Chapter Thirteen

“Wine?” Felicity offered a nearly full extra-large wineglass.

Graham looked up from the crib he was assembling and took the glass. “Thanks.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” she said for the fiftieth time.

He nodded. “I know.”

She sat on the floor beside him, humming along to the radio broadcast—a tribute to Glenn Miller. Between the upbeat swing music and the sweet sangria they were sipping, her spirits were lifting. Her gaze wandered around the room. She and Graham had made a lot of progress this evening. Now that Jack’s toys and books had replaced her crafting bins and cabinet, the room looked like a nursery. A happy, cheerful nursery. With color. “Think he’ll like it?” she asked.

Graham leaned against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him and the crib instructions on the floor beside him. Those brown eyes surveyed the changes they’d made before he nodded. “I think so.” He glanced at her. “Eventually.”

“Meaning a nice room and familiar toys aren’t going to make tomorrow easy?” She nodded, slowly spinning her glass. “Yeah, I know. Not by a long shot.”

One brow rose and the corner of his mouth kicked up. “Maybe not in the beginning, but I have no doubt you’ll figure things out.”

“That makes one of us.” She lifted her glass in a mock toast. “What a day.” Her smile fell flat; she could tell by the look on his face. Right. Enough wallowing. “Have plans for tomorrow?” As soon as the question was out, she regretted it. He’d already done so much for her. Asking him to be there was too much.

“Tomorrow?” His confusion was almost comical. “I thought I’d lend a hand here with Jack, if that’s okay.” He sipped his wine.

“Okay? It’s more than okay.” Her laugh was nervous. “I feel pretty guilty asking.”

“You didn’t.” He turned back to the instructions. “I’m offering.”

And it was a huge relief. Like it or not, he had a calming effect that was missing in her boisterous, well-meaning family. Calm, right now, went a long way. “Well, I appreciate it. Having the backup, I mean.”

He nodded, setting his wineglass on a large farm animal picture book, and went back to screwing the side onto the crib. The old house creaked and popped, settling in the evening wind. That’s what old houses did. But tonight, with Nick at her parents’ cabin and Charity treating Honor and Diana to mani-pedis and a double feature at the newly restored drive-in movie theater, she realized this—quiet—would soon be a rarity. Toddlers, especially out-of-sorts, cast-ridden toddlers, were vocal. Every visit to the hospital was proof of that. She might as well enjoy this chance at peace and quiet—together.

“Okay. This should do it.” He stood, snapping in a plastic bracket and standing back to inspect his work. The screwdriver and wrench sticking out of his business dress pants had her smiling. “Done.”

“Thank you, Graham. And not just for the crib. For today, everything. All of it.”

Brown eyes met hers. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” she argued. “Nick wasn’t going to talk to any of us. We might be family but, to him, we’ve all turned against him.” It hurt so much. “I hope, in time, he realizes I’ll never, ever turn my back on him.”

“He will, Felicity.” His smile was sad. “I didn’t really do anything. He talked, and I listened.”

“Exactly. Thank you.” She glanced into her drink, watching the deep-red wine as she spun her glass. “He’s upset. And he has every reason to be.”

“You do, too, you know?” His voice lowered.

“Maybe.” She glanced at him.

“No maybe, Felicity.” A bone-weary sigh tore from his chest. “I admit we weren’t close these last few years—Matt and I, I mean—but we used to be. I knew him. I thought I knew him. And the shit he’s pulled, the depths of his selfishness, are…” He dragged his fingers through his thick, dark hair, leaving it standing on end. “What he did—I don’t know that guy. Or understand him.”

The urge to smooth his hair had her hand itching. “That’s a good thing.” She finished off her wine. “If you did understand him, I’d have to kick your butt out.”

He laughed, flooding her with warmth.

But the sparkle in his dark eyes and the dimple in his right cheek caught her off guard. Graham, happy, was devastating. In a good way. That startling flicker of heat she’d first experienced in the elevator returned with a vengeance. What she was feeling now had nothing to do with security. And the tripping rate of her pulse was anything but calm. She swallowed down the knot in her throat and forced herself to breathe. “But since you don’t, you can stay and drink wine and…” And what? That was the question. Her skin tingled. “Stay. If you want.”

He was staring at her now, his smile almost inviting.

No. Graham was being Graham. She was seeing exactly what she wanted to see. Wait. Is that what she wanted to see? She hadn’t had enough wine to answer that honestly.

“Have you noticed that we always seem to end up talking about our kids?” she asked, placing her empty glass on the dresser, shooing the cats out of the crib so she could put freshly laundered sheets on the mattress. Surreal. That’s what this is. All of it. Honor had just graduated from high school and now she was setting up a nursery?

