This was the time of instant divorce. Roger had been served three weeks ago and according to the paperwork he would be a single man in one more week. He stared at the documents knowing there was no longer anything he could do to turn this around. Clare had left him shortly after Christmas and it was already October; the holidays were just around the corner. Had it not been for her accident, the divorce would have been accomplished much sooner. Roger knew what Clare thought—that his regret and guilt were contrived just to get her back into his life for reasons even he didn’t understand. But that wasn’t true. His regret and guilt were completely genuine and he knew exactly why he wanted her in his life. She was pure and classy and sincere, while he was a shallow, weak idiot. She had given his life substance. Only a fool would cheat on Clare and risk losing her.

Clare had given him more chances than he deserved. Their marriage was over. He had meant everything he said to her at her birthday party—that he understood it was time to move on; that he was grateful for the years and their son. All he could do now was try to repair his relationship with Jason and maybe, in the end, earn some respect.

He didn’t bother to call Jason—if Jason answered the phone when he called, it was by accident. If Jason was home when Roger stopped by, he tried to avoid him. But Roger was going to go to the house and keep going until he convinced Jason to spend a little time with him. Even if it was miserable, he would keep doing it. He intended to show Jason that he was important, that even if he couldn’t have Clare in his life he wanted his son.

It was Sunday, sunny and crisp. People had started putting out scarecrows and pumpkins. Little farming towns like this one really got into the harvest. Halloween was a big deal. He drove over to the house and went to the door. Jason answered and jumped in surprise when he saw Roger. “Hey,” he said, stepping back a step.

“Hey, yourself, pal. I thought maybe we could do something today. Go-carts? Movie? There’s a game on…I bought a big screen. We could swing by the store, get some snacks—”

“Um, I’m kinda busy. I…um…I kinda have some plans.”

“Want to take a friend?” He shrugged. “I’m flexible. Whatever.”

“You shoulda called. Aren’t you s’pose to call?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. There was no custody issue—Jason was fifteen and made up his own mind. “I’ll do whatever I’m supposed to. Want me to go back out to the car and call?” he asked, trying to make a joke.

“Maybe next week. Or the week after, depending on, you know, homework and stuff.”

“Jase, holidays are coming up. I want us to spend some time together, have some fun, get back on track, if possible.”

“Yeah, well…I might need to think about that.”

“You could think at the movies. If we take in a movie, you won’t have to talk to me,” he said, smiling lamely. “Or we could go out and practice driving. You’re going to want that learner’s permit pretty soon.”

Roger saw Jason’s eyes light up a little, though he could tell the kid tried to hide it. “Yeah, I could think about that. Maybe you should call next week.”

“Are you sure? Because I can wait till you finish whatever you’re doing, or if you have plans with friends, we could take a whole crowd out. Pizza?”

“I think you should maybe call next week. Okay?”

“Jason, just so you know, I miss you, man. I’m going to keep pestering you till you give me a chance. It’s been a really tough year for you and I know you’re still pissed, but—”

“Naw, I’m not that pissed. But I am kinda—”

“Yeah, I know. Kinda busy. But I’m not giving up, son.” He reached out to grab Jason’s shoulder and give an affectionate squeeze, but the kid jumped. Roger made contact, but it didn’t come off as cool as he planned. “I’m not going to fight you, son. I’m just going to keep trying and trying.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “See ya later, then.” And he backed into the house and closed the door.

Well, that wasn’t far off from what Roger expected. It still stung. This was exactly why it was so hard to keep asking, keep trying. Every time Jason rebuffed him it had taken Roger weeks to put himself out there again. But this time it would be different. He’d call Jason every day this week and try to get something set up for next weekend.

He turned to leave just as Pete Rayburn was pulling up to the house. Just what he needed, competition with Pete for Jason. It caused him to frown darkly.

“Hey, Roger,” Pete said brightly. “What’s up?”

“Not a lot, Pete. What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Clare. You here for Jason?”

He let out a breath. “I tried, but he’s…You know…” He shrugged.

“Ah.” Pete thought a minute. “Hey, I know. Come here.” He turned and walked back to his car, opened the trunk. He took out a football and tossed it in the air. “Let’s throw the ball around.”

“What for?”

“Trust me. I have a little experience with this.”

“With what?” Roger asked.

“Divorced father of two,” he said, and then he grinned. “Believe me, if you think boys are tough, you oughta try a couple of pissy little girls.”

