What a sucky birthday. Well, it hadn’t all been bad. A niece was on the way, and that was…that was unabashedly wonderful. She fished her phone out of her pocket and texted Henry and Jon, apologizing for the drama and telling them she wanted more info on her soon-to-be niece and would stop by tomorrow.
But still. As the sky darkened, it seemed that melancholy wouldn’t be put off. The Meadows would be ripped down. Gretchen was furious, her mother was furious and somewhere out there was her birth mother, who, one would assume, loved to read. Her birth father, who liked art and old things. They had dark hair and dark eyes, as did she.
Posey knew she was lucky. She had a brother and a brother-in-law and would soon have little Betty to spoil. She had Brianna as a surrogate sister, and she had parents who would lie down in front of a bus for her. She’d had everything she needed. She even had Liam, sort of.
But even so, even if she might never admit it out loud, it was hard not to feel a little lonely, picturing two dark-eyed people in their fifties who never wanted to meet her.
When the church bell rang, she just about leaped out of her skin, bolting off the back step, spilling her wine. Shilo jumped up, barking and running in a circle before dashing under the lilacs, and Posey stared up at the belfry. Her bell swung back and forth, right on time, and the deep iron tone rang out loud and strong into the night, reverberating in Posey’s stomach, filling the air. Nine cavernous, unspeakably beautiful clangs marking the hour, the sound so rich and profound that it felt like it might lift her right off her feet.
As the last note finally faded from the night, Posey raced inside, charged up the stairs, out onto the catwalk and up the skinny stairs to the belfry.
There was a note secured with duct tape, right on the lip of the bell.
Happy Birthday.
It wasn’t signed.
It didn’t need to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“BAD CHOICE,” MAC muttered into his coffee cup the next morning. Posey had just broken the news about The Meadows, and the mood was glum.
“Right?” Elise said, blinking back tears. “I totally thought we had that one in the bag.”
“Well, at least Viv won’t have to see it,” Posey said. “The salvage can only start after her death. It’s in her will.”
“She’s lucky, then,” Mac added. “We’re the ones who’re gonna have to drive past and see that poor place ripped apart. It’s not right.”
Quite possibly the longest speech Posey had ever heard from him. “I’m sorry, guys,” she said.
“Seriously? It’s not your fault, Posey,” Elise said staunchly. “You were great, visiting that old grouch all the time. She totally led you on, making you think we had a chance. She took advantage of you, Posey.”
“Well. She doesn’t get a lot of company.”
“No. Elise is right,” Mac said, his voice hot. “You went above and beyond the call. And Elise—you were…” He seemed to lose steam as he looked directly at her. “You were…very…um…good.” His cheeks flushed. “Back to work,” he mumbled and headed for the back room, the flow of words clearly more than he could handle.
Elise sighed. “I wish I didn’t like him so much,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Posey said. Elise looked so miserable. “Maybe you should look around a little. Maybe for someone your own age.”
“Whatevs,” Elise mumbled.
The rest of the day was quiet. Somewhere during the night, Posey had decided to just let the issue of the letter rest. No point in dwelling on it—her biological parents were out there, always had been, and she was here, and she was fine. Her birth mother had put her up for adoption, and Posey was grateful. It would’ve been nice if Clarice—the word felt strange just to think—if Clarice had wanted to send her a letter, give some indication that she had some feelings for the baby she gave up? Sure. But she didn’t, so that was that.
Posey paid bills, answered emails, worked up a bid for a house in Durham. They sold a grand total of two items—an old fire department light and a carved wooden pedestal. Since it was so quiet, she sent Elise and Mac home, watching with a pang as Elise stared after Mac’s broad back. One of these days, the girl would give up and move on.
