Trinity Falls (12 page)

CHAPTER 17

“Does Quincy know you're his new neighbor?” Darius grunted.

Ean glanced briefly at his friend as Darius helped him carry his black leather sofa into the tan-and-white living room of his new town house Friday afternoon.

“I didn't tell him.” Ean wiped the sweat from his brow and straightened away from the furniture. It looked good in its new surroundings. What was even better, he'd only had to keep the furniture he'd brought from New York in storage for just over a month.

“Are you going to tell him?” Darius dropped onto the sofa.

“I'm sure we'll run into each other sooner or later.” Ean sank onto the sofa's other end.

He and Darius had been working, more or less nonstop, since seven o'clock that morning. It was close to lunchtime, and they were almost done.

Darius rolled his head on the sofa's back to face Ean. “What are you going to say to him when that happens?”

Ean swung his right ankle onto his left knee. “It's not as though Trinity Falls has a lot of housing options.”

“That's true. You had only two choices—my condo development, where there's no drama, and Quincy's townhome complex, where you'll have nothing but drama.”

Ean spread his arms. “What's he going to do? Have the management office kick me out because I broke up with the woman he's in love with?”

Darius shook his head. “It would go better if you confront the situation, instead of waiting for Quincy to trip over you.”

“I'll take that under advisement.” Ean stood. “We're almost done. Let's get the rest of the stuff so we could finish before lunch.”

Darius pushed himself off the sofa. “Now remind me again how this works?
I
take the day off from work to help you move your stuff, and you take
Megan
to dinner. Do I have that right?”

Ean ignored Darius's tone. “Who helped you move in and out of your dorm every year?”

“That was ten years ago.”

“My back has never been the same.” Ean led Darius outside to the driveway and well-manicured lawn. “But what are friends for?”

“I could at least get an invitation to dinner.”

“Three's a crowd.”

“Has anyone told Ramona you've moved?” Darius bent his knees to lift his end of the coffee table.

Ean carried the table's other end. “I'm not worried about Ramona.”

Darius grunted. “Maybe you should be.”

As he guided Darius back into the town house, he wondered whether his friend was right.

 

 

When Ean opened his front door later that afternoon, he found his mother on his doorstep.

Doreen lifted the bag of fast food and a drink carrier with two containers. “I come bearing gifts. Have you eaten?”

With a grin, Ean stepped back to allow his mother to enter. “Perfect timing.” He locked the door behind her before escorting her farther into his new home.

Doreen slowed to consider the newly furnished living room. The black leather sofa's dominance was rivaled only by the large flat-screen black television.

His mother nodded toward the TV. “That's new.”

Doreen's voice wasn't as disapproving as he'd expected. Ean's parents had discouraged watching television. When he was growing up, his family's set had been so small, if he'd actually wanted to
see
a televised sporting event, he'd had to go to Quincy's house.

Ean rubbed a hand over his mouth to mask a smile. “You're welcome to come over to watch a football game anytime.”

She inclined her head. “I may take you up on that.”

Ean's jaw dropped. Was she serious? How should he respond? He was still thinking about that when she walked away.

His mother circled the heavy mahogany coffee table. She traced the matching end table beside the sofa. Its twin stood on the opposite side. Each table supported stone lamps in modern designs.

His parents had helped him pick out his living-room set from a furniture store in Long Island. His father had saved him from his mother's selections. Every set she chose had screamed, “My mommy decorated my condo.” Was she remembering that day? He'd never forget it.

Ean cleared his throat. “That was a good day.”

“Yes, it was.” Doreen gave him a soft smile over her shoulder. “Your things suit your new home perfectly.”

“Yes, they do.” It was as though he was meant to be here.

Doreen wandered toward the dining room and another furniture set on which he and his father had outvoted her. She unpacked the fast-food bag onto the table. “I brought your favorite—burger, fries and soda. Although, how you can eat this stuff and not get fat is beyond me.”

He held the chair at the head of the table for his mother, then sank into a seat on her right. “I exercise. Besides, I don't eat like this every day.”