His chuckle earned her full attention. “You’re right.”

“Let’s try something new. So, Graham, what are you up to? Anything particularly interesting? Read any good books? Watched any noteworthy movies?”

He paused, considering, then nodded. “I was watching a documentary on the expected life span of the planet.” He did his best not to smile—and failed.

The sheet popped off the mattress when she spun to stare at him. “Really?” It was her turn to laugh. Hard. “Because you thought it would cheer you up?”

He was laughing again, full-bodied, rich and warm. She loved everything about the sound of it—and the way he looked right now. At ease. Happy. And oh so appealing.

“I’m not good at downtime,” he confessed, collecting his glass from the floor and putting it on the dresser next to hers.

“Cheers to that.” She clinked her empty glass against his, smiling.

His gaze slipped to her mouth.

The flicker of heat turned into a burning throb.

He cleared his throat, the muscles of his neck working. His gaze fell from her mouth and he took a long sip of wine.

Silence followed, a crushing, inescapable silence that grew until Felicity had a choice to make. The first choice—close the distance between them and carry out any one of the incredible scenarios her brain was sifting through.

The other option? Divert and distract.

There were times she wished she had a little more of Charity’s brash and daring. Sadly, she didn’t, so divert and distract it was. “What happened with Di? It was Diana, the night we were supposed to go out? Not work?”

His smile disappeared and he took another drink of his wine. Almost draining his glass.

“That bad?” Clearly it was. Way to stick your foot in it, Felicity.

His smile was hard.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” She shrugged, eager to change the subject. “We can talk about…the expected life span of the planet? Honor’s boyfriend? The latest proposals before the school board—riveting stuff, let me tell you.”

He paced the nursery, stepping over the cats, to adjust one of the toy bins on the shelf. “She found the Serenity Heights brochure and ran off.”

Her insides knotted. “Oh God.” She followed him.

“I spent last night driving around looking for her. Came back, alone, so frustrated I put my fist through the drywall.” He shook his head. “A great example, right?”

“Graham,” she whispered, taking his hands. The knuckles on the right hand were discolored and swollen. “It looks painful.”

“I’m fine.” He flexed—and winced. “She walked in when I was on the phone with the police. Didn’t say a thing. Not a single word. No explanation. No apology.” His voice hitched. “We went to her therapist and I…lost it.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Because he loved his daughter more than anything. For Nick to disappear? God, she couldn’t imagine it. The panic and fear and anger and loss… Seeing Diana today, she never would have thought Graham’s funny, too-skinny, quirky daughter was capable of that sort of behavior. If anything, Diana had seemed happy today. Really happy. “Is she going to Serenity Heights?” She suspected she already knew the answer.

“No. I can’t do that to her.” He shook his head. “We are going on vacation, though. To the beach house, hopefully.” His gaze bounced from her to his glass and back again. “If I can get her to believe me—about the vacation. She thinks I’m lying, that I’m going to dump her at Serenity Heights.”

Felicity blew out a long, slow breath. “Ouch.”

“She’s very good at striking out. I’m not saying I don’t deserve it, but it’s exhausting.” He finished his glass and set it on the shelf.

“You don’t deserve it, Graham.” She hated how defeated he looked. “We, parents, screw up. Sometimes badly. Beating yourself up, over and over, for something we can’t change isn’t healthy.”

“Diana and I don’t have what you’d call a healthy relationship.” His gaze searched hers. “But, dammit, I want to change that if I can. Somehow. I’ve taken six weeks off and hoped, maybe, she and I could figure out how to be a family.”

“Good.” It sounded like a good way to start.

“I thought so. Until she mentioned her… stipulation.” He ran his fingers through his hair, agitated. “She wants you to go, too.” Those brown eyes were fixed on her then.

Felicity stared right back. “What?” It didn’t make any sense. At all.

“She thinks my promise of a vacation is a way to get her on the road, then I’ll detour to Serenity Heights and leave her.”

She hurt for Graham. And Diana. The two of them were in a place so loaded with anger and pain, she didn’t know how they’d make it through. But they had to—that was the only choice. That’s what families do—stick together. No matter what. “Oh, Graham.”

He sighed. “I don’t know if she thinks having you along will prevent me from dropping her there, or if she thinks you, your family, would make things easier for us. A buffer.”

“That’s her condition?” She walked to the window seat and sat, crossing her arms over her chest. Pecan and Praline jumped up, rubbing against her until she was absentmindedly stroking their soft golden fur.

“I told her I’d ask. I also told her you’d say no.” He shrugged, but she heard the hint of desperation in his voice. “I’ve done what I said I’d do.”

He was asking for her help. No, not just Graham. Diana, too.