“Yeah?”

“Whoa,” was all Pete said. He backed out into the street at a trot and fired the football at Roger, who caught it clumsily.

“Pissy little girls, huh?” Roger said, firing it back.

“They were horrible. Even though it was a mutual split and I decided it was best to leave, it was somehow all my fault. I had to crawl on my belly like a snake and plead for mercy.” He shot the football back at Roger, who caught it better this time. And laughed.

“How long did it take?” Roger asked.

“I don’t know. Months. Maybe a year. They still have their dark moods.” Pete caught the ball. “I’ve always had a hard time understanding girls. The boys, I get. Go out for a long one,” he told Roger, and Roger complied.

“You’re having a good season,” Roger yelled. “Winning everything.”

“Yeah,” he said, and then to Roger’s adequate catch, “Good one!”

Roger came a little closer—he wasn’t about to try a long pass and look stupid. After all, Pete did this every day. “So,” he said. “You and Clare?”

“Old friends,” Pete said, noncommittal. “We kind of remet during her, ah, teaching career.”

“Yeah, I suppose. I think she’s seeing that young guy,” Roger said.

“Um. I don’t think that worked out,” Pete said.

Without meaning to, Roger actually hung his head. “I probably screwed that up.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Roger. Go deep. Farther. Farther.”

“You’re showing off,” Roger said with a laugh, but did as he was told. And caught the ball admirably. Then, braving humiliation, went for the return of the long pass. And made it.

“Whoa! Look at you!”

“What are you doing?” Jason yelled from the end of the drive.

Pete immediately trained the ball on Jason and fired it at him. Jason caught it, then stood there with it. “Your dad went to the trouble to come over…he should have someone to play with.”

Jason turned toward Roger and threw it to him. Roger to Pete. Pete to Jason. In less than thirty minutes there was running, falling, fumbling, tripping, laughing, one pair of jeans torn at the knee, one jacket tossed on the curb. And Pete yelled, “Hey, Jason—your mom home?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me out, you guys. I wanna ask Clare something.” And he jogged toward the front door, leaving father and son to their football.

Clare answered while he was still knocking. She had a confused frown wrinkling her brow. “What did you do?”

“It’s not a very secret formula—introduce a ball and all boys will play.”

“Amazing.”

“I think Roger and I bonded. As divorced men are wont to do.”

“Further amazing.”

“I went through the ex-husband to get to the ex-wife,” he said. “I must be freaking fearless.”

“I haven’t heard from you in…” She wrinkled her brow, but she knew exactly how long it had been. “Since my fortieth birthday. I finally decided you were just being kind and I was totally obnoxious. And you hoped to never run into me again.”

“You had some serious stuff going on,” he answered. “I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“Like what?”

“Like breaking the hearts of virile young cops and divorcing rich dimwits like Roger.” He smiled. “Plus, it’s football season. They’re killing me.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I thought it would be okay to get in the way now.” Grin. “I want to take you someplace, if you can get away.”

“Where?”

“Secret. What do you think?”

Before she could answer, the front door opened. Jason stuck his head in and said, “Mom, I’m going with Dad to get some dippin’ strips. That okay?”

“Sure. Take house keys. I’m going out with Pete for a little while. How long, Pete?”

“Couple of hours,” he said.

Jason didn’t seem to think there was anything unusual about this. He ran past them and up the stairs to his room to get his keys. Then in a flash he was back and out the door.

“Completely amazing,” she said.

As they drove, Clare told Pete a little bit about Sam. Not the details like the goodbye kiss, or the shattered look on his face when she told him. If she recalled that, it still caused a little ache to creep into her heart.

“He’s a tough kid,” Pete said. “Don’t worry about him.”

“Did you know he has a daughter?” she asked.

“Yeah, I know. He was really young.”

“He’s still really young,” she said. She looked at Pete’s profile as he drove. It didn’t seem as though he had changed so much in twenty years. Suddenly she could picture him the way he was that night in her college apartment. The details came flooding back—that first tentative touch, the way he cautiously leaned toward her and gently touched her lips, as if anxious to see if she would respond or slap him. That light kiss, barely there. The way his arm slipped around her waist, hesitatingly. How his breath caught when she invited a deeper kiss. Oh, she remembered it now. He had moved so slowly, so carefully. She could even remember the taste of his mouth—Chianti and desire. And yes, his hand trembled slightly as it crept to her breast, giving her every opportunity to stop him, to push him away. But she had put her hand over his and pressed it down harder, and he made a sound of such longing it shook her. Stirred her.

