Chapter Twenty-Five

Dennis opened the front door and instantly saw Cole and Audrey on opposite couches in the living room, a board came spread out on the cocktail table between them. They didn’t see him. He peeked around the corner at them, feeling a little like a spy. What wouldn’t he give to come home to a tableau like this every night? They could be happy. Couldn’t they?

No. It wasn’t for him.

Never mind that he couldn’t seem to sleep anymore, all because the bed suddenly seemed empty. But wishing and getting were two different things, as his father liked to remind him. And he sure wasn’t getting. Dennis couldn’t seem to break through to Audrey no matter how hard he tried. She’d been on edge with him ever since the Ferris Wheel, and maybe that was for the best. Certainly, it was the safer option.

But since when did he play things safe?

Cole and Audrey counted aloud together as he moved his game piece. Cole pumped his fist. “That’s five! What do I get to do?”

“Pick a card,” Audrey said.

The temptation to join them was too strong. Dennis wanted only to sit back on the couch and feel the unique joy of coming home to this cozy gathering. A fraud, but one he wanted to indulge in, even for a moment. He stepped out from his hiding spot. He was weak. He couldn’t resist it.

“Hey, there, you two.”

“Daddy!” Cole leaped to his feet and ran to Dennis to wrap his arms around his father’s thighs. Dennis dropped his briefcase and bent to scoop up Cole. His heart seemed to swell with the sweetness of this moment. It almost hurt.

“Oh, you’re getting big.” He carried Cole to the couch across from Audrey and sat down with Cole on his lap.

“Want to play?” Cole pointed at the game board. “The counting part is easy, but then sometimes you have to read stuff.”

“Looks like you and Miss Turner are in the middle of a game. Why don’t you finish it and I’ll watch.”

He dared a glance at Audrey. There was something softer about her tonight, something in the way she gazed at him. Her round blue eyes seemed slightly unfocused, as if she were suspended between reality and a pleasant daydream as she stared at him. Her lips were slightly parted in a smile that might even be described as tender. Dennis smiled back.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said. “It’s over. I’m glad to be home.”

I’m glad to come home to you, he wanted to say. But did not. Some of what he was thinking must have communicated itself to her because her lashes fluttered over a light blush.

“Oh, I forgot! I have to show you!” Cole squirmed off Dennis’s lap and ran for his bedroom. His feet thumped hard against the floor.

“His art project,” Audrey said. “He’s very proud of it.”

“Oh, yes. Art class today. How was that?”

“You’ll see.” She sat back on the couch, the board game forgotten. “Cole’s got a good eye for color.”

“He must get that from his mother.” Dennis waved a hand at the living room. “As you see, I usually stick with black and white. That way I know nothing clashes.”

“But your bedroom is colorful.” Audrey seemed startled by her own words and sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Dennis wanted to suck and kiss it himself, but contented himself with watching her white teeth knead the soft flesh.

“Katherine decorated the bedroom.” It was the wrong thing to say. Audrey’s teeth released her lip and her mouth tightened at the sound of Katherine’s name.

“Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to pry.”

He wanted to make it right again. “I haven’t bothered to redecorate in there because it didn’t seem important. I’m long past the point where I keep Katherine’s things around out of grief.”

Was Audrey worried that he still loved his dead wife? That was possible, and that might account for why she pulled away from him. Who would want to compete with a memory? He would always love Katherine. Always. But that didn’t mean his grief was still fresh. His grief, like the love and the guilt, were a part of him. A mutating part lately, but still a part of him.

He decided to risk an explanation. “She had antiques everywhere. It was furniture that she inherited, family heirlooms. So when she died, I passed all that along to her sister. I didn’t have time to work with a decorator, and Cole and I needed furniture, so I bought black and white. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Oh,” Audrey said again, softening. He must have said the right thing because the hesitant droop to her eyelids lifted. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close. How could he ever find the words to express everything he’d locked deep inside him since Katherine’s accident? He’d shed that furniture because the guilt was nearly killing him. He couldn’t keep it. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve anything of Katherine’s, really, but he’d kept the bedroom intact because the pain of letting go of their marital bedroom was even worse than the pain of keeping it.

That was all he’d known then. Pain.

And when the pain faded, it left nothing but numbness interrupted by the joy and comfort he took in Cole’s company.

No, he just didn’t have the words to explain all that.

“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about,” Audrey said.

“What’s that?” His voice sounded like it was floating out from thin air rather than from his body. It was too much, this collision of old memories and new yearning.

“Well, it’s a bit tricky.”

“Tricky problems on an empty stomach. Want to keep me company in the kitchen? Talk about it there?” He had to keep moving, keep busy, or he’d end up touching her again.

