Until There Was You

Chapter NINE



“OH!” KATE GRUNTED as she sat down behind her desk. “My side is killing me. I’m ovulating, I think. That sucker must be huge.”

“Must we discuss?” Jon asked.

“Man up, weenie boy,” Kate said.

“You man up, Venus Williams,” Jon replied. “I’m a gay home-ec teacher. I never have to man up. I never will man up. As God is my witness, I’ll never man up again.”

Posey had finished a quote on taking down a barn in Chelmsford and dropped by the school to pick up Brianna for their afternoon together. Knowing both Kate and Jon had a late lunch, she’d crashed and was now happily eating half of Jon’s chicken salad sandwich (with grapes and walnuts on a croissant, plus oatmeal cookies for dessert). They ate in Kate’s office, just off the locker rooms, despite Jon’s complaints of the faint smell of sweat.

Kate leaned back in her chair, her head touching the poster of Mia Hamm’s moment of sports-bra glory. “So, James and I are thinking of taking a trip to Sedona this summer. Pilates, spa, deep meditation, the whole thing.”

“What every teenage boy dreams of,” Jon said. “Why not Outward Bound or a summer at sea?”

“What do you know about Outward Bound? Weren’t we just discussing what a sissy you were, Jon?” The bell rang. “Oops, time to go,” Kate said. She lurched upright in her chair. “Walk with me, you two. I have bus duty. Oh, and hey, Posey, we’re short on prom chaperones this year. You in?”

“No,” Posey said. “Though I loved the way you slipped that in. Nice work.”

“You should come!” Jon declared. “We can go together, because you know your brother would rather chew off his own arm, then reattach it.”

“At last, Henry and I have something in common,” Posey said. “No thanks, guys.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun,” Kate said.

“Gee, I wish I could, but I’ll be busy hacking my wrists that night.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kate said, locking her office door behind them.

“It’s so much fun!” Jon said. “I’m the most popular boy there. If I were eligible for prom king, I’d win every year.”

As if on cue, a pretty girl bounced over to them. “Mr. White, I totally wish you were straight. I have such a crush on you.”

“Take a number, sweetheart,” Jon said kindly. “Did you plan out your quilt design yet? It’s due on Tuesday.”

“Well, I need chaperones,” Kate continued. “So far I only have Jack Whalen signed up, and only because I’m blackmailing him.”

“What did he do?” Posey asked.

“He subscribes to Cat Fancy magazine,” Kate answered. “Imagine trying to be an authority figure when your students know you read Cat Fancy.”

“I read Cat Fancy,” Jon said.

“Of course you do.” Kate pushed open the door into the main wing of the school. The hallway was packed, lockers slamming, kids making out, insulting each other, giggling shrilly to show how fun and popular they were, or slinking along the wall, trying to be invisible.

Posey glanced down the hall, her eyes stopping on what looked like a golden couple—the girl was pretty and blonde, her face pink with pleasure as she smiled up at a good-looking boy, who was leaning against her locker. Had to be Nicole Murphy. She was the image of her mom.

A lump came to Posey’s throat. It was so strange to think of Emma Tate, that lovely, generous girl, as an adult, a mother, a wife. To picture her sick and weak…dying…when the last time Posey had seen her, she’d been perfect. In perfect health, perfect happiness, a perfect future spreading out in front of her. All that, gone, and her little girl left alone.

“That’s Nicole Murphy,” Kate confirmed. “Let me introduce you. It’ll be nice for her to meet someone who knew her mom.” Kate towed Posey over, leaving Jon behind to field another admirer. “Ms. Murphy! Hey, Mr. Talcott, how you doing?” Kate’s gym-teacher voice could be heard quite clearly. “Nicole, this is Posey Osterhagen. She was a friend of your mom’s.”

“Oh, hi,” the girl said, her smile slipping a little.

“Hi,” Posey answered, swallowing against the lump. “We weren’t really friends… Well, we sort of were. She was two years ahead of me. She was…she was really nice.”