Doreen's gaze remained fixed on her burger as she unwrapped it. “I'm concerned that you may have felt forced out of the house. You didn't have to leave, if you weren't ready.”

Ean released his still-unwrapped burger and covered her hand with his. “I was ready, Mom. I'm thirty-two years old. I need a place of my own.”

And so did she. Ean had heard footsteps creeping down the stairs the previous night after he'd settled into bed.

“Are you sure?” Doreen's brown eyes were dark with concern.

“Positive.”

A smile touched her eyes. “Good, then I can enjoy my meal.”

Conversation about his move into the town house, her morning at Books & Bakery and the paperwork he needed to complete to establish his law practice carried them through their meal.

“Another reason I like fast food.” Ean stood and crushed the remains of their lunch into the restaurant's paper bag. “No dishes.”

He crossed to the kitchen, which was a cozy nook beside the dining room, and stuffed the garbage into the large, black heavy-duty bag he'd designated for his move-in–day trash.

Ean turned back toward the dining room—and paused. He rested his shoulder against the threshold between the kitchen nook and the dining area. He studied his mother, who was still seated at the table. “Mom, I'm glad you asked about the reason I moved out.”

“So am I, Ean.” She shifted in her chair to face him.

Doreen looked as though she'd turned back time. Her dark brown hair's soft-layered cut highlighted her classic features. Her wardrobe—hot pink jersey, light blue jeans and powder white sneakers—was even more youthful.

He took a deep breath; then he realized he was stalling. “I don't like this awkwardness between us.”

“Neither do I.”

She sensed it, too? Was that bad or worse? “How do we get past it?”

Doreen sighed. “It'll take time, Ean. Frankly, your moving out will help. We haven't lived together in fourteen years. You were a kid when you left home. You're an adult now. We have to become reacquainted.”

Ean's eyebrows shot upward. “‘Reacquainted'? I'm your son.”

Doreen smiled. “We were bound to have some conflict simply because our relationship will have to change now that you're older.”

Ean leaned more heavily against the wall. “I guess some changes aren't so bad. I hadn't realized when I returned to Trinity Falls, I'd open a practice here. I think it was the right decision.”

“I agree.”

Was there reticence in her voice? Ean swallowed his disappointment. He pushed away from the wall to sit beside her again. “Then why do you sound like you don't?”

“Ean, I
am
happy for you. But you don't need me anymore. Your father's gone. What's next for me?”

The sadness on his mother's face stabbed him in his heart. “What do you mean?”

Her tormented brown eyes stretched wide in frustration. “I'm single again after more than forty years. That's a lifetime. All of the decisions I used to make were as part of a couple. Now I have to make them by myself. I don't know who I am anymore or what I want to do. I'm still trying to figure out my next step. And the biggest decision—what do I want to do with the rest of my life—I thought I'd already made. I wanted to spend it with Paul.”

Doreen buried her face in her hands and dissolved into muffled sobs. Ean was undone. He sprang to his feet and frantically scanned the area. He hadn't unpacked. He didn't have any tissues. What should he . . . ?

Ean jogged into the bathroom and returned with the liberated roll of toilet paper. “I'm sorry.”

Doreen accepted his offering with both hands. “This is fine. I don't even know why I'm crying.” She used the quilted tissue to dry her eyes and blow her nose. “Your father and I built a good life. We raised a wonderful son.” She squeezed his arm and gave him a watery smile as he towered above her. “He's not in pain any longer. I don't have any reason to be sad.”

Ean dragged his chair closer before sitting. He took both of his mother's hands in his. “You're crying because you miss him. I miss him, too.”

Doreen drew one hand from Ean's grasp and cupped the side of his face. “He was so proud of you.”

“And I'm proud of both of you. Look at what you've already accomplished, Mom. The bakery's a huge success.”

“A bakery is a thing, Ean. It doesn't need me. If I walked away from it tomorrow, no one would notice.”

