types, they didn’t try that hard (or so
Sex and the City
told her). But Liam had taken his time, uh-huh. Long and slow and meltingly delicious…and fun. She’d been nervous and a little self-conscious, and practically dying of lust, let’s be honest, but he’d made her feel…happy. And beautiful. Oh, sigh! And, in some strange way, like they were old friends, too. He smiled as they kissed, and threaded his fingers through her hair, and he told her she smelled like oranges. At one point in the wee hours, Liam had said, “Oh, God, do that again,” and the memory of his smoky bedroom
do me
voice had her walk right into a lamppost in the here and now.

“I saw that!” Jon called, and she waved and opened the door to Inferno. Posey felt a rush of pleasure at the décor…there was St. Agnes of Rome holding her lamb, a gargoyle in the corner, the incredible walnut bar—that had been a delicate job, getting that taken down and reassembled, that was for sure. The overall effect was rich, intimate and tasteful.

From the kitchen came a crash of pans and some yelling (in Italian, which had kind of a hotness to it). “Hello!” she called.

The yelling stopped. “I’m so sorry, we don’t open until— Oh. It’s you.” Dante came out of the kitchen, dressed in a white suit with a deep blue shirt.

“Hi, Dante,” she said. “Got a minute?”

“Sure,” he said. He pulled out a chair for her, and they sat down at a table. Posey looked at him—all dark pirate beauty—and smiled awkwardly. It was suddenly a little hard to believe they’d had a thing together. Not that she wasn’t fabulous, of course (hey—if Liam Murphy slept with her…). But just that Dante’s taste didn’t seem to incorporate a woman in Carhartt. He wasn’t smiling, and his was a face that was a little bit scary if it didn’t have a smile.

“So, how are you?” she asked.

“Fine. And you?”

“Oh, great. Are you ready for the weekend?”

“Yes.” Unlike Guten Tag, Inferno didn’t participate in the parade. Way too tacky. Instead, they hosted a wine and cheese tasting on the town green, their tent lavishly decorated with grape vines and furnished with small tables. A far cry from the Goose Girl theme Stacia had chosen for this year’s float.

Dante was looking at her with his glittering dark eyes. “So, why are you here, Posey?”

Was it possible that his coolness was to cover some hurt feelings? Granted, he was the one who hadn’t wanted to take things to the next level, but maybe—maybe—he’d expected her to come back. She suddenly felt much worse.

“Well,” she said, “you know how we talked about our, um, relationship? A little while ago?”

“Yes.”

Her toes curled in her work boots. God, these talks were hard! Not that she’d ever given one, but heck. There should be index cards you could just hand out. “Um, well, I think that it’s pretty clear that we want different things—”
also, I slept with someone else and am completely infatuated
“—and I just wanted to make things official.”

“Official?” Dante’s dark eyebrow lifted.

Posey looked down at the tablecloth. “I mean, we said we’d take a break, and we did, and I think we should just…call it quits. In case there was any gray area here.”

He made a chuffing sound and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine with me. Was there anything else?”

Ouch. She swallowed, then shook her head. “Nope. Nothing else.”

“Then you have a good day.” With that, he stood up and walked back to the kitchen and resumed his yelling.

Posey got up from the table, pushed the chair back carefully, and walked to the door, fighting the urge to bolt. Her skin crawled with…something. Shame. Dismay, maybe, because it was suddenly horribly clear that Dante had never wanted anything more from her than what he’d gotten.

Had she really imagined that he’d choose her as a girlfriend, or—yes, yes, she’d imagined it—wife? Had she really thought that a few sex dates would lead to a deeper relationship? Even though she was done with him, even though she’d initiated their breakup, she suddenly felt so…small. Hiding-in-the-bathroom small.

Dante Bellini had never had any kind of intentions toward her. She’d been available. She’d been convenient, she’d asked for nothing. She’d been easy, in more ways than one.

And tell me,
said a small voice in the back of her brain—a voice that sounded distressingly like Gretchen’s—
how are things with Liam any different?

S
TACIA SIGHED, SLAPPED
down a giant ladle, spattering grease on the stove, and glared at Posey. “We have to discuss your birthday. It’s only a few weeks away.”

“I have to get changed, Mom. The parade starts in an hour.”

Mother did not seem happy. Father, either, for that matter. Max was hiding in the office and had only grunted as she’d stuck her head in to say hello.

