My heart thumped. “You’re serious?”
“Not only am I serious, I want my parents to know I’m serious about you.”
“You’re serious about me?”
“Seriously.” A smile twitched his mouth.
I tried to picture it, tried to imagine myself in the illustrious household of Justice West and his socialite wife.
“You’re sure?” I whispered.
“Beauty, you’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.”
We looked at each other for a few minutes, the air charged with this fragile understanding.
I wanted to give him everything, this man who had changed my life. He made my heart soar and my body sing. He was brilliant, handsome, kind, patient. He knew how and why the Crusades had changed thirteenth-century castle architecture. He couldn’t cook much better than I could. His chocolate-brown eyes filled with heat and affection when he looked at me. He thought boring foreign movies were fascinating. He made me laugh. I liked myself when I was with him.
A memory of his voice echoed in my mind from three months before, that night when I’d first come to his apartment for dinner.
“What’s your key, Olivia?”
“My key?”
“An old friend once told me that everyone has a key to unlocking their secrets. What’s yours?”
“Um… I’m pretty sure I don’t have a key.”
“I’m pretty sure you do.”
“Well, if everyone has one,” I said, “what’s yours?”
“Ah.” A twinkle flashed in his eyes. “You have to discover that yourself.”
“Then you have to do the same with me.”
“Challenge accepted.”
The coldness that had lived inside me for so long was dissolving now, spreading warmth through my blood. A little bud seemed to be unfurling in the depths of my soul, something with petals of velvet and a core that contained a thousand unspoken wishes, wants, and desires.
I moved closer to Dean, breathing in the scent of his skin, the heat of his body.
“Remember when you told me everyone has a key to unlocking their secrets?” I whispered. “And you wanted to know what mine is?”
He nodded. “And you told me you didn’t have a key.”
“I think I do.”
“What is it?”
“You.”
CHAPTER NINE
Dean
January 21
wake before dawn and head out for a run. Although I like winter weather and snow, I miss running outside any time of year the way I can in California. I take an old path through the neighborhood that I used to run in high school. Six miles. Feels good—doubts and fears dissolving into the sound of my shoes on the pavement, breath filling my lungs.
When I get back to the house, I shower and change, then head to the kitchen to make coffee. It’s my favorite time of day—quiet and still.
I pull the milk from the fridge for Liv and notice some deli salads that Helen brought over. After my initial surprise, it actually wasn’t horrible to see her again. And while I’m grateful for her friendship with my sister and mother, I still want to keep a few thousand miles between me and my ex-wife.
As I wait for the coffee to brew, I check email on my phone. There’s a message from Nancy the real-estate agent that the owners of the house we’d bid on have accepted another offer.
Damn. Even though I know Liv wasn’t crazy about the house, not even she can deny we need a bigger place, a good school district, a safe neighborhood. I want to give all that to her and more. I email Nancy asking her to keep looking, then turn off the phone.
I write a note and stick it to Liv’s coffee cup:
By the time I’ve had toast and coffee, Liv comes into the kitchen. At home, she always stumbles in looking sleepy with her hair a mess, but today she looks crisp and neat in slacks and a collared white blouse. Her hair is pulled back so tightly into a bun that I swear it’s stretching her eyebrows up.
“Good morning.” She gives me a smile and glances around as if checking to see who else is there.
“Morning.” I hand her a cup of decaf.
She reads the note I’ve stuck to the cup.
“It’s a pear,” I say before she can make a comment about my artistic abilities. “The fruit.”
“I see that.” She smiles again. “It’s a grape drawing, professor.”
“Thank you.” I pick up my mug and lean against the counter. “What’s up with the hair?”
“What do you mean?” She smooths her hair with her hand.
“Looks like you’re wearing a swimming cap.”
“Hey.” She frowns, but the skin on her forehead is pulled so taut that not a line forms. “This is a very sophisticated style.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“Come here.”
“No.”
As she moves past me to get to the table, I snag her around the waist. She tries to frown again. I take her cup and put it on the counter.
“You’re going to get a headache if you don’t loosen that up.” I pull her closer so that her hips settle against mine. I fumble with the pins holding her gorgeous hair back.
“Don’t.” She pushes at my chest. “I spent half an hour fixing it like this.”
“It looks terrible.”