But speaking of relationships, it was Wednesday— Liam night. And at the thought of seeing him (possibly seeing him na**d, which was always quite the thrill), and thanking him for fixing the bell, Posey’s heart rose considerably. Maybe she’d even cook. Yes. She could do it. That class hadn’t been for nothing, after all. She closed up shop and headed to the market for the ingredients for spaghetti Bolognese, needing to call Jon only twice with questions. Once home, she put on Hot August Night, muting the music only to hear the bell chime six times—the greatest sound ever, in her opinion. It rang at six in the morning, nine, noon, six in the evening and nine. She could hear it from Irreplaceable, even. Hopefully, no one would complain, though how someone could object to that sound was a mystery.
She showered, squished down her cowlick and opened her closet. She only owned two dresses—the sheath and the itchy one. Well. Shorts, then. But a girly shirt, a yellow tank top with a little stripe of satin at the edge. Bought in the juniors department, but hey. She looked kind of cute. Definitely female. Maybe she’d get her ears pierced, even.
Since they’d hooked up, Liam had called her every Wednesday afternoon to ask if she was free that night. Gretchen had warned her not to be too available, but Posey didn’t really go for that kind of game playing (and what did Gretchen know about relationships?). It seemed dumb to pretend she was unavailable if she was dying to see him.
But Liam hadn’t called today.
Maybe, she rationalized, he didn’t need to, because this was their thing, their routine, and he was as comfortable with it as she was. She chopped an onion and added it to the frying pan with the garlic. It was starting to smell really good in here. Shilo whined, so she tossed him a little ball of ground beef. Poured herself a little wine. Checked her hair. Squished down the cowlick again, which only seemed to give it new life. Replayed “Kentucky Woman” and danced around with Shilo. Sautéed the beef. Added it to the sauce. Looked at the clock.
Quarter to seven.
Every time she heard a car on her street, her heart wobbled. Crikey, she had it bad. And maybe…it seemed, anyway…that Liam had it bad, too. While their sex life was undeniably fun, and smiling during kissing was becoming a habit, Liam also had a way of looking at her once in a while, or touching her lips, and his gaze would lose that laughing light, and he’d look…in love.
Those other Wednesdays, he’d been here by now. Which meant nothing.
No need to obsess—going slow was the way to go. That was what blew it with Dante. Not that Dante was nearly in the same class as Liam, of course. Dante was all surface charm. Liam…he had substance. He’d come from a ragtag upbringing by some not-very-nice people, yet managed to build a successful business. He’d been a devoted husband. He certainly was a loving (if neurotic) father. He’d come from nothing and made something of himself.
He’d become the man she’d imagined he could be all those years ago.
When the phone rang, shocking her out of her dopey-with-love reverie, she dropped the spatula, spattering sauce on her shirt. Dang it! But hello, here he was, and just the sight of his name on her caller ID made her heart actually flutter.
“Hello, God’s Gift.” She grinned.
“Hey, Cordelia. Any chance you can meet me at Rosebud’s tonight?”
She looked around her kitchen—the first meal she’d prepared in, oh, a decade, unless you counted scrambled eggs. “Actually, I made dinner. Want to come here?” He didn’t answer. “Spaghetti Bolognese. Smells wicked good.”
“Uh…Rosebud’s would be better. If you don’t mind.”
She hesitated. Not really what she had in mind for tonight, but… “Okay. Give me a half an hour?”
“Sure.”
“See you then.”
But he’d already hung up.
Posey stood there a minute, looking at the phone. A trickle of dread threaded through the earlier glow. But no, that was silly. Nothing to worry about. He wanted to eat at Rosebud’s, what was the harm in that? And it was public, too—he’d kissed her in public over in Kittery, and now he wanted to be seen with her right here in town. It wasn’t bad…it was the opposite. A very positive sign.
No reason to worry at all.
THERE WAS NO GETTING around it. This was going to suck.
Granted, Liam had once been master of the art of breaking up. No, that wasn’t exactly true. He’d been master of the art of dumping someone. It hadn’t been as classy as breaking up. Nope, back in the day, he’d been an idiot who’d slept with a lot of girls, and when someone else caught his attention or when a girl got too clingy or demanding or predictable, he’d say something brutally casual—Yeah, about that…it was fun while it lasted. The cruel pause. Was there something else you wanted? And then, because he’d been such a prick, he’d give that sleepy grin that made women of all ages blush, pinch her chin and wink at her from time to time, ensuring that she’d stay half in love with him—you know, just in case the urge struck. Why some brother or father hadn’t beaten him to a pulp was a mystery, because if someone treated Nicole like that, he’d go after the guy with a car battery and a healthy set of jumper cables.
