Until There Was You (24 page)

“Tear it down?” he asked. “Are you kidding?”

Cordelia turned. “I know. Come on, come on. You have to see the inside.” She typed in a code, then opened the door.

It was incredible. Everything about the house was ornate and…well, expensive, if in need of some care. The walnut staircase, the French doors, the leaded windows, plasterwork and ceiling medallions…it went on and on. Cordelia pointed out a few features, but she seemed almost as in awe of the place as he was, as if she were seeing it for the first time, too. The sun shone through a stained-glass window, pebbling the floor—and the dog, who’d come in with them—with color.

“Doesn’t the town want to save it as a museum or something?” Liam asked, gazing out at the expansive lawns.

“Believe me, I tried. But you know how it is around here. Can’t swing a cat without hitting some historical home where George Washington or Franklin Pierce had a snack. No money in the budget for one more.” She ran her hand along a marble mantelpiece. “Vivian was hoping one of her nieces or nephews would want to live here, but nobody does. A developer made them a huge offer for the land.” Cordelia sighed. “I get the impression Viv thinks that if she doesn’t leave them the estate, they’ll declare her incompetent, or just make her life miserable. Or just stop visiting.”

“What a shame.”

“I know.” She was silent for a minute, then brightened. “Want to see the caretaker’s house? A whole family used to live there, five kids, the caretaker and his wife, who was the cook.”

The cottage was a short walk farther back on the property and was shaded by an enormous spruce. Diamond-paned windows, a stone fireplace, a snug little kitchen. “Viv tried living here for a while,” Posey said, quite the tour guide, “but even that got to be too much once she had her stroke. Isn’t it cute? Imagine being the family who got to live here.”

It was so far from the types of places Liam had lived in as a kid that he couldn’t. A bedroom of his own, rather than a ratty couch that smelled like beer or an air mattress on the floor. A yard full of trees and flowers instead of old car parts. Parents who made meals instead bringing home fast food…when they brought home food, that was.

“It’s really nice,” he said.

“Come on, I’ll show you the grounds. They’re gorgeous. I hope they’ll keep some of the flower beds when they put in the McMansions.”

They went back outside, Cordelia pointing out the occasional rare tree or telling him what would grow where later in the summer. The whole place was like a park, Liam thought—graceful old trees, a gently sloping lawn, rock walls edged with old flower beds, even a stream. They walked, not touching, the breeze gentle, the sun taking the chill out of the air. The dog trotted around, venturing off, then returning, nosing Cordelia’s hand as if letting her know he was back. At the edge of the woods, two deer grazed. The dog barked once but didn’t give chase.

Liam’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. His jaw clenched.

“Problem?” Cordelia asked.

“No…well, the Tates just bought Nicole earrings. Two-carat diamond earrings. She sent me a picture.” He held up the phone for Posey to see.

She whistled. “Wow. Pretty.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But see, I don’t think a fifteen-year-old girl should be wearing five thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry, which is exactly why they’re buying these for her. I’ll tell Nicole they’re a bit much for high school, she’ll get mad, the Tates will tell her she deserves them, I’ll be the bad guy.”

“I guess that’s par for the course, being a dad.”

“Yeah.”

There was a little rock shed in the shade of some pine trees at the far end of the property. Cordelia fished out her keys and unlocked the door. “This was the pump house back in the day,” she said. “And voila.” She took out a blanket, spread it on the ground and sat down. “I come here sometimes for lunch,” she added by way of explanation. Shielding her eyes, she looked up at him. “Have a seat, biker boy. You look tense.”

He hesitated, then sat. The wind made a shushing noise through the pine trees, and a blue jay squawked. Cordelia was right. He was tense. His neck was so stiff it felt like he could barely move his head.

“Here. Put your head in my lap. Shut up, just do it.” Her face was pink again. Liam gave her a long look and felt the beginning of a smile. Any time Cordelia did something that might be construed as suggestive or, perish the thought,
romantic,
she got all pink. Aside from punching him (twice), she hadn’t touched him today, but there she was, blushing like she’d just popped the question.