She should have known then what she knew now—he had adored her. He wanted her fearfully. Had he been making a conquest, even one born of wine and darkness, he would have taken her acquiescence and swooped down on her. He would have taken her quickly before she could change her mind. But he had not. Instead he was gentle, giving her the time to be sure. Time to respond. Until she begged him to be less gentle.

What she also remembered, it had been good.

“Hey,” Pete said, stealing a look at her. “You okay?”

She shook herself. She’d been staring at him open-mouthed. “Oh sorry,” she said. “You haven’t changed that much. Can you believe we’re forty?”

He laughed and said, “Me first.”

“Where are we going?” she asked again.

“We’re almost there. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“Does it have anything to do with football?”

“There could possibly be some football involved, yes,” he said.

“Thanks for doing that with Roger and Jason. Brilliant.”

“They need each other. Jason just doesn’t realize how much yet.”

“Are we almost there?” she asked.

“Almost.”

Suddenly she recognized a street they turned down. She held her breath without meaning to. Pete pulled up in front of his parents’ house and she slowly let out her breath. She looked across at Pete.

“Is this okay?” he asked. “Are you up to it?”

The house looked the same as it had twenty years ago—brown with yellow shutters and trim, a long porch. Not a fancy house, and the neighborhood was about forty years old, but kept up nicely. It didn’t look as if it had aged a day. It brought tears to her eyes. “Give me a second,” she said.

“They want to see you,” he said. “They’ve been begging. Especially my mom.”

“Sure,” she said, but she said it a little weakly. “Maybe you should have asked me. Or at least told me.”

“We don’t have to go in, it’s up to you. We’ve spent a lot of time talking about the past. I thought it might be a good idea to move into the present. And I was afraid you’d say no.” He patted her hand. “It’s okay if you cry. I won’t take it personally.”

“I’m not going to cry. Maybe.”

“Then come on. They’ll be waiting, trying not to open the door before you get there.”

Sophie and Fred Rayburn met them at the door; they had aged some but were still young and fit in their sixties. They were small, this couple who had bred up two large boys. There were emotional embraces. The last time she’d seen them was at her mother’s funeral a dozen years ago. Fred had been in the hardware store, but Clare hadn’t worked there until recently and it wasn’t as though they went to the same churches, restaurants or grocery stores.

The football game was on TV, naturally, but Fred had the volume down and Sophie had put out snacks in the family room. The fire was lit in the hearth and the room cozy and welcoming. The furniture had been updated, but it was almost comforting to note that the smells in the house were familiar—furniture polish, glass cleaner and freshly-baked cookies.

Sophie took her by the hand and led her to the kitchen where she poured her a cup of coffee. “When Pete told me that he ran into you and you two were back in touch, I just can’t tell you what a lift it gave me! It’s been too long, Clare.”

“I agree. It’s so good to see you. The last couple of times were not happy ones.”

“How is your father doing?”

“He’s great. Strong, feisty, working too hard as usual.”

They went around the dining and living rooms, coffee mugs in hand, looking at the framed photos. There were Pete’s girls at all ages, a couple of gatherings of extended family, and of course high school photos of Pete and Mike. Ah, she remembered. Pete was very young-looking, even when he graduated. And there on the mantel was a picture of Mike in his Air Force uniform. He seemed to be looking away, as though he was already leaving her. She picked it up and held it. “I put away my pictures of Mike.”

Sophie touched her arm. “Of course you did, dear. You got on with your life, as you were meant to do.”

“This brings back such memories.”

“Embrace the good ones, sweetheart. Let any unpleasant ones go.”

Sophie and Clare sat at the dining table with their coffee and caught up on family matters. Clare told Sophie about going back to the hardware store to work, now part-time, about the fixer-upper, about her son, about her divorce. Sophie filled Clare in on her granddaughters. “It’s such a joy to have girls, I can’t tell you. Like my reward for raising two boys.”

“Do you go to the football games?”

“We used to go all the time, but we miss some now. The cold gets to Fred. And to me, if I’m honest.”

When Fred told Pete to come outside with him to get firewood, Sophie seized the moment to say something she didn’t want her son to overhear. “After we lost Mike, I had this far-fetched hope that you and Pete would find each other—but you both went in other directions. You know, he had such a crush on you in high school.”

