Waiting On You
Page 15

On paper, things were perfect. Jack obediently called her for a date, though he didn’t pick her up at her house; she lived a stone’s throw off the green, but he kissed her cheek in the restaurant foyer. He smelled nice. She’d been flirting with him for ages, and he always blushed and went silent, indicating high levels of attraction.
And then...fizzle.
Happened every damn time.
She stared at him. It wasn’t that there was no chemistry. It was that there was a black hole where chemistry was supposed to be. Jack felt an awful lot like a brother right now. Picturing him naked...yuck.
“Jack, I don’t get it. I’ve been flirting with you for five years now. Now here’s all this—” she gestured to her torso and face “—and you’re just sitting there like a mushroom.”
“Maybe you’re not quite as...” He let his voice trail off before he damned himself completely.
“Yeah, no. It’s not that.”
He smiled. She couldn’t help smiling back.
“I think it’s that you’re like a fourth sister,” he said.
“But you blush when I flirt with you.”
“It’s a flush of horror.”
“Really?”
“I’m sorry. It seemed rude to say, ‘Please stop, you’re making my skin crawl.’”
“Jack! I didn’t make your skin crawl!”
He grimaced.
“Oh, sphincter.” She put her head on the table. “Well, what am I supposed to do? The man I once loved, who dumped me for someone else, is back in town and I don’t have a boyfriend. You’d think you could just marry me out of decency. How many free beers have I given you over the years?”
“Four,” he said.
“I’d give you more in exchange for your hand in marriage.”
“It’s not you, Colleen,” he said kindly, even if he was being a jerk and not marrying her. “You know. The divorce. Trust issues and, uh, what else did my sisters say? I wasn’t really listening. Anyway. Sorry.”
“Well, this sucks.” She paused. “Will you at least be my date for Tom and Honor’s wedding? I can’t go with Connor. He might have a girlfriend.” Perhaps three martinis had been one too many. Then again, conversation hadn’t exactly been flowing. Vodka had.
“I’ll have to pass,” Jack said. “I plan to be the handsome, single brother of the bride.”
“Well, thanks for nothing,” Colleen grumbled.
And then the door opened, and bugger it all, there was Lucas Damien Campbell, Prince of Darkness. Alone. Black jeans. Black shirt. Black hair, black eyes (not in the hockey player way, but in the Heathcliff way). God, he was beautiful, a thuggish angel, the kind who did God’s dirty work. Beautiful with a side of scary.
You need to stop with the hyperbole, Connor’s voice informed her.
Colleen swallowed with an audible click, her throat dry as...as...something really dry, she couldn’t think just now.
She forced her eyes to the blond-haired, blue-eyed Jack.
“As of right now, you’re my boyfriend, Jack, and I will castrate you if you deny it.”
“And we wonder why you can’t find a man,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“I love you deeply, Colleen, and can’t take my eyes off you.” His words were undercut by the act of taking out his phone.
Lucas saw them, did a slight double take, and came over, all predatory masculine grace (now that was a great phrase, oh, mommy, yes, and even better live and in person).
“Hi,” he said.
“Lucas, what a pleasant surprise, do you know Jack Holland, my boyfriend?” Alas, Jack was texting. Colleen kicked him under the table.
“Ow!” he said. “Stop kicking me. I already have three sisters.”
Lucas smiled. The special places squeezed. The men shook hands, and Colleen couldn’t help being jealous of Jack, having Lucas’s hand squeeze his, that big, swarthy, beautiful hand, strong and sure and—
“Here’s your lava cake,” Jess said, setting it down. “Hey,” she added, looking at Lucas. “Did we go to school together?”
“No,” Colleen answered. “I mean, yes, but it was only for a little while.”
“Oh, right,” Jess said. “You guys were together. Nice to see you. Luke, right?”
“Lucas,” he corrected.
“Like George Lucas,” Colleen said. “Not like Luke Skywalker. Personally, I like Luke better, you know, like ‘Use the Force, Luke, the Force is strong within you,’ but Lucas isn’t bad. I’m not judging.”
“You’re cut off,” Jess said. “And here’s the check, whenever you’re ready.”
“Jack?” Colleen said. “Our cake is here, punkin.” She took a bite.
Unfortunately, lava cake tended to be, well...lava-hot. As her tongue shriveled in agony, Colleen reacted. Spit that cake right out.
“Pretty,” Jack murmured as she scraped her tongue free of the molten dessert.
“Thut up,” she said.
She gulped some ice water, some dribbling down her chin in her haste. Lovely. No napkin, where the hell was the napkin? She looked like a drooling freak. Fine. She used the tablecloth to dab her chin. And neck. And bosom, for the love of St. Patrick.
Lucas was watching the show, his eyes holding an irresistible hint of smile.
“Okay, fine. Lucas? Is there something I can help you with?”
“No,” he said. “Just getting something to eat.”
“Good. Because Jack and I want to get back to our romantic dinner, right Pooh Bear?”
Jack looked confused. “Are you talking to me?”
“You’re Faith’s brother, right?” Lucas asked.
“Afraid so. And Prudence’s, and Honor’s. Have we met?”