For some reason, he found that ridiculously appealing.

He lay on his back and put his head in her lap. “Close your eyes,” she said.

“So bossy,” he murmured, obeying.

“Shush. Now just listen.”

“To you? Do I have to?”

“To nature, dummy. You’ll feel better.”

The wind rustled. Far off, he could hear a Harley with cut pipes tearing through the countryside. Took a while for the noise to fade. Birds chattered and twittered and whistled and whatever else birds did. Somewhere, a crow was clacking. Liam heard panting, then a thud, and a warm weight was suddenly against his side.

“Shilo likes you,” Cordelia said.

“I get the impression Shilo likes everyone,” he said.

“You’re right.”

He put his arm around the dog, who rewarded him by resting his head on Liam’s chest. He had to hand it to Cordelia…this was pretty nice indeed. The knots in his shoulders seemed to ease a little, and the sun was warm. He felt her fingers playing in his hair, and, shielding his eyes from the sun, he took a look. Sure enough, Cordelia’s cheeks were burning pink. Grinning, he closed his eyes again.

“So, this would be a big job for you,” he said, petting the dog’s solid side.

“Oh, yeah. It would be a real coup. Every salvage operation in New England wants the rights to this place, and Vivian is having a ball, stringing us all along.” There was a smile in her voice.

“So, salvage, that’s kind of an unusual job,” Liam said.

“I guess so,” she said.

“Why do you like it?”

She didn’t answer for a second. “Well,” she said quietly, “when you salvage something, it’s kind of bittersweet. On the one hand, you’re destroying something—a barn, a home, a business, and it’s sad, because there were so many stories that took place there, you know? When Mac and I take down a house, it’s almost…religious. All those artifacts, all those stories, all the feelings that happened there. But you can save the pieces, give them a new life. A new story.” She stopped abruptly. “Well. I sound like a dope. It’s a job. An interesting job.”

“You don’t sound like a dope.” In fact, her little speech had made his chest feel odd…not in the panic-attack way, but a warm pressure that made him feel a little wary…and a little drawn to her.

“Why do you do motorcycles?” she asked.

He looked at her again. “It’s the only thing I can do.”

“I doubt that,” she said.

“Well, aside from being a gigolo,” he said, sitting up and grinning at her. She didn’t smile back. “I was kidding,” he added.

“Mmm-hmm.” There was a small hole in the knee of her jeans, and she started pulling at the threads. Not amused, obviously. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short, Liam,” she said quietly.

Not what he expected her to say. He looked away after a second.

“I have a present for you,” she said and rummaged in her vast backpack. She pulled out a small object wrapped in cloth. “It’s old,” she added, handing it over. “I’ve had it for a while, and I saw it the other day, and…whatever.”

He unwrapped it slowly. It was a brass medal, imprinted with the picture of an old-fashioned motorcycle.
Motorcycle Gypsy Tour, 1917.
“Where’d you find this?”

“In an old garage up in Tilton.” She tore another thread from her jeans. “It’s from the first Laconia Bike Week. You know, the big motorcycle rally up near Winnipesaukee.”

“Yeah, I know what Laconia is.”

“Oh, of course you do. Right. I just…figured you might like it.”

“I do.” He looked at her steadily. “This is a very good present, Cordelia.”

Her cheeks brightened. “Glad you like it.” The hole in her jeans was growing.

“I do.” He set it aside and turned back to her. “Come here. Give us a kiss.”

“You or Shilo?”

He laughed. “You can kiss your dog later.”

“Well, then.” She looked at him another minute, surrendered the attack on the jeans and just like that leaned over and kissed him into the middle of next week, all soft lips and sweet taste, and when she slid her tongue against his, it was like a bolt of heat straight to his groin.

“Thank you,” he said against that mouth, pulling her onto his lap so they fit together more closely. His hand slid up to cup her breast—black bra, as he remembered, oh, yes—and relished the small softness against his palm, and kissed her again, that lush, sweet mouth. He could kiss her for a month and not get tired of it.

