FINN PULLED OFF the twine binding the gate shut and unscrewed the broken latch. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how angry he’d gotten at Carly, who he counted as one of his closest friends even if he hadn’t seen her in more than a decade. Or how badly he felt now because of their argument.
He’d wanted to reassure himself that Carly, at least, thought well of him, and when she’d drilled right down to the bone he’d picked a fight to avoid talking about his problem. She’d been in an edgy mood herself, spoiling for someone to take out her unhappiness and uncertainty on. Didn’t mean he should feed that beast. Yesterday at the beach, they’d been so close. Today that had all fallen apart and it sucked.
He tossed the old latch on the ground and picked up the new one he’d bought at the hardware store on the way over. Unlike Carly, he knew his way around tools, thanks to his handyman dad. Not that she was to blame for her lack of experience in that area. And despite her family’s wealth, her father had instilled in her a work ethic. Finn respected the fact that she made her own way and didn’t rely on daddy’s money. Irene, too, deserved credit for keeping Carly grounded and exposing her to a different sort of life here in Fairhaven. The small town had lots going for it—the ocean, the forest, a close-knit community who cared about their neighbors.
It was scary how perceptive Carly was about him. She’d hit the nail on the head earlier. Yes, he was scared. Yes, he felt like a failure. And he hated that she knew it in case she thought him weak. But she was wrong in thinking he didn’t want to work at his music. It was just…hard in a way he couldn’t deal with. Maybe he was in denial.
He shouldn’t have attacked her about her job. Who was he to give career advice? She was smart, she knew what she was doing. And anyway, she was grieving. Actually, they both were. Anger was one of the stages of grief and manifested itself in unexpected ways. For all Carly’s inner strength, right now she seemed to be barely holding herself together. Truth was, they were both fragile right now.
He put down the screwdriver and pushed on the post to test how solid it was. Like a rock. Good. Carly wouldn’t want to replace the whole fence if she was looking for a quick sale on the property.
He turned to admire the soaring graceful lines of the house. The peacock-blue siding and white trim looked recently painted. But he’d noticed a few loose boards in the porch and the downstairs bathroom sink knocked when water ran. Those would have to be dealt with before the house went on the market.
Thinking of Irene’s heritage home going into the hands of strangers made his chest constrict. This house had seen some of his proudest moments. Irene had been the first person outside his family to believe in him and her praise had meant more than any award. She’d been teaching music at his elementary school and had singled him out as having promise. Once she’d convinced his parents he should have private lessons his mother had begun her campaign for him to mine his talent for all it was worth.
He sighed and pushed away from the fence post. All that was a long time ago. He’d put those days firmly behind him—until now. It was no wonder he was feeling churned up. Returning to Fairhaven had brought him face to face with his past, and how he’d crumbled under the weight of expectations when he’d most needed to step up.
Dusk was falling by the time he finished repairing the latch. After making sure the gate was shut tightly he went in through the back door to the kitchen where the rising sourdough gave off a warm, yeasty aroma. Rufus, lying on his bed in the corner, thumped his tail when he saw Finn. Carly was tying up a large black garbage bag. She continued what she was doing without looking at him.
“The gate is fixed. You can let Rufus out.” Finn went to the sink to wash his hands. “I’ll go to the hardware store again tomorrow to pick up a few other things. Is there anything you need?”
She carried the garbage bag to the back door, still avoiding his gaze. “Packing boxes. Do they carry those at a hardware store?”
“I could try to find a moving and storage company.” He paused. “What are you going to do with everything when you’ve got it all boxed up?”
She pushed strands of hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Whatever is left after my uncle and cousin receive their bequests I’ll give to whoever wants it.”
He nodded, hating the awkward distance between them, wanting to bridge it before it grew. “I, uh, said stuff I shouldn’t have earlier. You’re going to be awesome in your new job. I hope it turns out well for you.”
