Author: Kristan Higgins

No, he couldn’t. Or, rather, locking up didn’t tend to work, as Liam well knew, since George Tate had threatened the same thing to Emma, and it had only given her more motivation to sneak out of the house and meet Liam and do all sorts of things that he didn’t want his daughter doing. Hypocritical? Absolutely. The essence of parenthood.

So now Nicole was sulking in her room, Bruce Springsteen blaring—another new artist she’d found. The Tates had called twice more since their earlier conversation and had emailed him an itemized list of why they should be able to take Nicole to France.

So now Liam sat at the kitchen table, dismantling a carburetor from a Harley, his movements a little too sharp to really do anything effective.

His doorbell buzzed. Super. Carol Antonelli probably wanted to discuss her hysterectomy. She’d offered to show him her scar on Monday, and Liam was giving serious thought to moving.

He stalked down the hall and jerked open the door. It wasn’t Carol. It was Cordelia Osterhagen, holding a large packing crate. He’d completely forgotten she was coming by. And there was Carol in her doorway, talking through the four inches allowed by her security chain, as if worried that Cordelia was about to kick in the door and set fire to the place. As if she could. For a second, Liam remembered how light she’d been when he carried her. The way her hair had brushed against his chin. That mouth of hers, looking so soft and—

“Liam!” Carol said. “Posey here has a package for you!”

“It’s true,” Cordelia said. “Though it’s actually for Nicole.”

“A sweet girl!” Carol sang. “Lovely! Such nice manners!”

“I just met her, but she seems great.” Cordelia turned to him and cocked an eyebrow. “Well, this is heavy. Liam. You gonna stand there like a fern, or can I bring it in?”

Great. More attitude. Just what he didn’t need. Liam opened the door and stood back.

“Posey, did I tell you I’m having dinner at the restaurant with your mother?” Carol said. “That Gretchen! Such a gift! Of course, I love Italian food, don’t get me wrong, I married Mario Antonelli, for heaven’s sake, but what Gretchen does with sour cream should be against the law! I used to watch her show every day.”

“You and dozens of others,” Cordelia muttered. Then, in a louder voice, “Have fun, Mrs. A. Tell my mom I said hi.”

She brushed past Liam, then set the box down. Cordelia wore a flannel shirt and brown Carhartt carpenter pants and looked more like Norm Abrams from This Old House than an actual female. Those boots could do serious damage. She might dress like a man, but there was that nice smell again. Oranges. He couldn’t imagine her using perfume. Maybe it was her shampoo or soap.

An unbidden image of Cordelia in the shower, water and suds streaming over her wet skin, leaped to mind.

She cleared her throat, and Liam, abruptly aware that he was staring at her, shifted his gaze. Okay, that was…odd. Sex thoughts about Cordelia Osterhagen. Well, chalk it up to garden variety horniness and a long drought, and think about something else.

He looked past her. The door wasn’t locked.

Now, intellectually, Liam knew that there weren’t exactly roaming gangs of burglars wandering the streets of Bellsford, and he also knew that the Tates tended to kick the old stress level into the red zone, which tended to bring on flares of OCD, and he knew that just because the door wasn’t locked didn’t mean that some knife-wielding maniac was about to burst in, but the f**king door wasn’t locked. And as much as he really, really would love to not obsess over that, he wasn’t succeeding. Might as well get it over with and lock the damn door, because all he could think about, other than Nicole dying in a fiery Air France crash, was the fact that the door was unlocked, and Cordelia Osterhagen was staring at him warily, and he might as well just lock the damn thing and turn to nicer thoughts. Like Cordelia in the shower.

He reached behind her, and she jumped back a step, as if afraid he was going to hit her. Or grab her. “I’m just locking the door,” he said, the words a little sharp.

“Oh.”

He turned the lock, listening for the satisfying thunk of the dead bolt in the hasp. Then he unlocked it. Locked it again. Unlocked it. Locked it. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a second, then glanced at Cordelia, who was looking at him steadily. Once more couldn’t hurt. Unlock. Lock. Done.

“Problem?” she asked.

“No,” he said. He folded his arms over his chest, vaguely aware that he was being a prick and had barely spoken to her. “Thank you for bringing this over. Whatever it is.”

“Do you want to see it? It’s—”

“No, that’s fine. Just…her bedroom’s down the hall on the right.” He went to pick up the box, but she grabbed it at the same time.

“It’s fragile,” she said.

“I thought you said it was heavy.”

“It is. Heavy and fragile.” She scowled at him, looking like a little kid. Fine. She wanted to carry it, no big deal.

Liam led her down the hall and stopped in front of Nicole’s door. He knocked. “Nic? Cordelia’s here with your thing.”

Nicole’s door opened. “Hi!” she said. “Thank you so much for bringing this! But I thought your name was Posey.”

“My real name is Cordelia, but everyone calls me Posey. Except lunkhead here.”

Nicole laughed, the sound making Liam’s heart squeeze. “Come on in. I can’t wait to see what it is!”

Cordelia put the package on the bed, then reached into her pocket and withdrew a Leatherman, a very helpful tool that Liam had never before seen on a woman. She sliced the tape, then stood back to let Nicole open the box. Nic pulled back the cardboard flaps, pushed aside some tissue paper. “Oh, cool!” she exclaimed.

“Here, let me get it out for you,” Cordelia said.