She pulled back a little. “I don’t suppose you’re living the bad-boy cliché and have something in your wallet?” she whispered. “Something that’s not money?”

Liam laughed. “I actually do. I was hoping I’d get lucky today.”

She smiled, and Liam felt that warm tug again, in his groin
and
his chest. “Lucky you shall get, in that case,” she said, and with that, Liam relieved her of her fleece, and her flannel, and the rest of her clothes, and made love to her on the blanket, the pine trees shushing in the breeze.

The dog, he was happy to note, had found something else to do.

T
HEY SPENT MOST OF
the afternoon at the estate, then hit a diner, where Cordelia put away a shocking amount of food before ordering two cheeseburgers to go for her beast. She fiddled with the radio on the way home, stopping on an old song from the 1970s. She sang along under her breath, looking out the window.

“Really?” Liam said. “Neil Diamond again? I thought you had to be over sixty to like that guy. Next you’ll be telling me you’re an Engelbert Humperdinck fan.”

“Engelbert is very underappreciated, but Neil is an icon. Now shush, biker boy. This is a great song. ‘I am, I said,’” she sang, a little more loudly. “‘To no one there…’”

He laughed and found…well, it wasn’t such a bad song after all.

When they got to her place, he walked her to the door. “I had a great day,” he said, and it was true. Maybe the first day since Emma had died and when he wasn’t with Nicole where he’d had a really good time.

“Me, too,” she said, and there was the telltale blush.

Shilo (named after, yes, a Neil Diamond song, she’d told him) pushed his giant head in between them. “Go ahead, Shilo,” she said, letting the dog in the house. “Um…you can come in, too. If you want.” Her face was studiously neutral.

A warning bell clanged in Liam’s head. Today had been great…but he didn’t want her reading too much into it, not when he could offer her so little. “I should probably go.”

“Okay. Well, thanks for lunch.”

“Thanks for the medallion. And the shag.”
And for making me relax, and feel better, and finding me a one-of-a-kind gift, and taking me to your favorite place. And by the way, don’t fall in love with me, Cordelia. No one’s ever been glad they did that.

“You’re welcome.”

“See you around, then.” He almost hated saying it, the casual dismissal, but it wouldn’t hurt to remind her. This was a no-commitment fling. Friends with bennies. Nothing else.

He could tell by the look on her face the message had been received. “Hang on a sec. I almost forgot.” She went into the house and returned a second later, his leather jacket in her hand. “Thanks for this.”

Liam hesitated. “Keep it for a while. I have a couple.”
Why’d you do that?
the smarter part of his brain asked.

“I do have a coat of my own, you know,” she said, giving him an out.

“Well, hang on to it anyway.” He was an idiot. But the idiot was rewarded with a smile.

“Okay, biker boy. See you around.”

He wanted to kiss her. Instead, he reached out and punched her lightly on the shoulder. “See you around.”

“I’
M DEFINITELY IN
love,” Posey said one night. Jon and Henry had invited her to dinner (well, Jon had, and Henry was present). Posey was lounging on the camel-backed Victorian sofa she’d found for Jon several years ago, which he’d had re-covered in a luscious gold-and-blue hydrangea print, and the boys’ cute little Colonial was redolent with the smell of lime and cilantro. “I’m pretty sure he is, too.”

After three weeks, she and Liam had settled into a pattern. They’d see each other a couple of times a week—the nights that Nicole spent either at friends’ houses or with her grandparents. They were dating, no matter what he did or didn’t call it. He took her out to dinner one night in Portsmouth. One Sunday afternoon they rented a boat and motored slowly through the estuary, looking for herons and osprey. One time, he’d spent the entire night, when Gret was visiting a friend and Nicole was with her grandparents. They’d fooled around, eaten, fooled around again and then watched movies till she fell asleep, her head on his lap in the great room, Meatball and Jellybean snuggled against her belly, Shilo sprawled on her lower half. If that wasn’t heaven, waking up to Liam Murphy stroking her hair and
Iron Man 2
on the telly, what was?

