Close Up (20 page)

Sean laughed. “Nothing you’ve seen made you want to go blind? I guess that says good things about your sex life.”

Not that she wanted to talk about her sex life with Sean, but she was amused by the concept. “No, thank goodness. I’ve read women’s magazines and some of the stories are atrocious. I feel fortunate that while maybe I haven’t had the earth move the majority of the time, at least I wasn’t confronted with the bizarre or creepy.”

“I’m not sure if that’s optimism or settling. Don’t you want the earth to move?” He was sitting next to her, aggressively shoving his marshmallows deep into the flames of the fire. They caught on fire, and he pulled them out to blow on them to smother the flames, before sticking them back into the heat.

Jesus, how hot did he want them to be?

And what did his question really mean? It was dark, the lake still and quiet, the radio Sean had turned on playing through speakers on the deck. His profile was strong and mature, reminding her just how much time had passed. If she had lived side by side with him for the past decade, she wouldn’t have noticed the changes time had wrought on his face, but as intimately as she had known him then, this was a little jarring now.

“Of course I do,” she said. “Who doesn’t? But not every relationship is going to set your pants on fire.”

“I would argue then that they’re a waste of time. I’d rather be alone than settle for lackluster.”

For some reason, that felt insulting. So she had dated. Two of those men had been and still were her good friends, and she didn’t regret those relationships. She had learned from them, both about herself and about how to find the balance between passion and reality.

“But didn’t you say you’re lonely?”

It sounded ruder than she intended and she took a sip of the champagne Sean had opened for them.

But he didn’t get angry. He just looked at her, the light of the fire dancing over his face. “I did. So I guess everyone chooses their own path.”

Expertly, he pulled his marshmallows off the rod with his graham cracker. “I’m glad our paths crossed again, Kristy.”

“Me, too.” She was. Tremendously so. “Thanks again for helping me at the gallery, with my mom, escaping the back room.”

“I was happy to. Even if I attempted to blackmail you.”

She laughed as he bit into his s’more. “At least you gave up on it right away. Not that you really needed to blackmail me. I was very tempted by your offer right from the beginning.”

“It was my charm, wasn’t it? Or maybe once I took my pants off you liked what you saw. Or maybe it was my chivalry helping you out of the window.”

It was almost funny today, the memory of her sliding out the window in his pants. But not quite. “How did you know?” Her marshmallow was the perfect golden shade she had been trying to achieve by turning it rapidly over and over so it wouldn’t burn. Pulling it off with much less skill than Sean, she carefully made a sandwich, giving herself an extra stick of chocolate. Why not?

It was a messy job, but worth the stickiness. The melted delight exploded on her taste buds. “Oh, my God, that’s so good.” For a few minutes, there was silence as they both ate.

“Want another one?” Sean asked, already reloading his stick.

“No, I need a minute to recover from that. It was like sex.”

“Really? I’m jealous.” But he seemed to recover quickly when a lively jive came on the radio. “Hey, do you still dance?”

“Yes. I always find a way to fit it in. I love it.”

“I haven’t danced since we took those lessons.”

He looked so wistful Kristine drained her champagne and stood. “Come on, then. Let’s do it.”

“Right now? Here?” Seam looked stymied. “It’s not exactly a flat surface.”

“We’ll go on the deck.” She held out her hand to him. “Come on. Wimp.”

“Hey, now. Watch your language.”

Kristine laughed. “Please?”

That got him. “Fine. But I’m going to crush your feet. I have no rhythm.”

“You have plenty of rhythm. Look at how good you are in bed.”

Sean grinned, and when he came toward her there was a renewed swagger. “Thanks, baby. I try.” He took her hand. “Good thing you’re wearing boots.”

She was. But she was wearing Sean’s sweatpants, sans panties. Plus three layers of shirts and a jacket, but no bra. The knit hat was back on her head. It was quite the look for swing dancing. But once they were on the deck and she reminded Sean of the basics, she couldn’t have cared less what she was wearing.

