The Driven Snowe (14 page)

“I know you. You're persistent.” Adam let out a little half laugh. “You'll make it work. If I had to put money on anybody making a relationship fly, it'd be you. You just need to get a grip on it mentally, that's all. Decide if it's really what you want. From what I've seen, love is never easy.” He grew more serious. “I mean it. Really, really make sure it's what you want.”

“I don't know. I think it's what I want. I mean, why wouldn't it be, right?” He sighed. “I don't know.”

“When you
do
know,” Adam said, getting up, “get out of here and find her, would ya? Telling me your conclusions isn't going to help you a damned bit.” He gave him a pat on the shoulder and headed back toward the crowd.

Josh watched him walk away, wearing a broad, dashing smile, tickling some brunette in a miniscule bikini while winking at the redhead standing next to her. You never would have guessed that not one minute ago, he'd been bitterly revealing the love he'd lost. Suddenly, Adam's serial dating habits made perfect sense.

A lot more sense than his own perpetual bachelordom, now that Josh thought about it.

What are you afraid of?

Several hours later, after hanging out with the crowd, socializing, he still didn't have an answer. He was doing all the things he'd done as a “single” guy…joking with the guys, talking with various women. He missed this, he realized—relaxing, hanging out with friends. He'd been too intent on catching Angela to spend time on much else, other than work.

Maybe I'm afraid of losing this—my friends, my lifestyle.

But that didn't seem right, either. He still hung out with Adam, and thanks to Angela's aggressive schedule, he had plenty of time on his own. He'd stopped going to the bar because of the women—he'd started to come to that conclusion when he met Angela, that first night. So that wasn't it.

So what
was
it?

He was sipping a soda by the barbecue, deep in his own thoughts, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“What are you doing, sitting here all by yourself?”

Josh looked over. Shelly was standing there, in a red bathing suit that was very low cut or high cut, depending on which end you were observing. She filled it out very, very well. He noticed that she wore lipstick that exactly matched the shade of her bathing suit.
That's weird. Won't it wear off as soon as she gets wet?

He thought, immediately, of Angela, dripping wet from last night. She'd worn very little makeup to begin with, but he'd thought that gleaming and damp, she was one of the most breathtaking things he'd ever seen.

“Sorry?” He realized Shelly had continued talking, and he hadn't paid any attention to her at all.

“I said, are you all right? You look under the weather.”

He smiled. The least he could do was to be social. He motioned to a lounge chair next to him. “Just got a lot on my mind, that's all. How have you been? I didn't realize you'd be here.”

“Adam invited me. Got my own place,” she said, and the pride in her voice was apparent. “So things are looking up. Now I just want to get out a little more.” She shot him a sideways look. “You know, you'd mentioned we should go out to lunch. Adam's already taken me out twice.”

“He always did know a good thing when he saw it. Besides, we're business partners. It's just like having lunch with me.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “Not really. But it's been nice to go out, anyway.”

“You're too kind.” He smiled again, genuinely glad
to hear she was doing so much better. “We'll have to do that, then.”

“When?” Her eyes studied him, almost hungrily.

“Um, soon,” he said, a little disconcerted.

She smiled, and he wondered if maybe he'd imagined the whole thing. “Okay. No pressure.”

No pressure.
Man, wasn't that ironic? That's what he was looking for. The ability to figure out how he felt about Angela without any pressure. But whatever he felt about her, it was strong. “Are you
sure
you're okay?” Shelly asked again. Now her eyes looked concerned.

He nodded, slowly. “Just sort of wrestling with a problem.”

“You're at a party,” she said, leaning a little closer to him. He noticed her cleavage being thrust at him, and leaned away a bit. “Relax. Enjoy.”

“I'm working on it.”

They talked for a good half hour. Josh gradually relaxed—it was nice, he thought. A nice change of pace.

Who are you kidding? You could be at home, in bed, with Angela.

It was still nice, granted. But it wasn't where he really wanted to be. What, did he need to be hit with a signpost or something?

Shelly laughed her musical little giggle, and he tried to think of a pleasant way to break off the conversation so he could go collect Angela, and spend the rest of the day with her. And the rest of the night, he thought with a wry smile.

“I will say this—working at the Travel Center has given me hope, as a single woman,” she said, still smil
ing at him. “There was this one woman—pretty enough, but she looked so
rigid.
She was like one of those schoolmarms in the Old West. I mean, her shirt was buttoned up to
here.
”

She pointed to a spot right at the hollow of her throat. Josh could understand her amazement. He liked Shelly, but he doubted she had ever worn anything buttoned up to
there.

“And her hair—she had great hair, too, nice long brown hair, but she had it pulled back in a ponytail so tight, it hurt me to look at it.”

Suddenly, Josh started paying sharp attention to the conversation. He felt a little nervous twinge starting up in his stomach.

“So I'm expecting her to buy tickets back East or something, to visit some sick relative. Maybe even go to a quilting convention. But instead, she tells me she wants to book a six-week trip to Italy!” She laughed, not noticing that Josh didn't join her. “Stopping in Milan, then taking the train to Florence. She'll probably wind up all over the place. I know it sounds terribly stereotypical, but I swear, to look at her, you'd never guess that she was doing all this exciting stuff.”

“You know what they say. Looks are deceiving,” he said. “You don't mean Angela Snowe, do you?”

Her eyes widened. “You're kidding!” she said. “Do you know her?”

“A little bit,” he said, casually. “She works at the Manzanita Public Library.”

“A librarian!” she said, laughing. “Oh, that's perfect!”

He ground his teeth together for a minute, not wanting to scare her with the simmering burst of temper he
was currently suppressing. “You know,” he said, when he could trust that his voice would stay calm and casual sounding, “she mentioned she was going on a trip, but I don't remember when.”

