Someone came up behind Angie, grabbed her shoulders. Before she could turn around, Conlan swept her into his arms and carried her out of the restaurant.
The last thing Angie heard was her sister saying, “Like I said. Shorthanded.”
His smile was dazzling as he deposited her in the passenger seat of his car. “Close your eyes.”
She did as she was told.
“I like this new Angie. She listens to me.”
“Only so far, pal.” She laughed. This felt so good. It was cold out, freezing on this February night, but he had the top down anyway and the air stung her face and whipped her hair in a dozen different directions. “We’re at the beach,” she said, smelling it, hearing the roar of the surf.
He parked, then came around to her side. She heard the trunk whir open and thump shut.
He picked her up again, carried her forward. She could tell by the heaviness of his steps, the way he started breathing just a little harder, that he was walking in sand.
“Someone needs to visit a gym more often,” she teased.
“Says the heavyweight in my arms.”
He set her down. She heard the snap of a blanket and his curses as he straightened it out. Then he started a fire. The acrid smell tinged the sea air, made her think of every high school beach party she’d ever attended.
She drew in a deep breath and smelled the whole of her youth. The sand, the sea, the driftwood that was never completely wet or completely dry.
“Open your eyes.”
When she did, she was looking up at him.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Ange.”
She leaned up to him. He knelt down to meet her. They kissed like teenagers, with a desperate hunger, and then stretched out on the blanket.
With a heaven of stars above them and a crackle of firelight beside, they lay there, entwined, kissing and talking and kissing some more. They thought about making love, but it was too damned cold out, and frankly, making out was pretty fun.
In the blackest part of the night, when the stars were so bright they hurt your eyes and moonlight glowed on the foamy surf, Angie snuggled up alongside him and kissed his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.
“What now?” he asked quietly; the question that was always between them. If she hadn’t been listening for it, the surf would have wiped it away.
“We don’t have to decide anything, Con. For now, this is enough.” In the weeks since Christmas they’d seen each other now and then and talked on the phone for hours. She’d loved all of it so much, she didn’t want to risk needing more.
“The old Angie liked to set goals and achieve them. She wasn’t so good at ‘let’s wait and see.’ ”
“The old Angie was young.” She kissed him, long and hard and with every scrap of love in her heart. When she drew back, she was trembling. In his eyes, she saw a shadow of the old fear, the uncertainty that they could make it a second time when they’d already failed once.
“We’re acting like a couple of kids.”
“We were grown-up for too long,” she said. “Just love me, Con. That’s enough for now.”
His hands slid down her back and slipped under her skirt. “I can do that.”
She grabbed the blanket and pulled it over them. “Good” was all she managed to say before he kissed her.
The drizzly February days melted into one another, forming a monotonous gray blur of passing time. It wasn’t until the last night of this shortest month that Angie had the baby dream again. She woke with a start and rolled over in bed, searching in vain for her husband’s strong and comforting presence. Alone, she crawled upright and switched on the bedside lamp, then sat there, with her knees drawn up, as if holding herself could somehow make her arms feel less empty.
The good news was there were no tear marks on her cheeks. She’d felt like crying, but she hadn’t. Progress, she thought; it came in the tiniest increments when the sun went down.
It didn’t surprise her that she’d had the dream again. Living with Lauren sometimes churned up the past. There was no way to avoid it, no way to step aside. Especially now; in the past week, the teenager had finally begun to gain weight. There was an almost imperceptible roundness to her waist. A stranger wouldn’t notice it, but to a woman who’d spent so much of her adult life seeking that very thing, it shone like a neon sign. And today they had a doctor’s appointment scheduled; that wouldn’t be easy.
Angie finally gave up trying to sleep and reached for the pile of work on her nightstand. For the next few hours, she busied herself with payroll and accounts receivable. By the time the gentle sun tapped on her window, she’d found her peace again.
There would simply be days like this—nights like the one she’d just endured.