“Thanks,” Nicole said, her voice quiet. “I have some of her teachers, and everyone always says that.”

“You look a lot like her,” Posey added. “She was beautiful.”

The girl smiled.

“Mr. Harris! Do you mind?” Kate bellowed. “Excuse me, kids. Gotta run. See you later, Posey.” Kate went off to quell whatever trouble was brewing.

The boy was staring at Nicole, eyes glassy with adoration. The girl gave Posey an awkward smile. Her exit cue. “Well, nice meeting you,” Posey said, then turned to leave and bounced right off a man’s chest. Liam Murphy’s chest, to be specific.

Oh, Elvis. He smelled so good…soap and that sharp smell of a garage, oil and metal, and beneath that, the smell of cloves, that pumpkin-pie smell. His hair was rumpled, and either he hadn’t shaved this morning or he was one of those guys who could grow a beard in a few hours. Lust tightened her insides, and the smarter part of her brain clucked in warning. She took a step away and shoved her hands into her jeans pockets.

“Nic, I’ve been waiting for ten minutes,” Liam rumbled.

“Sorry, Dad. Ms. Ellington introduced me to an old friend of Mommy’s.”

Mommy. Poor thing.

Liam seemed to notice Posey for the first time. “Oh. Hey.” Prince Charming this guy was not. “Hi.”

He turned his attention back to the kids. “Who are you?” he demanded, looking rather fierce.

“Daddy, this is Tanner Talcott.” Nicole moved a little closer to the boy, who stuck out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Murphy. Nicole’s told me a lot about you.”

Liam stared at the hand for a long, withering moment, then looked back at the boy. “Let’s get this straight, pal,” he said in a dangerous voice. “I know what you’re like. I know what you’re thinking. I know you, kid. I was you. I know what you have in your pants, and it’s gonna stay there.”

“Dad, chill!” Nicole’s face was fiery red. “OMG, Tanner, see? I told you.”

Liam ignored his daughter. “You can hold her hand. Maybe, after a year or so, a kiss on the cheek. Are we clear?”

Wow. This was more fun than Posey had expected. She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

The two teenagers stared at Liam, then looked at each other. “See?” Nicole said. “Psychotic.”

“That’s right, honey,” Liam said, putting his arm around her. “She’s my only child, Tanner Talcott. My princess. My angel. Got it?”

“Totally, Mr. Murphy. So, Nicole, you wanna go to the movies sometime?”

“I’d love to. Text me.”

“No, don’t text her. Call me and ask my permission first. But I’ll save you some time. The answer is no.”

“Text me,” Nicole repeated in a grittier tone.

“Nice meeting you both,” Tanner said, nodding at Posey. At least someone was aware that she was still standing there. He hefted his backpack onto his shoulder, grinned at Nicole, then shambled down the hall.

“What a nice boy,” Posey said. Nicole beamed.

“Shut it, Cordelia,” Liam said.

“Really cute, too,” Posey added. “So, Liam, remember that thing you asked about?”

“No.” His eyes were stony.

“In the supermarket? Last week?”

“Oh. Right.”

“Are you guys gonna be around? I can bring it by later today.”

“What is it?” Nicole asked, looking up at her father.

His face softened. Then he glanced at Posey—of course, he didn’t know what it was. “It’s…it’s something for your room,” he said awkwardly.

“Really? Cool! Can you bring it over, Posey?”

“That would be Ms. Osterhagen to you,” Liam grumbled.

“You can call me Posey. Does five o’clock work? I have something to do first.”

“Cool. Do you know where we live?” Nicole asked.

Yes, I was sleeping it off in your guest room not that long ago, intoxicated and buck naked. Posey glanced at Liam, hoping she wasn’t blushing. “Yup. See you later.” With that, she went off to find Brianna.





LIAM’S AFTERNOON was not going well.

