Chapter
nine
Zander was having a rotten time at Britt’s birthday party.
She’d chosen to celebrate at 12 Lakeside, a new and modern restaurant with an industrial vibe and exposed ductwork. It was located at, yes, 12 Lakeside in Shore Pine and positioned so that the windows overlooked views of the lake at sunset.
For the past forty-five minutes, he and the other guests had been socializing and snacking on appetizers at the bar. Soon they’d move to tables for dinner.
Of Britt’s two dozen party guests, Zander knew all but five. Three of those five were men. One of those three was named Reid. Reid looked to be around Zander’s age, but unlike Zander, Reid obviously loved to party.
Zander had always been suspicious of people who loved to party. He himself only functioned well in small groups and at a decibel level that enabled him to hear himself think.
So far, he’d watched Reid throw back two afterburner shots. That, Zander could forgive. But Reid’s unceasing flirting with Britt—not so forgivable. Britt’s laughing amusement at Reid’s flirting—even worse.
Zander tried to focus on his current conversation with Nora’s fiancé, John, and Willow’s husband, Corbin. They were discussing the recent Masters Tournament.
“Did you see the shot Jordan Spieth hit on sixteen?” Corbin asked.
“Unbelievable,” John answered.
Zander didn’t like golf and hadn’t watched the Masters, but he nodded in a way he hoped communicated interest.
Zander had behaved like a saint in the face of all the beginnings, middles, and ends of Britt’s relationships. Tonight, though, he was realizing that he no longer had the stomach for it. He flat-out couldn’t stand to watch a new relationship develop between Britt and Reid.
You’re acting like an idiot.
She’d been a better friend to him than anyone. She always had his back. She supported him and sacrificed for him and believed in him even when he struggled to believe in himself. She accepted his flaws and understood his idiosyncrasies. She told it to him straight when she thought he was wrong. And she insisted on helping him every chance she got.
In light of all that, he didn’t exactly have the freedom to opt out of information on Britt’s current and future boyfriends. He’d never told her he loved her, so it wasn’t like she had any reason to think that a flirtation with Reid might hurt him. She was free to flirt with anyone she wanted. If he couldn’t stand to watch her with Reid, then the best he could do for himself was look in a different direction.
That’s what he told himself.
Unfortunately, logic didn’t change a thing. The iron-sided self-control that had enabled him to stand silently to the side during her past romances had frayed. When he first returned to Merryweather three weeks ago, his true emotions concerning Britt had been simmering under the surface. Now they were boiling.
Maybe the time had come to tell her how he felt. If he did, things might never be the same between them. He could lose her and his relationship with the rest of the Bradfords, too.
Did he expect her to promise she’d never date anyone again once she found out that he loved her? Did he expect her to say, “Thank goodness you mentioned that you love me, Zander. Now that you’ve said the words, it occurs to me that I love you, too.”
No. Most likely she’d react with compassion and questions. She’d try to make him feel better even as she’d be forced to tell him that she loved him, too . . . but in a platonic way.
Imagining that caused his chest to tighten defensively because he’d spent the bulk of his early life reconciling himself to his parents’ inability to love him in the way he needed.
He could clearly picture his mom and dad in his mind’s eye, even now. His mom’s delicate blond beauty. His dad’s dark hair and harsh, pointed face. He could hear kindness in her voice, disapproval in his.
His mom, Adele, had been both the sweetest person and the weakest person he’d ever known. Unsure of herself, funny, caring. A dreamer placed in a rough St. Louis neighborhood where dreams were liabilities. She’d been too soft for the world and for the man she’d married.
Intense and hard to please, Caleb Ford had always been convinced that he’d received less out of life than he’d deserved. It had never occurred to him that he’d received little out of life because he’d allowed laziness to cripple his smart brain.
His parents had raised him and Daniel on talk of the ways in which their ambitions would one day make the family rich. His mom had wanted to become a singer. His dad a poker pro. However, neither of them had been capable of the steady, day-in, day-out work that would’ve paid the bills, given them a shot at achieving their goals, and provided their sons with a sense of consistency.
Zander had been twelve when his dad had gone to jail for grand larceny, a circumstance that had left him and Daniel alone with the far less dependable of their two parents. Their mom.
The recreational drug habit she’d acquired in her early twenties had become, by her late twenties, a crutch she used to cope. By her mid-thirties, her addiction controlled her far more than she controlled it.
In addition to feeding themselves, clothing themselves, and getting themselves to and from school, Daniel and Zander became responsible for their mother’s care.
