Until There Was You (26 page)

“And here I thought a hug would help,” he said, holding her a little closer. “I really need a user’s manual where you’re concerned. Want me to pull your hair? Would that be better?”

She gave a shaky laugh. “Sorry I’m so…unfun today.”

He turned her around. “Cordelia,” he said firmly. “Don’t be a dope.”

“Such a sweet-talker, you.”

“You just told me not to be nice.” He tipped her chin up, glad to see she wasn’t crying anymore. “What do you want to do? Want me to take you home? Take you to your parents’ house so you guys can talk?”

She pursed her lips, thinking, and even though he was trying to be princely, a bolt of lust shot through him. That mouth was really something, and sure enough, he found he was kissing her, gently, her soft, full lips such a surprise coming from that wiry little package.

“I don’t want to go home just yet,” she said, blushing. Her arms were still around him.

“You want to talk some more? I have a teenage girl. I know all about feelings and crying and mushy stuff.”

She laughed, and that warm thing in his chest squeezed. “Nah. I have to think about this a little more, but I’m done talking.”

“Come on, then,” Liam said. “Cemeteries don’t generally cheer people up. Back on the bike, woman. I know just the place.”

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up at their destination, and when Posey saw where they were, she gave him a big smile, the first he’d seen from her that day. “Jimbo’s Batting Cages, huh?”

“That’s right,” he said, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “Time you learned to put some wood on ball.”

“That sounds vaguely dirty,” she murmured.

“We can only hope,” and he gave her a kiss and was somewhat amazed at how great it felt to cheer her up.

W
ELL
, L
IAM HADN’T
managed to teach her to hit, Posey thought, but it had been very fun (and yes, vaguely dirty) to have him stand behind her, his arms enveloping her as he tried to get her to swing at the right time, her bottom pressed most comfortably against his groin. Yep. Dirty. Who knew batting practice could be so much fun? As an improvement on her swing, it was worthless. As foreplay, much better. And he’d made her laugh, and that was really something, given how churned up she’d been feeling.

“Okay, try it yourself a few times. I have to call my kid,” Liam said, stepping out of the batting cage. Seemed a lot lonelier in here without him. The next ball came. She swung. Missed. “You are the worst hitter I’ve ever seen,” he added, smiling.

“We all have our talents, lunkhead,” she said. Another pitch from the machine. Another miss.

“Hey, honey, it’s your father,” Liam said into the phone. So sweet. He gave Nicole the paternal interrogation—Posey was standing just feet away, it wasn’t like she was eavesdropping. But it was…warming, Liam asking Nicole how was her paper going, had she checked in with Mrs. Antonelli, did she eat the leftover chicken and not just M&Ms. Posey’s chest swelled. Liam was a good father, that was clear, and there was little more appealing than a man who was a loving dad.

Liam glanced at her a couple of times as he talked. “Mind if I grab dinner while I’m out?” he said into the phone. He had yet to mention her—Posey tried not to notice, but, yeah, her name had not come up, she was pretty sure. Not that it mattered, not really. “Okay, baby,” Liam said finally. “See you later. Love you.” He put his phone back in his pocket and looked at Posey once more. “Here it comes…you can do it…swing!”

Posey swung. Missed. “Okay, enough humiliation. What’s the plan, Big Papi?”

“How about some dinner?” he asked.

“That would be fantastic,” she said. “I’m so hungry, I’m about to gnaw off your arm.”

They found a nice little place on the water, ordered some fried clams and scallops, a beer for him, a white zinfandel for her. “No whiskey sours?” Liam asked. “Because you were a lot of fun that night.”

“Well, same to you on pain meds, you big baby.”

He grinned. She smiled back. Goofy in love, that’s what she was. Dang. Or huzzah. She wasn’t quite sure.

They talked about ordinary things—she told him about the one-sided romance between her coworkers, he told her about Nicole wanting to go to the prom.

At the word
prom,
Posey felt that old twist of…betrayal. The complete and utter dashing of expectations. But it was clear Liam had no knowledge of the impact of Posey’s own prom, and it was better to keep it that way. “So, will you let Nicole go?” she asked.

“I said yes today.” He took a long pull on his beer, clearly not convinced that his decision was a good one.

“Well,” Posey said briskly, looking out the window, “proms can be very formative.”