Clare was momentarily shocked. Did everyone know but her? “He did?” she said.

Sophie nodded. “The way he looked at you. The way he looked at you and Mike—I could tell he was just in agony. But I knew.” She shook her head almost sadly. “It must have been hard on him. He loved his brother so.”

“Did Mike know?”

Sophie laughed in absolute amusement. “Darling, Mike was just a guy. There are a lot of signals that guys are immune to until they’re much older.”

“I guess that’s probably true.”

“Promise me something, Clare. Now that you’ve come by for a visit, don’t be a stranger.”

“Count on it, Sophie. I’ve missed you, too.”

When Pete was driving Clare home, he pulled over at a crimp in the road beside a farmer’s field. He killed the engine, took her hand and held it and asked, “How are you doing?”

“A little emotional,” she said honestly. “But good.”

“Thank you for doing that. It means a lot to my mother.”

“Means a lot to me, too. Your mother told me she knew you always had a crush. I think I might be the only one who didn’t know that.”

“My mother,” he laughed. “How she can still surprise me.”

“Pete—I’ve been remembering that night. I don’t want you to take all the blame. I responded to you. That whole thing…It was very mutual.”

“I know.” He smiled. “That’s the special part.”

“You could’ve let it remain in the past.”

“No, I couldn’t,” he said. “You had to know the truth. I planned it for years. How I was going to seduce you, get you all turned on and go for it. I knew you might think it happened because we were alone, had wine. It was a setup, Clare. I set it up. I want you to be real clear about that.”

“Because…?”

He lifted her hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss into her palm. “Because if I happen to see that opportunity again, if I try again, if I give you wine and darkness and try to seduce you, you’ll know. It’s deliberate. It’s not an accident.” He shrugged. “Maybe then if you respond, you won’t regret it later.”

She shivered at the thought.

He started the car and drove her home, leaving her with lots to think about.

 

The end of October came with a shock of cold, and the high school Homecoming. Over the years Clare had managed not to pay too much attention to the way the town was charged with excitement during Homecoming, and she realized now that was partly due to the fact she would not allow herself to remember all the joy during that time of her life. But having a son in high school invited her back.

She hadn’t been to a Homecoming celebration since right after her high school graduation, but this year’s was like a family reunion. With Jason and his cousin Lindsey in their sophomore years, not only did Clare attend the festivities, so did George, Maggie and Bob and Sarah. There were banners all over town, the teenagers in Breckenridge so wired with excitement, it was exhausting just to watch them. And Clare had an added reason to be interested in all of this—a secret no one knew. A secret she had barely admitted to herself. She had a thing for the football coach.

The festivities started out with the crowning of the king and queen. Then there was a huge bonfire on the school grounds the night before the game. On game day the high school students held a parade featuring their royalty, floats they constructed themselves, a marching band, dance team, pom-pom girls, the riding club, and some representation of virtually every student organization.

The parade and floats wound up at the football field for a trip around the track. Thousands of people swarmed the grounds and bleachers; buses were lined up in the parking lots, emptied of their fans who accompanied the opposing team from out of town. After the game would come the dance—a glamorous affair reigned over by the king and queen, chaperoned by teachers, parents and the coach.

When Clare arrived for the game with Sarah and George, she immediately scanned the field for a sign of Pete, but the team wasn’t out yet. Their opponents were from Fallon—a bunch of big farm boys who were reputed to be ruthless killers. But the Centennial boys had been winning all season and there wasn’t anything small or timid about them.

Clare stopped her dad before they went into the bleachers. “Why don’t Sarah and I wait here to see if Maggie and Bob are coming—you can go ahead and see if they’re already here, or save room.”

“Perfect,” he said, going on without her.

“I’ll get us something from the concession stand,” Sarah said. “Want anything?”

“Coke, please,” Clare asked.

Clare watched Sarah as she walked away, her blond hair bouncing on her shoulders. She must be going broke on the new clothes, but she looked so darling in her fitted slacks, sweater, scarf and boots. She kept her makeup light and tasteful and admitted that she had been shocking her customers with her new look. Whatever this was about, Clare and Maggie were very grateful.

The opposing team ran onto the field and the bleachers opposite where Clare stood exploded into cheers while behind her she heard boos and hisses.

“Clare?” a voice asked.

She turned around to find herself face-to-face with Sam. He held a cardboard carton holding three Cokes and a bag of popcorn. He smiled at her. She looked for that sadness in his eyes, but to her relief saw none. Instead he seemed cheery, all dimples and teeth. Maybe Pete was right—he’d bounce back without a problem. “How are you, Sam?” she asked.