When conscious, she spent her time looking for more drugs, apologizing, spouting empty promises, getting jobs, losing jobs, telling them how much she loved them, and pretending to be a normal mom by going on cleaning binges.
For two years he and Daniel tried to parent her. Then one summer day when Zander was fourteen, she left a candle burning too close to her bedroom curtains before passing out. By the time he and Daniel smelled smoke and ran to her room, flames had devoured the curtains. Daniel carried their mom into the hallway. Zander filled mixing bowls with water and ran repeatedly to her bedroom to toss water on the fire. Daniel beat the flame with a blanket.
No use. They had no fire extinguisher, and the water and blanket were no match for a fire that quickly leapt beyond their control.
They led their mom outside and collapsed beside her on the curb across the street from their burning apartment building.
“What’s happening?” she’d asked dazedly. “Whose apartment is that? Why doesn’t someone put out the fire? Daniel? Whose apartment is that? Zander? What’s happening?”
Pity and love and hatred and sorrow for her had twisted inside him.
Sitting on that curb, Zander comprehended that life as he’d known it was finished. He and Daniel would be taken from her and part of him . . . part of him had been glad. The other part felt guilty because of his gladness.
He and Daniel left for Washington. His mom remained in St. Louis. His dad remained in jail.
Carolyn and Frank had given him a home. The Bradfords had drawn him into their circle. Over time, Daniel, Carolyn, Frank, and the Bradfords had become Zander’s family.
Four years ago, his mom had succeeded at the one thing she’d put her mind to. An overdose. Since then, his dad had succeeded in getting released from prison, committing another crime, and getting thrown back in.
The pretty sound of Britt’s laughter collided with his dark memories. Zander blinked, tugging his attention back to his surroundings.
Britt stood at the bar wearing a turquoise sundress that fell to the floor. There was a name for that type of dress, but he couldn’t remember what it was. She’d knotted her hair at the base of her neck in a messy bun. The look was pure Britt. Casual, self-assured, stylish without trying.
“Can I get either of you another drink?” Zander asked Corbin and John.
“I’m fine,” Corbin answered.
“Same here,” John said.
Zander excused himself and made his way through the crowd toward Britt.
Since their meeting regarding Ricardo the day before yesterday, Nora had received a reply from the Washington State Department of Corrections informing them that Ricardo had never been an inmate in their system.
They’d also learned more about Ricardo’s federal conviction. He’d served two years for stealing three porcelain Ming Dynasty figurines from the home of a wealthy elderly couple in California and then transporting them over state lines.
Nora had assured them that she’d continue to search for past convictions, past arrests, and his present-day address.
When Zander had taken Carolyn to lunch yesterday, he’d updated her on the information Nora had discovered. He’d also asked her if she’d be willing to go through Frank’s things, in case Frank had hidden evidence of his past life inside their house.
“I’ve been meaning to go through his things,” she’d told him. “Not because I’m ready to give anything away, but because his things are comforting. What should I look for?”
“Anything out of the ordinary,” he’d said. “Keys, photos, a piece of paper with names and telephone numbers on it. Anything.”
After he’d parted from Carolyn, he’d called Detective Shaw and brought him up to speed on the Triple Play heist and Ricardo’s rap sheet. Shaw had been interested, but he’d also politely pointed out that no evidence tied either Frank or Ricardo to the Triple Play.
“Having fun?” Zander asked Britt as he took the position beside her at the bar.
“I am.” Color tinted her cheeks. A strand of dark hair fell across her forehead and curved around the upper shell of her ear. “You?”
“Yes,” he lied. “I’ve eaten four pot stickers. My life is complete.”
“Have you met the people here you don’t know?”
“Nah, but I’m fine. I know plenty of people here, and small talk with strangers makes me irritable.”
“I saw you over there looking irritable a minute ago. Is that why?”
“I must have been thinking through a problem with my plot—”
Reid elbowed his way between them. “Excuse me, buddy. Just let me catch the bartender’s eye real quick. An empty glass is a crime at a birthday party, eh?”
Zander was forced to take a hurried step back. His shoulder bumped the glass of wine the woman behind him was holding. He shot out a hand to steady her glass before any of it could spill. “I apologize.”
“No problem.”
Reid did not seem sorry. “Everyone have something to drink?” he asked loudly, looking to the right and left. He had dark blond hair and dressed like he’d been born rich and attended Princeton. “The birthday of a girl as beautiful as this one is a reason to celebrate, so speak up if you need another.”
“I was standing there,” Zander said to Reid in a flat voice.
“Huh?” Reid’s face swung to Britt for confirmation.