She pulled the rather large object out of the packaging. Liam recognized it immediately, the memory slamming him in the chest like a fist.

It was a large white clock encircled with a ring of pink neon. Painted on the wooden backing were the words Time for Ice Cream!

“I love it! It’s so retro,” Nicole exclaimed.

Cordelia glanced at Liam, who was staring at the clock. “It’s from Sweetie Sue’s,” she said.

He didn’t answer. Memories of Emma, grinning up at him in her pink uniform as she packed a scoop of ice cream into a cone, the chill of the white metal chairs where he’d sit, waiting for her shift to end.

“What’s Sweetie Sue’s?” Nicole asked.

Liam swallowed.

“It was an ice cream parlor here in town,” Cordelia said after a beat. “Your mom worked there in high school.”

“Really?” Nicole asked.

Liam distantly heard Cordelia’s voice as she explained where Sweetie Sue’s had been, the other things she’d salvaged from the store before it was torn down. An old freezer. The milkshake machine.

“I’m gonna put it right over my bed,” Nicole announced. “It’s so neat that Mommy saw this clock every day, too.” She touched it gently, almost reverently. “Dad? Can we put it up?”

Liam cleared his throat. “Sure. I’ll go get some tools. We can do it right now.”

Nicole hopped over and threw her arms around him for a brief hug. “It’s a great present,” she said. “I love it, Daddy.”

“Thank Cordelia. She picked it out.”

Cordelia was looking at him, chewing on her bottom lip, hands in her pockets, her eyebrows drawn together.

“Well, thanks, both of you,” Nicole said, going back to gaze at the clock.

“I’ll get my tools. Be right back.”

Leaving the two females in the bedroom, Liam headed to the kitchen closet, where he kept his toolbox. But he just stood there for a moment, the memories of Emma pulling at him like quicksand. God, he had loved her back then. The idea that a girl like that would choose a guy like him…it was staggering.

“Liam?”

Cordelia again. “Hey,” he said, reaching for the toolbox.

“I’m sorry.”

He glanced at her. Her hands were jammed in the front pockets of her jeans. “What for?”

“The clock. It… I should’ve given you some warning. I just… I didn’t…”

“Well, you asked me if I wanted to see it, and I said no.” He paused. “It’s great, Cordelia. It’s perfect.”

Her eyes widened a little. “It is?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He yanked the toolbox from where it was wedged on the bottom shelf. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. It’s a gift.”

“Yes. A gift for my daughter, which I’ll pay for. How much, Cordelia?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Nothing.”

“I can afford to pay for a gift for my own child, Cordelia.”

“Well, too bad, biker boy,” she snapped. “Your wife was always nice to me, and I was sorry—I was always sorry she and I didn’t stay in touch,” she finished, and he suspected she was about to say something else. “The clock’s not worth a heck of a lot, anyway.” Her gaze wandered to the refrigerator, which was covered with photos. Nicole had taken a picture of their fridge in San Diego, then recreated the exact order when they moved in here. Mostly photos of Nic herself…dressed as a pumpkin for Halloween when she was four, riding her bike, missing her front teeth. But a few of him and Emma, too.

“Anyway. Sorry if it brought stuff up,” Cordelia said in a gentler voice.

“It’s okay. It really is perfect.” He looked at her for a long minute. Her blush began underneath the flannel and crept up her neck, into her jaw and cheeks. She looked away, and Liam’s mood suddenly lightened. Cordelia was a woman, a straight woman (he thought, anyway), and it was nice to see she wasn’t immune to him. Made things feel more even somehow.

“Dad! Can you hang up my clock or what?” Nic called from down the hall.

“Coming, Master,” he said. He grinned at Cordelia. “Stay here a sec. I want to ask you something. But duty calls.”

ALONE IN LIAM MURPHY’S kitchen.

Posey supposed she’d have to stop thinking of him as Liam Murphy, just trim it down to Liam, but still. He had that celebrity feel. Too hot for regular life.

As if on cue, Posey’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out—a text from Jon. Holy Justin Bieber, did I hear u say ur going 2 Nicole Murphy’s? The father is totally hot. 2 young 4 me?

I’m standing in his kitchen, Posey texted back. Will try to steal you something.

How about a lock of hair?

Posey grinned. I was thinking of a sock. Gotta go. xox

From down the hall came the sound of a drill. Drill me, Liam. Posey rolled her eyes at herself. Some hammering. Nail me, pal. “Okay, down, you ho,” she muttered, wandering to the fridge for a better look at the photos there. Nicole had been a wicked cute baby. No surprise there, not with her DNA. There was a nice shot of Emma and Nicole, when Nicole was about ten. Posey’s throat tightened again. So hard to believe the gorgeous woman with the bright smile was just gone.

Well. Here was another picture—Liam in scrubs, holding a tiny pink package. Now that was the money shot, wasn’t it? Dopey dad-love shone in his face as he gazed at his red-faced daughter. He looked so young. So happy, too, and so sure. How was it that Liam Murphy had found the way to make a family at age…what? Twenty, twenty-one? Posey had grown up in the stable, unwavering embrace of Max and Stacia and had never even come close to marriage, let alone a family. Liam and Emma had met as teenagers and made something special. Those pictures didn’t lie. Posey was scanning websites for a spouse as if ordering a coat from L.L. Bean. Liam and Emma had made a family before they were old enough to buy a six-pack.