His phone vibrated, immediately earning his full attention. “Excuse me,” he murmured and left the nursery, phone in hand. “Dr. Murphy—”

She sat, reeling but frozen. As much as she wanted to help Graham and Diana, the idea of bearing that sort of responsibility was terrifying. She couldn’t. Not with Nick… Jack’s arrival… Charity’s baby. The likely fallout when Pecan Valley, and her parents, found out about Charity’s baby. And Honor—she’d be off to college in no time.

“It’s too much,” she whispered to the cats, both of whom seemed to be intently listening—as long as she continued to pet them. “It is too much, right?”

Pecan mewed.

“Too bad I don’t speak cat,” she answered.

She glanced around the room. After the divorce, she’d spent hours making this house hers, from her dream kitchen to a tranquil bedroom retreat. But it was more than stone and brick, pretty decorations, and family mementos. This was a sanctuary—and not just for her. Her children, their friends, family, and more. Everyone was welcome. Her home was loud and chaotic and frequently messy because it was always full of people and conversation, laughter and companionship. And she was thankful for it.

Diana and Graham didn’t have that.

“They barely have each other,” she continued to her feline companions.

If Diana wanted Felicity’s family and all their noise and pandemonium in her life, it made sense. She’d had none of those things since her mother died. Graham was quiet and thoughtful. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to give his daughter what she needed. It was that he didn’t know how.

“No, six weeks. Yes. I’m looking forward to it.” Graham was still talking when he walked back into the nursery. “Thank you. You, too. And good luck with Mrs. Campos.” He smiled, hung up, and placed his phone on the dresser. When he looked at her, he was uneasy.

She tried to smile but failed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She held up her hand. “I get it, Graham. I would do anything for my kids. Anything.”

His brow cocked. “I tear Matt apart for being selfish, then ask you to be responsible for my family. The irony isn’t lost.” The edge in his voice was razor sharp.

“If things were different, I would say yes. I would. But, right now, I can’t.” She stood, hugging herself. “You’re trying to save the relationship you have with your daughter. Matt didn’t do that. Don’t compare yourself with him, Graham.” Her temper flared, just enough to add snap to her words. Graham Murphy was not Matt. He was hardworking. Loyal. Kind. A man who wanted to do the best for his child. A good man. A handsome one. A man who set a fire inside her and made her ache to remember what it felt like to be a woman. A man she’d bought lingerie for, for goodness’ sake.

None of which was relevant to what they were talking about right now…

“You okay?” He moved to her side. His concern—those big brown eyes searching hers—only added to her irritation.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Was she? If she were, she’d still be worrying about Diana. Not Graham, right here beside her, standing so close like he was. And his velvet brown gaze fused with hers—warm and alive. All she could think about was how incredible he smelled. How his rumpled, dark hair needed smoothing. The longer he looked at her, the harder it was to fight the urge to touch him. She knew how it felt to be in his arms. And how much she wanted that again now.

Right now.

She blew out a long, slow breath, determined not to launch herself at him.

“I can head out.” He cleared his throat. “Since things are done here.”

What was he asking? He should definitely go.

Yes. Go. The sooner, the better.

But she said, “No.” Don’t leave.

“No?” he whispered, one step closer to her.

“Stay.” One word, and she’d changed everything.

The realization that she was now cradling Graham’s face, that her lips were clinging hungrily to his, hit a good thirty seconds after the fact.

But then his hands were sliding up her back, and his lips sealed more firmly to hers. Heaven help her, the tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she was swaying into him. Want outweighed everything. And, oh, she wanted this. She wanted him.

…

He’d imagined kissing her. When it came to Felicity, he’d imagined a lot of things.

But it was nothing like this.

She was in his arms. A living, burning flame he couldn’t control—he didn’t want to control. The sweep of her lips. The slide of her fingers through his hair. The brush of her breath on his cheek. The taste of her mouth. She was assaulting every one of his senses. Again. Since the elevator, things had changed for him. He was in trouble. Thoughts of physical intimacy, things like desire and cravings, had been dormant.

Until now. Yearning made his blood sing and instincts kick in with a vengeance.

His hands ran up her back, pulling her closer. Her curves, against him, knocked the air from his lungs. It didn’t help that she was moving, impatient, her hands sliding down his chest and tugging the tail of his shirt from his pants.

“Felicity…” His hands caught hers, firm but gentle. If he didn’t stop this now, stopping would no longer be an option. And, dammit, he knew this was too much, too soon. For both of them. But the fire in her green eyes shook his resolve. It had been so long since he’d felt this way, needy and raw. He ached to touch and taste and explore every inch of her.

He blew out a long, slow breath, wishing she’d stop looking at him that way.