And if Liam wasn’t quite in love, he was close. He certainly seemed happy; that was one of the best things about their times together, the teasing insults and smiling kisses. He even seemed less tense regarding Nicole. One night, she brought him up to the belfry, and they’d sat there, holding hands and sipping wine next to the jammed, rusted gears and big iron bell as the peepers chorused from the swamp behind her house. How could that not be love?

“Sorry, pet. It’s not love until you go public,” Jon pronounced. “You need romantic intention stated out in the open. Like if he was here, spending time with the most important men in your life, it would mean something. Right, Henry?”

“What?” Henry said, glancing up from a book—
Traumatic Amputations in Nonsterile Settings.

“Meeting each other’s families, going public with love. Remember? We held hands when Max and Stacia came down for Parents’ Weekend. We were walking across the quad, Posey, all these families everywhere, and your brother took my hand. That’s when I knew it was real.”

“Knew what was real?” Henry asked, frowning.

“Never mind,” Jon sighed. “Posey, has Liam kissed you in front of other people yet?”

She pretended to think about it. “No. But we ran into each other at the bakery yesterday, and we talked.”

“About what?”

“Um…the baseball game,” she admitted. “He had five hits in one night. Stubby’s won, seventeen to six.”

“Who were they playing?”

“Curl Up and Dye.”

“Well, that explains it. But seriously, who gets on base five times in one game?”

“Well, not me, that’s for sure,” Posey said.

“Anyway, back to the public displays. Does he call you sweetheart or kiss you or lick your neck?” Jon asked.

“No. There was no licking.” Not then, anyway. She smiled.

“Then I’m not sure we can say he’s in love. Not yet. Or he is, but he’s not brave enough to show it.”

“Who are we talking about?” Henry asked.

Jonathan huffed. “Posey, do you see what I have to put up with? I work all day, I come home, I expect my partner to listen to me, but no, I could be standing here on fire and he still wouldn’t notice.”

“Henry, say something nice to your honey,” Posey commanded.

“Jon, you’re the best,” Henry said.

“More, please,” Jon said haughtily.

“You’re a great dresser, our house is a showplace, the food you cook is fit for the gods. You’re so understanding and compassionate, and I thank God every day that we found each other,” Henry murmured, his eyes drifting back to his book.

“Wow,” Posey said, closing her mouth. “I never knew you had it in you, bro.”

“I wrote it down for him,” Jonathan explained with an affectionate cuff to Henry’s head. “So how’s Gretch the Wretch acting these days?” He refilled Posey’s wine glass. “Is she wild with jealousy that you’re bagging the hottest guy in town, present company excluded?”

“Jon, this is my sister,” Henry said. “Please, let’s not talk about her sex life.”

“What do you think we’ve been talking about for the past half hour?” Jonathan said. “Go back to the ripping and tearing.” He turned to Posey. “Is she?”

Posey took a sip of her wine, which, while indubitably much, much more expensive than her own swill, didn’t seem to taste much different. “She’s not, actually. She’s been pretty busy.”

Gretchen’s lack of interest was indeed kind of odd, especially after the way she’d acted that first day, tarting Posey up while channeling a Victoria’s Secret super-model. But since then, she’d been very nonchalant. Posey was often asleep when Gret came home, so their interaction was limited (mercifully). Maybe it was as simple as that.

“She’s a wolf,” Henry said, eyes back on his book. “Beware, Posey.”

“I concur,” Jon said. “By the way, please chaperone the prom with me, Posey. Himself here won’t do it.”

“It’s true, I won’t,” Henry murmured.

“Oh, Jon, no. Sorry, bud. It’s just not my thing.”

“Not her thing,” Henry echoed, eyes still on his book. “She had a very bad time at her prom.”

“So, tell me about it!” Jon asked. “Pig’s blood as you were crowned?”

“I wish,” Posey said, rolling her eyes. “My date dumped me for someone else. Not unheard of.”

