State of Grace (39 page)

“You could start by telling me that you love me, too. That is, unless you've changed your mind.”

I gasped. “No. Of course not. Please don't think that.”

“Okay,” he said and reached out to touch my face. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I realized that I not only didn't mind it, I liked it. And, suddenly, I realized that I more than loved him—I trusted him.

“I love you, too.” Saying the words surprised even me. “It terrifies me, but I do and I can't help it.”

He smiled sheepishly and looked around the restaurant, which was beginning to fill up. I followed his gaze. “What say we skip dinner and get out of here?” He smiled. “Unless that makes you uncomfortable.”

I shook my head. “I think that's fine.”

“We could go to my hotel,” he said and quickly added, “You wouldn't have to come to my room unless you wanted to. There's a sort of library-sitting room off the front—”

“How would you like to meet Toby?” I interrupted.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I'd like that a lot, but only if you're comfortable with it.”

“I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't,” I said even though I wasn't sure.

“All right, then.”

I searched the room for Kallie. She was taking an order, but when she turned, I caught her eye. She immediately came over.

“Ready?” she asked.

“We'd like the check,” said Tommy, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

I held up my hand and smiled triumphantly. “Too late. I already gave her my card.”

“I can't let you do that,” he said. “This was a $100 bottle of wine.”

“I insist. Put that away. It's my treat.” I turned to Kallie, who was watching the exchange with a small smile. “Have you put in our orders yet?”

She shook her head. “You wanted to wait, right?”

“We did,” I said with a smile. “But I think we've changed our minds about dinner. I think, if you haven't turned the order in yet, we'd like to just pay for the wine and go.”

“Okay,” she said and then asked carefully. “Was everything okay?”

“Everything was fine,” I said. “We just decided to eat in. So, I think the hostess gave you my card. Could you just put the wine on that?”

“Sure,” she said with a shrug. “I'll be right back.”

As she walked away, I smiled at Tommy. “Do you like ham? I have leftovers at home.”

“I love ham,” he said. “Especially if it's in a sandwich.”

Two hours later, the ham was gone and Tommy and I sat on the couch, pleasantly full.

“Oh my god, that was good,” he said and licked his fingers. He sat back and sighed happily.

As soon as we had walked into the cabin and I had introduced him to Toby, I went into the kitchen and put the ham in the oven. Next, I opened a bottle of wine and removed two glasses from the cupboard. As I came back into the living room, I smiled. Toby was curled into a ball on the end of the couch, sleeping contentedly. Tommy stood in front of the bookshelf studying the titles. He turned as I came into the room.

“He must feel really comfortable with you,” I said and gestured to the dog. “He usually barks and jumps when new people are here.”

Tommy shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “Children and animals. They both seem to like me.”

“Ah,” I said and poured wine into the glasses. “How about a fire?”

He nodded eagerly. “I was going to start one, but I didn't want to be presumptuous or mess with your stuff without asking.”

“Thank you,” I said, genuinely touched.

As I laid the fire and lit the tinder, we talked about the titles on my shelf.

“You seem to like the classics,” he said. “More ‘thinking' sorts of books than what I usually read.”

“What do you usually read?”

“I'm a Clancy man all the way,” he said. “Or Grisham—you know, airplane reads.” He sipped his wine. “Nice choice.”

“Thanks,” I said and turned back to the fire to feed kindling into the flame. I didn't offer to show him the rest of the place, and he didn't ask. He seemed to understand that for the time being, I wanted to stay in the more public part of the cabin.

Once the fire was going, I returned to the kitchen and checked the ham. It had already heated through, so I pulled out a knife and cut off chunks of meat, which I put on a plate with pickles and crackers.

“Dinner is served,” I said as I came back into the living room and set the plate on the coffee table. I realized I had forgotten silverware and napkins.

“No need,” Tommy said and reached out to pluck a piece of meat from the plate. “Let's eat with our fingers.”

“But—”

“It's fine,” he said and pulled a neatly folded white handkerchief from his back pocket. “We can use this.”

“My dad used to carry a handkerchief,” I said. “I didn't know men still did that.”

“I do.” Tommy grinned. “It reminds me of my grandfather. And speaking of grandfathers, I haven't had ham that good since I lived with my grandparents.”

“It's smoked by this old guy who lives outside of town,” I said.
“He smokes all his own meats in this old smokehouse. I try not to think about how unclean it probably is because it tastes so good. I get it at the local grocery store.”

“It's amazing.” He sighed contentedly. “Life seems so simple here. I love it. The food, the air, the people. Did I tell you the woman who checked me into the bed and breakfast managed to tell me her whole life story in the span of about three minutes? There is such an authenticity here. I can see why you love it.”

“I don't really know all that many people in town,” I said. “For me, the seclusion and the anonymity are the main draws. People let each other be themselves here.”

“You are pretty remote. No neighbors?”

I shook my head. “Nope. We're the end of the line up here.”

He smiled and reached for his wine glass. “This was kind of like a picnic.”

“With a fire.” I gestured to the fireplace.

“With a fire,” he agreed. “And no ants.”

Involuntarily, the image of the ant crawling across Grace's glassy eyeball flashed through my mind.

“No,” I said quickly and shook my head to dispel the image. I could feel the effects of the alcohol. In addition to the wine at the restaurant, we had consumed a bottle with dinner and were well into a third bottle. I tipped my head back against the couch and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I saw Tommy's handsome face.

“You're so good looking,” I said, fully aware of the fact that I was slurring my words.

Tommy grinned. “You're drunk.”

“I am,” I agreed happily. “How did that happen?” I stared into his eyes, unable to look away. And suddenly, the atmosphere changed. I wanted him to kiss me—I wanted it more than anything. I realized I had been waiting for it even as I feared it.

