Love Me If You Must

22

Snow billowed into my eyes.

“Gosh, it’s cold.” I pulled away from his touch and ran toward the porch. “Thanks again. Good night.” I threw the words over my shoulder as I sprinted up the steps.

I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it, not sure if I was trying to keep David out or myself in.

Why hadn’t I kissed him? What would it have hurt? We’d had an enjoyable night, we had some things in common, we were neighbors. One innocent kiss wouldn’t have hurt anything.

I imagined for a moment what it would have felt like, the warmth of his breath on my cheek, the way his nose would rub against mine, how our foreheads would meet for a moment. Then our lips would touch, sending electric sensations across soft skin.

Completely harmless.

Except now I’d never get it out of my mind.

I thought about going after him.

But how stupid would that look? I’d turned down an invitation to see his house, then ran away from his kiss. If I dashed out into the snow right now and followed him home, would he be happy to see me, or just annoyed?

My level of bravery being what it was, I guessed I would never find out.

I flicked the deadbolt closed and headed toward the bathroom. It wasn’t as if I’d turned down a marriage proposal. It was just a kiss.

I hit the light switch on my way through the kitchen. The scent of the twenty-five-rose bouquet reminded me of David’s generosity even before I saw it filling up the counter. The petals flashed red as the fluorescent light struggled to come on.

I stopped and studied the scene, picturing the same bouquet in a newly remodeled kitchen. This winter, I’d be tearing out the existing dark, flat-faced cabinet doors and putting in raised-panel light oak to match the home’s original woodwork. A workstation with stools would fill the space beneath the back windows. The countertops and floor would be redone in neutral shades, and the whole kitchen would brighten up with new lighting. Tonight, however, the corner by the basement door was pitifully dim. I shot past it and closed myself in the bathroom.

I stood under steaming water and wondered what David was doing. He was probably on his side porch, opening the door, and shutting it tight against the wind. He’d hang his coat neatly on a hanger, take off his shoes and line them in the hall closet. Then he’d make himself a cup of tea and sit on the sofa and look out at the snowflakes, wondering what he’d done wrong tonight.

Why hadn’t Tish kissed me, he’d ask himself. He’d run through a million ways he might have messed up. Finally, he’d convince himself that things were hopeless between us.

And he’d never speak to me again.

I paused. Shampoo dripped into my eyes.

Was I ready to have that bridge burned?

No way.

I rinsed off, flicked down the faucet handle, and grabbed my towel. Not even fifteen minutes had passed since he’d gone home. He’d been at least that late picking me up tonight. I could be fashionably tardy for his invitation, as well.

I towel-dried my hair and sprayed it, trying for a cute-n-tangled look. I threw on my usual jeans and T-shirt. David had already seen me at my finest. Time to get back to my true, casual self.

Socks, shoes, and my jean jacket wrapped tight around me, and out the back door I went. Billowing white puffs hit me full in the face as I took the shortcut past the garage over to David’s yard.

The turn-of-the-century home between my house and David’s acted as the village museum, which explained why it was perpetually empty. Operating hours had been cut back to zero with the summer tourist season long past. I’d taken a tour of the historic home back in July and fallen in love with its total Victorian décor. I also loved the idea that I had one less neighbor in occupancy.

With cedar hedges lining both sides, the museum’s backyard repelled any light from the street. I found myself kicking blindly through snow-covered leaf piles and tripping over fallen branches in the snowy blackness. Not very pleasant for my lame leg. A light in David’s second-story window served as my beacon.

I squeezed through an opening in the opposite hedge and walked across David’s driveway to his back porch. A flurry of snowflakes dimmed the light next to the door.

I knocked.

I jiggled in place as I waited, wishing I’d thought to wear boots. Snow had settled in a thick ring around my ankles and now melted in slow, icy rivulets into my sneakers.

I peeked through the window, shielding my eyes to block the reflection. No lights, no David.

I knocked again, louder this time.

I stepped back. In the glass, my head looked like it had been doused with powdered sugar. My mostly wet hair sat frozen in spiky ringlets around my face.

The wind knifed icy-cold air through my jean jacket. My teeth launched into a continuous chatter.

The thought of standing on the frozen porch another instant gave me the chills. But so did the thought of heading home without warming up first.

