As she opened the cupboard door overhead to stack a number of glass bowls on the lower shelf, Ian remarked behind her, “This was a pretty good day, wasn’t it?”
Turning, Brooke grabbed a pair of salad tongs from the drying rack. “It was. Despite having to cut it short.” She glanced at the window, where the relentless rain continued to batter. She wasn’t quite willing to admit that this portion of the day—washing dishes with Ian—had been the most enjoyable part so far. The mundane task that she’d always dreaded became a comfortable diversion in his presence; she could easily envision repeating this scene every day of her life, and never having it feel like a chore.
“Still, I think it was one of your parents’ best barbecues. Might be because you showed up.” Lifting a teasing brow, he added, “Finally.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know. I heard that all afternoon from just about everyone I talked to.”
“People missed you, that’s all.”
Brooke released a gentle sigh. “I know. There’s a lot I miss about this town, too. Some things I didn’t even realize I missed until I came back.”
Ian set the clean pot on the drying rack. “Such as?”
“You know, the easy pace, and being able to walk from my front door to the shops in five minutes. Strolls by the river. And certain people.” Feeling her face flush at the implication of her words, she snatched up the pot, keeping her head down as she concentrated on drying it.
When she did look up, she found Ian’s attention focused above her head, a half-smile tilting his mouth.
“What’s the smirk about?” she asked.
“Those.” He nodded toward the cupboard overhead, and Brooke followed his gaze to the set of salt and pepper shakers on the top shelf. Shaped and painted like a Holstein cow and bull, they had magnets in the noses so that they “kissed” when pushed together. “I remember them from the time you had me over for dinner, when we were fourteen. A patient gave them to your dad, and he thought they were ridiculous, but your mom insisted on using them, since they were a gift.”
Brooke set the dry pot on the counter, surprised at the details he remembered from so long ago. “My parents haven’t used those in years, but my family tends to hang onto everything that has any sentimental value.”
“Is that so?” Ian cast her an inquisitive look. “Have you still got that bracelet I gave you for your sixteenth birthday?”
“I’m sure I do.” All of her classmates had been invited to her Sweet Sixteen party, and she remembered Ian among them, though she’d forgotten all about the silver bracelet he gave her. The mention of it brought the memory flooding back. “I left a lot of keepsakes here, in my old room, when I moved to Toronto. It must still be in my closet upstairs.” Realizing she’d just confessed to not valuing the bracelet enough to take it with her, she added quickly, “It’s not that I didn’t like it—”
“It’s all right, Brooke. I didn’t expect you to still wear it. I didn’t even expect that you’d kept it. I was just curious.”
“I do have it, I’m sure of it,” she insisted, unwilling to let him suspect she was lying to save his feelings. “I’ll bet I could find it.”
Ian picked up another encrusted salad bowl and dipped it into the soapy water. “Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have even asked.”
Tucking her damp towel over the stove handle, Brooke took the bowl from him and set it in the sink. “This can do with a soak. Come on, we’ll find it right now.”
Too late, Brooke questioned her rash decision to bring Ian into her old bedroom, where the unicorn theme she’d adored as a girl, and barely noticed anymore, at once struck her as ridiculously juvenile and garish.
His brows inched upward as he scanned the unicorn-patterned bedspread, wallpaper border and lampshade that complemented the collection of unicorn figurines lined up on the dresser. Her obsession with the mythic horned creature had peaked when she was thirteen or so; in later years she’d thought about changing her decor, but hadn’t bothered—an oversight she now regretted.
“I never actually saw your bedroom before,” Ian remarked with a slow smile. “I have to say, I never suspected this unicorn fixation.”
Brooke lifted one shoulder, grinning sheepishly. “It’s a girl thing. If I stay here much longer I’ll be forced to do some redecorating. I don’t know how my parents have been able to stand it all these years.”
“It reminds them of their little girl. I think it’s sweet that they haven’t changed it.”