Ean disagreed. A lot of people would notice. But he didn't think his mother wanted to hear that now. Instead, words from his childhood returned to him. “Whatever you decide you want to do, Mom, I'll support you.”

“That sounds like something Paul would say.” Doreen's chuckle was unsteady.

“He did. On more than one occasion.”

Doreen squeezed his hand. “Thank you. I really needed to hear that now.”

Ean kissed her cheek. “You'll figure it out.”

“I have to.” Doreen's chin trembled once before she controlled it. She checked her wristwatch. “I'd better get back to work.”

Ean escorted her to the driveway. “Thanks again for lunch.” He helped her into her car.

“You're welcome.”

Ean straightened to watch his mother drive away. He wished he knew how to help her. But as she'd said, it was her life and she needed to make her own decisions. All he could do was support them.

CHAPTER 18

The back door's bell summoned Ean from the books he was stacking onto his dining-room bookcase. He straightened from his crouched position and crossed to the door.

“Ramona?” Ean couldn't believe his eyes. Her presence at his back door seemed surreal. “How did you know where to find me?”

“It's a small town, Ean. You know that.” She adjusted her shoulders under her winter coat. The material hung in fluid lines over her curves to her midcalf. “May I come in?”

Ean stepped back. “I don't have any refreshments to offer you. I haven't made it to the grocery store yet.”

Ramona strutted across the dining room. “It's kind of small.”

Ean locked the back door. “It's bigger than your condo.”

Ramona stopped in the center of the living room and looked around. “It probably seems that way because you have two floors.”

It seems that way because it's true.
Ean followed her into the living room. “What are you doing here?”

Ramona turned to face him. “I brought you a housewarming present. Me.”

She unbelted her coat and allowed it to fall to the ground. Ramona was barely clothed in matching skimpy, see-through smoky black bra and panties, that left nothing to the imagination. Her figure was even more enticing today than it had been seven years before. But Ean preferred to make love to the person, not the body. And Ramona didn't appeal to him as she once had.

Ean met her gaze. This was awkward. “I'm flattered by your offer, but no, thank you.”

A myriad of reactions chased across Ramona's fair features—confusion, disbelief and shock—before she settled on anger.

“What?” Her octaves could peel the paint from the walls. “I'm not offering you cheese.”

“I'm aware of that.”

“I don't think you are.” She twisted open the front clasp of her bra, then peeled the cups apart. Her creamy breasts bounced free. Ramona allowed the scrap of fabric to land silently on the ground.

“Put your clothes back on.”

She stepped forward. “Make me.”

Ean clamped his hands around her upper arms and held her still. “I'm not playing games, Ramona. You and I are through.”

“No, we're not. You came back to Trinity Falls for me.”

“No, I didn't.” What made her think that?

“You may not realize it yet, but you did. I know you were lonely in New York. I never should have left you. But we can go back together and you won't be lonely anymore.”

Ean stared at her. “Ramona, I don't know how you made those conclusions. I came back to Trinity Falls because it's my home and I'm staying here. If you want to move to a big city, talk with Quincy. He's interviewing for a job in Philadelphia.”

“What is wrong with you?” Ramona ripped free of Ean's grasp. “Why are you throwing away everything that we had? Who cares about
Philadelphia
? We were going to make it big in
New York.
”

Ean crossed his arms over his chest. “I've accomplished all I needed to in New York. If you'd like a shot at the city, be my guest. But I'm
not
going with you.”

Her eyes flared with fury. “You don't have anything to keep you here. Your father's dead and your mother's sleeping with your high school football coach.”

Ean hung onto his tattered temper with both hands. “Get dressed. And get out.”

He held Ramona's glare with his own until she broke eye contact and snatched her coat off his carpet.

With stiff movements, Ramona put on the coat and belted it. “You're a fool.”

“Are you done?” He couldn't take seriously criticism from a woman without the courage to go for her own dreams.

Ramona tightened the belt around her waist. “You'll never be happy here. You can't be. Trinity Falls couldn't hold you when you were eighteen. What makes you think you can come back to it now?”