“Some guy made fun of how skinny she was,” Henry supplied, still reading. “She probably only weighed about ninety pounds back then. He called her a bag of bones, said she was built like a ten-year-old boy—”

“Hey. Savant. We don’t need a trip down Memory Lane, okay?” she said, taking a healthy slug of wine. Brothers with perfect memories were so annoying.

“—and the mean girls made fun of her. She hid in the bathroom first, then walked, in the pouring rain, mind you, to a 7-11, whereupon she called her heroic older brother, who took her out for pancakes and covered to their parents.” He turned a page and continued reading. “Oh, look at this. A shark bit this guy’s arm half off, and the medic had to stitch up the artery right on the beach or the surfer would have bled out. Now
that
would’ve been a great day. I am
never
that lucky.”

Jon looked suitably horrified. “I don’t know which of those stories is worse,” he said. “Your prom or the shark bite.”

“The shark bite is worse, Jon,” Posey said.

Jon shook his head briskly. “Well, how about this? Come with me, and I’ll be a perfect date, and we can expunge the writing from the tomb or whatever. You’ll have a great time. Please. Please, Posey, please! It’ll be fun, I promise. Don’t make me go alone and fend off passes from the Latin teacher. She wants to convert me, whether to being straight or a Lutheran, I’m not sure.”

“Nah. Sorry.” She took a sip of wine.

“I signed you up already.”

“Unsign me.”

“I’ll cook for you. For a week.” He put on his best puppy-dog face.

Posey mulled it over. Now that she was with Liam, the prom of long ago didn’t seem so awful (overlooking the fact that he was sort of the cause of it). Jon was right. She could put those memories behind her.
And
have her brother-in-law cook for her. “Two weeks.”

“Done.”

“Can you make that chicken thingie? With the ham in it?”

Jon smiled. “It’s called chicken cordon bleu, pet, and of course I can! Latin Teacher, tu es non getting some from this gay man. Who’s ready for dinner? And Henry, please pretend you noticed the centerpiece, okay?” He pointed to a lush arrangement of deep red peonies, curly twigs and ivy set in a gleaming silver bowl.

“It’s nice,” Henry said.

“Nice? Nice? I want a divorce. Sit, sit.”

But Jon’s words about Liam had made Posey squirm a little later that evening as she sat on the couch with Shilo and Jellybean, watching television. Jon was her best friend, after all, and a guy, and her brother-in-law, so he had the triple crown of truth going for him. Liam, while undeniably enjoying Posey’s company, seemed careful to…well, to keep a little distance. She had yet to be invited to his house, for example. And he only saw her when Nicole was otherwise occupied.

Except for the jacket. He wanted her to keep his
jacket
. Granted, the fact that she had it right next to her at this very moment made her a tremendous loser, but please. The coat was battered and leather and dead sexy and smelled like Liam, and if she couldn’t have him right here at this very moment, she did have the Official Bad Boy Jacket of Hotness. Not bad. Plus, a marathon of
The Pickers
was on.

As Posey was practically drooling in envy as the show’s hosts visited an old amusement park, the back door opened. She hit Mute and was just about to call out hello, when Gretchen spoke. “Okay, be quiet,” she said (not quietly). “My housemate’s probably asleep.”

Housemate,
right. Way too uncool to say
cousin,
as in
I’m staying with my cousin because I have a gambling problem and blew through all my money.
There was a rumble of a male voice, then Gretchen’s sultry giggle.

Well, this was fun! No
wonder
Gret had been pleasant lately. She was getting a little some-some herself. Posey would just tiptoe upstairs. Unfortunately, they were in the kitchen, where the stairway was. Maybe she’d just stay put after all and let
them
creep upstairs.

Another giggle. “Come on in the living room,” Gretchen said.

So much for hiding. “Gret? Is that you?” she called.

“Oh, Posey! I figured you’d be asleep by now.”

Gretchen’s head appeared in the doorway. Her hair was tousled, and she was flushed. “Um…I have a guy with me,” she whispered.

“Hi, guy,” Posey called, grinning. Shilo’s tail thumped.

The guy appeared.

Posey’s smile dropped like lead. “Oh. Uh…Dante. Hi.”