Come on, David.

I tested the back door handle. It turned easily.

The door opened a crack.

David had walked into my house without knocking, hadn’t he? At least I’d knocked a few times. He was probably upstairs getting into warm jammies and fuzzy slippers. I’d just wait in the back room for a few minutes and thaw out. If he didn’t come downstairs by the time my tootsies were toasty, I’d just sneak back out and he’d never even know I’d been here.

The door creaked as I opened it.

Tut, tut, I scolded the absent Rebecca. Squeaky hinges alert buyers to the possibility of other problems throughout the house. It didn’t take an architect to figure that one out.

I poked my head inside the dark hall. “Hello?”

No answer.

I stepped in and closed the door behind me. A heavy hush filled the air. I tapped my feet gently to knock the snow off, careful not to make too much noise.

I felt along the wall for a light switch. I found two. I flicked the first and the porch light blinked off. The second one turned on the overhead light in the spacious rear entry hall.

However predisposed I was to disliking Rebecca, I couldn’t help but admire her taste. The room looked ready for a photo shoot. Dark walnut paneling lined the lower half of the walls. Matching cubbies and a row of coat hooks filled the far end. Pale ivory-striped wallpaper covered the rest. A floral wreath in burgundy and green provided a focal point upon entry.

David’s coat hung askew in one cubby. The red scarf he’d been wearing lay on the floor, almost as if he’d been too rushed to hang it. Next to the scarf were his shoes. Melted snow puddled around them on the polished oak floor.

I panicked. If that mess didn’t get wiped up, there was a good chance the finish would be ruined. Then all anyone would see walking into the room would be a big dull patch on an otherwise flawless floor.

I slipped out of my wet shoes and lined them carefully on the entry rug. I tiptoed through the doorway and found myself in the kitchen.

“David?” I called.

I turned on the overhead light. The room was a chef’s dream. A long island wrapped in wood paneling fit down the center. Above it hung a rack of pots and pans, all shiny copper, looking as if they’d never been used. Cabinets and countertops lined two walls. Stainless steel appliances gave the room a clean, sterile appearance. This room alone must have cost a fortune.

The sink piled with dirty dishes was the only eyesore. I stole a few paper towels from the roll on the counter and slunk back to the mudroom.

I wiped up the water and stacked David’s shoes neatly on the rug where they could finish drying without doing any damage. Then I opened and closed under-counter cabinets in the kitchen until I found the trash bin.

I pitched in the wad of toweling. It landed in the garbage next to a small red foil envelope, the kind that gets held by that fork thingy in a floral arrangement.

I scrunched up my forehead in thought. My bouquet tonight hadn’t come with a little card. Maybe David had written something to me, then changed his mind and threw it away, too shy to share his feelings.

My hand shot out for the envelope.

I pulled back, not wanting to believe that I would actually dig through someone’s trash.

Oh, what could it hurt?

A floral greeting wasn’t exactly U.S. Mail.

I grabbed for it with two fingers. I straightened, flipping the foil paper over. There was no writing on it. I reached inside and pulled out the card.

Chunky black print jumped out at me: twenty-five years. remember that.

Not very romantic. The card had obviously been meant for some other flower arrangement. David certainly hadn’t penned those words with me in mind. Perhaps David had received flowers recently himself.

Parker floral designs was printed in the upper left corner of the card. That was a shop just down Main Street, one of my favorites. A grapevine arbor arched over the entryway, inviting passersby to step in and check out the knickknacks and doodads. Maybe I’d just have to do that one of these days.

I tucked the card in my jeans pocket, convinced that taking something already thrown away couldn’t be considered stealing.

Still, I had to face my dilemma. With no David in sight, I should leave the house. Otherwise, I could be deemed a trespasser. On the other hand, David had offered me a tour. Poking my head into a couple rooms on the first floor before I left couldn’t possibly hurt anything. Technically, I was here on invitation. I’d just arrived a little late.

I came to a compromise. I would only peek at one more room. If David hadn’t come downstairs by then, I was out the door and back home. With wet shoes off, my feet weren’t even cold anymore.

I took the archway to the left and found myself in the dining room. I didn’t dare turn on a light. But in the wash from the kitchen, I could see the ceiling was at least ten feet above the floor. The walls were done in dark wainscot and old-fashioned burgundy-on-gold wallpaper. A mammoth table filled the space beneath the chandelier.