When Ean didn't respond, Ramona shoved past him. The gesture didn't even rock him on his heels. He tracked Ramona's progress to his back door. She slammed the door so hard, he wondered it didn't crack the window beside it. With any luck, this would be his last awkward encounter with her.
And, hopefully, she'll set her sights on someone else.
Quincy might be just the calming influence she needed.

 

 

“It smells wonderful.” Megan didn't try to hide her surprise. She leaned against one of the counters in Ean's kitchen, sipping iced tea with plenty of lemons, just the way she liked it.

“Thanks.” Ean smiled over his shoulder. Her heart sighed.

“Are you sure you don't need any help?”

“I've got it.”

Fine. Then she'd just enjoy the view, which was also very fine. Muscles moved across Ean's broad back under his black jersey as he stirred the pasta sauce. The image reminded her of the feel of his strength under her fingers last night.

Her gaze trailed down his back to his tight waist and taut buttocks. Megan's palms itched at the memory of those hard muscles as well. Her study continued to his long, lean legs covered in coffee-colored khakis. Last night, she'd wrapped her limbs around his legs and drawn him tighter to her. She bit back a moan as those memories flooded her body. How would tonight end?

Megan took a long drink of her iced tea to ease her dry throat.

She wandered into the living room. “How's your unpacking going?”

“Faster than I'd thought.” Ean's voice carried into the other room. “I'm ready to get on with my life now that I finally know what I'm doing.”

That was Ean. He wasn't impulsive, but he'd always been impatient—to grow up, to move away, to move on. Was he really going to settle down in Trinity Falls? If so, with whom?

Megan crossed back into the dining room. “We'd love to have you as a member of the Trinity Falls Town Center Business Owners Association.”

“Have you ever considered shortening that name?”

“If we did, would you join the group?”

“What does it do?” He measured spaghetti into the pot of boiling water.

Just the sight of his large hands brought back memories of last night. She sipped more iced tea. “We promote the town center, address its maintenance and resolve any other issues.”

Ean turned away from the stove. “‘Issues'? Like the town council putting the center on the market?”

She had his undivided attention. His olive eyes regarded her with interest. It took a moment to collect her scattered thoughts. “And Ramona's plans to gentrify the center.”

“How's she going to do that?” Ean's expression was part amusement, part confusion.

Megan spread her arms. “Even she doesn't know. But we're concerned for our businesses. We're also concerned for the town.”

“Why?”

“If the council members change the character of the town center, what types of stores will they bring in? Will those stores still meet the town's needs?”

“Those are very good questions.”

Megan waited for something more than Ean's verbal pat on the head. “Did you read Darius's article?”

“Yes.” He took two dinner plates from an open packing box on the marble-tiled flooring to wash and dry them.

She swallowed her exasperation. “Do you agree that there's a cause for concern?”

“Definitely.” Ean placed the plates on the counter beside the stove.

Megan waited. “And?”

“What?” Ean pulled silverware from another packed box and cleaned them.

Was he being deliberately obtuse? “Would you like to be a member of the business owners association?”

“Sure.” Ean shrugged. “It sounds like an important group.”

Megan shook her head and swallowed a laugh. After all that prodding, Ean made the decision to join the business group seem like a no-brainer. They spent the rest of the pasta preparation talking about the association, Books & Bakery and the tasks Ean had to complete before officially opening his practice.

Their conversation continued through dinner. She helped him clear the table, but Ean insisted on loading the dishwasher and scrubbing the pots and pans himself.

Megan wandered over to his narrow maple wood bookcase and scanned the titles. “When did you develop an interest in biographies? You used to love science fiction.”

“I like a lot of different genres—mysteries, classics, nonfiction. I still read sci-fi.”

“No romance?”

He chuckled. “No.”

Megan looked toward the doorway, surprised that Ean had approached without her hearing him. She pulled a book from one of the shelves. “Did you like
The Odyssey
?”

“Very much.”

She returned the novel to the bookcase. “Then you enjoy romance.”

He walked over to her and stood so close. “I never said I didn't
enjoy
romance.”