First of all, Rick Balin had come by his shop. Again. He said he wanted a custom bike, but it seemed to Liam that he really wanted to relive his high-school years, one of those sad types who’d peaked at seventeen. Liam himself barely remembered high school outside of Emma. He suspected Rick had a drinking problem, as well as a heart attack lurking in the near future. Instead of making a decision on the three designs Liam had drawn up, Rick had spent an hour and a half reminiscing about the good old days, telling stories about people Liam barely remembered…Jessica something, Mitch something else. By the time he left, Liam had a pounding headache.

Then the Tates had called. Fourth time in two days, checking to see if Nicole was free for Easter break, because they’d like to take her to Paris. Paris! As if he’d let his only child fly across the Atlantic without him. The Tates had also asked if Nicole could stay overnight on Wednesday, which sounded harmless enough. But Liam knew from experience that if you gave the Tates an inch, they’d take not just a mile, but the Eastern Seaboard, too. This Wednesday would become every Wednesday. Louise would say, “But I thought you didn’t mind—it’s our tradition, after all.” And Louise could make a tradition in about thirty seconds, oh yeah. The Tates had come out for Christmas the year Nicole had been born, and it was tolerable enough. Liam just hadn’t realized it meant they’d be there for every holiday—Thanksgiving, Easter, Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, Labor Day, Halloween, Rosh Hashanah (no, they weren’t Jewish, but why pass up a chance, right?).

Liam had wanted Nicole to be closer to her grandparents. But he hadn’t realized that closer would never be close enough. His explanation that Wednesday wasn’t going to work had been met with an injured silence, a goodbye that was just tremulous enough to let Liam know that Louise was deeply wounded. And no one could do wounded like Louise.

And then there was That Boy. Tanner. Just thinking the name set Liam’s teeth on edge. That Boy had touched Nicole’s shoulder. Not cool. Not cool at all. They’d argued about it all the way home.

“Dad, you can’t just lock me in a convent!” Nicole had whined.

“Watch me,” he said.

“I’m almost sixteen! I should get to have a boyfriend!”

“Says who?”

“Dad!” There it was, that three-syllable screech. “I’m like a freak or something!”

“So what? At least you’re not pregnant.”

“You’re, like, ridiculous.” She stared out the window. “I am going to the movies, you know. You can’t lock me up.”

No, he couldn’t. Or, rather, locking up didn’t tend to work, as Liam well knew, since George Tate had threatened the same thing to Emma, and it had only given her more motivation to sneak out of the house and meet Liam and do all sorts of things that he didn’t want his daughter doing. Hypocritical? Absolutely. The essence of parenthood.

So now Nicole was sulking in her room, Bruce Springsteen blaring—another new artist she’d found. The Tates had called twice more since their earlier conversation and had emailed him an itemized list of why they should be able to take Nicole to France.

So now Liam sat at the kitchen table, dismantling a carburetor from a Harley, his movements a little too sharp to really do anything effective.

His doorbell buzzed. Super. Carol Antonelli probably wanted to discuss her hysterectomy. She’d offered to show him her scar on Monday, and Liam was giving serious thought to moving.

He stalked down the hall and jerked open the door. It wasn’t Carol. It was Cordelia Osterhagen, holding a large packing crate. He’d completely forgotten she was coming by. And there was Carol in her doorway, talking through the four inches allowed by her security chain, as if worried that Cordelia was about to kick in the door and set fire to the place. As if she could. For a second, Liam remembered how light she’d been when he carried her. The way her hair had brushed against his chin. That mouth of hers, looking so soft and—

“Liam!” Carol said. “Posey here has a package for you!”

“It’s true,” Cordelia said. “Though it’s actually for Nicole.”

“A sweet girl!” Carol sang. “Lovely! Such nice manners!”

“I just met her, but she seems great.” Cordelia turned to him and cocked an eyebrow. “Well, this is heavy. Liam. You gonna stand there like a fern, or can I bring it in?”

Great. More attitude. Just what he didn’t need. Liam opened the door and stood back.

