Until There Was You

“Liam?”

Cordelia again. “Hey,” he said, reaching for the toolbox.

“I’m sorry.”

He glanced at her. Her hands were jammed in the front pockets of her jeans. “What for?”

“The clock. It… I should’ve given you some warning. I just… I didn’t…”

“Well, you asked me if I wanted to see it, and I said no.” He paused. “It’s great, Cordelia. It’s perfect.”

Her eyes widened a little. “It is?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He yanked the toolbox from where it was wedged on the bottom shelf. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. It’s a gift.”

“Yes. A gift for my daughter, which I’ll pay for. How much, Cordelia?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Nothing.”

“I can afford to pay for a gift for my own child, Cordelia.”

“Well, too bad, biker boy,” she snapped. “Your wife was always nice to me, and I was sorry—I was always sorry she and I didn’t stay in touch,” she finished, and he suspected she was about to say something else. “The clock’s not worth a heck of a lot, anyway.” Her gaze wandered to the refrigerator, which was covered with photos. Nicole had taken a picture of their fridge in San Diego, then recreated the exact order when they moved in here. Mostly photos of Nic herself…dressed as a pumpkin for Halloween when she was four, riding her bike, missing her front teeth. But a few of him and Emma, too.

“Anyway. Sorry if it brought stuff up,” Cordelia said in a gentler voice.

“It’s okay. It really is perfect.” He looked at her for a long minute. Her blush began underneath the flannel and crept up her neck, into her jaw and cheeks. She looked away, and Liam’s mood suddenly lightened. Cordelia was a woman, a straight woman (he thought, anyway), and it was nice to see she wasn’t immune to him. Made things feel more even somehow.

“Dad! Can you hang up my clock or what?” Nic called from down the hall.

“Coming, Master,” he said. He grinned at Cordelia. “Stay here a sec. I want to ask you something. But duty calls.”

ALONE IN LIAM MURPHY’S kitchen.

Posey supposed she’d have to stop thinking of him as Liam Murphy, just trim it down to Liam, but still. He had that celebrity feel. Too hot for regular life.

As if on cue, Posey’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out—a text from Jon. Holy Justin Bieber, did I hear u say ur going 2 Nicole Murphy’s? The father is totally hot. 2 young 4 me?

I’m standing in his kitchen, Posey texted back. Will try to steal you something.

How about a lock of hair?

Posey grinned. I was thinking of a sock. Gotta go. xox

From down the hall came the sound of a drill. Drill me, Liam. Posey rolled her eyes at herself. Some hammering. Nail me, pal. “Okay, down, you ho,” she muttered, wandering to the fridge for a better look at the photos there. Nicole had been a wicked cute baby. No surprise there, not with her DNA. There was a nice shot of Emma and Nicole, when Nicole was about ten. Posey’s throat tightened again. So hard to believe the gorgeous woman with the bright smile was just gone.

Well. Here was another picture—Liam in scrubs, holding a tiny pink package. Now that was the money shot, wasn’t it? Dopey dad-love shone in his face as he gazed at his red-faced daughter. He looked so young. So happy, too, and so sure. How was it that Liam Murphy had found the way to make a family at age…what? Twenty, twenty-one? Posey had grown up in the stable, unwavering embrace of Max and Stacia and had never even come close to marriage, let alone a family. Liam and Emma had met as teenagers and made something special. Those pictures didn’t lie. Posey was scanning websites for a spouse as if ordering a coat from L.L. Bean. Liam and Emma had made a family before they were old enough to buy a six-pack.

“Hey, Posey, come see it!” Nicole called, and obediently Posey trotted down the hall.

“It looks great,” she said.

“I love it.” Nicole gave her a look. “So, Posey, if you knew my mom, did you also know my father back then?”

Posey glanced at Liam, who narrowed his eyes slightly in warning. “I sure did,” she said, feeling the start of a smile warm her chest.

“What was he like?” Nicole asked.

“What was he like? Or what did he think he was like?” Posey asked, her grin spreading.

“Watch it,” Liam muttered.