His voice was low and rough and elicited a reaction from her she couldn't put into words. It was a feeling she'd never had before.

Megan swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. “Can you take anything seriously?”

“Let's see.” He lowered his mouth to hers. Megan sighed. This was what she'd been waiting for all evening . . . all day. Her eyelids drifted closed and she inhaled deeply. Ean's scent—musk and soap—clouded her judgment. His taste thrilled her—pasta and spice. His corded arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer to his long, lean warmth. Megan was on sensory overload. She pressed even harder to Ean, pushing her breasts against his muscled chest.

Ean lifted his head, then trailed hot kisses down the side of her neck. “Is this serious enough for you?” His voice was a powerful aphrodisiac.

“Oh yes.” Megan could barely breathe much less talk.

He chuckled deep in his throat. The sound vibrated down her body to her thighs. Megan traced his ear with her tongue, then bit its lobe. Ean's lips traveled farther down her neck. He licked her collarbone and Megan shivered from the inside out.

She tipped back her head and breathed slowly. Megan dragged her fingers across the vast expanse of his shoulders. Her nipples tightened as his heat burned her through his black jersey. She followed the rigid line of his spine, until she found the waistband of his khakis. She needed to feel his skin against hers, nothing in between them.

Megan tugged Ean's jersey from his pants and slipped her palms up his back. His muscles quivered beneath her touch. Her mouth went dry. Memories of last night made her damp and hot.

Ean swept her into his arms. Megan's eyes popped open as he carried her to the sofa in two long strides.

She looked up at his sharp, tense features. “I could have walked.”

His gaze scorched her. “This was faster.”

Ean toed off his shoes and lowered her to her feet. Megan stopped him before he moved them to the sofa. Wordlessly, she helped him pull off his jersey. The sight of his bare burnt sienna chest made her swallow. She trailed her fingers through the light layer of crisp hairs that covered his pecs and led into his waistband. Holding his gaze, Megan tugged off his belt and popped open the button of his pants.

Ean lay on the sofa, luring her down on top of him. Megan didn't take much coaxing. She was so hot—she could have burned to ashes. He drew her head down to his. Megan parted her lips for their kiss . . . but a deeper shadow on the beige carpet in front of the mahogany coffee table snatched her attention.

She pulled away from Ean. “What's that?” A warning stirred in the back of her mind.

“What?” Ean sounded as though he was still in the moment.

Megan stretched down to rescue the flimsy, see-through material. She straddled Ean as she held the bit of cloth in front of her. Megan had never seen the bra before, but she knew instantly to whom it belonged. Ean's expression of surprised dismay confirmed her fears.

“How could you?” Megan hadn't felt so inadequate since she'd been fourteen and had opened her bedroom door to find Ean and Ramona kissing in the hallway. She struggled to get away from him.

Ean clamped a hand on her left leg. “Megan, wait a—”

“Don't touch me.” She snarled like a wounded wild animal and flung Ramona's bra in his face. Ean dropped his hand and she scrambled off him.

Ean rose to his feet beside her. “Megan, will you please wait a minute?”

She spun toward him. “You knew I didn't want to get involved with you until you broke up with Ramona.”

“We have broken up.”

“Really?” She snatched Ramona's bra from the carpet and shook it under his nose. “Then whose
bra
is this, and
how
did it end up beside the very same sofa on which we were
making love
?”

Ean cupped her fist. “I didn't invite her here. I didn't invite her to take off her clothes, either.”

“Oh, my God.” Megan wrenched her hand free. She spun on her heel and marched to the coat closet near the front door.

Ean followed her. “Megan, nothing happened.”

“Oh, I'm sure.” Megan closed her eyes and shook her head to rid her brain of the image of that bit-of-nothing black bra. “My cousin came to your townhome, took off her clothes in front of you, re-dressed, then left—
without anything happening.
But somehow she left her
bra
behind, right next to your sofa.” She yanked open the closet door, shrugged into her coat and snatched her purse. “That sort of thing happens to
everyone. All the time.
”