“Posey, did I tell you I’m having dinner at the restaurant with your mother?” Carol said. “That Gretchen! Such a gift! Of course, I love Italian food, don’t get me wrong, I married Mario Antonelli, for heaven’s sake, but what Gretchen does with sour cream should be against the law! I used to watch her show every day.”

“You and dozens of others,” Cordelia muttered. Then, in a louder voice, “Have fun, Mrs. A. Tell my mom I said hi.”

She brushed past Liam, then set the box down. Cordelia wore a flannel shirt and brown Carhartt carpenter pants and looked more like Norm Abrams from This Old House than an actual female. Those boots could do serious damage. She might dress like a man, but there was that nice smell again. Oranges. He couldn’t imagine her using perfume. Maybe it was her shampoo or soap.

An unbidden image of Cordelia in the shower, water and suds streaming over her wet skin, leaped to mind.

She cleared her throat, and Liam, abruptly aware that he was staring at her, shifted his gaze. Okay, that was…odd. Sex thoughts about Cordelia Osterhagen. Well, chalk it up to garden variety horniness and a long drought, and think about something else.

He looked past her. The door wasn’t locked.

Now, intellectually, Liam knew that there weren’t exactly roaming gangs of burglars wandering the streets of Bellsford, and he also knew that the Tates tended to kick the old stress level into the red zone, which tended to bring on flares of OCD, and he knew that just because the door wasn’t locked didn’t mean that some knife-wielding maniac was about to burst in, but the f*cking door wasn’t locked. And as much as he really, really would love to not obsess over that, he wasn’t succeeding. Might as well get it over with and lock the damn door, because all he could think about, other than Nicole dying in a fiery Air France crash, was the fact that the door was unlocked, and Cordelia Osterhagen was staring at him warily, and he might as well just lock the damn thing and turn to nicer thoughts. Like Cordelia in the shower.

He reached behind her, and she jumped back a step, as if afraid he was going to hit her. Or grab her. “I’m just locking the door,” he said, the words a little sharp.

“Oh.”

He turned the lock, listening for the satisfying thunk of the dead bolt in the hasp. Then he unlocked it. Locked it again. Unlocked it. Locked it. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a second, then glanced at Cordelia, who was looking at him steadily. Once more couldn’t hurt. Unlock. Lock. Done.

“Problem?” she asked.

“No,” he said. He folded his arms over his chest, vaguely aware that he was being a prick and had barely spoken to her. “Thank you for bringing this over. Whatever it is.”

“Do you want to see it? It’s—”

“No, that’s fine. Just…her bedroom’s down the hall on the right.” He went to pick up the box, but she grabbed it at the same time.

“It’s fragile,” she said.

“I thought you said it was heavy.”

“It is. Heavy and fragile.” She scowled at him, looking like a little kid. Fine. She wanted to carry it, no big deal.

Liam led her down the hall and stopped in front of Nicole’s door. He knocked. “Nic? Cordelia’s here with your thing.”

Nicole’s door opened. “Hi!” she said. “Thank you so much for bringing this! But I thought your name was Posey.”

“My real name is Cordelia, but everyone calls me Posey. Except lunkhead here.”

Nicole laughed, the sound making Liam’s heart squeeze. “Come on in. I can’t wait to see what it is!”

Cordelia put the package on the bed, then reached into her pocket and withdrew a Leatherman, a very helpful tool that Liam had never before seen on a woman. She sliced the tape, then stood back to let Nicole open the box. Nic pulled back the cardboard flaps, pushed aside some tissue paper. “Oh, cool!” she exclaimed.

“Here, let me get it out for you,” Cordelia said.

She pulled the rather large object out of the packaging. Liam recognized it immediately, the memory slamming him in the chest like a fist.

It was a large white clock encircled with a ring of pink neon. Painted on the wooden backing were the words Time for Ice Cream!

“I love it! It’s so retro,” Nicole exclaimed.

Cordelia glanced at Liam, who was staring at the clock. “It’s from Sweetie Sue’s,” she said.