“Oh, not till October. It's cheaper in the off-season.”

“When did she book that again?” He felt like throttling somebody. “Fairly recently, right?”

“About a month ago, I guess,” she said, shrugging. “I can't believe—well, I guess I can believe you know her. Even with its Blockbuster and its Starbucks, Manzanita's still a small town at heart.”

“Too small,” he agreed, feeling the anger beating at his head like a hammer. “Would you excuse me? I suddenly remembered something I've got to take care of. Right now.”

 

A
NGELA SAT DOWN
on her sofa with a flop. She took a deep breath as she surveyed her apartment. It was spotless, and though she was tired, she was feeling much, much better. Definitely better than she had when she'd walked into her apartment that morning.

She'd been letting her housework slip a little. Not that it had been keeping her up nights, or anything—she'd barely noticed it with the breakneck pace she'd been keeping lately, between classes, her friends and Josh. But she had the whole day to herself, so she attacked the dust bunnies and dishes with a vengeance as she put on her favorite Mighty Mighty Bosstones CD and cranked up the volume. She even mopped the kitchen floor and vacuumed. Now, as she contemplated her clean environment, she finally let her mind settle on the issue she'd been assiduously avoiding.

So what are you going to do about Josh?

She fought the sudden urge to do something else—deice her freezer, say, or maybe organize her sock drawer like she'd always meant to do. She was just dodging the issue at hand, and it was a biggie.

She thought she handled this morning very maturely, but that still hadn't stopped her from being upset the whole way home. She didn't know what was going on with her. She liked spending time with him—after a day like yesterday, who wouldn't?—but that didn't mean she wanted to be joined at the hip with him. Hadn't she always made a point of keeping her class schedule, even if the temptation had been to go to a Wednesday evening movie with him or maybe dinner one Thursday night? So why was she expecting him to drop everything he was doing, just to spend time with her?

Because I thought he'd want to, that's why.

It was always
her
running, before—
she
had something to do,
she
didn't want to get close. If he suddenly understood her desire for them to have separate lives, and chose to assert it today, it certainly wasn't something she could blame him for. She ought to be thankful he'd finally understood her point.

She groaned. Not that it made her feel better, but logically, it made a lot of sense.

She got up, heading for the fridge. She had a ton of Chinese food, so naturally she had no interest in eating any of it. She wanted something comforting, something that had nothing to do with her classes. Ideally, something that had nothing to do with vegetables. After a second's thought, she went to her freezer and rooted through (
really need to deice this,
her mind made a last ditch effort) until she found what she was looking
for—a hidden cache of tiramisu ice cream. She tore off the lid, took a spoonful, and sighed.

After making a fair dent in the container, she felt calmer, more herself. She'd gotten a lot done today without thinking once of Josh. She'd gotten herself under control. She was starting to worry about how much she was thinking of him, and caring about what he thought. She was getting way too
involved.
She needed to be more careful, anyway. If she kept going like this, she'd get so involved that she'd probably wind up canceling all of her classes—or getting so emotionally wound up that she'd sterilize her entire apartment, just because he didn't call.

I am independent. I am independent. I am independent.

She smiled. She'd just have a little bit more from the carton, and then maybe hunker down with the Bridget Jones sequel. She didn't need a man to make her feel validated, dammit. She had ice cream and a clean house!

She was just getting ready to read her book when there was a knock on the door. Her heart leapt for a brief instant, before she chastised herself for the reaction. It wasn't going to be him, she told herself. She never saw him on Sunday evenings…

She opened the door, and there he was. He was still wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and still looked just as good in them. His eyes were intensely flashing sapphires, and he had just the slightest growth of beard. He looked almost dangerous—and very, very hot.

“Josh!” Her heart, the traitor that it was, started dancing a mamba in her chest. She couldn't stop the smile from spreading widely across her face, either.
Will I always react this way when I haven't seen him for a
couple of hours? It's ridiculous, but it just doesn't seem to go away.
“I wasn't expecting…”

“You're going to
Italy?
”

She blinked. “Um, yes. Well, I'm strongly considering it, anyway…”

“You bought the ticket.” His voice was like magma, spilling out in scorching, destructive syllables. “You bought the goddamn ticket, and you didn't even tell me. I had to find out from your goddamn travel agent at Adam's party!”

She felt her heart still, and her body went cold. She stared at him for a moment.

“Let me get this straight,” she said in a low voice, ice to his fire. “You spent the day at Adam's party, found out I've made travel arrangements to go to Italy without telling you, and then drove over here?”

He nodded. “After all the time we've spent together, I frankly expected more from you than this,” he said sharply. “I thought I meant more to you than this.”

Oh, this is rich.
She just stared at him for a minute or two in disbelief.

“So?” he said finally, all but shaking with impatience.

“So, what?”

His eyes widened. “So, you want to explain this to me?”

It surprised a chuckle out of her, causing his scowl to deepen. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I went to the Travel Center. When you go to a place like the Travel Center, you get a travel agent—that's somebody who helps you with things like airplane tickets and…”

“Very funny,” he snapped. “When were you planning on telling me you were going to Italy?”

“I didn't know,” she replied coolly. “What apparently my indiscreet but terribly helpful travel agent neglected to mention was that I deliberately paid more to get fully refundable tickets—in case something came up, and I couldn't go. For all I know, my friend Bethany is going to have to go on some photo shoot somewhere, and I'll be out of a place to stay unless I book a hotel. You see my dilemma?”

He paused, and she saw his eyes lose some of their fire. “Oh. I didn't realize…”

“No, apparently you didn't.” And yet he'd come over here, full of ire, ready to rip at her for doing something without his approval. After leaving her to her own devices all day—and after giving her such a wonderful time the day before.