“I suppose so. Like I said, we’re a sentimental family.” Brooke slid the closet door open and reached up to the top shelf, knowing just where to find the old cardboard box in which she’d stashed her girlhood keepsakes.
Turning around to find Ian seated casually on the bed, she swayed briefly on her feet, struck by the odd juxtaposition of the grown-up Ian McCarthy against her purple unicorn bedspread. The image felt startlingly surreal, like two parallel moments in time crashing into one another.
Too many nights to count, she had lain awake under that bedspread, imagining how it would feel to hold and kiss the boy who now sat blithely upon it, a grown man. When they met they were only kids, but as they both matured a physical attraction had blossomed—as did the affection for him within Brooke’s heart. During classes she’d watched him secretly, and once in a while caught furtive looks from him that set her heart pounding in elation. Though she knew he liked her, she wouldn’t let herself pursue her feelings; denying herself had been her punishment for the terrible secret she kept. The guilt and shame only deepened as time went on, as she watched Ian not only struggle with the loss of his mother but be forced to live with his poor excuse for a father, who sent him to school without decent supplies or even a lunch. Day after day Brooke suffered an acute awareness that Ian had so little, while she had so much.
“So this is the box of memories,” he said eagerly. “Let’s see.”
She settled onto the bed next to him, setting the box on her lap. “I hope there’s nothing embarrassing in here. But heck, you’ve seen the unicorns. It can’t get much worse.”
“You dragged me up here. So come on, open it up.” As Ian leaned in to get a closer look, his shoulder bumped against Brooke’s; she bit down hard on her lip as the brief contact unleashed a sudden, warm quiver of awareness in her belly.
Realizing her fingers were trembling, she hesitated, pressing her hands to the sides of her shorts to steady them. What was wrong with her? Surely she was strong enough not to crumble the moment Ian McCarthy sat next to her, close enough to kiss with only a turn of her head.
After a moment she gathered her wits and pulled back the box flaps, then began lifting out the contents: a stack of old ticket stubs from movies she and Faith had seen together, tied up with a rubber band; beaded earrings she had made in the third grade; painted rocks and collections of sea shells saved from a school trip to Nova Scotia. Smiling to herself, she relaxed into the nostalgia of rediscovering this collection she’d all but forgotten about.
At last she found the small cherry-wood box, recognizing it at once. Lifting it out, she opened the lid to reveal the broad, oval-shaped silver band inside, adorned with an intricate Celtic knotwork design. Though badly tarnished, the bracelet was still striking, and as Brooke admired it she remembered her surprise and delight when she first opened it at her sixteenth birthday party.
She touched the cool metal with her fingertips. “It’s very pretty, Ian.”
“I only saw you wear it that one time, at that dance where—” he began, then paused. “Well, I suppose I misread the meaning of it.”
Realizing he was referring to the kiss she’d rebuffed, Brooke felt her chest constrict with regret.
She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, remembering just how it had looked when she wore it with her burgundy dress, having painted her nails a matching shade. “It meant a lot that you gave it to me. As much as any of my other presents—maybe more.”
The corners of his mouth curved slowly upward. “Then it was worth it. The agony of making that box in shop class, as well.”
“You
made
the box? You didn’t tell me.”
Ian nodded. “I suppose I was embarrassed. It’s somewhat less than perfect.”
Picking up the small box, Brooke ran her fingertips over the smooth wood, examining the off-center lid and rough, uneven corners that she hadn’t noticed before. “It
is
perfect. It’s beautiful,” she said, as her heart swelled at the thought of him struggling to assemble it, just for her.
On impulse she leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek. Closing her eyes only briefly, she breathed in the scent she recognized from the sweater he lent her during their walk by the marina. Masculine and comforting, the fragrance embodied his presence.
As she drew away from him, her stomach clenched with the understanding that she didn’t deserve any of it. She slid the bracelet off her wrist and set it back in the wooden box.
“Suppose your parents catch us up here together,” Ian remarked lightly, his mouth tilting into a roguish smile.