“Exactly what I’m hoping to avoid. Some idiot boy breaking her heart.” The irony of his statement was lost on him; he gave her a half smile and a shrug. “Anyway. Enough about my kid. How are you doing? Feeling a little better?”

Her heart softened. “Yes. A lot better, actually.”

“Good.” Liam smiled fully, making her knees tingle. So he’d said a crummy thing back in the olden days. He was clearly a great guy now.

The waiter approached, slipping the check on the table. “I’ll take this whenever you’re ready,” he said, gliding away.

“Let me get it,” Posey said, grabbing the check. “You were a prince today. You deserve payment.”

“Yes, I was a prince, and no, I’m paying.” He reached over and took an end of the check.

Posey didn’t let go. “Don’t make me wrestle you, Liam,” she warned. “We both know who would win, and you don’t want to be embarrassed in front of all these nice people.”

“No, no, let’s wrestle,” he said, and with that he leaned over and kissed her, a soft, full kiss, his fingers sliding through her short hair, and Posey felt herself melting against him, against his mouth, toward his heat.

Then he pulled back and tugged the check out of her unresisting fingers. “Sucker,” he said, grinning.

“Jerk.” She straightened up and slid him a glance, still a little flustered from that kiss. “Thanks for dinner, biker boy.”

“My pleasure.” He stuffed a couple of bills into the leather check holder and continued looking at her. His eyes were smoky. Maybe they’d have time to zip back to the church, have a tumble, before he had to get back to—

Oh, bieber. Oh, no.

George and Louise Tate were standing at the maître d’s desk.

Staring at the two of them.

“Liam?” she whispered. “Um…the Tates are here.”

His smile vanished. “Oh, crap,” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry,” Posey said, biting her lip. Dang it! Right when they were out in public—public, you know, with kissing and everything, meeting all of Jon’s criteria—there were his dead wife’s parents, frozen in dismay.

“No, no. It’s… Well, let’s go say hi.”

They stood up and approached the Tates.

“Hi,” Liam said, offering his hand to George. George didn’t take it, and Posey had to force herself not to cringe. “Uh, George, Louise, this is Cordelia Osterhagen.”

Louise Tate stared at her like she was a severed head on their doorstep. Posey swallowed. Her cheeks were on fire, her hair was, doubtlessly, a mess… “Hi, Mrs. Tate, Mr. Tate,” she said, a little too brightly. “I remember you from church, way back when.” She paused, lowering her voice. “I was so sorry to hear about Emma. We were friendly in high school, and she was—”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Tate interrupted stiffly. “Liam, who’s with Nicole?”

“She’s at home, working on a paper,” he said.

“Alone?” Mr. Tate asked.

“Yes. She’s almost sixteen, George.” Liam’s hands were jammed in his pockets. The Tates said nothing. “Well, have a nice dinner,” Liam said. “Talk to you soon.”

“It was nice to see you again,” Posey added, then kicked herself. It wasn’t nice, certainly not for them.

“Tell Nicole we’d like to see her twice this week, since we didn’t get to visit today,” Mrs. Tate said, ignoring Posey. Her tone was ice-cold.

The sky was red and purple outside, and the lights of the Piscataqua River Bridge glittered in the reflection of the water. “I’m really, really sorry about that,” Posey said quietly as they walked to the parking lot.

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s fine.” His voice was normal, but of course, it wasn’t fine. He was tense as they drove home, the ride not nearly as pleasant as it had been earlier. His back was stiff and straight, his movements overly cautious.

When they pulled into her driveway, Liam walked her to the door, despite her protestation that he didn’t have to. From inside, Shilo began barking in joy, his baying voice bouncing off the forty-foot ceilings.

“Okay, well, thanks, Liam. For today. You were really great,” Posey said. She took a deep breath. “Sorry about the Tates and the kissing and stuff.”

He shrugged. “I kissed you. And don’t worry about it. But I should get back to Nicole.”

“Sure, sure. Okay.”

They stood there another minute, the silence growing awkward. Then Liam reached out and pinched her chin. “Good luck with the family stuff,” he said. “And you know, you can call me. If you want.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it.”

“Thanks even more, then, biker boy.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Now, shoo. Go home to your kid.”