“Dinner, I was thinking. At home, since you and your brother never come by anymore.”

“Ma, I was at your house Tuesday—”

“So us three, the boys, Gretchen. I’ll make your favorite. Brathering mit Bratkartoffeln.”

“Oh, goody.” Posey tried not to wince. Somewhere along the line, Stacia had gotten the idea that Posey loved this dish, which consisted of an entire herring, deep-fried then pickled. It had been her traditional birthday dish for at least fifteen years, and Posey just didn’t have the heart to tell her mother at this late date that she actually hated it.

“I refuse to go to some ridiculous ethnic restaurant,” Stacia announced. The irony of her words didn’t strike her, even as Otto came into the kitchen, dressed in lederhosen and green Bavarian hat. Guten Tag served breakfast on Founders’ Day Weekend—eggs, fish, sausage and potatoes.

“Hey, Otto! You coming on the float today?” Posey asked.

“As luck would have it, my wife had her gallbladder out on Tuesday, so I have to swing home and take care of her,” Otto said, giving her the thumbs-up behind her mother’s back.

“You don’t want to go, do you? Of course you don’t. I don’t know what she was thinking.” Stacia huffed again, an indignant bulldog and queen of the non sequiturs.

“Sorry, Mom. Go where?”

“Inferno! As if I’d set foot in that place! Ever! Kitty McGrew went there last week, though why, I have no idea, we were supposed to be friends, but at any rate— Oh, you know Kitty’s daughter? Ellen? Married. To a banker. That could’ve been you, honey. I honestly don’t know how you manage to stay single. Are you a lesbian? Our son is gay, we can take it.” Otto grinned, waved to Posey and slipped out the back door.

“Mom, I’m aware that Henry is gay, as I am his sister. And no, I’m not a lesbian.” A brief and deeply satisfying flashback to just how straight she was made her knees wobble most pleasantly. But Liam hadn’t called yesterday, either, or shown up at the sidewalk stroll. Which was fine. Sort of. “You were ranting about Inferno, Mom. Was there a point?”

“Right. Well, your cousin thought you might like to go there. For your birthday. And I said you’d rather die.”

“I wouldn’t. I’d rather eat at Inferno than die, Mom. Just for the record.” Even in light of yesterday’s conversation.

Stacia set a potato pancake in front of Posey (a little over-salted, but hey. Posey wasn’t about to reject it). “I set her straight on that. It’s one thing that you had to do business with that man—and I understand it was a lot of money for you, honey, so I forgive you—but
eat
there? Please. Poor Gretchen, she’s so good-hearted, she just can’t imagine anyone being snide or insulting like that Dante Bellini’s been to us. Kitschy institution. I’ll give him kitschy institution. Gretchen’s just too sweet for her own good.”

One had to wonder on which planet Stacia lived. “Dinner at home sounds great, Ma,” Posey said.

“Good. Oh, you know what? I should invite Liam and that pretty daughter of his! Don’t you think he and Gretchen would make the most wonderful couple?”

Posey swallowed her bite of congealing pancake without fully chewing it. “Um…I don’t, actually.”

“Well, you’re nuts. They’d make beautiful children. Max! Get out here! Your daughter wants to see you!”

“Then she can come in here! Posey! Are your legs broken?”

“No, Dad, I’m coming.” She went into the office, where her father was scowling at the computer.

“Do you know how to upload something?” Max asked. “I wish to God computers had never been invented!”

“Sure, I can help.”

“Thanks.” He gave her a grudging smile, then patted his knee. “You’re not too big to sit on your old man’s lap, are you?” he said.

“I’m almost thirty-four, Dad,” she said.

“Fine. Stab in me in the heart, why don’t you,” he grumbled, so Posey sat, gave his cheek a smooch, and got to work. “What do you want to upload?”

“A picture of Gretchen,” he said. “Seems like we should make more fuss over her, since she’s a celebrity and all.”

“Ah.” Posey could imagine whose idea that was. She clicked through the folder to find the photo Max wanted. “So, how are renovation plans coming along?”

“Oh…she has a lot of ideas, your cousin.”