She turned to him, her expression troubled. “I was out of line, too. I haven’t seen you for years. I had no right.”
“Yeah, you have a right. You knew the ‘other’ me. Few people do nowadays. The only time I get asked hard questions is in Fairhaven.” He kept so far below the radar that his LA friends knew little of his past. And that was the way he wanted it. “Must be why I come here so frequently,” he added drily.
“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” Carly said.
“Neither do you.” He wished he could make her understand he wasn’t a failure, that he was still a musical force to be reckoned with, a valued part of the industry. Except that raised the question, was he? “Well, I’d better be going.”
“Are you still staying with Dingo and Marla?” she asked.
“They don’t have room for a house guest on an extended visit. I’ll go to a hotel.”
A beat went by. “There’s plenty of space here.”
He was tempted. But despite their mutual apologies the atmosphere felt too tense. The last thing he wanted was to risk getting into another argument. “I’ve already booked a room. I’ll come by tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
He nodded at the dough. “I see you wrestled it into submission.”
“I’m taking your advice to let it rise overnight,” she said. “Anyway, Taylor phoned and he’s going to be working in his lab until late. I’m off the hook for another night as far as dinner goes.”
He hesitated. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat with me?”
“Thanks but I’m really tired,” she said, subdued. “I need an early night.”
“See you tomorrow then.” He headed for the back door. “My boots are dirty. I’ll leave by the side gate.” He hesitated, wanting to reach for her, if only to squeeze her hand. But she was hanging back so he didn’t.
Finn fired up the Mustang and flipped throughout the loose CDs in the console for something to listen to. His tiptoeing fingers lingered on an unmarked recording he’d made of himself playing his own music. Not even Tom, who managed his songwriting career, knew about it. The YouTube clips he’d mentioned to Carly were old. This was new, the best work he’d ever done.
If Carly found out, she’d hit him with inspirational talks aimed at helping him reach his “full potential.” No doubt in her opinion anyone was capable of scaling Mt. Everest—without oxygen and carrying an extra pack on his back—if only they wanted it badly enough. It would never occur to her that he might already be living up to his potential.
Ah, who needed stardom anyway, with the pressure and the lack of privacy, the screaming fans? Look what happened to Michael Jackson, Jim Morrison, any number of rock stars dead before their time. Fame had a price. He was happy enough the way he was.
Was he? Or was he still on that river in Egypt?
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING when Carly woke, the birdsong in the big maple tree sounded cheerful, like something out of a kids’ movie. Good omen. Yesterday was the past. She would put it and the fight with Finn behind her. She swung her legs out of bed and almost tripped over Rufus, lying next to her on the floor. He wagged his tail, wriggling his pleasure at seeing her.
“Good dog!” She stroked his silky ears, pleased that he’d stopped sleeping outside Irene’s door. But she hated to think about what would happen if he became too attached to her and she couldn’t keep him.
She threw on a light dressing gown over her cami and pajama bottoms and ran downstairs to the kitchen, the Irish setter hot on her heels. Holding her breath, she lifted the lid on the sourdough. The wobbly, bubbly mass half-filled the container.
“It rose, Rufus!” Not as much as she’d hoped, but she hadn’t fed the starter. Grinning, she danced on the spot. Rufus woofed and pranced. “Fresh homemade bread tonight.”
She put on coffee to brew. Then, following the instructions she’d printed out, she stretched the dough and shaped it into a loaf before placing it into the special mold Irene used. Then she covered it with plastic wrap for another long proofing.
“Good morning.” Taylor came into the kitchen, looking bright-eyed and ready for the day. “I’ll just grab a drink of water before I go.”
“I made coffee,” she offered. “If you’ve got a few minutes I’d like a chat.”
Taylor set his briefcase on the floor and sat at the table. “What is it?”
Carly handed him a steaming cup. “I just wanted to confirm what we talked about before. Turns out I inherited the house. I’ll be putting it on the market as soon as I’ve done some basic repairs. So it would be a good idea for you to look for another room so you’re not caught short. You don’t have to give me any notice and I’ll refund any rent paid in advance.”