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight for a long minute, and it was so unexpected that Posey felt her eyes prickle with tears. She kissed his cheek again. “You’re a good guy, Liam Murphy,” she whispered. Then, a little embarrassed at the proclamation, she pulled back. “Go on, git,” she said. “And thanks.”

Inside, with Shilo licking her face and wagging so hard he knocked over an end table, Posey found that she was still smiling. Even with the Tates ending their night on an off note, Liam had really come through.

N
OPE
. T
HAT HAD NOT
been cool. The joy of riding his Triumph was gone as Liam made his way from Cordelia’s back into town. The Tates hadn’t wanted him with Emma, but they sure didn’t want him with someone else. Not now, anyway. And of course, they’d busted him at the very moment he’d been picturing Cordelia naked and underneath him. Bad enough that he’d deflowered, then stolen, their precious daughter. Now he was—in their minds, anyway—cheating on her.

Liam pulled into the garage, figuring the walk home might cool him off a little, give him time to figure out how to make this okay. The thing was, being out with Cordelia had been pretty fantastic. She’d been upset, he’d made her feel better, they’d had fun. It had been a long time since he’d felt so…well, so good.
You’re a good guy, Liam Murphy,
Cordelia had said.

It wasn’t something he’d heard a lot in his life.

Enter the Tates, almost on cue to remind him just how not-good he really was. Not only was Nicole left alone— Liam, the negligent father, was out with another woman. The warmth from being with Cordelia evaporated as he walked through the quiet streets of Bellsford. He hadn’t heard the end of this, he was quite sure.

He opened the door of the apartment building and ran up the five flights of stairs. Heard the sound of the Ramones and smelled popcorn. Nicole must’ve finished that paper. Good girl.

Then Liam opened the door, walked into his apartment, and found Tanner Talcott and Nicole sitting on the couch, entwined around each other, kissing like a meteor was about to hit the planet and end life as they knew it.

“Y
OU CAN’T GROUND
me for kissing someone!” Nicole yelled.

“I already have grounded you!” he yelled back. It had been three days since Nicole had aged him fifty years—three days of whining, sobbing and yelling—and if he could magically turn her mute, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“You’re so unfair! I’m sixteen years old, almost! I should be able to kiss my boyfriend!”

“You weren’t grounded for kissing that boy! It was for breaking every rule I have! You were home alone, Nicole! No guests! You know that! Let alone a horny boy who just wants to get into your pants!”

“Our clothes were totally on! Maybe he doesn’t just want to get into my pants, Dad. Maybe he loves me!” She burst into tears and threw herself into a chair.

Emma, you really screwed me by dying,
Liam thought irrationally.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
He took a deep breath. “Stop crying, Nic,” he said in a calmer voice. “I’ll drive you to school.”

She cut him a glare. “I’m taking the bus.”

“Get your stuff and get in the car, Nicole!”

There should be some drug for fathers of teenage girls. Something that calmed your heart so it didn’t practically rip through your chest. Something that could soothe the fury your daughter could inspire, the absolute terror that something unspeakable would happen to her, the almost murderous sense of protection. Something that would give you the words to tell her that no one would ever love her as much as dear old dad, and if she just listened to him, she’d have a much easier time of things and be safe from boys who ruined her life.

Liam would bet his left nut that George Tate had wished for the same thing.

They rode to school in silence. When he pulled into the parking lot, she didn’t get out right away, just sat there, staring straight ahead. “I still get to go to the prom, right?” she asked, her voice defiant. “Tanner already bought the tickets, and they were, like, really expensive.”

No. You don’t ever get to go out with that boy again. Do you know how hard it was for me not to kill him the other night? Prom? Are you serious? Are you out of your mind? Absolutely not. Never.

But nearly sixteen years of fatherhood had taught Liam one thing—sometimes, it’s best not to answer right away. “Have a good day at school, and I’ll pick you up at 2:30. I love you, even if I’m really, really mad, Nicole. And I know you’re mad, too, but you’re grounded for your own good.”

Nicole answered with the Slitty Eyes of Death and got out of the car.

It was not with a light heart that Liam went to work. The smell of oil and machines, the faint bite of soldered metal, the cool echo of the garage that usually welcomed him failed to work its magic today. Usually, he loved coming to the garage. It was the one place he really knew what he was doing. When Liam was six years old, his father had asked him to help him take apart an engine. The car had been stolen, but Liam didn’t know that and probably wouldn’t have cared if he had. Father-son bonding times were few and far between. Dad may have been a mean drunk, but when he was sober, he’d been great with an engine. Liam had been hooked.