“Both! Why? Was he a jerk?” Nicole asked, clapping her hands in delight.

“It was like having Heath Ledger wander the halls of our little high school, Nicole,” Posey said. “Leather jacket, ripped jeans, crappy grades, the whole cliché.”

“Not all my grades were bad,” he countered.

“Girls wanted to, uh, date him, men wanted to be him. He was so intense,” Posey said, getting a laugh from Nicole.

“Dad! You always make it sound like you were perfect!”

“Oh, he was.” Posey sighed dramatically. “Perfectly dreamy.”

“Ew!” Nicole squealed.

“Okay, I’m gonna start supper,” Liam said.

“Which is my cue to go,” Posey said.

“Oh, can you stay for a minute?” Nicole asked. In the doorway, Liam paused. “I want to ask Posey about Mom,” she added.

“Sure,” he said and then was gone down the hall.

Odd, to picture Liam Murphy cooking dinner. Setting the table, making sure his kid had green veggies and stuff like that.

“Can you, like…I don’t know, just tell me a little bit about my mom?” Nicole asked, sitting on her bed. Her expression was eager.

Posey took a seat in the desk chair. “Sure,” she said. “Um, I went to Sweetie Sue’s a lot.” Nicole grinned, and Posey smiled back. “She always gave me an extra scoop for free.”

“She was great about dessert,” the girl said, her eyes getting a little wet. “Way more mellow than Dad. What else?”

“Well, we went to the same church, so I saw her there sometimes,” Posey said. “Your dad worked at my parents’ restaurant, so she’d drop by once in a while. She was always really friendly. Chatty. She was just…nice. Genuine, you know? She wanted everyone to be happy. Her nickname was Little Miss Sunshine.”

“Really? Like how? What did she do?”

Posey paused. “Well, she was always organizing food drives and recycling programs at school. Stuff like that. And she…gave me advice about clothes and stuff.”

“She had amazing clothes,” Nicole said wistfully. She looked at Posey again. “Anything else? Sorry if I’m, like, pumping you for details. I just…” The girl cleared her throat. “I love hearing about her when she was my age.”

Posey nodded. “Sure. Well, she…sort of arranged for me to go to the prom,” she said carefully.

“Really? She fixed you up?” Posey nodded. “Did you guys go with her and Daddy?”

“No. They, uh, they were with different people. You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t,” Nicole said with a huff. “I probably never will, either. Dad’s, like, psycho about my social life. Mom would’ve been much cooler. She totally would let me date by now.”

Posey had to smile at that—the bad boy now a stodgy old dad, clattering around making dinner.

“He needs to get a life so he won’t be, like, obsessed with mine,” Nicole added. “Do you know anyone he could date? Maybe that hot chick at your restaurant?”

Posey’s smile felt stiff. “Uh…maybe. I—” She winced. “I could check.”

“Hey,” Nicole said, “do you want to stay for supper? Dad! Can Posey stay for supper?”

“Stop bellowing down the hall!” Liam bellowed from down the hall. There was a pause. “Sure. If she wants.” Such a halfhearted offer that Posey rolled her eyes.

“Do you?” Nicole asked. “You can tell me more stories, okay? About Mom and Dad. I can’t believe Dad was such a jerk!”

“Oh, um…he wasn’t a jerk.” Crap. “He was just…you know.”

“Just what, Cordelia?”

There he was, the King of Testosterone himself. “Just a little full of himself, that’s all.”

Again with the narrowed gaze…kind of hot, really. Nicole giggled.

“But once he met your mom, it was true love and all that good stuff,” Posey added.

“Are you staying?” Liam asked—not very nicely, she thought.

“Sorry. I have plans.” Plans with my dog, that is, she thought, getting up from the chair. A dog who has better manners than you. “Maybe another time.”

“Bye, Posey! Thank you so much for the clock! I love it.” The girl bounced off her bed and hugged her.

“See you around,” Posey said, patting Nicole on the shoulder, her eyes growing wet. Emma’s daughter seemed just as sweet as her mother. “It was really nice meeting you.”

“After you,” Liam said, standing back to let Posey pass. She went down the hall, past the kitchen and grabbed her backpack from where she’d dropped it earlier.

“See you around, Liam,” she called.

“Hang on,” he said, and she jumped. He was right behind her. She turned warily.

The whole aging-rock-star-still-dead-sexy look…it worked. She wondered what he looked like with his shirt off—tattoo, maybe? She’d be happy to check…centimeter by centimeter…with her tongue…?. Enough, Posey! Guys like Liam—the last thing they needed was yet another ego massage from yet another swoony woman. Besides, she’d pined over him enough for several lifetimes.

But still. It was hard not to get a little…aroused…when he was staring at her like that.

“You want to go to the movies tomorrow night?” he asked, and Posey was so shocked she actually choked.

“What?” she managed.

“The movies? Tomorrow?”

“Um…I, uh…um…what movie?”

He narrowed his eyes just a little, and Posey’s nether parts gave a long, happy squeeze. Get his clothes off, those parts advised. We’re lonely. “Does it matter?” Liam asked.

The words had the effect of ice water. “Actually, yes, Liam. Why? Do you think your mere presence is enough? Because I have to tell you, God’s Gift, you’re not really all that anymore.”

Slowly, slowly, his mouth pulled up on one side, and Posey could feel those treacherous parts about to stage a mutiny. “What movie would you like to see?” he said in a scraping, low voice, and the effect was the same as if he’d said, I am going to smear you with honey and lick you clean, Posey Osterhagen.

“I…I don’t know…what’s, um…playing?” she muttered.

“Have you seen blah-blah-blah?” Liam asked. There was a roaring in her ears that drowned out his actual words. She couldn’t take her eyes off that mouth. That was a really good mouth, that was. Oh, yeah. His upper lip was just a little fuller than his lower, and she wondered what kind of kisser he was, what it would be like to have that mouth on hers…or any part of her, really, her elbow, her toe, because she had a feeling that Liam’s mouth would make her—

“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said.

Oh. Apparently she’d just agreed to go out with Liam Murphy. Liam. Declan. Murphy. Had. Asked. Her. Out. Holy Elvis Presley. Was this a date? An actual romantic date? Or was this two old sort-of friends just hanging out? Should she ask? Did it matter? Could she shove him to the ground and eat him for supper?

“Bye,” she muttered, then fled before she did something utterly stupid.

CHAPTER TEN

“THAT’S GOING TO fall down and kill you someday,” Henry muttered, staring up at the belfry. He looked at Posey and sighed, then jumped back abruptly. “Oh, God! There’s a cat. I forgot you had cats.” Henry was afraid of cats, something Posey and Jon found hilarious. “Why am I here again?”

“You’re not here. Jon is here,” Posey said. “I need advice. And the bell is safe. Mostly. But don’t stand under it, okay? Mom and Dad would kill me if their precious perfect got a boo-boo at my house. Shilo, you move, too, buddy.” They went down to the kitchen, where Shilo collapsed at Henry’s feet with a thud that shook the room, then stared up at Posey’s brother with adoring, red-rimmed eyes.

Henry sighed, picked up a bottle of wine, shook his head and replaced it, as if deeply saddened that his sister bought such uninspired booze. “You’re welcome to buy me better stuff, Hen,” she said.

“I should buy you a better house. This place is a death trap. Could you move this cat?”

“Meatball, go. Henry doesn’t like you. And this place is not a death trap! It’s great! It has character.”

“And too many animals. How many do you have, Posey?”

“One dog, three cats. They came with the church, like angels, right, Sagwa? Try not to show fear, Henry. They feed off it.” Posey giggled as her brother’s face paled.

“Can we stop talking?” Jon asked. “We’re getting ready for a date, and your sister’s hair is a challenge to even the most gifted hair gods. Thank you. Now. We want to look nice, but not like we’re trying too hard. Good thing I brought my tools.” He unpacked a blow-dryer and rounded brush from his little case.

“So, who is this guy again?” Henry asked.