“I know it’s you.”
He was slumped in the corner of the room, with one leg bent and the other stretched out. Firelight illuminated his silvery hair and half of his face. She didn’t know if it was the dim lighting, but she noticed the lines etched around his eyes. Sadness clung to him, made her wonder if he’d been crying.
“I shouldn’t have come in. Or come here, for that matter,” she said, uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.” She turned and headed for the door.
“Have a drink with me.”
She released a breath, realizing just then how much she’d wanted him to ask her to stay. Slowly, she faced him.
“What can I get you?”
“Martini?”
He laughed. It was a dry, rustling sound that bore no resemblance to the real thing. “I’ve got scotch. And scotch.”
She sidled past the coffee table and sat down on the worn leather sofa. “I’ll have a scotch.”
He got up, shuffled across the room. She saw now why he’d been so invisible; he had on worn black jeans and a black T-shirt.
She heard a splash of liquid, then a rattling of ice. As he poured her drink, she looked around the room. All those photographs of the Grace Kelly look-alike made her uncomfortable. These pictures weren’t decoration; they were obsession, naked and unashamed. She tried to figure out where she’d seen this woman but couldn’t.
“Here.”
She looked up.
He stood in front of her. The top two buttons of his Levi’s were undone, and the T-shirt was ripped at the collar, revealing a dark patch of chest hair.
“Thank you,” she said.
He took a drink straight from the bottle, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sure.” He didn’t move away, just stood there, staring down at her. He was unsteady on his feet.
“You’re drunk,” she said, finally getting it.
“Iss June twenty-second.” He smiled, or tried to, but the sadness in his eyes made it impossible.
“Do you have something against the twenty-second?”
His gaze darted to the end table beside her. To the photographs clustered there. He looked quickly back at her. “You were here the other day. You didn’t come in.”
So he’d seen her, standing on the street that afternoon, looking at his house. She couldn’t think of how to answer, so she drank instead.
He sat down beside her.
She twisted around to face him, realizing an instant too late how close they were. She could feel his breath against her lips. She tried to edge away.
He reached out, grabbed her wrist. “Don’t go.”
“I wasn’t leaving. But maybe I should.”
He let go of her wrist suddenly. “Maybe you should.” He took another swig from the bottle.
“Who is she, Joe?” Her voice was soft, but in the quiet room, it seemed too loud, too intimate. She flinched, wishing she hadn’t asked, surprised that she cared.
“My wife. Diana.”
“You’re married?”
“Not anymore. She … left me.”
“On June twenty-second.”
“How’jou know?”
“I know about divorces. The anniversaries can be hell.” Meghann stared into his sad, sad eyes and tried not to feel anything. It was better that way, safer. But sitting here beside him, close enough to be taken into his arms, she felt … needy. Maybe even desperate. Suddenly she wanted something from Joe; something more than sex.
“Maybe I should go. You seem to want to be alone.”
“I’ve been alone.”
She heard the ache of loneliness in his voice and it drew her in. “Me, too.”
He reached out, touched her face. “I can’t offer you anything, Meghann.”
The way he said her name, all sad and drawn out and slow, sent a shiver along her spine. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t want anything from him except a night in his bed, but amazingly, she couldn’t form the words. “It’s okay.”
“You should want more.”
“So should you.”
She felt fragile suddenly, as if this man she didn’t know at all had the power to break her heart. “We’re talking too much, Joe. Kiss me.”
In the fireplace, a log fell to the hearth floor with a thud. Sparks flooded into the room.
With a groan, he pulled her into his arms.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
The next morning, the weather in Hayden was perfect. A bright sun rode high in the cornflower blue, cloudless sky. A thin, cooling breeze rustled through the trees, making music on the deep green maple leaves. By five o’clock, Claire was ready to begin dressing. The problem was, she couldn’t move.
Behind her, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” she said, thankful for the distraction.
Meghann stood in the doorway, holding a pile of plastic-sheathed dresses. She looked nervous, uncharacteristically uncertain. “I thought maybe we’d get dressed together.” When Claire didn’t answer instantly, Meghann said, “You probably think it’s a stupid idea.” She backed out of the room.
“Stop. I think it would be great.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I just need to shower.”