“I appreciate that.” Taylor sipped his coffee, frowning. “There weren’t a lot of rentals in this area when I was looking.”
“Could you go home, just as a stopgap?” Carly asked.
“No, I’ll… I’ll sleep in my lab before I do that.”
Carly’s eyebrows rose. Taylor had to be in his midtwenties but he had the air of a much younger guy. She knew it was a mistake to interfere, or even to get to know him, but she couldn’t help herself. “I take it you had a difficult time with your mother?”
“Not difficult. I mean, she was good to me.” He leaned forward, both hands gripping the coffee mug. “Too good.”
From her days counseling high school students, Carly recognized a tortured young man who’d kept his troubles bottled up for too long. A guy who was longing to spill his guts to a sympathetic ear. “Go on.”
“She did everything for me,” Taylor said. “She was always hovering, asking questions about where I was going and when I’d be home. It was impossible to have…” Red filled his cheeks. “Friends around.”
Oh, now she was getting somewhere. “Do you have a girlfriend, Taylor?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No. I’m not…” He rubbed the large knuckles of one hand. “I had a girlfriend. For a while.”
“What happened?”
Taylor gave a diffident shrug of his wide, bony shoulders. “Not much.”
Carly bit her lip, fighting her urge to get involved. But if she could draw him out, find out what the problem was, maybe she could give him some useful advice. A parting gift before she evicted him. “Tell me about her.”
“Kristin was from my statistics class, really smart and pretty,” Taylor said. “Everything was great until I took her home to meet my mom.”
“Didn’t your mother like her?”
“Mom was fine, welcoming.” He sipped at his coffee. “Kristin understood that I was trying to save money by living at home, but when she saw how Mom fussed over me…”
“When you say fussed, what do you mean exactly?” Carly asked.
“She did everything from making my packed lunch to buying my underwear. What was worse in Kristin’s eyes was how I allowed it. She told me—pretty darn bluntly—that she was looking for a man, not a boy.”
“Ouch.” Carly remembered how much she’d loved her mother and how she’d missed her when she’d passed. Her dad was great but he worked a lot and didn’t have much time for her. The housekeeper was kind but she wasn’t a blood relative. Irene had filled the gap in her life her mother had left. The warmth of their relationship every summer had sustained her through the rest of the year.
“I was so wrapped up in my research that I didn’t see myself until I did through Kristin’s eyes,” Taylor went on. “After that I tried to do more but somehow Mom always anticipated my needs.” He paused, looking miserable. “Anyway, it was too little, too late for Kristin. She’s long gone.”
“I think you did the right thing by moving out,” Carly said.
“I left Mom on her own only a year after she and my dad divorced,” Taylor said, clearly wracked with guilt. “I promised I’d look after her and the house.”
Instead, his mother was still looking after him. “I assume she’s not helpless if she’s still doing all that stuff for you,” Carly said. “How old are you?”
“Nearly twenty-six.” He made an expression of frustration. “I don’t want to end up forty years old and be still living at home with my mother doing my laundry and cooking my meals.”
Scaring away every woman he brought home. “Was your mom upset when you said you were moving out?”
“Yeah. I explained that I needed to be closer to the university since my research mostly takes place at night.” He picked at a hangnail on his thumb. “She thinks that when I’m done I’ll move back home. She isn’t used to living on her own. I do worry about her.”
“I’m sure you’re a good son but she needs to make a new life for herself. The longer she’s emotionally dependent on you, the harder that will be.” Carly thought back to her regular Sunday evening phone calls with Irene, how much they’d meant to both of them. “Call her every now and then, let her know you’re thinking of her. Maybe arrange to visit every few weeks.”
“You think that will be enough?” Taylor said hopefully.