“Good. You?”

“Good. I’ve thought about calling to see how you’re doing, but I didn’t want to…you know…”

“It’s okay, Clare. Really, I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry.”

“I’m glad. Have you been…have you been going out?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Hey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Got a minute?”

“I have to wait here for my sister. She just went to get drinks.”

“I’ll wait with you. If it’s okay.”

“It’s okay.”

“So. How’s it going at the store?”

“Good. You haven’t been tearing up the sprinklers lately.”

“We’re about done mowing for the winter,” he said. “Have you been…you know…going out?”

“I…No. My divorce is final now. But you know what they say. You should go it alone for at least six months.”

He grinned at her. “Is that what they say? What’s that about?”

“That old rebound thing, I guess.”

“Is that how long it takes to heal?” he asked. And there it was, a hint of sadness in those typically bright, dancing eyes.

“I guess so. Approximately.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

The home team ran onto the field with a roar and Clare was grateful for the interruption—the conversation with Sam stopped for the cheers and the band blasting out the school song. There he was, the coach and his assistants. She raised up on her toes, but all she could have of him was his back. He would be focused on the field the rest of the night.

“Here you go,” Sarah said, handing Clare a cola. “Hi, Sam. How’ve you been?”

“Good. Good to see you. Come with us—I want Clare to meet my daughter.”

Sam led the way, Clare and Sarah following. They exchanged furtive glances behind him, Sarah with a question in her eyes and Clare answering with a shrug.

Not very far into the stands sat a woman and little girl. The little girl was a darling, freckle-faced sprite with long reddish-blond pigtails flowing over her shoulders. She was holding a tiny dog wrapped in a plaid throw. Just his little head with spiky, out-of-control hair and a little black button of a nose stuck out. “Clare and Sarah, this is Molly, my daughter, and Joan, my mom. This is Clare and Sarah, friends of mine.”

While Clare just said hello, Sarah bent closer to the little girl and said, “I know Molly. I gave an art class at your school, remember?”

“Miss McCarthy?” she asked. “You look beautiful.”

Sarah laughed and straightened. “I usually tie my hair back when I work or teach,” she said to Sam’s mother. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you.”

To Molly, she said, “I remember you really liked art. I give little classes at my studio, if you’re ever interested.”

“This is Spoof,” Molly said, holding up the dog.

“You should paint him,” Sarah said. “He’d make a great model.”

“I bet he wouldn’t,” Sam laughed.

“We’d better get going,” Clare said. “We have to look for Dad.” When they walked away, Clare said, “That was weird.”

“How so?”

“Meeting his family? After breaking it off?”

“Well, he appears to be doing just fine. You’re not disappointed, are you?”

“Absolutely not. I just think it’s weird, introducing us like that.”

“He was just being polite,” Sarah said. She strained to look up into the stands. “There they are. Up there.”

 

The game had been a huge victory for Centennial. The kids were all charged up. Jason went to the dance with his buddies and was spending the night at Stan’s. Lindsey was going to the dance with Christopher, in a car, an event that did not fill Maggie and Bob with comfort. The adults left the kids to the rest of their celebration and went out for pizza and beer.

It was only eleven when Clare got home. She didn’t turn on many lights, but settled back on the sofa in the semidark and put her feet up. Her insides were still vibrating from the noise at the game and pizza parlor and the quiet was welcome.

She wondered if Pete had any idea how often she thought about him. Ever since going with him to his parents’ house, ever since that memory of the past had come back to her so sweetly and he’d confessed his reasons for making sure she knew how deliberate his seduction had been, he had hardly left her thoughts for a second. Yet in the week preceding the homecoming, she hadn’t heard from him.

She had started thinking about Pete in the way she had described to Sarah one should think about a man one loved—constantly, with a little patter of the heart, a lift, a feeling of euphoria and elation. Expectation. And not just at that moment of his touch—but at the mere thought of it.

She decided to leave him a message, telling him that the game was great and congratulate him. But he answered the phone, startling her and putting her off guard.

“Pete! You’re home!”

“Just barely walked in the door. I got a reprieve from the dance since I put in such a long damn day.”

“I was just going to leave you a message, congratulating you.”

“Would you like me to hang up and you can leave a message? I’ll hear it right away.”