“I hope you’ll only change what you want, Dad,” Posey said. “I mean, you’re still adjusting to the new addition.” A few years ago, there’d been a small fire at the Osterhagen home (candles left untended during some geriatric
amour,
which Henry and Posey still could not mention without wheezing hilarity). The result was that her parents ended up renovating, which caused great upheaval. They still went to the wall where the cellar door used to be, still seemed stymied as to where it went, six years after the fact. So an entirely new restaurant…it just didn’t seem like them.

“That’s the one she wanted,” Max said, pointing, so Posey uploaded the photo to Guten Tag’s home page, and there she was, Gretchen and her impressive Teutonic cleavage.

“Hi, Mutti. Hi, Papa!” Speak of the devil.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Max said. “Posey’s just helping me with the website.”

“Oh. Hi, Posey, you look so cute today!” Gretchen flashed her blinding teeth. “Like you’re about eleven years old, sitting there on Papa’s lap. Adorable!”

“Why, thank you, Gretchen.”

Gret smiled, then gave Posey a searching look. “Hey, how’s the search for your birth parents going?”

Max bolted up from the chair, dumping Posey onto the floor, and there was a huge crash from the kitchen. A nanosecond later, Stacia loomed in the doorway, tragic confusion written all over her face. “What’s this? You’re looking for your birth parents?”

“No,” Posey said, hauling herself off the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gret.”

“The book on how to find your birth parents? It was on the shelf in the kitchen.”

“Oh, right,” Posey said. “That book belongs to James. I keep meaning to give it back to him.”

Gretchen looked wide-eyed at Max and Stacia, then at Posey, as if desperate to keep a terrible secret. “Oh. Right. Um…Mutti, I must’ve been mistaken. I’m sure it was James’s book. Of course it is.”

“It is, Mom.” Posey glared at her cousin. “I’m not looking for anyone.”

“If you want that information,” Stacia began, her voice stentorian, “we wouldn’t resent you. It’s completely understandable.”

“I’m not looking, Mom.”

“You must want to know your roots. It would be fine. We know you love us,” Max said, sounding as if he was reciting from a pamphlet on
When Your Adopted Child Wants Answers.
“I’m
not
looking. James left his book at Irreplaceable a while ago, I brought it home and just forgot about it.”

“I’m so sorry I brought it up. Posey, really. So sorry.” Gretchen gave Posey a little wink, and Posey thought, for one deeply satisfying moment, how fun it would be to see her cousin fending off a couple dozen angry raccoons. Ever since the night at the casino, Gretchen had been more and more hostile—and clever. Nothing could be held against her, but it was malicious just the same.

“Well,” Stacia said, still staring suspiciously at Posey, “it’s time to get dressed for the parade. Come on, girls. Posey, where’s that poor Brianna? Is she coming?”

“I’m here, Mrs. O,” poor Brianna replied, rolling her eyes at Posey.

“Good. Your costumes are in the back. Gretchen, darling, wait till you see yours! It just came in yesterday!”

“I
HATE YOU
. I’
M
calling Big Brothers tomorrow and having you fired.”

“Shush,” Posey said. “At least no one can see your face. I’m the evil serving wench. Would you rather be dressed like me, young lady?”

“No. I’d kill myself if I was dressed like you.”

Brie had a point. Posey’s costume wasn’t really a costume—it was just her waitressing outfit from the restaurant, the same one she’d worn when waiting tables at Guten Tag when she was seventeen. Ruffled white blouse (well, once-white, now yellowing). Green dwarf-embroidered vest that ended just below the bustline, ruffled skirt, green tights, painted clogs.

“It’ll be fun, Brianna,” she said. “You asked to come, remember? Beats sitting at home.”

“No, it doesn’t! I’m a goose, Posey! I’m dressed like a goose! You left the goose part out!”

“Sue me,” Posey said. “Here, have a marzipan. They’re not bad. Just suck on them long enough to soften the shell. The parade starts in ten minutes, so get in the spirit of things, kid.”

“Hate you,” Brianna grumbled, but she took a candy.

When Posey and Henry were three and nine, the Osterhagens decided to do a float for the Founders’ Day parade. They’d chosen to depict Hansel and Gretel, Henry and Posey holding hands and waving, Henry dropping bread crumbs from time to time. It had been a big hit. From then on, the elder Osterhagens had run with the Brothers Grimm theme. After all, as Jon pointed out, it beat the other thing Germany was rather famous for: the Nazi party. The back room of Guten Tag was full of aging animal costumes—mice, horses, a wolf or two, and, yes, geese. Those roped into duty tossed bulletlike marzipan to the crowd, who had the tendency to flinch and shield themselves.

