FORTY-SIX

NICK DOZED. MOLLY ROLLED OFF ME ONTO A CUSHION. I reached for my mug and sat up, swallowing lukewarm cider, finally alert enough to get my bearings.

The house was a simple A-frame with a cedar ceiling. The kitchen was at the rear of the main room; a bathroom and two guest rooms were off to the left. The master bedroom was a loft space above the guest rooms, overlooking the main room. The furniture was sparse and practical. An oak dining table, a cushy sofa. A large fireplace was surrounded with rugs and pillows. Late afternoon light poured in through large windows and snow-covered skylights.

I liked Nick’s house. It was simple, uncluttered. Open.

Odd, I thought. One’s home was supposed to reflect one’s personality. Incongruous that a man who didn’t value truth or honesty would create such an open space in his home. Stop it, I told myself. Let go of the past. Besides, the truth issue was irrelevant. Nick wasn’t trying to restart a romance. Hadn’t Beverly Gardener made it clear that he wasn’t available?

Still, as I watched him nap, the relaxed line of his jaw, the slow and easy rise and fall of his chest, I wanted to curl up beside him and wrap myself in his arms. What would he think of that? How would he respond? Would he hold me there? Would he want me to stay?

Well, I wasn’t going to find out. I wouldn’t risk it. I was vulnerable and needy; that was why I was drawn to Nick. Besides, I didn’t know what was going on with him. In the duration of a gunshot, Nick had gone from barely speaking to me to carrying me off to his cabin in Chester County. So far, he’d given no indication that he was interested in renewing a personal relationship. He’d made no innuendos, no passes, no references to either our disastrous one-night stand or the future. Maybe the truth was just what he’d said, that he wanted to give Molly and me a weekend of relaxation in the country. I’d accept it as that and keep my thoughts out of his arms and away from his body. Still, I remembered lying against him, fitting snugly, feeling safe, and the memory made me ache.

Nick’s snores harmonized with Molly’s. Bass and soprano, in stereo with complementary rhythm. I listened, watching them sleep until my eyes burned, letting go of memories and possibilities. Then, lulled by their snores and the flicker of hungry flames, I sank back into a warm, rum-coated sleep.