Swiftly packing everything back into the cardboard box, Brooke set it on the floor by her feet. “I think Mom would be happy to find me alone with a man.”
“Eager for grandchildren, is she?”
“I just turned thirty. She might not admit it, but I know she’s getting antsy.”
“And you?” he wondered.
“Not so much,” she admitted, releasing a sigh. “I’ve been too busy with my career to look for Mr. Right. Seems that everything in my life is pretty up in the air at the moment. Actually, I’m feeling rather directionless right now.”
Ian met her gaze, his soft green eyes regarding hers with gentle understanding. “I’m sorry to hear that. Even if it takes some time, you’ll find your way.”
Caught in his gaze, Brooke felt her heart trip and then find its footing, picking up its pace. “I hope so. You have no idea how happy I am to see you’re doing so well now, Ian. You seem settled—like you’ve made peace with everything you went through as a kid.”
He looked taken aback by her comment. “Why, Brooke Eldridge, you really do care.”
His reaction elicited a self-conscious smile from her. “Of course I care. I’ve never stopped caring.”
“What a coincidence; neither have I.” Ian’s hand rose to stroke her cheek with a soft, tender caress. Releasing a shaky breath, Brooke sat perfectly still, her nerves pulsing in anticipation as every cell in her body ached for his touch.
She let her lips part invitingly, as he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips explored hers only briefly, before gliding along her jaw in a series of slow, scalding kisses. Smoothing her hair back with his hand, he took her earlobe delicately between his lips, teasing the tender flesh with his tongue. A groan of pleasure escaped Brooke’s throat, and she gripped his arms tightly, beckoning his mouth back to hers; when it returned, his kisses were deep and raw, and urgent with need.
Molded against one another, they fell back against the bedspread. Above her, Ian kissed her relentlessly, while his hand slid under her tank top to skim her belly and then the crest of her ribcage, making its way upward to curl over the cup of her bra. Through the thin cotton fabric he leisurely caressed her breast, the pressure of his thumb on the sensitive tip igniting sudden, deep heat within her.
Brooke moaned softly against his lips as desire flared through her, pooling like liquid fire in the pit of her belly. She slid her palms up his chest, tracing the firm ridges of muscle through the fabric of his shirt, then upward over his broad shoulders to lace into his thick dark hair.
As her eyes fell closed, Brooke let her mind fly back to those nights as a girl when, her head against this very pillow, she’d envisioned Ian lying with her in the darkness, touching her as he was now. In this moment, the solid weight of him, the heat of his flesh and the cadence of his heart against hers far exceeded anything her young imagination could have supplied. She could no longer deny herself the exquisite pleasure of his kisses and caresses, or resist sliding her hands under his shirt to explore the taut, silken skin of his back, holding him close.
She stiffened as the subtle
clack
of the door latch reached her ears, but there was no time to react before the bedroom door swung open.
“Brooke, are you—oh, I’m sorry.”
Shoving Ian away from her, Brooke sat up abruptly, yanking her top down to cover herself. Standing in the doorway, Dana blinked twice at the pair on the bed. “I didn’t know you had company up here,” she said calmly. “I’ll talk to you later.”
As her mother backed out of the room, pulling the door closed, Brooke turned to Ian in alarm. She pressed her palms to her flaming cheeks, stunned by what had just happened—though every inch of her flesh still throbbed with yearning for him.
Clearing his throat, Ian swung his legs over the side of the bed. “That was awkward,” he muttered, adjusting his rumpled shirt over his torso.
Brooke released the lungful of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in. “It was
humiliating
. I’m thirty years old, and I’ve just been caught in my room making out with a boy.”
Ian patted her hand in reassurance, the edges of his mouth quirking upward in amusement. “Relax. We weren’t doing anything too scandalous.” He brushed her lips with a brief, consoling kiss. “But I suppose the mood is ruined. Anyway, your parents probably need us to get back to those dishes.”