“Yep,” Britt said. “He was standing there. Reid, this is my friend Zander. Zander, Reid.”
“Well, no problem, buddy. I’ll move out of your space as soon as the bartender here pours me another shot. What can I order for you? You look like you could use a couple of beverages.”
“I’m good,” Zander said.
“No, really. I’m going to get you something. A beer at least.”
“No.”
The bartender poured another afterburner for Reid. “Your friend Zander seems kind of angry,” Reid said to Britt.
“He’s not usually angry, no,” she said. “Serious is more his style.”
“Nobody,” Reid declared, “is allowed to be angry tonight because—”
“I’m allowed,” Zander said with quiet menace, “to be whatever I want to be.”
“—it’s your birthday!” Reid raised his glass to Britt. She nodded in response. He turned away from the bar and stumbled, spilling a third of his drink on Zander’s sleeve.
Instinctively, Zander thrust out his arms to set Reid away from Britt. It wasn’t quite a shove. But close.
“Hey.” For the first time, antagonism cracked through Reid’s expression. “Do you have a problem with me?”
“More than one.”
“Zander.” Britt stepped into his line of sight and gave him the type of stare a teacher gives a student to keep him in line.
How was he in the wrong here?
Several of the guests turned curious eyes their direction.
Britt handed Zander napkins. “Everything’s fine,” she said lightly to Reid. “Apologize to Zander for spilling your drink on him.”
“I didn’t spill my drink—”
“You did,” she insisted.
“If I did, I didn’t mean to.”
Zander ground his teeth.
“Everything’s fine,” Britt whispered to Zander. With those two words she communicated that she trusted him not to wreck her birthday party by causing a scene.
Problem was, Reid had been right about one thing. Zander was angry. Angry enough to want to punch Reid in his smug face.
“Sorry about that, man.” Reid bobbed his chin and moved away.
Ferocity and the smell of rum filled Zander’s senses. Frustration beat against his temples.
Britt opened her mouth to say something to him just as the hostess raised her voice and asked the group to follow her into the dining room.
When the guests separated to occupy two long tables, Zander deliberately allowed others who didn’t often get to see Britt the chance to sit near her. He took a chair close to the end of her table, then wished he’d sat at the other table entirely because, from his position, he had a direct view of Reid. Reid sat three seats down from Britt, which didn’t stop him from joking with her throughout the meal.
The harder Zander tried not to watch their interaction, the more a headache built within his skull. By the time everyone rose to watch Britt slice her birthday cake, a vise had tightened around Zander’s head, and his mood had turned into a storm cloud.
Britt saw him approaching and met him halfway.
“I’m going to go,” he said.
Her face fell. “What? No.”
“I’ve got a bad headache.”
“A headache cake and coffee can’t cure?”
“Yeah. I’ll catch up with you later.”
She placed a hand on his forearm. The simple contact instantly stopped his progress.
“I’ll swing by the inn,” she said. “After this.”
“No. Stay here and have a great time. You’ll be exhausted after this.”
“I don’t think so.”
“No, really. Go home and get some sleep. It’s okay.”
A groove formed between her brows.
As everyone began to sing “Happy Birthday,” Zander slipped from the restaurant, desperate for quiet, solitude, and a reprieve from the pain in his head and in his heart.
Britt knocked on the door of Zander’s room at the Inn at Bradfordwood at 11:07 p.m. Thanks to the fact that her parents owned the inn, she had keys to the inn’s front and back doors on her key ring.
She heard rustling.
She knocked again, softly. “You’re not asleep already, are you?”
“In bed” came Zander’s response. His voice wasn’t sleep-roughened.
“But not asleep. So open up.”
Several seconds later he opened the door wearing drawstring pajama pants. Rumpled dark hair. Brooding eyes.
The smooth skin of his chest and abs made her mouth go instantly dry. They’d spent the better part of many summers in swimsuits. But something indefinable had shifted between them recently, and seeing him shirtless suddenly felt both intimate and dangerously thrilling.
“I disobeyed your order not to come by,” she stated.
“I see that.” The stony angles of his face informed her that he was still aggravated with her. She’d known when they’d been at the bar with Reid that Zander was aggravated. And she’d been able to tell, even though he’d been at one end of the table and she at the other during dinner, that he was aggravated. She didn’t want him aggravated with her on her birthday.
“Following orders was always Willow’s strong suit,” she said. “Never mine.”
“I feel for your parents.”
“So do I,” she said heartily.