Getting out of float duty was akin to high treason, though just about every staff member came up with some dire emergency to dodge their duty. Henry always managed to be on call and was forgiven, as he was a brilliant surgeon. Only Jon and Posey really enjoyed it…and now Gretchen. In the past few years, Irreplaceable cosponsored the float; Posey had found an enormous sleigh from a decrepit Santa’s Village in Lake George. The sleigh was mounted on a trailer and pulled by a stately old Farmall tractor driven by Mac. And this year, on the side of the float was something Posey had never seen, a banner that read
The Goose Girl by the Brothers Grimm and featuring the Barefoot Fraulein Herself, Gretchen Heidelberg! Brought to you by your friends at Guten Tag and Irreplaceable Artifacts.

There were other floats, as well—the library had one shaped like an open book, the 4-H kids usually had one with a goat or a calf, and the marina always pulled some gorgeous sailboat. Rick Balin would sit on the deck, waving in boozy noblesse oblige, some unfortunate young woman shivering in a bikini next to him. Then there were the school bands, the Little League teams and a handful of veterans. But Guten Tag’s float was something of an icon and always came last.

“Oh, man! This is so fun? Right? Thanks for inviting me, Mrs. Osterhagen!” Elise, also dressed as a goose, waddled up to Mac and honked at him. He swallowed and ignored her.

“If I see someone I know, I’m throwing myself in front of the nursery school float, and all those kids will have to watch me die,” Brianna said.

“When you close your beak, no one will see your face. And please. I’ve been doing this since I was three years old. I have no sympathy for you. None. You asked to come, and here you are.”

“Oh, Brie, you look so cute!” Jon leaped lightly onto the float. “Wherefore is my true princess?” he cried.

“He’s hiding in an O.R. somewhere,” Posey said.

“I wish I was in the O.R. I’d break a leg to get out of this,” Brianna muttered.

“You’re late, Jon,” Stacia called.

“I had to get my hair perfect. And didn’t I? Am I not the very picture of a proper Prussian prince?” He glanced at Posey and lowered his voice. “Speaking of gorgeous men, heard from you-know-who?”

“Nope,” Posey murmured. “But it’s fine. I think we have plans for tomorrow.” Still, it would’ve been nice if he’d called. Dang it! She was just not the type to sit around mooning near the phone, yet that was exactly what she’d done last night. Loser.

Jon gave her a knowing look, then mercifully changed the subject. “Where did that banner come from?” he asked.

“Gretchen had it done herself!” Stacia said from the front, where she sat in her role as the queen. “Wasn’t that so sweet of her? Now everyone will know a celebrity chef is working at Guten Tag!”

“Just in case they dodged that fact somehow,” Jon said, winking at Posey and Brianna.

“So, what do we have to do, exactly?” Brie asked.

“Just wave and throw marzipan,” Posey said. “Try not to hit anyone, though. It hurts.”

“Could you be quiet, please?” Gretchen said. “We need to get into character.”

“Is she for real?” Brianna muttered.

“I don’t know the story,” Jon said. “All I was told is that I need to look handsome, so here I am, handsome.”

The float was just about to enter the official parade route, which wound for a mile and a half through town before ending at Memorial Bridge Park for the ceremonies. People from other floats milled around, kids dressed in their band uniforms scampered and warmed up, the Pedersen boys got ready to fire off the cannon that would mark the start of the parade.

Gretchen turned around from her seat on the front of the sleigh, where she sat with Max and Stacia. “The story is, Jon, that I’m the true princess, and Posey—”

“The evil serving wench,” Posey supplied.

“Not quite, and I was getting to that,” Gretchen said coolly. “Posey, my jealous maid, and I are on the way to the neighboring kingdom so I can marry the prince. But she steals my clothes and tries to pass herself off as me. In the meantime, I tend the castle geese, but the king—that’s Papa, of course—the king can tell that
I’m
the true princess, and I’m reinstated and marry you, Jon.”

“You lucky thing,” Posey murmured.

“What happens to the maid?” Brie asked.

“Oh, I’m put into a barrel lined with nails and dragged through town until I’m dead,” Posey said. “Fun, huh? Gotta make sure I read those fairy tales to my kids someday.”