“I used to date him,” Colleen said. She took another forkful of cake, careful to blow on this one.
“Right,” Jack said. “You were talking about him in the bar the other—”
“No, I wasn’t,” she said. “Shut up, Jack.”
Jack sighed. “Babe? Sweetie-pie? Cuddlebuns? Can I leave now?”
Okay, so this wasn’t working. Time to surrender. “Just get out of here, Jack, and thanks for nothing.”
Her un-husband grinned, shook Lucas’s hand far too cheerfully and stopped to chat with Jess. “You better pay for dinner!” Colleen added.
He did. He might not want to marry her and sire three gorgeous children (possibly four, if one pregnancy was a set of twins, as Colleen would prefer), but he did pick up the tab.
“Can I join you?” Lucas asked.
“Sure,” she muttered. He slid into Jack’s vacated chair, and the air seemed to shimmer with the sheer force of...of them.
“I thought we should talk.”
“Are you stalking me?”
He gave her a slight smile. “Would you like me to?”
Yes, please. “Such an ego. Good to see that hasn’t changed.”
“There are two restaurants in this town, Colleen. You own one. I showed up here as a courtesy to you. Not to stalk you.”
“You can come to O’Rourke’s. I have no problem with that. I’m totally over you.”
Another almost-smile. The special places began to purr.
Jessica came over and cleared the table, her movements precise and efficient. Lucas ordered a glass of 2010 Fisher Cabernet Sauvignon that Robert Parker had anointed with a 96. It went well with Lucas’s whole fallen angel thing. He might as well have been drinking a soul.
Colleen looked around the restaurant, automatically smiling at the familiar faces scattered among the tourists. Hugo’s was the fancier restaurant in Manningsport, white tablecloths and flowers and a view of the lake. The sun was setting, the sky purple and slate, the lake darkening. A few boats glided toward the marina, white sails sharp in the dimming light. Hugo’s was busy tonight, and if Hugo’s was busy, it meant O’Rourke’s would be mobbed. She should go help out after this, even if it was her night off.
She didn’t move. Her skin felt too tight. “So you’re here,” she said, “and I’m here, and obviously we’ll run into each other now and again.”
“Yes.”
“You look good, Spaniard,” she said. “The years have been kind.”
His eyes smiled. His face didn’t move; it was like a magic trick or something, the way he could smile like that. Those dark, dark Latin eyes. Lucas never said too much, but his eyes did. Always had.
Never once had he ever said he loved her. Never. But she would have sworn it was true anyway, hell’s to the yes, she thought she’d seen it in his eyes a thousand times.
She wondered if his wife had thought the same thing.
Her throat was abruptly tight.
“I need to walk my dog,” she said. He could just stay here and eat and brood and be by himself.
“Can I come?” he asked.
“What about your dinner?”
“It can wait.”
Dang it. “Sure.”
He left a few bills on the table, and they went out. Better. The cool May air was welcome against her hot face.
They crossed the town green. O’Rourke’s looked safe and cheery; she could see the mob through the windows, the soft, golden light and gentle tide of voices and music from inside. The pub’s slogan was simple and heartfelt, and one Colleen had come up with the first day she and Con bought the place: O’Rourke’s: You’re very welcome here.
And now, Lucas one step behind her, she wanted very much to go into the bar, see her brother, flirt with Tom Barlow and Gerard Chartier, chat up Cathy and Louise, give a hug to Mel Stoakes, whose wife had just died. She wanted to be the person behind the bar, because she knew what she was doing there.
They went down the block, away from the green and into the Village until they were in front of her house. “I’ll be right back,” she told him, and ran up the stairs, past the landing where she’d just planted her porch garden, and up to her cheery blue door.
Rufus, her faithful pup, was waiting. “Come on, big guy,” she said, and he bounded down the stairs in two strides.
Lucas took a step back, she was happy to see, and Rufus did what most dogs did—rammed his snout right into Lucas’s crotch.
“Easy there, boy,” he said.
“He likes you. Then again, he tried to hump a tree the other day, so don’t take it personally.”
Lucas’s teeth flashed in the darkness. “You need a leash?”
“Nope.” Rufus stuck to her side like a guardian angel as they walked to the park down by the lake. “Go ahead, boy,” she said, and he loped off to sniff and investigate.
The air smelled coppery and sweet—lilacs and lake water—and the hum from O’Rourke’s was audible on the breeze. Small waves slapped the shore and dock. There were a few people out, but it was fully dark now, and most were on their way home.
The tingling feeling was back, and her whole body thrummed with that invisible connection to Lucas, as if they were circled by electricity.
She wondered if he felt it, too.
This is pathetic, she told herself. He was your first love. Big deal. Get over it. He’ll be gone again soon, anyway.
She sat down on one of the benches that overlooked Crooked Lake. Lucas sat next to her, not touching, but close enough.
He smelled the same. That clean, sharp smell, like the outdoors. She used to tell him it was ironic, he smelled like the mountains, her city boy—
Well. He wasn’t a boy anymore. And he wasn’t hers.
Funny that she’d felt buzzed earlier. She was stone-cold sober now.
“Well? You wanted to talk,” she said, her voice sounding terse to her own ears.