“No,” she laughed. “Good game. Congratulations.”

“I saw you there. I was glad you came.”

“I haven’t been to a Homecoming in years. But with Jason in high school…”

“Most important, it was a fun game,” he said. “Football season is almost over. When it is, how would you like to go out? Dinner or something?”

“I’d love that.”

“I’d take you out this weekend, but I have the girls. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to work on my old house. It’s going to be more than a renovation. It’s going to be a huge remodel. I’m going to start by cleaning up. I’ll have the heating and plumbing repaired first—so I can work in the house this winter, but I already had a chimney sweep pronounce the fireplace safe, so I can use that right away. Then in spring, I’ll work on the outside.”

“You’re amazing, Clare. Wish I could do that kind of stuff.”

“You do other stuff,” she said. “You do wonderful football stuff.” You do something to me, she thought.

 

George would have loved to help Clare in the old house on Saturday, but he had to run the store as usual. She was just as happy about that; she didn’t want her dad to overdo it. He wasn’t a young guy anymore, after all.

Clare lit a fire in the hearth on Saturday morning to warm as much of the downstairs as possible. Then she started on the upstairs, sweeping up trash and finding the occasional dangling torn sheet of wallpaper irresistible. She’d grab it and tear, adding that to the other debris. She’d filled a couple of trash bags when there was a banging at the front door. She ran downstairs and peeked out the diamond-shaped window to see Pete.

She tugged on the warped door until it opened. He smiled at her and lifted a broom. “Pete! What are you doing here?”

“My plans with the girls got canceled—some kind of birthday thing for their stepdad’s side of the family.” He grinned. “Normally that would really irritate me, this last-minute stuff, but it frees me up to give you a hand. If you’re interested.”

“Wow,” she said, stepping aside so he could come in. “This is great of you. I started upstairs. It’s really cold up there, but I’m nearly done and it’s warming up down here. Come on,” she said. She took him by the hand and led him up the stairs where she had a nice big pile of debris in one of the bedrooms and in the hall, a box of giant trash bags.

Pete took heavy work gloves out of his pockets and said, “Looks like you can sweep and I can haul. We might be done in time for lunch somewhere.”

He bent to the task of scooping trash into a bag and Clare found herself just standing there, watching his back and arms as he did this chore, though she couldn’t see his muscles work—he wore his heavy jacket. But she could imagine them. When he stood and hefted the heavy bag over one shoulder, he asked, “Where are we putting this stuff?”

“Backyard,” she said.

He smiled at her and said, “You’d better sweep. If you have a little help, there will be more time to play.”

She moved the broom. Play. Yes, she thought. I’d like to play.

An hour later they were downstairs, which the fire had warmed considerably. She swept up in the living room while he got busy in the dining room. When he removed his jacket and wore just his V-neck sweatshirt, she found the expanse of his back and shoulders most distracting. But not nearly so much as his butt in those jeans!

She took off her jacket, as well, but suspected it was not the fire that made her warm.

Clare wasn’t the only one stealing hot little glances; Pete found his eyes drawn to her all morning long. The curve of her jaw; the small, compact butt; the way her soft hair would swing around her shoulders. He wanted to get his hands all over her.

“Where’s Jason today? Why isn’t he over here helping?” Pete asked.

“He’s with his dad. They’re getting along real well these days, thank God,” she said. “I think I owe a lot of that to you.”

“Nah. They’d have gotten around to it. Roger was pretty determined.”

“Still, that whole football thing…Jason wouldn’t have been invited to help anyway. All I need is a complaining fifteen-year-old over here, making my life miserable.” Besides, she thought, I want you all to myself.

By noon, the living room floor was cleared with a big pile of trash in the foyer. Pete took a bag of garbage out to the backyard and when he came back into the kitchen, Clare was rinsing off her hands in the kitchen sink. His eyes warmed over as he looked at her back. Well, more specifically, her butt. She had that leggy, tight-bottom look about her; a killer in jeans. The very same that had been turning him on since he was about fourteen. It hadn’t changed all that much.

“I thought the plumbing was out?” he said, taking off his gloves.

“No hot water heater. We can rinse and flush—that’s it.”

He tossed his gloves on the counter and came up behind her, putting his arms around her, his hands under the cold water with hers. He covered her hands with his under the icy water, massaging them, and she leaned back against him. He bent his head, nuzzling her neck with his lips, inhaling her scent. He wasn’t sure he could get close enough.