Funny how she had enjoyed many a fun night dancing with many a different partner, in far more accommodating circumstances than this, but somehow this wild, free and clumsy dance with Sean on the deck under the stars was her favorite. He was right—he didn’t have a ton of natural rhythm. His feet were heavy and his attempts to lead more like shoves than hints. But he tried and he was enthusiastic, and together they spun and laughed.

“Left,” she told him, a little breathless from the rapid spinning.

He turned her to the right and they collided with each other.

“Your other left!”

He made a face and laughed. “I swear, I went to college and everything. I do know my right from my left.”

“You could have fooled me,” she said as he stepped wrong again. “But it doesn’t matter. Just roll with it.”

It was the most fun she’d had in a long time. The only day in recent memory where she’d really cut loose and relaxed and laughed. The past six months had been a brutal reality of accepting that she was never going to get ahead financially in Vegas, that she needed to move back to Minnesota, find a new job, get an apartment, pack her things in a U-Haul and drive fifteen hundred miles cross-country. Then settling in, worrying about making a good impression on June, learning to live near her mother again.

It had been survival, nothing more. While she was perfectly aware there was nothing particularly horrible about her life in the grand scheme of things—no cancer, no death, no debilitating accident—and she was grateful for that, she also knew that she hadn’t been enjoying her life. Which was a crime. No healthy, able-bodied twenty-nine-year-old should be living a life as dull and fraught with financial fear as she was.

But here, in the trees on Ely Island, under a display of stars no city could ever produce, she was free. Free to dance, free to laugh. Free to love.

“I’m rolling,” he said. “Steamrolling. God, I’m going to crush you.”

But then the music changed and a slow, sensual song washed over them. It was a low beat, a throbbing sax, a smoky singer. It was a song of crumpled sheets and hot skin. Sean stopped, his smile melting away.

He tugged her into his arms, up against his chest. “Slow dance. I’m better at this. Only thing required is swaying.”

“Should I lay my head on your chest?” she asked as his arms settled around her waist. She was perfectly content to do nothing except stare at him, but the moment seemed to call for teen romance.

Not that she felt like a teenager. She felt like a fully realized woman, one who was looking into the eyes of the only man she’d ever loved.

Ten years was a long time to love someone. Especially if you hadn’t even spent that time with him. It must mean something. Something huge and powerful.

“Don’t lay your head on me, because then I can’t see your face. Or do this.” Sean bent and kissed her. “God, you feel so good.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” she whispered.

“Kristy,” Sean said, a statement not a question. “What do you say when we get back to Minneapolis we go dancing again? Maybe I’ll improve.”

Her heart started to beat unnaturally fast. What was he saying? Did he mean it just as friends or as something more?

“Sure. I would like that.”

For a minute, Kristine planned to leave it at that. But then as they swayed, her arms around his neck, the scent of the campfire on his jacket, his hair, she decided she wasn’t going to wonder. There was nothing to ruin or blow here with Sean. She had already done that a decade ago. So now she should just be totally honest with him and herself. She wanted to spend more time with him, and not as friends.

“But what does that mean exactly?” she asked him. “Would we be...I don’t know...sleeping with each other, too?” She wasn’t sure exactly how to phrase it.

“I imagine so.”

Thank God.

“Is that a good idea?” she still asked, though, because it seemed as if they were venturing into dangerous territory.

But Sean laughed. “How many times have you asked me that in the past few days? If we both want to, why is it a bad idea?”

“Good question.”

“And I hate to be the one to point this out, but we’ve already had sex today. More than once. So it seems a bit of a moot point.”

Kristine was annoyed with herself. She was the one who had suggested they just live in the now, after all. “I’m trying to be mature,” she told him.

Sean laughed. “Don’t confuse mature with overthinking.”

“There’s a difference?” she joked.

“Yes. The second one only creates fear. At a certain point, you have to close your eyes and jump in the lake.”

“I do that all the time,” she said truthfully, still swaying in his arms, warm in her many layers of fleece, the music swelling. “Including when I married you. I wasn’t afraid. I just jumped.”

He made a face. “And look how well that turned out.”

“I’ve never regretted it. Not once. Despite what happened.” Going up on her tiptoes, she kissed him, the familiar feel of his lips like coming home. “Why would I regret falling in love?”