He didn’t answer. Memories of Emma, grinning up at him in her pink uniform as she packed a scoop of ice cream into a cone, the chill of the white metal chairs where he’d sit, waiting for her shift to end.

“What’s Sweetie Sue’s?” Nicole asked.

Liam swallowed.

“It was an ice cream parlor here in town,” Cordelia said after a beat. “Your mom worked there in high school.”

“Really?” Nicole asked.

Liam distantly heard Cordelia’s voice as she explained where Sweetie Sue’s had been, the other things she’d salvaged from the store before it was torn down. An old freezer. The milkshake machine.

“I’m gonna put it right over my bed,” Nicole announced. “It’s so neat that Mommy saw this clock every day, too.” She touched it gently, almost reverently. “Dad? Can we put it up?”

Liam cleared his throat. “Sure. I’ll go get some tools. We can do it right now.”

Nicole hopped over and threw her arms around him for a brief hug. “It’s a great present,” she said. “I love it, Daddy.”

“Thank Cordelia. She picked it out.”

Cordelia was looking at him, chewing on her bottom lip, hands in her pockets, her eyebrows drawn together.

“Well, thanks, both of you,” Nicole said, going back to gaze at the clock.

“I’ll get my tools. Be right back.”

Leaving the two females in the bedroom, Liam headed to the kitchen closet, where he kept his toolbox. But he just stood there for a moment, the memories of Emma pulling at him like quicksand. God, he had loved her back then. The idea that a girl like that would choose a guy like him…it was staggering.

“Liam?”

Cordelia again. “Hey,” he said, reaching for the toolbox.

“I’m sorry.”

He glanced at her. Her hands were jammed in the front pockets of her jeans. “What for?”

“The clock. It… I should’ve given you some warning. I just… I didn’t…”

“Well, you asked me if I wanted to see it, and I said no.” He paused. “It’s great, Cordelia. It’s perfect.”

Her eyes widened a little. “It is?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He yanked the toolbox from where it was wedged on the bottom shelf. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. It’s a gift.”

“Yes. A gift for my daughter, which I’ll pay for. How much, Cordelia?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Nothing.”

“I can afford to pay for a gift for my own child, Cordelia.”

“Well, too bad, biker boy,” she snapped. “Your wife was always nice to me, and I was sorry—I was always sorry she and I didn’t stay in touch,” she finished, and he suspected she was about to say something else. “The clock’s not worth a heck of a lot, anyway.” Her gaze wandered to the refrigerator, which was covered with photos. Nicole had taken a picture of their fridge in San Diego, then recreated the exact order when they moved in here. Mostly photos of Nic herself…dressed as a pumpkin for Halloween when she was four, riding her bike, missing her front teeth. But a few of him and Emma, too.

“Anyway. Sorry if it brought stuff up,” Cordelia said in a gentler voice.

“It’s okay. It really is perfect.” He looked at her for a long minute. Her blush began underneath the flannel and crept up her neck, into her jaw and cheeks. She looked away, and Liam’s mood suddenly lightened. Cordelia was a woman, a straight woman (he thought, anyway), and it was nice to see she wasn’t immune to him. Made things feel more even somehow.

“Dad! Can you hang up my clock or what?” Nic called from down the hall.

“Coming, Master,” he said. He grinned at Cordelia. “Stay here a sec. I want to ask you something. But duty calls.”





ALONE IN LIAM MURPHY’S kitchen.

Posey supposed she’d have to stop thinking of him as Liam Murphy, just trim it down to Liam, but still. He had that celebrity feel. Too hot for regular life.

As if on cue, Posey’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out—a text from Jon. Holy Justin Bieber, did I hear u say ur going 2 Nicole Murphy’s? The father is totally hot. 2 young 4 me?

I’m standing in his kitchen, Posey texted back. Will try to steal you something.

How about a lock of hair?