And now he had his own place, and work was going great. He was even hiring a kid from the vocational school. The bakery women had ordered a matching pair of custom bikes (who knew there was so much money in pastries?). They loved the design he’d made for them; he was just waiting for their down payment to get started. Right here in front of him was Jimmy Spencer’s Harley, which had a burned-out clutch. Liam could fix that in his sleep. Wires, connections, components, all fixable. After that, he had three custom gas tanks to make. He picked up a wrench and got to work on Jimmy’s bike, took off the housing and started disassembling the clutch plates.

Everything was so logical here. If you put something together the right way, it worked. The spark plugs didn’t just decide that the rules of mechanics didn’t apply to them. They didn’t just say,
You know what? We’re not firing up today. No, there’s no reason. We just don’t feel like we should have to. Screw the distributor and its stupid wires. We don’t care. Maybe we’ll care tomorrow. Maybe not. We’ll let you know. Or we won’t. We might hate you tomorrow. Count on it, in fact.
No, if the spark plugs didn’t work, there was a good reason for that. Not like fatherhood.

And not like marriage.

That was another thing. His wife had left him a long time ago. Long before she got sick. She might’ve lived in the same house and slept in the same bed, but she hadn’t really been there, not when it was just the two of them. He could tell in the way she listened to him, her mind elsewhere even if she made the right response, in the way she distanced herself from him just a little when they were out in public. He could tell in bed. What had once been that kind of soul-to-soul connection dwindled into a pleasant physical exchange, until all Liam had was the mother of his child and the woman who slept on the other side of the bed.

And then she’d died and taken even that and left him with a daughter. A daughter who seemed determined to ruin her life the same way her mother had.

“Damn it!” Liam yelled, throwing a wrench across the garage, where it clattered against the wall.

“Dude, chill,” came a voice.

He straightened up, then closed his eyes. Red-faced Rick Balin. Again. The blowhard came in three times a week at least and thought nothing of wasting Liam’s time.

“What can I do for you, Rick?” he asked. “I’m pretty busy.”

“Dude, I’m ready to make a commitment, right? And nothing but the best, okay? I can afford it.”

“Sure,” Liam said tightly. “Come on into my office.”

Rick wanted the best, all right. He looked through some of Liam’s basic designs, adding features like a kid in a candy store. An S&S motor, Italian leather seat, custom-cut aluminum alloy wheels. Shortened handlebars, which Liam would send out to be chromed, to accommodate Rick’s rather stubby arms. A turn here, a swoop there, more chrome here. He wanted the whole thing to be powder-coated a bright orange.

The price tag would be just over sixty grand.

“Not a problem,” Rick said. He suppressed a burp, then leaned back and gave Liam a self-satisfied grin. “A man’s gotta treat himself right, know what I’m saying, dude? And hey, I work hard. I deserve it.”

Liam looked away, his eyes settling on the Gypsy Tour medallion. There was no doubt about it. He hated Rick Balin. It was more than the fact that the guy was an obnoxious, lazy, entitled pain in the ass…there was something else. Something visceral.

“Get out,” he said.

Rick blinked. “What’s that?”

“Get out, Rick. I’m not selling you anything. There are enough idiots on motorcycles in the world. I’m not gonna add one more to the roster. Buy your midlife crisis somewhere else and get out of my garage.”

“Dude—”

“Now.” He stood up, and Rick shrank back in his seat—well, shrank back as much as a three-hundred-pound man could.

“You’re making a mistake,” Rick said as Liam grabbed his beefy arm and towed him toward the exit.

“Doesn’t feel that way,” Liam said.

“You can’t do this to me! I’m the president of the Downtown Merchants Coun—”

Liam closed the door in his face.

It should’ve felt good. It
did
feel good, even if he’d just flushed a year’s worth of tuition payments down the toilet. But Rick…he was like that kid who’d called Liam no one from nowhere. Someone who felt entitled to everything.

Something flashed in Liam’s memory…something from high school, something to do with Rick…but then it was gone.

He had the sudden urge to see Cordelia, and without further thought, he flipped the Open sign to Closed.