“Give her credit,” Carly said with an encouraging smile. “She’ll find the strength. Maybe this is the nudge she needs to forge her own life.”
“I hope so.” Taylor checked his watch and grabbed his briefcase. “I’d better run. Thanks for the talk.”
“No problem.” Carly carried the coffee cups to the sink. Finn was right—she had a habit of taking in strays. But when she saw someone in pain or in need, she simply had to help.
Hearing banging out front she went through the house and opened the front door. Finn was tearing up the broken step. Planks of wood lay on the lawn next to a package of sandpaper and tins of paint. A stack of packing cartons sat on the doorstep. She was on the point of telling him again she would hire a handyman to do the repairs when she considered the possibility that he might want to do it for his own sake. It might be his way of repaying Irene for all she’d given him. If it made him feel better, then fine.
Yesterday hadn’t been the greatest day for either her or Finn. Even though they’d parted civilly last night their dispute had left behind a new coolness and she still felt bad about the low blows she’d thrown at him. Someone who was hurting needed support, not antagonism.
“Thanks for these,” she said, picking up the cartons. Finn glanced up, grunted acknowledgement, and carried on with what he was doing.
She carried the empty cartons into the living room and started to pack books from the bookcase. A music magazine lying atop a stack of industry periodicals caught her eye. She leafed through, curious. There was an article on a famous opera singer, another on a violin maker, one on the interest in ukuleles, a notice about a Steinway piano exhibition. Pages of ads for music suppliers and employment opportunities for musicians.
A half page ad caught her eye. Molto Music, a top recording company, had an opening for a senior staff songwriter. Would Finn have the qualifications? He’d had a hit song recently but a giant firm like Molto would want a proven track record.
She carried the magazine to the kitchen table where her laptop was set up and tapped Finn Farrell into the browser. Two-hundred-thousand-plus results came up, referencing songs he’d written and the artists who’d recorded them. Some she’d never heard of, some she had. Finn was prolific, no doubt about that. Checking the Molto ad again she saw that the return address was in Los Angeles. Perfect.
With Rufus at her heels, she carried the magazine, a cup of coffee and the last of Frankie’s blueberry muffins out to the front porch. “Ready for a break?”
“Sure, thanks.” Finn put down the hammer and reached for the mug and plate. He leaned against the railing, his long denim-clad legs stretched down the steps.
“There’s a songwriter position going that I thought might interest you.” Carly handed him the magazine open to the page. “Check out the salary range. Pretty good, huh? I could help you put together an application if you like.”
Finn scanned the ad then handed it back. “I appreciate the thought but I freelance. Why would I share my royalties with a big company when I can have the bulk of them for myself?”
She ticked the reasons off on her fingers. “Greater exposure, a wide range of clients, opportunities to write music for movies—”
“I have an agent who can get me all that.”
“Security?” she suggested and his gaze sharpened. She added, casually, “There must be lulls where no work is coming in.”
“There are periods between contracts,” he admitted. “I use that time to write on spec, work on my own stuff. There’s never any downtime.”
Maybe not, but spec work didn’t bring in cash on a regular basis. “Being on staff of a large corporation, you would get a steady paycheck to tide you over the lean times.”
Finn brushed the muffin crumbs off his fingers. “Yesterday you wanted me to be a performing musician and fulfil my potential. Today you’re trying to make me into a hack. What gives?”
“I saw an opportunity and brought it to your attention, that’s all,” she said. “It never hurts to keep your options open. Do yourself a favor and think about it.”
“Fine. I’ll think about it,” he said, sounding as if he’d do no such thing. Draining the last of his coffee, he handed her back the cup and plate. “Thanks for the snack. Now I’d better get back to it.”
“Me, too.” Carly went inside and grabbed a stack of cartons from the hall and headed upstairs, leaving the book packing unfinished. Finn was still a bit touchy after their argument, but then again, so was she. The past twenty-four hours had been a roller coaster of emotions. On the beach she’d accepted the comfort of his arms and a shoulder to lean on, the next day she’d prodded him when she had no business sticking her nose into his affairs. She was still doing it.