She pulled their hands from the water and turned off the spigot. She dried their hands together while he concentrated on her neck. This wasn’t exactly what he’d planned, but feeling her against him was so good, he didn’t care. Then she lifted his hand to her mouth and licked his fingers, gently sucking on one, and he thought he might lose his mind. He turned her around to face him and slipped his arms around her to hold her. She tilted her chin up and he lowered his lips to hers, slowly, gently, touching them softly. He pressed gentle kisses against her lips before covering her mouth in a kiss that was demanding and serious. Deep and hot. And her lips opened beneath his, inviting his tongue. He kissed her long and hard, and then he said, “Ah. You taste too good.”

“You taste pretty good yourself.”

“It’s been awhile.”

“Probably too long,” she whispered against his mouth.

Probably, he thought. Yet things always seemed to happen in their own time. He was a little older now; not necessarily in a rush. There was a part of him that wanted to fall into her in a hurry and experience her body, but a stronger part that wanted to savor every touch, every sensation. He realized, devouring her mouth, that he hadn’t forgotten how delicious she was. His hands moved over her. He threaded his fingers into her hair to pull her mouth hard against his. Then down her neck and over her shoulders to her arms, to her back, over breasts and bottom, pushing her against the sink and pressing against her.

She was coming to him with heat, with passion, thrusting her small tongue into his mouth hungrily, sighing deeply. Yes, he thought. Yes, this is what I want. What I’ve always wanted—this woman in my arms, her mouth open under mine. He ran a hand down her back, over her bum, down her thigh to the back of her knee. He lifted her knee up to his hip and pressed himself against her. He was hard, ready for lovemaking, moving against her. Grinding against her. And she gyrated her hips against him, knowing.

Against her lips he said, “The last time I tried this, I broke your heart.”

“The last time, we didn’t know anything.”

“You know what I want.” He kissed her deeply. “I want to love you like mad. If you want it, too, you have to tell me.”

“I want you,” she said. “Take me somewhere.”

“Are you expecting anyone to come here?”

“No.”

“Does the door lock?”

“Uh-huh. But…”

He dropped her knee and pulled away. He put a hand under her chin, a soft kiss on her lips and said, “Go stoke the fire. I’ll be right back.”

He walked through the front of the house and out the door. Not clear what he was up to, she did as he asked. She was on her knees in front of the fireplace when he returned, a sleeping bag under each arm. He locked the door behind him and crossed the room, kneeling beside her. Together they wordlessly spread the sleeping bags, zipping them together.

Pete sat and pulled off his boots, setting them beside the fireplace, and Clare did the same. Then he pulled her into his arms and lowered himself to the floor, his lips on hers. He rolled, pulling her on top of him. She began to move on him at once, pressing and wriggling against him, until he groaned with pleasure.

He locked his hands into the bottom of her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. Then he unhooked her bra, tossing it aside. He cupped her breasts and ran his thumbs over her nipples bringing them to life until his attention turned them into hard little pebbles. He rolled with her onto their sides so he could get rid of his shirt, then pulled her against him, feeling her breasts brand his flesh. “Ah, Clare,” he said. “God, you feel good.”

“You have no idea how good I feel,” she whispered.

She sighed deeply, moaned with longing. She moved her hips against his erection and nearly whimpered. He reached for the snap of her jeans, opening them. Running his hands down her hips, he slid them down and helped her out of them. Next went the thong, cast away. The second they were gone, she was straining eagerly against him again, and with his hands on her bum, he pulled her to him, holding her there. Then he slid a hand between their bodies and down. Over her flat belly, slipping into that place that was dark and wet. He put a hand on her, probing with his fingers. She was as hot as a pistol. He hadn’t even had the luxury of getting her worked up. She was ready and hungry. Needy. All riled up and about to explode.

“Whew, Clare. I better take care of you right away,” he murmured.

“Oh…You better…”

“I had a vasectomy years ago, but I brought a condom.”

“You’ve been planning this,” she whispered against his lips.

“For years, Clare. Years. But I was going to invite you home, to my house, to a bed….”

“I never would have made it…No condom. Just you,” she said. “And hurry up.”

He rolled her onto her back and, kneeling between her legs, he got rid of his jeans. He put himself against her, right where he would enter. With her small bum in his hands, he pressed himself slowly into her, sighing deep in his chest as he felt her hot, tight body surround him, as he felt her pull him in. He’d been waiting to feel this, waiting forever. And it felt every bit as wonderful as he imagined. Remembered.