Clearly, he felt as awkward as she felt now. He gave her a stiff nod. “Posey. Nice to see you. I…I wasn’t aware you two lived together.” No. Dante had never been to her house, something that had bothered her when they were involved.

“It’s temporary,” Gretchen said hastily. “We’re a very close family.”

“Oh. How nice.”

A couple of things were clear to Posey—one, Gretchen had no idea that Dante had had a thing with her. And two, somehow or another, Gretchen had forgiven Dante that nasty comment from the parade.

“Dante, could you pour us a glass of wine?” Gretchen asked, putting her hand on Dante’s chest. “There’s a gorgeous cabernet on the counter.”

“Sure. Uh, Posey, one for you, too?”

“No, thanks.”

“Very well,” he said, retreating to the kitchen.

Gretchen sat in the easy chair, crossing her long legs. “Posey, I know this looks bad,” she said, her voice low. “But we ran into each other at the farmer’s market two weeks ago, and the truth is, I told him off. He called to apologize, and we ended up meeting for a drink. I know it seems like I’m sleeping with the enemy, but I really, really like him.”

“Okay, but Gretchen, I should—”

“Please don’t tell Max and Stacia.” She tucked a strand of long blond hair behind her ear. “I just…I just don’t have a lot of good things in my life these days. And even if it’s early, it feels…special. I really fell for him, Posey. I bet you feel the same way about Liam.” She gave Posey a smile—a genuinely excited, sweet smile, and Posey’s heart sank slowly to her stomach.

“Um, sure, Gret. I mean, you’re an adult. And the whole restaurant rivalry thing is silly.”

“Exactly! Oh, Posey, I knew I could count on you. Thank you. And listen. I haven’t said a word about you and Liam, because I know Mutti would go nuts planning the wedding and all that. So this is kind of fun, right? We each have a secret beau. Secret for now, anyway.”

Posey’s toes curled in discomfort. Of all the times for Gretchen to want to be friends…

“We’ll get out of here. I thought for some reason you’d be at Liam’s tonight, and he wanted to see where I lived… Anyway. We’ll go to his place. It’s gorgeous, by the way. House on the water in Midnight Cove.”

Posey tried not to cringe. Granted, if she could erase the Dante chapter from her life, she would. But not telling Gretchen…that didn’t seem right. Then again, maybe some things should be left to wither and die. Especially things that meant nothing.

“Dante, babe, never mind about that wine,” Gretchen called, rising gracefully. “Let’s head over to your house, shall we?”

“Good idea,” he said, returning to the great room.

“Just let me run upstairs and grab some things,” Gretchen said. She shot Posey a grateful smile, smoothed her skirt and swished out of the room.

Alone with Dante. How fun. Posey unmuted the TV to cover any conversation and looked over at the King of Slick. “Ironic, you two together,” she whispered.

He eyed her warily. “She doesn’t know about…our thing.”

“So I gathered.”

“I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I bet you would.”

“Are you going to tell her?” he whispered. “Because I’d really prefer that you didn’t.”

Posey’s jaw clenched. “Well, Dante, you smug bastard,” she whispered back. “I don’t really care what you prefer. She’s my cousin. So I’ll sleep on this, and if I feel I should tell her, I will.” Shilo put his massive head on Posey’s lap and groaned in adoration.

“I don’t see how that would serve anyone,” he said. “You and I were hardly in a serious relationship. It really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.”

Oh, that stung. “You know nothing about women,” Posey whispered. “And you’re a jerk, too.”

“Posey,” Dante said, his voice low. “Look. Maybe you’re right. But this thing with Gretchen is… Well…it could be serious. If you tell her now, that would be the end of it.”

From upstairs came the sound of running water. Posey disentangled herself from Shilo and stood up and folded her arms. “Listen up, Dante. If I tell or don’t tell, it has nothing to do with you and your feelings and your whatever. You don’t matter at all. She matters. So if I think she should know, I’ll say something. If I don’t, I won’t. But I don’t give a rat’s ass about what you think. Clear?”