But when she thought about yesterday on the beach, it wasn’t the comfort she remembered but the play of his back muscles beneath her hands, his thigh pressing against hers and the gust of his warm breath in her hair. Okay, so she was attracted to him. She was a red-blooded woman. Being back in Irene’s house where she’d first met him, having him under the same roof, she couldn’t help but recall the fantasies she’d had as a teenager—and expand on them now that she’d met Finn, the adult, virile male. Given that they had conflicting agendas, maybe a bit of coolness between them was a good thing. She was in New York, he was Los Angeles-based. She was moving forward, he was happy where he was. Or so he said.
She wandered down the hall deciding where to start. Besides Irene’s master bedroom, there were four secondary bedrooms including the one Irene had kept exclusively for Carly’s use. Taylor’s things were in one of the rental bedrooms but the others were bare of everything but basic furniture.
Dealing with her own stuff would be easiest so that’s where she began. Her room was a compilation of the summers she’d spent here. Boy band posters curled off the pale blue walls next to horse pictures from a younger age. A musical jewelry box was wedged between a softball and a shell collection on the dresser. A lifetime of stuff amassed and rarely given another thought.
Ruthless. Everything had to go.
Carly started sorting through the dresser drawers, layered like an archaeological dig. Ancient knee-high socks, bathing suits from when she was fifteen, stretched and faded T-shirts. Neither she nor Irene, it seemed, had ever thrown anything out. She pulled the sock drawer right out of the dresser and tipped it upside down on the bed to figure out what was worth sending to the thrift store and what should be thrown away.
Her fingers encountered a small jewelry box. Inside was an enameled Siamese cat figurine Finn had given her after she’d lamented not having a pet in New York. He’d said her eyes and the cat’s were the same turquoise blue. That was the summer he’d kissed her in the tower, a few weeks before the fateful concert. She turned the cat over in her hands. She’d loved it but when September came she’d left it behind, feeling betrayed that he’d left Fairhaven without talking to her. The next year when she’d visited, Finn still hadn’t returned.
What might have happened between them if he’d stayed? She would never know. She set the figurine on the dresser. One or two souvenirs from the past were acceptable.
Several hours later, three full boxes were lined up in the hall outside her room and she was filling a fourth when her phone rang.
“Hey, Taylor,” Carly said. “What’s up?”
He coughed out a nervous laugh. “I forgot to tell you this morning that I’ll be back for dinner tonight.”
Dinner. She’d completely forgotten about that. Apart from the sourdough she had nothing in the house to eat. She still hadn’t gotten to the grocery store. “How does pizza sound? I’ll go shopping soon but I’m not organized yet.”
“Pizza would be fine,” he said. “When do you plan on eating? I don’t want to put you out by being late.”
“Let’s say, six-ish?”
“Six o’clock. Roger that.”
Carly imagined him spinning a dial on his timepiece and lining it up precisely.
Speaking of food, her stomach was feeling empty and it was nearly one o’clock. She went downstairs to find a takeout chicken sandwich from Rhonda’s on the counter and a plate empty but for a few crumbs. Finn must have made a run for food.
She padded barefoot to the front door. He was putting a coat of dark gray paint on the porch. Holding up the sandwich, she said, “Thanks for this.” She took a bite and surveyed his work. “Looks good. How long before we can walk on it?”
“Couple of hours. I’ll put cardboard down later this afternoon to keep footprints off it.”
“You’re a handy man to have around, Finn Farrell.”
He just nodded and dipped his roller into the shiny paint to apply another layer. But she could tell he was pleased. She watched him from the doorway as she ate, admiring his long back and wide shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing tanned forearms dusted with black hair and splotched with paint. When he looked up again and raised his eyebrows quizzically, she smiled and backed away. She couldn’t keep coming out with flimsy excuses to talk to him.