“Pete,” she whispered. “Oh, Pete. I’m not going to last a minute.”

He brushed the hair back from her brow. He moved within her, stroking deep and long and slow. “Let it go, baby. I’ve got you.” He moved some more, smiling as he heard her purrs and murmurs, her sighs, his name on her lips. She wasn’t a quiet one, this woman. These sounds were music to his ears. She had more passion inside her than she might realize, something he had always known. She was writhing beneath him, reaching. “Let it go, baby,” he whispered. He could feel her quivering everywhere and knew she was so close, so ready. “Ah, Clare…Almost there,” he whispered, pressing himself into her, rocking with her. He wanted to bring this to her, this magic made between a man and woman. And he wanted to be there, inside, when it happened. He held her bottom against him and pressed himself deep. She froze, gripping his shoulders, clenched around him and the spasms came, so tight and hard it almost knocked him out. She was amazing; her orgasm was phenomenal, and he felt it all over him—wild and wonderful. It was hot and powerful and long, as if it wouldn’t let go of her. “God,” he whispered, overwhelmed. He had barely to touch her and it came to her, as though she’d been waiting for years. As he had. And finally she began to relax in his arms, panting, kissing him in soft, sweet, tender little kisses while she recovered. It was magnificent, what he felt surrounding him. It took her quite a while to rest easy in his arms.

“Clare,” he whispered, kissing her lips, chin, neck, shoulder. “That was nice.”

“I want you to feel nice, too,” she said, breathless.

“Don’t you worry about me,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”

She shivered in his arms. “My God. You certainly do.”

He kissed her neck. His lips slowly moved to her breast, gently drawing on one nipple, then the next. As he progressed lower, he carefully withdrew from her body and he kept kissing her—down her body, over her tummy, over her soft mound, until he reached the center of her body and he gently kissed the inside of her thighs. Then deeper, his tongue growing more urgent as he found that hard knot that was the most pleasurable, most vulnerable part of her, and he went to work on it, gentle at first, and then with much more determination, until he could feel her begin to quiver against his mouth. She pressed into him, she moaned above him, and he rose to her, pushing himself into her again. He grabbed her hips and slid in, pulled back, slid in again, each stroke bringing the movement of her hips harder against him. She was killing him, it was so good. He lowered his lips to hers, devouring her with his urgent kiss. Her pelvis tilted up to bring him deeper; her hips moved harder and faster and he matched her rhythm. Her legs wrapped around him, she strained toward him. Greedy, he wanted to feel it again and he waited. Waited for her orgasm, which came quickly and was just as wonderful as the first. This time, when she was gripped in the peak of it, when it was at its most relentless, he pushed into her and let himself go in a tremendous blast, not sure he’d be able to stay conscious through it. “God,” he said in a breath.

She pulsed for such a long time, breathless, he just held her until the storm passed, kissing her, loving her, caressing her. “God,” he said again. Until she was complete. “Clare,” he whispered.

“Holy cow.”

“Nice,” he said softly.

“Nice?” she asked. She laughed.

“You’re incredible,” he said, covering her face with kisses. “I knew you would be like this. Amazing.”

Her fingers on his face, she pulled him down to her lips again. “That was unbelievable. Pete, you’ve been holding out on me.”

“Well, not intentionally.” He rose above her, looked into her eyes and said, “I never stopped loving you. I managed to stop thinking about it for a while, but I never stopped.”

“I wish I’d known sooner. How you felt.”

He shrugged. “It didn’t seem possible. We had other lives.”

She brushed a hand against the hair at his temple. “Well. We have this one now. And it’s very, very good.”

He nibbled at her lips. “It is. I’m not letting you get away.”

“You’d have trouble getting rid of me…”

“I have an idea. Let’s dress, grab some lunch and take it to my house. Let’s have a naked picnic in the bed and then make love until curfew.”

“Curfew?” she laughed. “Jason’s with his dad till tomorrow night.”

“Oh, God,” he said weakly. He started kissing her again and before even minutes had passed, his lips were on her neck, her breasts, her belly.

Her hand slid down to him, closed over him, bringing a deep, lusty moan. He heard her softly laugh. “I have a feeling I’m not going to get lunch for a while.”

“Not for a while,” he answered.

“So,” she whispered. “This is deliberate?”

“Not anymore,” he said, seeking and finding her again. “Now it’s beyond my control.”