He flicked on lights, then went to the room’s chest of drawers. She shut the door behind her. With his back to her, she watched him shrug into a gray T-shirt. He did so in one fluid motion that caused his muscles to ripple.
“I brought you a slice of birthday cake and a bottle of Advil,” she said. “It’s vanilla with buttercream frosting and confetti sprinkles from Stacy’s Bakery. Well, the cake is anyway. The Advil is regular brown-coating flavor.”
Once his attention settled on her, she lifted the to-go box of cake in one hand and the bottle of Advil in the other. She tested a persuasive smile.
It wasn’t terribly unusual for them to have disagreements. She was strong-willed. He was equally strong-willed, in his quieter way. They upset each other sometimes.
Because neither could bear to have the other mad at them for long, though, the offending party never failed to make things right with the offended party. Tonight, she was the offending party. Which, to be honest, rankled a little bit.
Yes, she’d given Zander a warning look when Reid had spilled his shot on Zander. The shot spilling hadn’t been Zander’s fault. However, the shot spilling hadn’t been her fault, either. As far as she could tell, she was only technically guilty of having delivered a warning look.
“Would you like cake and Advil both?” she asked. “Just cake? Just Advil?”
“Just cake, please. I took Advil earlier.”
“And did it succeed in knocking out your headache?”
“For the most part.”
“Excellent.”
He motioned to the armchair in the room’s corner. She made herself comfortable and stashed the Advil in her purse.
Zander sat on the bed opposite her. His bed.
Their eyes locked. He said nothing as sexual tension stretched between them, charging every passing second with wattage.
Zander looked away, breaking the contact. Then he rose from the bed, clearly having thought better of sitting there. He angled out the desk chair, which was farther away from her, and sat. His bare feet rested against the room’s rug.
To distract herself from her attraction to him, Britt popped the wrapping around the prepackaged plastic utensils the restaurant had provided. She opened the to-go container and passed everything to him.
He took his time with his first bite of cake, chewing, swallowing. “It’s delicious.”
“I agree.”
“But not as delicious as your vanilla cake with buttercream frosting.”
“Which is why you’re my friend and not Stacy’s.”
He extended the cake back to her, one of his eyebrows hitching up. He was asking her without words if she wanted some of the cake.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
She used the same fork he’d used to section off a bite. Stacy really had made an excellent effort with this cake. It was just a little too dense and a little too sweet. Otherwise, very admirable.
She handed the cake back to him. He handed it back to her. In that way, they polished off the slice the way they’d polished off so many dishes in the past.
His laptop rested on the desk positioned in front of the room’s large window. The yellow legal pad he used for notes, research, brainstorming, and more lay beside his computer. One coffee mug and a pen sat on top of the pad. Three books formed a pillar on his bedside table. The rest of his belongings must have been put away, because no other evidence of him existed except for a delectable hint of his scent in the air.
“Reid moved to town a couple of months ago,” Britt said. “He’s friends with Hannah’s boyfriend, Kyle. Hannah asked me if Reid could come tonight so that Kyle would have someone other than her to hang out with. Inviting Reid was my attempt to organize a playdate for grown men in order to make Hannah happy.”
He regarded her steadily.
“I wouldn’t have invited him, however, if I’d known it would make you unhappy. And I’m sorry about the surly look I gave you after Reid spilled his drink on you. You were an innocent bystander, but of the two of you, you were also the one I knew had the ability to keep his cool.”
“I almost didn’t. Keep my cool.”
“But you’re an honorable person, and so you did.”
“I was on my way to becoming a dishonorable person back when I met you, Britt. Honor sometimes feels like a jacket that’s too tight.”
“No way. You were born with an honorable soul, Zander.”
“I wasn’t. If I’m honorable at all, it’s because of you.”
Her heart kicked, then drummed. “Well.” She dashed a trailing piece of hair back into her bun. “Thank you for resisting the urge to brawl with Reid in the middle of the restaurant. Brawls tend to bring the atmosphere of a party way down.”
“I can’t stand that guy.”
“I noticed.” She tipped her head. “Was he really that bad, though?”
“Yes.”
“I found him only slightly tiresome.”
“I found him hugely tiresome.”
“He was entertaining,” she said cajolingly. “He seemed to get along well with most of the guests.”
“Please, keep going,” Zander said, deadpan. “I’d love to hear a long list of Reid’s sterling qualities.”
She laughed. “Zander! You’re not making this easy for me.”
“No.” He gave her a begrudging smile undergirded with both sheepishness and a trace of ferocity.
She’d been imagining that she’d show up here and say she was sorry and that he’d immediately forgive her. Maybe even say he was sorry for his rudeness toward Reid.