Posey grinned. I was thinking of a sock. Gotta go. xox

From down the hall came the sound of a drill. Drill me, Liam. Posey rolled her eyes at herself. Some hammering. Nail me, pal. “Okay, down, you ho,” she muttered, wandering to the fridge for a better look at the photos there. Nicole had been a wicked cute baby. No surprise there, not with her DNA. There was a nice shot of Emma and Nicole, when Nicole was about ten. Posey’s throat tightened again. So hard to believe the gorgeous woman with the bright smile was just gone.

Well. Here was another picture—Liam in scrubs, holding a tiny pink package. Now that was the money shot, wasn’t it? Dopey dad-love shone in his face as he gazed at his red-faced daughter. He looked so young. So happy, too, and so sure. How was it that Liam Murphy had found the way to make a family at age…what? Twenty, twenty-one? Posey had grown up in the stable, unwavering embrace of Max and Stacia and had never even come close to marriage, let alone a family. Liam and Emma had met as teenagers and made something special. Those pictures didn’t lie. Posey was scanning websites for a spouse as if ordering a coat from L.L. Bean. Liam and Emma had made a family before they were old enough to buy a six-pack.

“Hey, Posey, come see it!” Nicole called, and obediently Posey trotted down the hall.

“It looks great,” she said.

“I love it.” Nicole gave her a look. “So, Posey, if you knew my mom, did you also know my father back then?”

Posey glanced at Liam, who narrowed his eyes slightly in warning. “I sure did,” she said, feeling the start of a smile warm her chest.

“What was he like?” Nicole asked.

“What was he like? Or what did he think he was like?” Posey asked, her grin spreading.

“Watch it,” Liam muttered.

“Both! Why? Was he a jerk?” Nicole asked, clapping her hands in delight.

“It was like having Heath Ledger wander the halls of our little high school, Nicole,” Posey said. “Leather jacket, ripped jeans, crappy grades, the whole cliché.”

“Not all my grades were bad,” he countered.

“Girls wanted to, uh, date him, men wanted to be him. He was so intense,” Posey said, getting a laugh from Nicole.

“Dad! You always make it sound like you were perfect!”

“Oh, he was.” Posey sighed dramatically. “Perfectly dreamy.”

“Ew!” Nicole squealed.

“Okay, I’m gonna start supper,” Liam said.

“Which is my cue to go,” Posey said.

“Oh, can you stay for a minute?” Nicole asked. In the doorway, Liam paused. “I want to ask Posey about Mom,” she added.

“Sure,” he said and then was gone down the hall.

Odd, to picture Liam Murphy cooking dinner. Setting the table, making sure his kid had green veggies and stuff like that.

“Can you, like…I don’t know, just tell me a little bit about my mom?” Nicole asked, sitting on her bed. Her expression was eager.

Posey took a seat in the desk chair. “Sure,” she said. “Um, I went to Sweetie Sue’s a lot.” Nicole grinned, and Posey smiled back. “She always gave me an extra scoop for free.”

“She was great about dessert,” the girl said, her eyes getting a little wet. “Way more mellow than Dad. What else?”

“Well, we went to the same church, so I saw her there sometimes,” Posey said. “Your dad worked at my parents’ restaurant, so she’d drop by once in a while. She was always really friendly. Chatty. She was just…nice. Genuine, you know? She wanted everyone to be happy. Her nickname was Little Miss Sunshine.”

“Really? Like how? What did she do?”

Posey paused. “Well, she was always organizing food drives and recycling programs at school. Stuff like that. And she…gave me advice about clothes and stuff.”

“She had amazing clothes,” Nicole said wistfully. She looked at Posey again. “Anything else? Sorry if I’m, like, pumping you for details. I just…” The girl cleared her throat. “I love hearing about her when she was my age.”

Posey nodded. “Sure. Well, she…sort of arranged for me to go to the prom,” she said carefully.

“Really? She fixed you up?” Posey nodded. “Did you guys go with her and Daddy?”

“No. They, uh, they were with different people. You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t,” Nicole said with a huff. “I probably never will, either. Dad’s, like, psycho about my social life. Mom would’ve been much cooler. She totally would let me date by now.”