“Sure,” she said, and she seemed happy about it. Come to think of it, she’d been pretty happy in general since he’d come home, in a soft-focused kind of way. She was happy, and his nerves were frayed to the breaking point. Had been, ever since the first moment he laid eyes on her.

Dennis led the way into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He passed lettuce, tomatoes, and a cucumber to Audrey. She set them on the breakfast bar and stooped to get a cutting board.

Dennis retrieved two salad bowls and set them side by side on the breakfast bar.

“Doesn’t Cole want salad?” Audrey asked.

“Yes.” Dennis started to point at the two bowls. “Oh.” He’d invited her to keep him company while he got dinner together. She must have taken it as an invitation. “My mistake.” He reached for another bowl. “Sometimes I do things without thinking.”

But he wasn’t talking about the number of bowls. He was talking about what she’d taken as an invitation to stay for dinner.

“Really? I find that hard to believe.” She smiled as she said it and chopped the tomatoes into thick wedges.

And he knew that she was right. He liked having her stay. Maybe he hadn’t issued a clear invitation, but he wanted her there. He couldn’t lie to himself about that.

“I think Mrs. Quant made her cold chicken and rice dish. It’s delicious.” He only hoped there was enough for three.

“Yes, and she made cookies, too. Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. Those cookies are excellent. I was thinking I might hire her to bake them for the school.”

“You can’t have her,” Dennis said. “She’s the only employee I’ve ever had who wasn’t more trouble than she was worth.”

“Gee, thanks,” Audrey said wryly.

“I meant–I didn’t mean you.” Dennis froze, overcome at his own clumsiness. “I don’t think of you as an employee.”

Audrey didn’t say anything, just stared at a tomato wedge with the knife halted against the surface of the board.

Dennis reached across the counter and laid his fingers on her wrist. Her pulse jumped under his touch.

“Do you think of me as your boss?” The question felt important.

“Well, you are my boss, sort of.”

“In a way,” he agreed. “But that’s temporary. I think of you more as a businesswoman who is doing me a short-term favor.”

That sounded awful. She still wouldn’t look at him but stood there frozen with her fingers on the tomato and his fingers on her wrist. If she did think of him as her boss, his touching her was inappropriate. He pulled back his hand and instantly regretted it. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to tell her that he thought of her as a delectable woman, a tiny bundle of beauty and easy grace. But he couldn’t. He didn’t deserve her. She wasn’t part of the plan.

But he wanted her just the same.

“What I mean,” he said, speaking slowly for emphasis, “is that I think of you as my peer, not as my subordinate.”

She moved again, the knife flying through the tomato wedge. “Anyway, I didn’t mean that I would take Mrs. Quant away from you. Only that she might do both. That was why I wanted to talk to you first. To make sure you don’t object.”

“That was what you wanted to talk to me about? Not the Ferris Wheel?” Dennis hadn’t meant to say that, but the words slipped out.

She reached for the cucumber and pared it with the knife as if nothing was unusual. “The Ferris Wheel.”

He couldn’t interpret her tone. Dennis eased around the breakfast bar until he was standing at Audrey’s side, just a half step behind her. Her head bowed slightly as she sliced the cucumber into crunchy bite-sized chunks. He could smell her shampoo, a scent cleaner and lighter than the cucumber. He lifted a hand, his fingers hovering inches from that fine hair. He wanted to touch her again.

“Cole really enjoyed that. He’s talked about it a lot this week.” She turned her head just slightly as she spoke.

Dennis dropped his hand, feeling as if he’d been caught in the act of almost touching her. Did that make him a pervert? Or just a man who craved this woman’s touch? He reached for the lettuce, leaning forward and brushing his chest against her shoulder. He hoped she would lean back against him, even for the briefest moment. He wanted some signal from her.

But she seemed not to notice his touch. Was she immune to him? Was he in this alone? He tore the lettuce into little bits. She was talking, relating a story about Cole at art class. Dennis let her change the subject, but he hardly heard her.

But he saw her, saw the amused smile flit over her pink lips and the way her lashes fluttered as she looked from him to the cucumber and back again. The lettuce lay untouched on the counter. He forgot to do anything but watch her.

She scooped up the cucumbers in her small, tapered hands and held them aloft over the bowls. “Don’t you think we need more lettuce than that?”

“Sorry. I’m not much good in the kitchen.”

That should have been his cue to continue tearing the lettuce. Instead, he found his hands moving towards hers. His fingers closed over her hands. Her flesh was warm and soft, and bits of cool damp cucumber poked through. He wanted her to drop the cucumbers and lace her fingers through his. He wanted her to do more than tolerate his touch. He wanted her to cling to him, so that he could cling back.

But she didn’t move at all. Her fingers neither tightened nor relaxed. She didn’t look at him or even seem to breathe.