* * *

S
EAN KISSED
K
RISTINE SOFTLY
, her words rolling around in his head. She didn’t regret their marriage. That meant more to him than he would have expected.

“The only thing I regret is leaving the way I did,” she whispered in his ear. “Do you ever wonder what life would be like if I hadn’t gotten on that plane? If we hadn’t had that fight?”

The thought squeezed his heart. “Sure. Especially in the past few years. Strangely, more than in the first few. Maybe we would have had a baby by now.”

This was a painful path to travel down together. But what difference did it make? He’d thought all these things at one time or another, and it was oddly soothing to realize that Kristy had, as well.

Her breath drew in sharply. “We probably would have, wouldn’t we? And the ironic thing is that I always thought I would be a terrible corporate wife, but I would probably be a domestic goddess. Those are the things that bring me the most satisfaction and happiness. Cooking, sewing, gardening if I had the room for it. Life is strange.”

What was strange was that they were here, now, discussing this. He had never thought he would have the opportunity to do that. Now that they were, he found he didn’t really want to talk about what had been, or what could have been, but what was. What could be.

“Life is very strange. Domestic abilities aside, you would make a great mother. Lots of love to give.” He believed that with all his heart. There was nothing selfish about Kristine.

“You would make a great father. You’re very protective.”

“It’s not too late, you know. For any of that. I know you said we should live in the now, but if the now is good, why shouldn’t we anticipate a later?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

It all made sense in the dark, the island quiet, the waves lapping on the shoreline and the dock with gentle slaps. “We’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Just our hearts,” she said with a small laugh.

But Sean shook his head. “I already lost that to you a long time ago, honey.”

She moistened her lips and stared at him with the largest, most luminescent eyes. There was love for him, he was sure of it, but she didn’t speak.

Not wanting to pressure or spook her, he stopped pretending to dance and smiled at her. “Come on, let’s go in the house. I’ll grab those steaks, throw them on the grill and then I’ll make a salad. I don’t want you to think I live on cookies.”

“I
am
a little hungry,” she said.

Though when he let her go and turned toward the cabin door, she slipped her hand into his, as if she didn’t want to have too much space between them. He liked that feeling. He also liked the way they worked together in the kitchen, easily, comfortably, her throwing together the salad while he seasoned the steaks.

“Remember the first time we tried to have spaghetti?” he asked her. “And we just poured tomato sauce onto cooked pasta? It was so limp and bland.”

“Or when you were absolutely horrified when I cooked bacon in the microwave.”

He laughed. “I remember that. My mother had never, ever done anything other than fry it on the cooktop, so that seemed scandalous or something to me.”

“Whereas I never had a real home-cooked meal in my life. Certainly not one consisting of animal fat. Ebbe had me on the raw diet.” She chopped up tomatoes and tossed them into a bowl with the lettuce. “I was probably the one kid at school who actually enjoyed cafeteria food.”

“Which makes it even more amazing that you can cook now.” He put the steaks on a plate to carry to the grill. “Kristy, you realize that with your upbringing, you weren’t given a lot to work with, and yet, look at all you’ve accomplished. You should be proud of yourself.”

The knife paused and she looked at him under her dramatic eyelashes. “Thanks, Sean. That means a lot.”

He nodded and went outside, his throat tight.

Once the filets were on the grill, he went down to stoke the fire, adding two more logs. His glass had tipped over, so he just drank straight from the bottle of champagne.

“Hey, you going to share that?” Kristy asked, coming down the stairs.

Whoops. Busted. But she didn’t look upset.

“Here, I’ll give you a sip.” He held the bottle up and pretended he was going to pour it over her head.

“Stop!” she said, laughing. She darted out of the way, then asked him, “How long until the steaks are cooked?”

“Fifteen minutes. I’ll need to flip them at some point. Why? If you’re hungry, those strawberries are in the fridge.”

“I just wanted to know if I have time to make out with you by the fire.”

Um, as if he wouldn’t turn off the grill for five minutes for that? “Baby, there is always time to make out.”