The afternoon progressed. Carly filled more boxes and cleared out her closet of ancient blouses and worn sneakers. The dust got in her nose and made her sneeze. Through it all, Rufus lay in the middle of the room and watched. When he got tired of that, he slept.
Around five o’clock she heard Taylor and Finn talking downstairs. Then Taylor came up and went into his room and shut the door. Absorbed in her packing she didn’t notice anything else until a little while later, she heard a knock at her door.
Finn leaned against the doorjamb, long legs molded by skinny jeans, torso lean and muscular in a tight T-shirt. “Time for a break, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe.” But a break was tempting. Her back ached from hours of bending and lifting and her knees were sore from kneeling on the hardwood.
“Let’s go up to the tower and watch the sunset,” he said.
“The sun won’t set for another three hours,” she pointed out.
“So? We’ve both done enough for today.” He held out his hand to help her off the floor and the warmth of his paint-spattered fingers wrapped around hers melted her objections. She followed him down the hall to the spiral staircase to the turret. “Taylor is expecting dinner at six.”
“What are you planning to make?”
“I’m ordering pizza and baking the sourdough bread.” She snapped her fingers. “I’d better turn on the oven to heat.”
“I’ll wait for you,” he said.
She was back in minutes and they started up the spiral staircase, Finn leading the way. The stuffy heat reminded her of that long-ago summer day when he’d stopped and turned to her, and stepped down onto her step, squashing her against the round wall. Of the feel of his hands on her body and how she’d trembled. How their teeth had bumped and the strangeness of his taste. The dizzying kiss.
She halted, clinging to the iron railing, and realized she was holding her breath. She let it go and sucked in another breath quickly.
“Are you okay?” Finn asked, pausing.
“Fine. Keep going.” She fastened her gaze on his boot heels and the supple brown crocodile skin.
A moment later they stepped into the tower, an octagonal room about ten feet in diameter with a love seat in the center and a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. It always gave her vertigo to look out to the ocean from so high up. The sky was a vast blue bowl with fluffy white clouds building on the horizon. Far out to sea, a freighter steamed north to Canada.
Finn cracked a side window for fresh air, then pulled her onto the love seat. “Now just breathe. You need to relax.”
Carly closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. The ball of tension inside her chest began to ease. Everything would get done that needed to be done. She could only do what she could do. Clichés, sure, but there was truth in those sayings.
She turned to Finn, noting in fine detail how his dark hair grew in a whorl away from his widow’s peak. The thick straight lines of his eyebrows. The straight nose and cupid’s bow of a mouth. His smooth olive skin and the sexy mole on his right cheek. “What’s your opinion on serif fonts versus sans serif?” she asked.
“Depends. Why?”
“Just answer the question. If you had to choose. If it was a matter of life and death.” Because that’s what it was starting to feel like.
“Is it printed on paper, or online?”
“Paper.”
“Serif, in that case,” Finn said. “It’s easier to read. Sans serif is clearer online.”
She stared at him. “That’s so simple, it’s brilliant. How do you know these things?”
“I like to investigate obscure and trivial matters.”
“Ah, when you’re procrastinating?”
“A graphic artist explained it to me once.” He leaned back and eyed her with an amused smile. “How do you procrastinate?”
“I don’t.”
“Bull.”
“No lie.” She held three fingers to her temple, Girl Scout style. “Not finishing my work makes me more anxious than the thought of doing it.”
“And you think I’ve got problems. You’re more uptight than I thought.”
“I am not. I’m responsible.” And if that sounded boring and mundane, too bad. Pushing the thought away, she focused on the ever-changing shapes of the clouds. So beautiful and so fleeting. They almost made her weepy at their transitory nature. Clouds dissolved and reformed. The droplets of moisture in them didn’t disappear, they rained down on earth and then were evaporated back into the air in an endless cycle. Like life.