Against the opposite wall, a monstrous cabinet loomed, like something from the Addams Family collection. A thin stream of light seeped from behind its doors.

I was drawn toward the beam like a moth to fire.

My hands glowed blue as they reached for starburst-shaped knobs. I pulled the doors open.

A funny-looking desktop computer provided the ambient light. The screen showed a picture of a woman in front of the restored Greek Revival. Her arms were flung wide as if to say, “I did it!” Reams of blonde hair lay gracefully on the collar of a fur swing coat. A short skirt accentuated her miles of legs. She had a flawless smile, a petite nose, and glimmering eyes. In short, she was the most beautiful woman on the planet.

Rebecca, no doubt.

And why not? The woman had talent and spunk. Beauty was a natural accompaniment.

No wonder David was sick to be losing her.

“She looks like an angel, doesn’t she?” David’s voice came from behind.

I whirled and screamed. I landed with my bottom sitting on the cabinet ledge.

“Please. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

He wore a wine-colored silky robe over top of loose cotton bottoms. A patch of chest hair peeked out.

“Wow.” I stood and brushed off the back of my pants. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m not snooping, honest. I changed my mind about that tour and thought I’d come over after all.” I gave a sheepish grin. “I did knock.”

His eyes shone bright blue even in the dim light. “Not to worry.” He walked toward me. “I see you’ve found my baby.”

“Yes.” I tried to plaster down my frizzed-out hair. “I had no idea Rebecca was so beautiful.”

He skirted past me and hit the space bar on the keyboard. “I meant my computer.”

“Oh.” I looked at the flat-screened contraption surrounded by wires and equipment. Rebecca’s face was gone, replaced by lines of text.

“Unfortunately, I’ll have to give you a rain check on that tour. I received an urgent message just as I walked in this evening.” David shrugged, helpless. “Duty calls.”

“I hope it’s nothing too serious.” I straightened, trying not to look as foolish as I felt.

“Nothing that can’t be tidied up in a few hours’ time. Perhaps you can come back tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh. Absolutely.” I fidgeted, sidestepping toward the mudroom. “Again, I’m really sorry to have bothered you. I don’t know what came over me.”

David stood hands on hips. The collar of his robe stretched open, revealing a surprisingly well-defined chest. Not every computer geek could claim to be as toned as David. I lowered my eyes, embarrassed to even be thinking of him that way.

“No bother,” David said. “It’s always a pleasure. I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

He advanced toward me. For every step he took, I backed up one, until I felt the hardwood flooring of the kitchen beneath me. I pivoted and almost ran to my shoes. David stood over me in the doorway to the mudroom as I fumbled with wet laces.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him hovering there, watching me. My heart launched into a frenzy at the thought of feisty little pheromones floating my way, making me want to be kissed. I focused on tying my shoes.

When I looked up, I noticed David’s fingers tapping almost impatiently on his crossed arms.

I stood. “I can’t imagine what you think of me, letting myself in like that. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. I only wish I could give you that tour this evening.” He reached for my hand, bending over it like a knight paying homage. “Alas, I must needs return to my labors.”

His crummy Shakespeare imitation made me smile, even as my fingers sizzled in his grip.

“Okay,” I said. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

David’s lips touched the skin on the back of my hand, melting it with his hot breath. The noble kiss sent fire through every nerve of my body. He might as well have marked me with a branding iron.

When David lifted his head, I still tingled where his lips had seared me.

His eyes pulled me closer. All resistance was gone. I stepped into his arms, clinging as if I’d never felt a man’s touch before.

I leaned into him, soaking up the warmth of his body, the clean scent of his shower soap, the sound of his beating heart.

With his arms linked loosely behind me, life’s problems seemed of little consequence.

What did my past matter in the embrace of this man? Any ghosts were laid to rest in light of future happiness.

Who cared if my cellar never got converted to a rec room? I could let it go with David holding me.

So what if Rebecca was beautiful, successful, and made Rawlings what it was today? I, not Rebecca, was in David’s arms.

He gave a rasping breath and pushed me away.

“Go home, Tish.”

I nodded.

I turned my back to him and stepped into the cold, shutting the door behind me.