Until Emma, he’d never been in love. He’d been a player. A dick, in other words. And he was about to be a dick again. He’d chosen Rosebud’s because he was a coward. There it was in a nutshell. Seeing Cordelia in public was very different from seeing her in her house, with that goofy dog and the battered-looking cats, the soft old couch where a person could really relax, the huge bed that seemed a place he’d like to stay for a week or so. He was fairly sure he couldn’t go through with this if she cried, and he was also pretty sure she wouldn’t make a scene in public. Booth in the corner, back near the pool table. Not real crowded on a Wednesday night. Private, yet public, and therefore safe.
Coward.
“Hey, biker boy!” There she was. “So, about the bell. You are a prince, Liam Murphy. I almost spit blood, I was so excited when I heard it! I can’t believe you fixed it! I was sitting on my back steps, and when it went off, I jumped up, spilled my wine, broke the glass, and you should’ve seen Shilo, he was going crazy, running all around the yard, barking. It’s amazing. Have you heard it ring? You probably did. It’s the best sound in the world.”
She seemed a little…sweaty. And tense. Trying a little too hard. She took a deep breath and slid across the table from him. “Thank you,” she said more calmly. “It’s the nicest present anyone’s ever given me, Liam. Well, I take that back. My brother gave me a niece for my birthday. I just don’t have her yet. But the bell is definitely second best. Really. It was…it was perfect.”
The words were like a dull knife in his chest. “You’re welcome,” he said, looking into his Sam Adams.
“Hey, Posey! What can I get you?” Rose called over from the bar.
“Hi, Rose! Um…I’ll have a glass of white zin, if you won’t tell Henry.”
“How is Henry?” The bartender grinned.
“Still gay.”
“Sorry to hear it.” Rose brought over a glass of pink wine. “Any food tonight, kids?”
“I’m all set,” Liam said.
“Oh, um, me, too,” Cordelia said, and he knew she knew what was coming, because when had Cordelia Osterhagen ever turned away food?
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything else,” Rose said, gliding away.
So. Time to make the break. Liam took a sip of his beer. Hey, it’s run its course, don’t you think? But it was fun while it lasted. Take care. “How are things with you? Birth mother, all that stuff?” he asked, managing to glance up at her.
“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” Her voice sounded oddly normal, and her hair was sticking up on the left. So ridiculously cute.
Get this over with, idiot. “Life’s gotten a little more complicated recently,” he said carefully. “I really can’t be in a relationship right now.”
She swallowed. Otherwise, she didn’t move a muscle. “Is this about the Tates?”
“Yeah. Sort of. I need to focus on Nicole, and I…” He shook his head. He wasn’t about to blame his daughter for this. “It’s not really about Nicole, Cordelia. I can’t… Look. You and I, we want different things. That’s all.”
“What…what different things do we want?”
He returned his eyes to his beer. Fascinating beer, Sam Adams. Nice color. Very…amber. “Listen, you’re fun, and I like you, but I can tell you’re getting…attached. I’m sure you want to settle down, have a couple kids, whatever, and that’s great, but I’m not looking for that.”
She was listening. She’d always been good at that. Liam forced himself to go on, his chest actually hurting. “This was supposed to be fun, and it has been, but…it’s run its course.”
Her eyes were huge, her mouth slightly open. Then she took a quick breath, pressed her lips together. Swallowed. Nodded. “Yeah, no. I understand.” She took a sip of her wine. Her hands were shaking. She must’ve noticed that, too, because she folded them and put them in her lap.
If she’d thrown her wine in his face, that would be something he could react to. If she called him names, he could agree. Slapped him—hey, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been slapped.