Author: Kristan Higgins

“Shilo likes you,” Cordelia said.

“I get the impression Shilo likes everyone,” he said.

“You’re right.”

He put his arm around the dog, who rewarded him by resting his head on Liam’s chest. He had to hand it to Cordelia…this was pretty nice indeed. The knots in his shoulders seemed to ease a little, and the sun was warm. He felt her fingers playing in his hair, and, shielding his eyes from the sun, he took a look. Sure enough, Cordelia’s cheeks were burning pink. Grinning, he closed his eyes again.

“So, this would be a big job for you,” he said, petting the dog’s solid side.

“Oh, yeah. It would be a real coup. Every salvage operation in New England wants the rights to this place, and Vivian is having a ball, stringing us all along.” There was a smile in her voice.

“So, salvage, that’s kind of an unusual job,” Liam said.

“I guess so,” she said.

“Why do you like it?”

She didn’t answer for a second. “Well,” she said quietly, “when you salvage something, it’s kind of bittersweet. On the one hand, you’re destroying something—a barn, a home, a business, and it’s sad, because there were so many stories that took place there, you know? When Mac and I take down a house, it’s almost…religious. All those artifacts, all those stories, all the feelings that happened there. But you can save the pieces, give them a new life. A new story.” She stopped abruptly. “Well. I sound like a dope. It’s a job. An interesting job.”

“You don’t sound like a dope.” In fact, her little speech had made his chest feel odd…not in the panic-attack way, but a warm pressure that made him feel a little wary…and a little drawn to her.

“Why do you do motorcycles?” she asked.

He looked at her again. “It’s the only thing I can do.”

“I doubt that,” she said.

“Well, aside from being a gigolo,” he said, sitting up and grinning at her. She didn’t smile back. “I was kidding,” he added.

“Mmm-hmm.” There was a small hole in the knee of her jeans, and she started pulling at the threads. Not amused, obviously. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short, Liam,” she said quietly.

Not what he expected her to say. He looked away after a second.

“I have a present for you,” she said and rummaged in her vast backpack. She pulled out a small object wrapped in cloth. “It’s old,” she added, handing it over. “I’ve had it for a while, and I saw it the other day, and…whatever.”

He unwrapped it slowly. It was a brass medal, imprinted with the picture of an old-fashioned motorcycle. Motorcycle Gypsy Tour, 1917. “Where’d you find this?”

“In an old garage up in Tilton.” She tore another thread from her jeans. “It’s from the first Laconia Bike Week. You know, the big motorcycle rally up near Winnipesaukee.”

“Yeah, I know what Laconia is.”

“Oh, of course you do. Right. I just…figured you might like it.”

“I do.” He looked at her steadily. “This is a very good present, Cordelia.”

Her cheeks brightened. “Glad you like it.” The hole in her jeans was growing.

“I do.” He set it aside and turned back to her. “Come here. Give us a kiss.”

“You or Shilo?”

He laughed. “You can kiss your dog later.”

“Well, then.” She looked at him another minute, surrendered the attack on the jeans and just like that leaned over and kissed him into the middle of next week, all soft lips and sweet taste, and when she slid her tongue against his, it was like a bolt of heat straight to his groin.

“Thank you,” he said against that mouth, pulling her onto his lap so they fit together more closely. His hand slid up to cup her breast—black bra, as he remembered, oh, yes—and relished the small softness against his palm, and kissed her again, that lush, sweet mouth. He could kiss her for a month and not get tired of it.

She pulled back a little. “I don’t suppose you’re living the bad-boy cliché and have something in your wallet?” she whispered. “Something that’s not money?”

Liam laughed. “I actually do. I was hoping I’d get lucky today.”

She smiled, and Liam felt that warm tug again, in his groin and his chest. “Lucky you shall get, in that case,” she said, and with that, Liam relieved her of her fleece, and her flannel, and the rest of her clothes, and made love to her on the blanket, the pine trees shushing in the breeze.

The dog, he was happy to note, had found something else to do.

THEY SPENT MOST OF the afternoon at the estate, then hit a diner, where Cordelia put away a shocking amount of food before ordering two cheeseburgers to go for her beast. She fiddled with the radio on the way home, stopping on an old song from the 1970s. She sang along under her breath, looking out the window.

“Really?” Liam said. “Neil Diamond again? I thought you had to be over sixty to like that guy. Next you’ll be telling me you’re an Engelbert Humperdinck fan.”

“Engelbert is very underappreciated, but Neil is an icon. Now shush, biker boy. This is a great song. ‘I am, I said,’” she sang, a little more loudly. “‘To no one there…’”

He laughed and found…well, it wasn’t such a bad song after all.

When they got to her place, he walked her to the door. “I had a great day,” he said, and it was true. Maybe the first day since Emma had died and when he wasn’t with Nicole where he’d had a really good time.

“Me, too,” she said, and there was the telltale blush.

Shilo (named after, yes, a Neil Diamond song, she’d told him) pushed his giant head in between them. “Go ahead, Shilo,” she said, letting the dog in the house. “Um…you can come in, too. If you want.” Her face was studiously neutral.