“Why do you want to know about fonts?” The gravelly sound of Finn’s voice dragged her head back inside the tower. His thigh nudged hers on the love seat.
She explained about the business cards. “My PA has turned this into a huge decision that only I can make. It’s like the fate of the free world depends on whether I choose serif or sans serif.”
“It’ll be worth it,” he said. “Imagine handing those babies out to prospective clients.”
“Don’t mock me.” He was teasing but she could imagine handing out her new cards and she loved the idea. Carly Maxwell, international head hunter. Hmm, why stop there? Carly Maxwell, CEO.
“Earth to Carly, come in Carly.”
Blinking, she turned to Finn. And immediately got lost in his dark amused eyes that seemed to see right inside her. He really was extraordinarily handsome.
“Look at those kids down there.” Finn pointed to a boy and girl, about eleven years old, across the street. The boy was riding a skateboard and showing off to the girl, who walked with her nose in the air. “Does she like him, or not, do you think?”
Carly and Finn had been about that age when she’d first really noticed him. Like the girl below, she’d pretended indifference out of uncertainty and nervousness. She couldn’t see the girl’s facial expression but the way she glanced over whenever the boy executed a jump or tricky maneuver—and then turned away when he looked at her—was a dead giveaway.
“She likes him. Doesn’t want him to know it, though.” Carly kept her gaze on the young teens, aware of Finn’s knee brushing hers.
“Wonder how he’s going to get her attention.”
“He should wait for her signal.”
“Might never come.”
“There may be a reason for that.”
“Yeah, she might be afraid.”
Carly was drawn back to Finn’s searching gaze. Heat filled her cheeks and she glanced away in confusion. “Maybe she doesn’t know how she feels.”
“He could help her make up her mind.” Finn’s hand went to her cheek, his fingertips featherlight. He leaned in and his mouth brushed hers. Warm breath, his nose bumping hers.
He filled her vision and then her eyelids fell shut as she was swept away by a visceral longing. She’d never forgotten him, never gotten over him. And now he was here, his arms coming around her, his lips urgent, ardent. Well, he’d certainly got her attention. And she’d been lying—she did know how she felt. She wanted him even more than when she was younger because now she knew that other men hadn’t generated a fraction of what she could feel for him if she let herself.
But Finn was right—she was afraid. He’d dropped out of her life once before. She didn’t like it when people did that. It scared her. When she was nine years old her mother had gone away for the weekend with her college girlfriends and hadn’t come back. The taxi bringing her home from the airport had been involved in a collision with a truck that ran a red light because the driver hadn’t slept in three days.
Life was random like that. Finn had no excuse. He was alive and as far as she could tell, unfazed by breaking all ties with his parents and his hometown and cutting Carly out of his life altogether. Had he ever felt for her as deeply as she’d felt for him?
She could feel for him again, if she let herself…
His hands were moving now, stroking her arms. With every cell in her body aching for him, she broke the kiss and pushed on his chest. “We’re not going to do this.”
Mirroring her serious expression, he took her hands. “We already are.”
“It’s not happening, I meant it, Finn.” Damned if her lips didn’t curl into a smile against her will.
“Tell me you didn’t like it just a little bit,” he teased.
She regrouped and doubled down on the frown. “I didn’t like it, not even a little bit.” The smile grew.
“You’re a terrible liar, Maxwell.”
“You’re a terrible kisser, Finn Farrell.” Her smile widened. It was like she was freaking Pinocchio.
“Fibbing again,” he crowed and tickled her in the ribs.
“Stop it! I hate being tickled.” She started to laugh, squirming, her body wriggling beneath his hands, her nose butting his raspy jaw. “Ow.”
All at once he stopped and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to him, kissing the top of her head, her temple, rocking her. Her arms snaked around his lower back and she pressed her cheek to his chest, hearing the quick beat of his heart beneath the damp heat of his shirt.
“Carly,” he said, his voice soft and gruff.