V
ERY
,
VERY CAREFULLY
, Posey set the porch railing in place on the model house she was building, then held it as the wood glue set. Of all the models she’d built, The Meadows was most involved—try making stained-glass windows that were half an inch high. But she loved it; it was such a contrast to salvage, where everything was taken apart. Now she was building something. From the tiny slate shingles on the roof to the turned balusters of the porch, the model would be an almost exact replica. Vivian would love it.

She glanced over at Shilo, who happened to be sleeping on a black-and-white cow-skin-covered couch, meaning he was almost invisible. He was snoring, having exhausted himself by hiding from Al the UPS man earlier that morning.

She was pretty tired, too. Thoughts of the letter had been keeping her up at night. What had her birth mother wanted? Was she heartbroken because Posey never answered? Did Posey have biological siblings out there somewhere? And why would her parents keep that from her? How would they react when she brought this up, because really, how the heck could she not bring this up?

“Hey.”

At the sound of Liam’s voice, Posey jumped, knocking the railing askew. “Dang it. Hi, Liam,” she said, feeling her face warm. She straightened the railing and looked up at him. There was Elise, standing behind Liam and grinning hugely, mouthing the words
Oh, my God!
as her hands fluttered in excitement. “How are you?”

So hot!
Elise mouthed.

“Great.”

He didn’t look great…well, he always looked pretty great, actually. At the moment, though, he looked clenched, his mouth grim, jaw tight, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. “Want to grab lunch?” he asked.

This was a first. Well, this was two firsts, in fact. Liam had never come to Irreplaceable, and he’d never asked her out on an impromptu date.

Unfortunately, his timing sucked. “I can’t. I’d love to, but it’s… Um, I have plans.”

At her words, Elise began humming “Happy Birthday.”

“Elise,” Posey said tightly, “could you…check the register or something?”

“Totally,” Elise said, pointing at Liam’s ass with another
Oh, my God!
She obeyed, however, practically skipping to the front of the store.

“So…yeah. I have a lunch thing. Sorry,” Posey said.

“Should’ve called, I guess.” He paused. “Everything good with you? Family-wise?”

“Oh, sure.” She gave a little shrug.

Liam glanced around the barn. “This is quite the place.”

“Thanks,” she said, feeling the familiar sense of pride as she followed his gaze. His expression was somber. “Everything okay with you, Liam?”

“Sure. Just…do you remember—”

At that moment, the door opened. “Come on, birthday girl!” boomed Kate. “I took an entire day off for this. I tried to get James to come, because they have stuff for guys there, too, back waxing, manly manis…they actually do a scrotal wax, can you believe that? Not that I want that for my son, but come on! Wouldn’t that be a son of a bitch?”

Ah, her delicate friend. Kate finally seemed to notice Liam. “Oh, hi, biker boy. How’s it hanging?”

“Kate,” Liam said, grinning. “How’s it hanging with you?”

Kate gave him an unabashed once-over. “I’m taking the birthday girl here to a spa. Nose to toes. Buffed, polished, oiled…whatever the hell else they do there. I tend to fall asleep, personally. But I can guarantee she’ll smell like something other than polyurethane. Thank me later. Come on, Posey, our appointment is in twenty minutes.”

“Happy birthday.” Liam looked down at her, a faint smile in his eyes. “Oh…thanks.”

“What did you get her, Liam?” Elise asked. “I’ll totally keep it a secret. Is it, like, jewelry?”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Posey said, mortified. “He didn’t know it was my birthday, and he’s not getting me anything.”
Because one doesn’t announce to Hottie McSin that it’s one’s birthday, because one may be trying very hard to pretend that this relationship is casual, and birthdays shouldn’t be brought up, since that could be construed as begging for a gift and/or acknowledgment of a special event in one’s life.

“Have fun,” Liam said in a low voice. “Can’t wait to smell you later.”

Oh, Elvis.
Posey’s knees gave a significant wobble.

“Princess! Come on! You know I hate to be late! Those waxings take a while on me,” Kate barked. “Oh, and Liam, I’m so glad you and Posey are getting it on. I think that’s very cool.”

Posey’s face actually hurt from blushing. “Okay. Sorry about lunch,” she managed.

“Not a problem.”

The memory of his smile made her feel wriggly for quite some time.