Where Their Hearts Collide: Wardham Book #2 (10 page)

Carrie and
Evie exchanged a look that Karen was either too drunk or too stupid to understand.

“What?”

“That’s seriously how you see yourself?” Carrie rolled her eyes and headed for the kitchen.

“Hey!” Karen stumbled to her feet. “I get that I’m
drunk, and a bit self-centered today, but are you being bitchy with me?”

Instead of answering, the redhead stepped out of view, muttering under her breath.

“Seriously, is she mad at me?”

Evie
raggedly shook her head from side to side. “Nah. She just doesn’t approve of casual sex.”

“I’m
the furthest thing from a prude!” This was shouted from the kitchen. Karen decided to ignore all comments that weren’t offered in a social fashion.

“Maybe she’s not getting enough at home.” Instead of offending Carrie, this just got a sarcastic laugh. “Oh crap, that’s her point, isn’t it?
That we should be looking for variations on Ian?”

Evie
drained her wine glass. “She wouldn’t be wrong, you know. Nixon men are good stock. Kyle has made my sister very happy.” Carrie’s brother-in-law had recently proposed to Evie’s sister. Proof that Wardham was too small and Karen needed to get out in order to find a life worth living. “But good men are hard to find.”

Carrie popped back into the room at that. “That’s not true. They’re out there, but you can’t…” She waved at the two of them, at a loss for words. After thinking for a minute, she stabbed a finger in the air at Karen. “You’re so convinced that no one wants you
, and you have no idea how gorgeous you are. And when you meet someone who doesn’t just like you, but
likes
you, you run scared at the first disagreement.” Karen opened her mouth to protest, but Carrie was on a roll. She turned toward Evie. “And you! You’re in the prime of your life. You’re right, it’s time to thaw, but don’t sell yourself short either. You deserve a good time
and
a good friend.”

“Baby steps.
First the good time. It’s been so long, I may have forgotten what to do,” the blond muttered, skepticism all over her face.

“Not all men are as selfi
sh as Dale, sweetie.” Over the years, Evie had shared enough about her ex that Karen knew this needed to be said, but she was glad that Carrie was the one speaking the truth. Her relationship with Ian wasn’t perfect, but it was clear that man adored his wife and treated her like a queen. For years Karen had thought he was one of a kind. Her closest male friends, other than Ian, had spent most of their twenties proving that fact. Ian’s brother Kyle had recently rekindled a long ago relationship with his first love, and in his active pursuit of Laney, Karen and many others in Wardham had fallen for him as well. In a totally platonic, happy for them both kind of way, of course. But before that reunion, Kyle had been just as bad as Dale. Or their friend Ty, who had slept with half the pretty girls between Detroit and Toronto, and was on a mission to bed the other half.

Paul had alluded to a messy past. Enough that his ex-wife would
have concerns about any new relationship, which made Karen’s stomach pitch wildly. And yet with her, he’d been restrained and sweet. Right up until he got dirty, but even that had been…attentive. He heard her whispered fantasies and delivered. No way would Paul be selfish in the bedroom.

“Care to elaborate about what’s putting that look on your face?”
Evie looked so keen for something, anything, that Karen didn’t want to disappoint.

“Is it possible that the bes
t sex of my life was over the phone?” She let her head fall back against the couch with a small wail. “And I’m never going to have it again?”

“Seriously, it was that good?” Carrie raised her eyebrows. “Maybe you should damn the consequences and go for it.”

“It was incredible,” Karen whispered. The memory of his voice, his words, flooded her chest with heat. “Uninhibited sex is not a foreign idea to me, but up until last week, it was still just a
concept
, ya know? Now I’ve tasted it, and I want more.”

“We had some knockout moments like that. One night we drank a
magnum of champagne and did some unspeakable one-time-only things…I mean, I would have done them again, but Dale never mentioned them…” Evie shrugged. “I guess that’s one of the many reasons we’re divorced. Couldn’t even talk about sex.”

Carrie nodded slowly. “Are you sure this isn’t just a communication problem with Paul?”

Karen shook her head, misery replacing the temporary wave of desire. “There’s more that I can’t share, but he’s really not open to a casual fling, and I need to respect that.”

It was late by the time Karen got home. Carrie’s husband had taken one look at the blushing, giggling women and pronounced none of them fit to drive, which was not a surprise. He loaded Karen and Evie into his truck, pulled his wife in tight for a kiss that bordered on indecent and left no doubt that he was comfortable with the unspeakable things. Ian Nixon was one of the good guys, and he treated his wife right. Karen knew that Carrie was speaking from experience when she suggested communication might be the key—Ian hadn’t always been that attentive.

But she couldn’t see a way for this situation with Paul to be anything other than heartbreaking.
For one or the other, and probably both of them.

She almost climbed into bed in her clothes, but she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep without brushing her teeth, and that step in the routine led her to her pajama drawer as if by rote.
On auto-pilot, she padded over to her laptop to check her email. What the hell, she was upright, might as well be thorough.

It took her a few bleary blinks to understand the words swimming on the screen in front of her. After reading the message over a few times,
she reached for the phone. Her mother answered on the third ring.

“Karen? Is everything okay?”

“Yep. Sorry, I know it’s late.”

“That’s okay, sweetie.”

“I got an email today, probably shoulda been sent to you.” Karen blinked again. She was pretty sure she just slurred the last three words together. Crap.

“Honey, are you drunk?”

“Tipsy.”

Her mother chuckled in her ear. “Do you want to call me in the morning?”

“Nah, it’s okay.”

“
Uhm, okay…an email, you say?”

“I think it’s an offer to buy the store.
I dunno, I could be wrong. I am drunk, after all.”