“I'm going to kiss you, now,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. “I've been waiting all night—waiting for you to be comfortable and ready. But I can't wait any longer. I need to kiss you. Is that okay?”

Still staring deeply into his eyes, I nodded and then said thickly, “I'd like that. I'd like that more than you could possibly imagine.”

He leaned closer. I could feel his warmth and smell the woody scent of him.

“Like a forest,” I murmured. “You smell deep and woody like a forest.”

“Ummm,” he said as he rubbed his cheek against mine, scratchy against smooth. His lips lightly touched my eyelids, my temples, my cheeks, and then, finally, softly, my lips. Our first kiss was light and feathery and fleeting. I gasped and I heard him laugh softly. And then he kissed me again, this time more firmly, though his lips were still gentle.

“Oh my god,” I whispered when his lips left mine. “That was amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“Could you do that again?”

“Of course,” he said and kissed me again.

I lost track of time. It could have been minutes or hours.

“Wow,” I said when we finally pulled apart. Both of us were breathing heavily.

“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” he asked.

I blushed.

“You,” I said finally.

“Me?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

“I've never kissed anyone like that before,” I admitted. “I mean . . . romantically.”

He pulled back and studied my face. “Are you telling me I'm the first guy you've kissed? Really?”

I couldn't look at him and instead focused my eyes on one of the buttons of his shirt. I nodded in embarrassment.

“I'm . . .” He seemed to struggle for words.

“I know.” My words thick from the emotion and the wine. “It's pathetic.”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, it's . . . you misunderstand. Birdie, I'm honored.”

I raised my gaze to his earnest face. “I'm honored that you chose me for your first kiss. And, I hope to be your first in other ways, too.”

“I want you to kiss me again,” I said as I closed my eyes and tipped my head slightly backward. I felt his lips again brush mine before he moved to kiss my jaw, the spot below my earlobe, my neck.

“Mmmm,” I said, amazed at the sensation.

“We're just getting started,” he said softly. “By the time I'm finished with you, you'll be begging me to stop.”

“You mean begging you
not
to stop,” I murmured with a little smile. “I'll be begging you
not
to stop.”

“No, begging me to stop.” He moved away from me and I opened my eyes to see him looking at me with a strange expression. I blinked. “You'll be begging me to stop,” he continued. “Just like Grace did that night in the clearing after we made love.”

“Tommy,” I said sharply and drew back. “That's not funny. Why would you say something like that?”

His face hardened—his laugh lines becoming chiseled parentheses around the thin slash of his mouth. There was nothing soft about him now. “Because it's true.”

“This isn't funny,” I repeated.

“It's not supposed to be funny,” he said. “We were lovers. That night—the night she died—we kissed for the first time. And then we made love—just like we're about to do.” He grinned, though there was no humor in the expression. “Oh, she said she didn't want to, but she did,” he said. “They always do. And it was beautiful. She cried out of joy and happiness. She wept with pleasure.”

“Tommy,” I said sharply, “You're scaring me. This isn't funny. Please don't play this game with me.”

“It's not a game, Birdie,” he said, his voice soft and soothing, as if he were calming a frightened animal. “Grace and I were in love. And now, you and I are in love. I'm going to make you mine forever. I thought you wanted that.”

I stood up quickly and took several clumsy steps backward.

“Tommy, you're scaring me,” I said, my voice shaky. “I think we've both had too much to drink. I would like you to leave.”

“You don't want the only man who's ever paid attention to you to leave.” He smiled and shook his head. “Not really.”

“Get out!” I yelled.

Toby, who had been asleep by the fire, jumped up at the tone of my voice and growled warily.

“Get out,” I said again. “Now.”

“But Birdie,” Tommy said, his tone placating. “I just got here. I came all this way. I didn't mind. I did it because I love you. I'm in love with you. I just wanted you to know everything about me before we got started. And I wanted to come clean about Grace. I don't want there to be any secrets between us.”

“Get out!” I yelled and pointed to the door. “Now!”

“Birdie, just let me show you how much I love you.”

He walked slowly toward me. I thrust my hands out and began to back toward the kitchen.

“Birdie,” he said softly in mock reproach. “Come here. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to love you. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? Someone to love you unconditionally? Someone to love you forever? Someone who . . . what was it?” He paused as if trying to remember. “Oh, yeah, someone who had the strength to get past your demons and see your inner beauty. Isn't that what you wanted?”

“No!” I yelled and shook my head furiously from side to side. “No! I don't want that.”

“Oh, but I think you do,” he said with a sly smile. “That's why I'm here, isn't it? I think you have some unresolved issues and we're here to work through those together.”

He shook his head sadly.

“You should have listened to your family and friends, Birdie. You should have been seeing a therapist for some time.”

“I am fine,” I spat angrily.

“Fine?” he said and cocked his head quizzically to the side. “Really? You're fine? Is that why you hear Grace in your head? Is that why you've locked yourself up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere? Is that why you invited a killer into your home for sex?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, shakily. “What do you mean?”

“You still don't get it, do you?” he asked and shook his head. “Unbelievable.” His voice became hard. “I killed Grace. And I'm going
to kill you—after we make love, of course. Which, incidentally, I need to tell you, I think you are sorely in need of. To be in your thirties and still a virgin? What's that about?” He laughed spitefully. “But maybe you were just saving yourself for me. Was that it?” He resumed his slow pursuit.

For each step he took closer, I took a step backward until I reached the darkness of the kitchen. My breath came in small, short pants. I considered trying to run and hide. But where? He could find me in the cabin. I would freeze out in the woods—and anyway, my chances of outrunning him were slim. Was this how Grace felt—trapped and vulnerable?

“Take a deep breath and stay calm.”
It was Grace.