“Nic, I’ve been waiting for ten minutes,” Liam rumbled.
“Sorry, Dad. Ms. Ellington introduced me to an old friend of Mommy’s.”
Mommy. Poor thing.
Liam seemed to notice Posey for the first time. “Oh. Hey.” Prince Charming this guy was not. “Hi.”
He turned his attention back to the kids. “Who are you?” he demanded, looking rather fierce.
“Daddy, this is Tanner Talcott.” Nicole moved a little closer to the boy, who stuck out his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Murphy. Nicole’s told me a lot about you.”
Liam stared at the hand for a long, withering moment, then looked back at the boy. “Let’s get this straight, pal,” he said in a dangerous voice. “I know what you’re like. I know what you’re thinking. I know you, kid. I was you. I know what you have in your pants, and it’s gonna stay there.”
“Dad, chill!” Nicole’s face was fiery red. “OMG, Tanner, see? I told you.”
Liam ignored his daughter. “You can hold her hand. Maybe, after a year or so, a kiss on the cheek. Are we clear?”
Wow. This was more fun than Posey had expected. She bit her lip to keep from smiling.
The two teenagers stared at Liam, then looked at each other. “See?” Nicole said. “Psychotic.”
“That’s right, honey,” Liam said, putting his arm around her. “She’s my only child, Tanner Talcott. My princess. My angel. Got it?”
“Totally, Mr. Murphy. So, Nicole, you wanna go to the movies sometime?”
“I’d love to. Text me.”
“No, don’t text her. Call me and ask my permission first. But I’ll save you some time. The answer is no.”
“Text me,” Nicole repeated in a grittier tone.
“Nice meeting you both,” Tanner said, nodding at Posey. At least someone was aware that she was still standing there. He hefted his backpack onto his shoulder, grinned at Nicole, then shambled down the hall.
“What a nice boy,” Posey said. Nicole beamed.
“Shut it, Cordelia,” Liam said.
“Really cute, too,” Posey added. “So, Liam, remember that thing you asked about?”
“No.” His eyes were stony.
“In the supermarket? Last week?”
“Oh. Right.”
“Are you guys gonna be around? I can bring it by later today.”
“What is it?” Nicole asked, looking up at her father.
His face softened. Then he glanced at Posey—of course, he didn’t know what it was. “It’s…it’s something for your room,” he said awkwardly.
“Really? Cool! Can you bring it over, Posey?”
“That would be Ms. Osterhagen to you,” Liam grumbled.
“You can call me Posey. Does five o’clock work? I have something to do first.”
“Cool. Do you know where we live?” Nicole asked.
Yes, I was sleeping it off in your guest room not that long ago, intoxicated and buck na**d. Posey glanced at Liam, hoping she wasn’t blushing. “Yup. See you later.” With that, she went off to find Brianna.
LIAM’S AFTERNOON was not going well.
First of all, Rick Balin had come by his shop. Again. He said he wanted a custom bike, but it seemed to Liam that he really wanted to relive his high-school years, one of those sad types who’d peaked at seventeen. Liam himself barely remembered high school outside of Emma. He suspected Rick had a drinking problem, as well as a heart attack lurking in the near future. Instead of making a decision on the three designs Liam had drawn up, Rick had spent an hour and a half reminiscing about the good old days, telling stories about people Liam barely remembered…Jessica something, Mitch something else. By the time he left, Liam had a pounding headache.
Then the Tates had called. Fourth time in two days, checking to see if Nicole was free for Easter break, because they’d like to take her to Paris. Paris! As if he’d let his only child fly across the Atlantic without him. The Tates had also asked if Nicole could stay overnight on Wednesday, which sounded harmless enough. But Liam knew from experience that if you gave the Tates an inch, they’d take not just a mile, but the Eastern Seaboard, too. This Wednesday would become every Wednesday. Louise would say, “But I thought you didn’t mind—it’s our tradition, after all.” And Louise could make a tradition in about thirty seconds, oh yeah. The Tates had come out for Christmas the year Nicole had been born, and it was tolerable enough. Liam just hadn’t realized it meant they’d be there for every holiday—Thanksgiving, Easter, Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, Labor Day, Halloween, Rosh Hashanah (no, they weren’t Jewish, but why pass up a chance, right?).
Liam had wanted Nicole to be closer to her grandparents. But he hadn’t realized that closer would never be close enough. His explanation that Wednesday wasn’t going to work had been met with an injured silence, a goodbye that was just tremulous enough to let Liam know that Louise was deeply wounded. And no one could do wounded like Louise.
And then there was That Boy. Tanner. Just thinking the name set Liam’s teeth on edge. That Boy had touched Nicole’s shoulder. Not cool. Not cool at all. They’d argued about it all the way home.
“Dad, you can’t just lock me in a convent!” Nicole had whined.
“Watch me,” he said.
“I’m almost sixteen! I should get to have a boyfriend!”
“Says who?”
“Dad!” There it was, that three-syllable screech. “I’m like a freak or something!”
“So what? At least you’re not pregnant.”
“You’re, like, ridiculous.” She stared out the window. “I am going to the movies, you know. You can’t lock me up.”
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.