Posey had to smile at that—the bad boy now a stodgy old dad, clattering around making dinner.

“He needs to get a life so he won’t be, like, obsessed with mine,” Nicole added. “Do you know anyone he could date? Maybe that hot chick at your restaurant?”

Posey’s smile felt stiff. “Uh…maybe. I—” She winced. “I could check.”

“Hey,” Nicole said, “do you want to stay for supper? Dad! Can Posey stay for supper?”

“Stop bellowing down the hall!” Liam bellowed from down the hall. There was a pause. “Sure. If she wants.” Such a halfhearted offer that Posey rolled her eyes.

“Do you?” Nicole asked. “You can tell me more stories, okay? About Mom and Dad. I can’t believe Dad was such a jerk!”

“Oh, um…he wasn’t a jerk.” Crap. “He was just…you know.”

“Just what, Cordelia?”

There he was, the King of Testosterone himself. “Just a little full of himself, that’s all.”

Again with the narrowed gaze…kind of hot, really. Nicole giggled.

“But once he met your mom, it was true love and all that good stuff,” Posey added.

“Are you staying?” Liam asked—not very nicely, she thought.

“Sorry. I have plans.” Plans with my dog, that is, she thought, getting up from the chair. A dog who has better manners than you. “Maybe another time.”

“Bye, Posey! Thank you so much for the clock! I love it.” The girl bounced off her bed and hugged her.

“See you around,” Posey said, patting Nicole on the shoulder, her eyes growing wet. Emma’s daughter seemed just as sweet as her mother. “It was really nice meeting you.”

“After you,” Liam said, standing back to let Posey pass. She went down the hall, past the kitchen and grabbed her backpack from where she’d dropped it earlier.

“See you around, Liam,” she called.

“Hang on,” he said, and she jumped. He was right behind her. She turned warily.

The whole aging-rock-star-still-dead-sexy look…it worked. She wondered what he looked like with his shirt off—tattoo, maybe? She’d be happy to check…centimeter by centimeter…with her tongue…?. Enough, Posey! Guys like Liam—the last thing they needed was yet another ego massage from yet another swoony woman. Besides, she’d pined over him enough for several lifetimes.

But still. It was hard not to get a little…aroused…when he was staring at her like that.

“You want to go to the movies tomorrow night?” he asked, and Posey was so shocked she actually choked.

“What?” she managed.

“The movies? Tomorrow?”

“Um…I, uh…um…what movie?”

He narrowed his eyes just a little, and Posey’s nether parts gave a long, happy squeeze. Get his clothes off, those parts advised. We’re lonely. “Does it matter?” Liam asked.

The words had the effect of ice water. “Actually, yes, Liam. Why? Do you think your mere presence is enough? Because I have to tell you, God’s Gift, you’re not really all that anymore.”

Slowly, slowly, his mouth pulled up on one side, and Posey could feel those treacherous parts about to stage a mutiny. “What movie would you like to see?” he said in a scraping, low voice, and the effect was the same as if he’d said, I am going to smear you with honey and lick you clean, Posey Osterhagen.

“I…I don’t know…what’s, um…playing?” she muttered.

“Have you seen blah-blah-blah?” Liam asked. There was a roaring in her ears that drowned out his actual words. She couldn’t take her eyes off that mouth. That was a really good mouth, that was. Oh, yeah. His upper lip was just a little fuller than his lower, and she wondered what kind of kisser he was, what it would be like to have that mouth on hers…or any part of her, really, her elbow, her toe, because she had a feeling that Liam’s mouth would make her—

“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said.

Oh. Apparently she’d just agreed to go out with Liam Murphy. Liam. Declan. Murphy. Had. Asked. Her. Out. Holy Elvis Presley. Was this a date? An actual romantic date? Or was this two old sort-of friends just hanging out? Should she ask? Did it matter? Could she shove him to the ground and eat him for supper?

“Bye,” she muttered, then fled before she did something utterly stupid.