Oh, Finn. What are we doing? Where can we go with this?
She’d spent her twenties in and out of relationships that lasted one year, two years, six months, interspersed with stretches of no one when it was almost a relief to be off the roller coaster. She hated the disappointment when her feelings faded, or worse, the crushing sensation of being the one dumped. She was tired of playing the game. What did love even mean in an era when you said, “I love you” to each other and then one day he simply stopped calling and texting? Where was the respect? Where was the romance?
She and Finn had flirted but they’d never crossed the line into a real relationship. There was a reason for that. If she hadn’t been so bummed out over his disappearing act she would have swallowed her pride and contacted him. They could have been friends all this time instead of dropping out of each other’s lives. She wasn’t a social butterfly, she didn’t have dozens of close friends. Over the years she’d gathered a handful who’d lasted. True friends, the kind you could count on in a crisis. The kind who would hold you when you were grieving or fix your gate. Who you could pick up with where you left off even when you hadn’t seen them for more than a decade. Finn was that kind of friend. Romance would only get in the way.
Easing back, she placed a palm against his cheek and looked into his eyes. The air in the turret was still and hot with just the breath of a cool breeze from the open window. He looked younger, open, vulnerable. Questioning. She was full of questions, too. All unanswerable. Where could they go with an attraction that had no future?
“You’re really important to me, Finn. I’ve missed you.” She kissed him lightly, quickly on the lips and nose. “When this is all over, I’d like to stay in touch and stay friends, real friends.”
“Why does that sound like a brush-off?” Finn frowned. “What are you saying?”
“The sourdough is ready to bake. I need to go down and put it in the oven. Pizza and bread,” she babbled. “Is that too many carbs?”
“Carly, don’t you dare leave on that note,” Finn said.
She went to the window and pressed her hot cheek to the cool glass. Rising quickly in the stuffy room had made her dizzy. “Why didn’t you call me that night to let me know you wouldn’t make it? I waited up for hours, wondering if you were going to show. I phoned your house but nobody answered.”
There was a long silence.
“My parents and I were still fighting,” Finn said finally. “I’m sorry. I should have called you. I thought about it, but frankly, I was in no shape to see anyone. Later, well, I just didn’t want to talk about it.” He paused. “Still don’t.”
“Things that aren’t talked about fester,” she said. “If you’d gone to Juilliard you would have been in New York and we could have seen each other.” He didn’t reply for so long that she wondered if he’d heard her. “What are you thinking?”
“I texted my mother yesterday,” he said. “She didn’t reply.”
Carly didn’t know what to say. “Sorry.”
“Do you know what she said when I told her I was taking you to the after-party?” he went on. “That you wouldn’t be interested in a poor boy trying to be a rock musician but that you might be interested in a student of classical piano attending Juilliard.”
“Pretty sure that back then I would have gone for the rock star from the wrong side of the tracks,” Carly said. Probably now, too.
“Mom’s comments only made me more determined to follow my own path,” he said. “I couldn’t make myself into someone I wasn’t for the sake of climbing the social ladder.”
“Nor should you have.” Carly turned back to the window. The girl and boy had made their way to the corner. While she watched, the girl turned to the left and the boy kicked his skateboard straight ahead. For some reason it made her feel sad. “So, can we be friends?”
“That’s a given,” Finn said.
Carly breathed out in relief. No matter what happened, she didn’t want to lose touch with him again.
An older model blue sedan pulled in to the curb. A woman in her fifties with frizzy blond hair that should never have been cut in a bob got out and glanced up at the house.
“Someone’s here,” Carly said.
Finn came to stand beside her. “Maybe she’s going next door.”
“Doesn’t look like it.” The woman, who wore a colorful pullover and carried a casserole dish, climbed the steps to the porch. Faintly, the doorbell rang.
“She must be one of Irene’s friends.” Carly didn’t recognize her from the funeral but there was something familiar about her. “I’d better go down.”