He wasn’t behaving as contritely as she’d hoped.
“How about you tell me what’s bothering you?” She waited for a long moment.
“Frank’s death.”
“Yes. Something else is also bothering you. What is it?”
He scrubbed his hands through his hair, dropped them to his thighs. “I think that I’m . . .”
“You think that you’re what?” she asked with kind insistence.
“Lonely.”
Her emotions constricted with sympathy, as well as a prick of hurt because, clearly, her friendship and the time they’d been spending together hadn’t been enough to save him from loneliness.
“I’ve been traveling for months,” he continued. “I was lonely then, but at least I had things to see and do to distract me. It seems worse now that I’m home. Now that Frank is gone.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No. I don’t even know why I’m struggling as much as I am. I have my writing, our research into Frank’s past, and Carolyn to keep me busy.”
“And me.”
A brief pause. “And you.”
“Do . . . Do you think it’s time for you to leave and continue your Grand Tour?” It pained her to ask the question. Inside, her psyche was wailing, Nooooo! “As much as I’ll miss you, I don’t want you to be stuck here against your will.”
“There’s still a lot I need to figure out about Frank before I can leave.”
“That’s not technically true. Carolyn and Nora and I can keep looking for information after you go.”
He scowled. “No.”
“Yes. Of course we can. It’s unlikely that any of us are going to find anything, anyway. Whether you’re here or not.” She gestured impatiently. “What if you postpone your trip for years and we never unearth even one more clue?”
He released an edgy breath. “I don’t feel right about leaving yet.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” And thank God. She was saying the noble things, but she absolutely did not want him to go. “Just know that when you do feel right about leaving, I’ll support you. Fully. Because I’m very unselfish like that.”
“Anything else you want to tell me?” she asked.
“I think I’ve spilled my guts enough for one day.”
“By your standards, perhaps even enough for one week.”
“Probably enough for one year,” he admitted. For the first time all evening, humor and affection settled into the lines around his eyes. He’d gotten over his aggravation.
Zander really was painfully good-looking. Mercilessly so. How was she supposed to regain their usual dynamic with him looking like that? All Dickensian and poet-like? What chance did she have? She’d been somewhat boyfriend-starved for the past few months.
“I brought something else.” She extracted a medium-sized wrapped gift from her purse. His gift, to her. He’d deposited it onto the pile of presents at the restaurant. “You left before cake and before I had a chance to open my presents. Is it okay with you if I open it now?”
“Sure.”
She ripped off the paper and exposed a gleaming silver antique chocolate mold in the shape of a teddy bear. “Oh,” she breathed, pleasure suffusing her. The handwriting on the white tag tied to the clasp read 1930s. Anton Reiche Dresden. German.
The history of chocolate making fascinated her so much that she’d framed black-and-white photos from America’s chocolate-making past and hung them in the interior of her shop. She’d devoted one long shelf in her kitchen to her private collection of chocolate-making antiques.
Long ago, chocolatiers had used intricately crafted molds to fashion chocolate into charming designs. So far, she’d collected French molds in the shape of a rabbit and an Easter egg. One American mold in the shape of a rooster. And a German mold in the shape of St. Nicholas.
The silver bear peering up at her with a contemplative expression was not an inexpensive piece. Nor easy to find. She lifted her chin to beam at Zander. “I’ll treasure this. I might even make some teddy bear chocolates from it.” She rose to give him a hug.
He straightened and enclosed her in his arms.
The hug didn’t feel the way their hugs usually felt. She was all too aware of his body and the fact that she was female and he was male and maybe there was some truth to the theory that men and women could never truly be just friends, after all—
She didn’t want anything about their relationship to change. Letting it change meant risking his presence in her life. And that was too, too high a price.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“You’re welcome.”
Britt didn’t like to think of herself as a coward, but she swept up her purse and moved to the door before she did or said anything that couldn’t be undone or unsaid.
She paused on the threshold and raised the chocolate mold. “Because of this I forgive you for your rudeness to Reid and for walking out on my birthday party.” She grinned.
“I didn’t ask for your forgiveness,” he countered, amused.
“Right, but you should have, so I forgive you.” She turned to go.
“Britt.”
She glanced back.
“Happy birthday,” he said.
The sight of him in bare feet and pajama pants and a gray T-shirt was perhaps an even better gift than the teddy bear chocolate mold. “Thanks.”
She strode to her car with the long, purposeful strides of a woman determined to resist a powerfully sweet temptation.
Phone call the following morning from Britt to Zander: