Until There Was You

Jon sighed dramatically. “Do you listen to nothing I tell you?” he asked. “His name is Liam, he’s a widower, totally hot. Better than that poser you were dating a while back, sweetie.”

“You were dating someone?” Henry asked.

Jon looked at Posey and shook his head. “Ignore him. Now. I’m thinking sort of a Natalie Portman look, right?”

“What does he do for a living?” Henry asked.

“Motorcycle mechanic. Custom bikes, repairs, all that manly stuff we know nothing about,” Jon answered. “Posey, tilt your head, honey.”

“Motorcycles are good for my business,” Henry said. “I did the coolest amputation on a Hell’s Angel last week, did I tell you, Pose?”

Jonathan turned on the blow-dryer to full power. “La la la la, don’t tell amputation stories, honey, how many times have we discussed this? Posey, what are we wearing?”

“Does everything have to be first person plural?” Henry asked. “Is that in the manual for how to be gay?”

“Well, sweetheart, if there’s a manual, you should read it. You’re gay, after all. Not that you can tell, sadly. Posey, he dresses like a straight, color-blind computer programmer, and it breaks my heart. Tilt.”

Tonight wasn’t a date, of that Posey was pretty sure. Or maybe it was, and she just didn’t know it. If he’d said, “Posey, I find you very attractive and would like to spend more time with you,” then she’d know. If he’d said, “I’m bored out of my skull and I asked you because you were standing in front of me and I have no feelings for you whatsoever,” then she’d know that, too. If only men were more straightforward.

The heat of the hair dryer was making her ears itch. She wasn’t sure this was a good idea. She wasn’t sure she even liked Liam. Lusted after, yes, she’d covered that. So did every female around, clearly.

But.

You don’t turn down a date with a guy who makes your knees buzz just by looking at you. The guy who held your heart in his fist for two formative years.

And maybe…maybe he did like her. Oh, crap, she sounded like she was fifteen again. Not good. Not good at all.

“Okay, your hair’s…well, it’s fine. It’s good.” Jon stood back and looked at her hair, frowning. “You don’t have any hair glue, do you?”

“I don’t even know what that is,” she said. “And what happened to not trying too hard?”

“What are you wearing?” he asked. Henry checked his messages.

“Just jeans and a sweater,” Posey said.

“Which jeans? Which sweater? We are doing makeup, aren’t we? Come, child, look up. By all that’s holy, how old is this eye shadow?”

“Old,” Posey admitted. “Bush administration.”

“Herbert Walker, or just Walker? Well, if it’s bad, you’ll be the first to know. Blink.”

“Don’t make me look like a child prostitute, okay?”

“You sure?” Jon said, rolling his eyes. “Honey, please. Don’t forget who dressed up as Kate Moss for Halloween and looked like her twin.”

“Damn, I missed a shattered elbow,” Henry muttered, staring at his iPhone. “I love shattered elbows.” He glanced up. “So, Jon and I are thinking about adopting a baby,” he said, and Posey bolted out of her chair.

“Guys!” she said. “That’s great! Oh, my gosh, I’m gonna be an aunt! At last!”

“You sound just like Mom,” Henry said, grinning. “Well, we’ve just started looking around at different agencies and stuff. But we’re ready. Right, Jon?”

“Totally ready,” he said. “Sit back down, Posey. So, yeah, we’re thinking it doesn’t have to be newborn, right? But let me ask you, because Henry here doesn’t have normal feelings…do you ever feel adopted?”

“I am adopted,” she said.

“Right. But…I don’t know. Do you wonder about your birth parents?” he asked.

“I don’t,” Henry said.

“I know you don’t. I’ve been married to you for ten years. Do you, Posey?”

“Yeah, I think about them,” she said. “Sometimes I see someone who might look like me, and I wonder if it’s a long-lost cousin or something. I wish I knew the circumstances, you know? Henry at least knows that.”

“The tragic orphan, yes.”

“Right. So it would’ve been nice to know why my birth mother chose adoption. But otherwise, no. Max and Stacia are my parents.”

“Are you done interrogating my sister?” Henry asked. “There’s a call for an amputation, and I’d really hate to miss it.”

Jon sighed. “Another night alone with a gourmet dinner and Dexter on DVD.”

“Sounds like heaven to me,” Posey said.

“Nonsense. You’ll have so much fun on this date.” He kissed her cheek and attempted one last time to flatten the cowlick on the back of her head. “Call me later, I’ll be up. And dog, don’t even look at me. Do you know how much these pants cost?”

“And take down that bell, Pose,” Henry added as they left. “It’s gonna kill you someday.”

The bell was, in fact, Posey’s prized possession. But she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t fall off, no matter what she told her family, all of whom viewed her house as riddled with opportunities to die. Still, the clock had lasted for more than a hundred years. Chances were it would last a little longer.

The makeup was starting to sting. Guess that three-month warning meant something after all. She went upstairs and washed it off, then took a long look in the mirror.

She would never be fat, that was true. Her roomy 32-A had become a 32-B somewhere in her twenties, and she was grateful. She wasn’t unattractive, though she wished her hair would behave a little better. She kept it short, because it tended to curl when it grew, making her head look huge and giving her an overall lollipop appearance. But on a scale of one to ten, she was—maybe—a six, six and a half.

Gretchen was a ten.

Liam was a forty-nine.

Why had he asked her out? No one dated anymore, did they? They filled out computer forms, met and either moved on or got married. And Liam Murphy…he just didn’t seem the type to date. He seemed like the type to press a woman against a wall, kiss the bejesus out of her and shag her into the middle of next week, though. Uh-huh. Oh, yeah.

At that very moment, the doorbell rang, and Posey jumped.

The doorbell was the only thing that seemed to hit her dog’s protective instincts, and he barreled down the stairs, baying his hollow, echoing bark, then hurled himself against the door like a narcotics agent on a bust.

“Shilo! Down! Down, boy! Easy!”

Shilo took this as an invitation to jump against her, which caused Posey to stagger. “Down!” She managed to wrestle her dog off her, adjusted her shirt, and opened the door.

There he was, Hottie McSin. The details didn’t matter—in fact, her vision was already blurry with lust—but the overall picture said Do me. Shilo seemed to agree, flopping on his back, paws stretching over his head. “Hi,” Liam said, and she practically came on the spot. There was a wall right there, for heaven’s sake. Just in case he wanted to push her up against it and—

Shilo whined, his tail whacking against her foot. Aware that she should greet her guest, Posey opened her mouth. “Yes. Hello.” Her voice was husky, and she was positive he could read her mind. She swallowed hard. “Want to come in?”

“Will that thing eat me?”

“Maybe. Come on in and let’s see.” He grinned. Stay cool, Posey, stay cool, she warned herself. Do not have an orgasm just because he’s here. But come on! The man was beautiful. His jaw was dark with five o’clock shadow, his black hair rumpled, that faint look of reserve on his face. Posey wondered what he’d do if she ripped his shirt open and licked his neck. Seemed like a good idea to her, that was for sure. Shilo licked his chops as if echoing his owner’s thoughts. “So,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Um…want the tour?”

“Sure.”

She led him through the house, careful not to touch him. Or look at him. Or have an orgasm. “So, this is my house. It used to be a church.” Her dog woofed approvingly.

“Yeah, I got that,” Liam said. He looked up at her vast ceilings. “Is that a catwalk?”

“Yep.”

“Can we go upstairs and see it?”

Upstairs. Where her bedroom was. “Sure,” she squeaked. “Shilo, stay.” Her dog obliged, collapsing to the floor for some personal grooming.

She followed Liam upstairs, trying hard not to reach out and touch his—

“Are you doing this work yourself?” he asked, gesturing at the half-finished floor, where her cats lay around like throw pillows. Meatball lifted his head, then resumed his nap.

“Um…I hired out for some things—electric and plumbing and stuff—but yeah, I did a lot myself. I’m good with a saw.” That’s great. Very hot. I’m sure he’s incredibly turned on.

“Is that a bell pull?” he asked.

“Oh, don’t touch that!” She gave him a shove, and he stumbled back, giving her a baffled look. “It doesn’t work. It’s a little…iffy. Um… When’s the movie?”

“Seven-thirty. You ready to go?”

“Yup.”

Unrequited lust made for crappy conversation. As they rode along in Liam’s car, Posey decided silence was better than making an idiot of herself. Besides, her brain churned with questions. Why was she here? Was this a date? Would he kiss her? What if he did in fact kiss her? Holy Elvis Presley, did he think they were going to have sex tonight? Where would Shilo and the triumvirate sleep? Was Liam Murphy hiding some deep, unspoken attraction for her? Did she have pajamas without holes or cartoon characters?

They got to the movie theater. Liam bought tickets, and Posey forced herself to go through the motions of polite conversation. Yes, she wanted popcorn. The large, please. Yes to Milk Duds. Yes to the ginger ale. Thanks.

She couldn’t stop the surreal feeling. It was like a dream…so odd, too unbelievable. There was Kylie Duchamps, an old classmate, staring openmouthed as her tween-age daughter texted. A woman Posey didn’t know was giving Liam the eye as he paid for their snacks.

“Hi, Mr. Murphy!” came a breathy voice. A girl about Nicole’s age blushed to the roots of her hair.

“Hi, Caroline,” he said easily, and the girl burst into giggles. Liam smiled and handed the popcorn to Posey.

“Thanks.” She dumped in the Milk Duds so they’d soften and ooze some chocolate onto the popcorn. And people thought she wasn’t a good cook.

“So, Mr. Murphy, can Nicole, like, come over sometime?” the giggler asked.

Kylie Duchamps appeared at Posey’s side. “Hi, there!” she said. She’d been a cheerleader in high school—in other words, not someone who’d ever spoken to Posey, other than to call her Anne Frank. “Is that Liam Murphy? I heard he was back! What’s he doing here?”

“I believe he’s here to see a movie,” Posey said.

“OMG! With you?”

“Yes.” There should be a law that no one over the age of fourteen could say OMG without a public stoning. Except Jon, of course.

“That’s… Wow.” Kylie had been one of the slutty, popular girls, so pretty and confident back then. Since then, Kylie had packed on a few extra pounds, her once-cute features looking rather piggy in her puffy face. Sometimes, life was fair. “Weird, huh?” Kylie added.

“What’s weird?”

“Ma-a-ah,” bleated the child, who was a mini-me version of her mother. “I don’t want to miss the previews! Come on!”

Kylie ignored her. “It’s just that it’s strange that he’s with you—Liam! Hi! Long time no see, stranger!” She threw herself at Liam and hugged him fiercely. “You look great! It’s so good to see you!”

“Ma, can we go?” whined Kylie’s daughter. “Come on!”

Liam gave Posey a rather amused look. “Do I know you?” he said to Kylie, disentangling himself from her tentacles.

“As if! Of course you do! We went to high school together? Duh!” Clearly Liam had a wormhole effect on the former cheerleader, because she reverted into the tortured Val-speak that she’d affected back then.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Kylie Duchamps? Well, I’m married now. And a mother, if you can believe it!”

“Ma-a-ah! Come on!”

Liam nodded. “Nice to meet you. Cordelia, you all set?” He took her by the arm and led her away from Kylie and her irritable child.

“Sure you don’t want to catch up?” Posey said, trying to ignore the sweet, strong tingle Liam’s hand induced. This had to be a date. He was touching her. Right? Didn’t touching constitute intent? Also, he’d bought her all this food.

“Very funny. I can’t tell you how many times that’s happened.”

“What? You running into some girl you slept with?”

“I didn’t sleep with that one,” he muttered.

“You sure?” Posey couldn’t help grinning.

“Shush.” He held the door for her (very date-ish), and she went into the theater, which was one of those stadium types, and lurched to a stop. Ah. So that was why she was here.

Nicole Murphy sat four rows up next to the boy Liam had threatened at school the other day. At the sight of her father, her face went from bright and happy to horrified disbelief. “Dad! Are you serious?”