There would never be a good time for his ex-wife to visit and pass judgment on his new life, but Paul really wasn’t in the mood for it today. Unfortunately, Susan was heading to a cottage not far from Wardham for the weekend, so her offer to drop Megan off was entirely reasonable.

He doubted she’d want to come inside, but vacuumed just in case. Rescued the latest issue of
National Geographic
from the bathroom and set it out on the coffee table. Paced for a while before convincing himself he was being silly. He opened his laptop at the desk under the front window and called up his email. There was a nice note from a student who had volunteered in his department in Windsor, asking for a letter of reference. He appreciated the distraction, and was mid-composition when Susan’s hatchback pulled up to the curb.

He stepped out onto his porch and lifted a hand in greeting as
she got out. She returned the gesture before reaching into the trunk to grab Megan’s backpack. His daughter was already bounding toward him from the curb, and he took the stairs quickly to greet her on the walk with a bone crusher hug.

“Have a good week, sweetie?”

She nodded. “I’ve got some homework to do, but it’s not too bad.”

Susan joined them.
“Hi, Paul.” She flicked her gaze over the small bungalow behind him, then over to Karen’s house, and down the street. “Nice neighbourhood. Cute town, too.”

“Thanks. It’s
nice. I like it.”
Painfully wonderful
and
am tortured on a daily basis by my proximity to my off-limits neighbour
would probably be too much information.

She handed over a card. “I’m not sure what cell reception is like at the cottage, but they have a landline. Here’s the address and phone number. Try my cell first, but just in case…”

He nodded. “You’re meeting friends there?” She didn’t answer right away and he waved her off. “Sorry, none of my business.”

“No, it’s fine. Meg, why don’t you take your bag inside?”

“Seriously? Mom, you always say that when you want to have an adult conversation.” Their daughter rolled her eyes.

“With good reason, kiddo.
Listen to your mom and dump your bag, then we’ll go for a bike ride. And put the eye roll away, please.” He took a deep breath and shared a
What can you do?
look with Susan.

“I know
it’s normal boundary testing, but holy crap, the attitude!” Susan puffed her cheeks out in frustration. “I appreciate you taking her for the whole weekend.”

“It’s not a
favour. I always want more time with her.” He crossed his arms over his chest and slowed his next exhale. This was the first deviation from their revised custody plan, and he couldn’t help but get his back up. After four years of only wanting to discuss this through lawyers, he didn’t know how to take this long unseen, more flexible, side of Susan.

“I know.” She reached out and placed her small manicured hand on his forearm. “But thank you all the same. And about the cottage…I’m meeting a friend there.
A man that I’ve been seeing.”

“Has Meg met him yet?”

“Yes, a couple of times. He has two kids, a twelve year old boy and an eight year old girl. We went to the sugar bush together.”

Maple syrup season had been over for two months. “That was a while ago.”

“We’re taking it slow. I want to get it right this time.” Paul winced, and she sucked in a breath. “Sorry, that’s not what I mean.” She squeezed his arm and dropped her hand. “Anyway, I thought you should know.”

“Okay, thanks.” He meant it. He wanted Susan to know she could share anything that might affect Megan. And he didn’t
harbour any ill-will toward her, or any lingering feelings, so if she was happy and his daughter’s feelings and safety were being considered, that’s all that mattered.

The screen door slapped open and Megan stomped across the porch and down the stairs. “Are you guys done fighting?”

“We weren’t—”

Paul’s protest was cut off as Megan let out a holler and took off past him at a run. “Hey! Karen!”

His heart thudded to a stop and his vision dimmed as Susan tipped her head to the side to better see around him where their daughter was headed. His back was to them, but he could imagine what was happening behind him. Megan, animatedly carrying on about something. Karen, listening, because she would still care about his daughter, and it was probably about books, so she’d care for that reason as well. If she was coming home from work, she’d be in jeans and a polo shirt. Otherwise maybe capris and a t-shirt. Something bright and colourful, because she’d be trying to put on a brave face to the world. He knew what that was like.

“Who’s Karen?” Susan tilted her face up to his, and he willed her not to read anything there.

“My neighbour.” He pointed to her house. “She manages the grocery store in town.”

“Oh right, the cookie making incident! Meg thought that was pretty cool.”

“Yeah. They both like books.” His voice was way too gruff, but he couldn’t help it. Any second now they’d drift into his peripheral vision. He could hear them approaching. Maybe ten feet away. Eight. Aching awareness prickled at the back of his neck and down his spine. Susan was watching him with unabashed curiosity, and he furrowed his brow. The best defense… “She’s nice. Not my type, but you know…pleasant.”

As soon as the words were out his mouth, he regretted them.  They weren’t even a little bit true, but Susan seemed to believe them. What did that say about him, that she so readily accepted him as an asshole? Disappointment, probably on behalf of all women everywhere, drifted across h
er face. In that moment as he turned to introduce Susan to Karen, he needed no more proof of his inability to love than his ex-wife and his fantasy girl standing toe to toe, about to bond over being done with him.

Longing and denied desire shot through his gut
before he even saw her, and he had trouble lifting his gaze from the sidewalk, but he couldn’t very well introduce Susan to the crack at their feet. He took his time getting there, noting first that she had new sandals, and she’d painted her toenails red, but one had chipped. He wanted to fix that for her. Fuck, he had problems. Nail polish. What the hell?

Her bare calves,
already tanned and toned, led to cropped black yoga pants, which hugged her pelvis and sparked unbidden fantasy of what lay underneath. He skipped up to her face, because he was afraid he might get lost around her breasts and embarrass himself more than he probably already had. But as soon as they made eye contact, he wished they hadn’t, because lurking under her practiced smile was a shallow pool of pain, so bright and obvious that he almost took a step toward her before he remembered that it wasn’t his role to hug her. Not his place to heal the pain he’d inflicted.