A warning bell clanged in Liam’s head. Today had been great…but he didn’t want her reading too much into it, not when he could offer her so little. “I should probably go.”

“Okay. Well, thanks for lunch.”

“Thanks for the medallion. And the shag.” And for making me relax, and feel better, and finding me a one-of-a-kind gift, and taking me to your favorite place. And by the way, don’t fall in love with me, Cordelia. No one’s ever been glad they did that.

“You’re welcome.”

“See you around, then.” He almost hated saying it, the casual dismissal, but it wouldn’t hurt to remind her. This was a no-commitment fling. Friends with bennies. Nothing else.

He could tell by the look on her face the message had been received. “Hang on a sec. I almost forgot.” She went into the house and returned a second later, his leather jacket in her hand. “Thanks for this.”

Liam hesitated. “Keep it for a while. I have a couple.” Why’d you do that? the smarter part of his brain asked.

“I do have a coat of my own, you know,” she said, giving him an out.

“Well, hang on to it anyway.” He was an idiot. But the idiot was rewarded with a smile.

“Okay, biker boy. See you around.”

He wanted to kiss her. Instead, he reached out and punched her lightly on the shoulder. “See you around.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

“I’M DEFINITELY IN love,” Posey said one night. Jon and Henry had invited her to dinner (well, Jon had, and Henry was present). Posey was lounging on the camel-backed Victorian sofa she’d found for Jon several years ago, which he’d had re-covered in a luscious gold-and-blue hydrangea print, and the boys’ cute little Colonial was redolent with the smell of lime and cilantro. “I’m pretty sure he is, too.”

After three weeks, she and Liam had settled into a pattern. They’d see each other a couple of times a week—the nights that Nicole spent either at friends’ houses or with her grandparents. They were dating, no matter what he did or didn’t call it. He took her out to dinner one night in Portsmouth. One Sunday afternoon they rented a boat and motored slowly through the estuary, looking for herons and osprey. One time, he’d spent the entire night, when Gret was visiting a friend and Nicole was with her grandparents. They’d fooled around, eaten, fooled around again and then watched movies till she fell asleep, her head on his lap in the great room, Meatball and Jellybean snuggled against her belly, Shilo sprawled on her lower half. If that wasn’t heaven, waking up to Liam Murphy stroking her hair and Iron Man 2 on the telly, what was?

And if Liam wasn’t quite in love, he was close. He certainly seemed happy; that was one of the best things about their times together, the teasing insults and smiling kisses. He even seemed less tense regarding Nicole. One night, she brought him up to the belfry, and they’d sat there, holding hands and sipping wine next to the jammed, rusted gears and big iron bell as the peepers chorused from the swamp behind her house. How could that not be love?

“Sorry, pet. It’s not love until you go public,” Jon pronounced. “You need romantic intention stated out in the open. Like if he was here, spending time with the most important men in your life, it would mean something. Right, Henry?”

“What?” Henry said, glancing up from a book—Traumatic Amputations in Nonsterile Settings.

“Meeting each other’s families, going public with love. Remember? We held hands when Max and Stacia came down for Parents’ Weekend. We were walking across the quad, Posey, all these families everywhere, and your brother took my hand. That’s when I knew it was real.”

“Knew what was real?” Henry asked, frowning.

“Never mind,” Jon sighed. “Posey, has Liam kissed you in front of other people yet?”

She pretended to think about it. “No. But we ran into each other at the bakery yesterday, and we talked.”

“About what?”

“Um…the baseball game,” she admitted. “He had five hits in one night. Stubby’s won, seventeen to six.”

“Who were they playing?”

“Curl Up and Dye.”

“Well, that explains it. But seriously, who gets on base five times in one game?”

“Well, not me, that’s for sure,” Posey said.

“Anyway, back to the public displays. Does he call you sweetheart or kiss you or lick your neck?” Jon asked.

“No. There was no licking.” Not then, anyway. She smiled.

“Then I’m not sure we can say he’s in love. Not yet. Or he is, but he’s not brave enough to show it.”

“Who are we talking about?” Henry asked.

Jonathan huffed. “Posey, do you see what I have to put up with? I work all day, I come home, I expect my partner to listen to me, but no, I could be standing here on fire and he still wouldn’t notice.”

“Henry, say something nice to your honey,” Posey commanded.

“Jon, you’re the best,” Henry said.

“More, please,” Jon said haughtily.

“You’re a great dresser, our house is a showplace, the food you cook is fit for the gods. You’re so understanding and compassionate, and I thank God every day that we found each other,” Henry murmured, his eyes drifting back to his book.

“Wow,” Posey said, closing her mouth. “I never knew you had it in you, bro.”

“I wrote it down for him,” Jonathan explained with an affectionate cuff to Henry’s head. “So how’s Gretch the Wretch acting these days?” He refilled Posey’s wine glass. “Is she wild with jealousy that you’re bagging the hottest guy in town, present company excluded?”

“Jon, this is my sister,” Henry said. “Please, let’s not talk about her sex life.”