But what worried him more? That she would stop looking at him that way.

The featherlight stroke of her fingers against his bare stomach triggered a head-to-toe quiver.

“Dammit,” he whispered. Right or wrong, his senses were invaded, submerged—happily—in the woman in his arms. At the moment, she was all that mattered. Had he ever been so aware of another person?

The spot behind her ear smelled of cinnamon and berries. No…orange, from baking this morning. He drew her scent deep, his restraint melting away as she leaned in to him. He ran his nose along the shell of her ear, his lips nipping at her earlobe until her breath hitched.

He did that to her. And knowing that was powerful. A surge of exhilaration and hunger rolled over him—kissing her was all he could do. And, damn, he liked kissing her.

She was so soft. The dip in the middle of her lower lip demanded extra attention. A hint of wine clung to her mouth, making the too-sweet red his new favorite flavor. And when her lips parted, his hands were tangling in her hair to pull her closer. The touch of her tongue was a jolt to the system, one he’d forgotten existed but didn’t want to forget again.

He took his time exploring the warmth of her mouth, tasting her, breathing her in and leaving them both gasping for air.

When her fingers unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it wide to stare at his chest, he tilted her chin up—forcing their eyes to meet. All his want and hunger, passion and need blazed back at him from her green eyes.

Ignoring the rational arguments for why this was a mistake wasn’t easy, but her touch helped, short-circuiting the rational side of his brain.

When his phone started vibrating, he was willing to ignore that, too. But one of the cats decided to swat it off the dresser. It landed with a thud and a crack—instantly severing the connection between them.

“Oh no.” She knelt. “Praline, what did you do?”

He was breathing hard, doing his best to rein in the craving thrumming through his veins.

“Graham, I’m so sorry.” Her nose wrinkled as she held up the phone. The glass face was lined with hundreds of tiny, spiderweb cracks.

He was sorry, too. But not over his stupid phone. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

The cat meowed, flopping over and rolling onto her back.

“She’s sorry.” Felicity glanced his way, her cheeks flushing red.

He looked at the cat and ran a hand along the back of his neck. What was he doing? He wasn’t sixteen years old. He knew how to control himself. He jerked his shirt into place and began buttoning, missing a button.

“I’ll replace it,” she offered.

“It’s fine, Felicity.” Then why was he snapping at her? Don’t be an asshole.

“You’re mad?”

“No.” But he still sounded mad. He sucked in a deep breath. “I’m not mad at you.”

“At the cat?” She was trying to tease him, but she looked, and sounded, nervous.

“I should thank the cat.” He tucked his shirt into his pants.

“Oh.” Her brows shot up, and she chewed on the inside of her lower lip. “Because he stopped…us.” Her nose wrinkled up, and she hugged herself.

I am now officially an asshole. Talking about emotions didn’t come easily—as was evidenced by his daughter’s need for therapy. Even though he didn’t know what the hell to say or what exactly he was feeling, he couldn’t walk away from this. Uncomfortable or not, he had to try talking to Felicity.

“When I’m with you, everything gets…scrambled up.” He swallowed. “I forget things. Important things. Like control. Cause and effect. Being responsible.”

She was frowning at him now.

“I don’t want to risk ruining what we have.” He swallowed again. “Or losing you.”

Her mouth opened, but she didn’t say a word. She stood there, flushed and bright-eyed, staring at him. What the hell did that mean? Was he making it worse? He was pretty sure he was.

But now that he’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop talking. “What was happening here tonight—”

“M-me throwing myself at you, you mean?” Her words ran together, and she covered her face with her hands.

Dammit. He was making this worse. He stepped forward, pulling her hands away, but she continued to stare at his shirtfront. “I’m not complaining.”

Her head popped up, those green eyes fixed on his face.

“But if we do this, I don’t want to rush into things. Or mess it up.” His voice lowered. “You’re important. And this”—he took her hand in his—“scares the shit out of me.”

Her gaze fell from his to their hands. Her thumb traced along the top of his hand before her fingers threaded with his. She took a deep breath. “We’re on the same page, then.” When she looked at him, he could breathe again. “What do we do now?”

He had plenty of ideas. Things to look forward to. For now, he’d be content to hold her hand and savor her smile. “A dance?” he asked, the radio playing Nat King Cole’s version of “As Time Goes By.”

“Yes, please.”

Would he ever get used to that smile?

He wasn’t sure what he liked more—her smile or the feel of her in his arms. They swayed more than anything, his arms around her waist, her head resting against his chest. With any luck, the song was on repeat.

Praline meowed loudly, leaping from the dresser to weave between his legs.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he murmured, loving the way Felicity laughed.