Want Me (3 page)

Nate knew it was Shannon behind him, but her voice was as grown-up as the woman herself. Despite his complete and total awareness that she was no longer a child, his memories were in flux. He peeked out from the pantry to see her in her belted robe, her hair hanging over her right shoulder.

It shouldn’t have been real, that color, but it was. They’d gone to Coney Island or out to the seashore, and no one ever got lost because all they had to do was look for that firecracker hair in the crowd.

Of course, she’d always gotten sunburned, even after Mrs. Fitz slathered her with goop. Nothing could protect that white skin, not umbrellas, not T-shirts, not the awful zinc on her nose.

“Oh.” Her hand went to her hair, then just as quickly lowered. “You’re here.”

He came out of the pantry. “Just arrived. Currently on table-setting duty.”

“My mother’s a slave driver.”

“I heard that, missy. You’d best get your coffee and get dressed. We have a houseful to feed.”

Shannon turned to her mom standing by the stove. “There isn’t one person in this house who isn’t capable of fixing their own lunch. Not one.” She had her hands on her hips, and Nate was taken aback again that she’d developed so many curves. It didn’t seem possible. But then, he’d done some changing, too.

“You know your brothers. Left to their own devices, they’ll eat nothing but garbage.”

“Then that’s what they deserve. Garbage.” She turned back to Nate. “Don’t bother asking who buys the candy and chips and cookies and cake and every horrible, calorie- and fat-laden food in New York.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

“Then you learned something hanging around here all those years.”

“That your mother is generous and wants her sons to be happy? Yeah, I got that one.”

Mrs. Fitz nodded and kept on stirring what smelled like beef stew. Shannon smiled at him, patted his arm and went to the big coffee urn that took up half of the completely inadequate counter.

The house was huge, but that was mostly in height. Eight- and nine-foot ceilings, but small rooms. The old oak table where he’d eaten countless bowls of oatmeal dwarfed the breakfast nook. Even the living room barely fit the furniture. How many games he’d watched on those covered couches and chairs. He couldn’t begin to guess. Didn’t matter what season, if there was a game on anywhere on television, the Fitzgerald men were glued to it.

And there’d been snacks followed by huge dinners of meat and potatoes and enough cabbage to choke a horse. “That’s what’s missing,” he said.

Danny, who was now pouring his coffee, Shannon, who was drinking hers, and Mrs. Fitz were all staring.

“Cabbage,” he said, only then realizing he’d made a strategic error. He couldn’t very well announce that he’d missed the stink. “I’m looking forward to some nice corned beef and cabbage soon, Mrs. Fitz. I still think about it all these years later.”

“Well, you’ll have it as you’re staying more than a week,” she answered, turning back to the heavy pot. “And since we had the new exhaust put in, it doesn’t make the house smell to holy hell.”

He grinned and shook his head. This was so much better than a hotel. He should have thought of asking to stay before he’d left Indonesia.

“Danny tells me you work with refugees,” Mrs. Fitz said as she wiped her hands on a tea towel.

“Most of the time, yeah.” Large white plates were put in his hands, and Danny led him to the table carrying a bunch of silverware. “I work for The International Rescue Committee. They set my agenda.”

“Well, don’t stop.” Mrs. Fitz waved impatiently for him to continue. “Tell us what that means.”

“I show up after a natural disaster and help plan and implement redevelopment. We try to recreate villages and towns as much as we can, even if a new design would be better. It’s disorienting having everything you know ripped away in a tsunami or an earthquake. So we study old pictures, drawings and blueprints and figure out how to give people back their equilibrium first, then we add a few extras.”

Shannon wasn’t drinking even though her cup was at her mouth, and she wasn’t even standing near her mom and yet he was watching her. He found Mrs. Fitz again. “It’s challenging work, but very satisfying.”

“I can’t imagine.”

She couldn’t, Nate was sure of it. Not the conditions, not the sweat, the devastation, the utter anguish in every breath.

It was suddenly quiet, a rare thing in the Fitzgerald household, and he wished he hadn’t gone into detail. No, it wasn’t a pretty picture and better that people understood that not everyone enjoyed a comfortable middle-class life, but Shannon’s empathetic expression both pleased him and made him want to kick himself.

Mrs. Fitz finally broke the silence. “Take Nate upstairs, Shannon. He hasn’t seen the changes yet.”

“Now?” Shannon said.

“You’d rather wait and let the food get cold?”

“Come on,” she said to Nate. “I’ll give you a tour.” One hand had a death grip on her coffee mug, the other was in her robe pocket. “You’re going to love what Mom did with Danny’s room.”

“Hey,” Danny said. “He’s supposed to be helping me set the table. And my room’s a mess.”

“You’ve only been here one night,” Mrs. Fitz said. “What have you done?”

“Nothing, Ma. Nothing to worry about.”

Nate had no problem leaving Danny to finish the job by himself, and even less of a problem following Shannon up the stairs. He wanted to check out the pictures that had dotted the old ivy wallpaper, but he ended up watching the sway of her hips instead.

3

S
HE
’
D
BEEN
ONE
OF
THOSE
kids who loved the limelight, who glowed when she danced and sang and posed. Nate had been roped into attending far too many of her recitals and pageants. He’d been bored out of his gourd, but he’d gone. He and Danny had done their best to cause trouble, and they’d usually succeeded. So it hadn’t been all for nothing. But she’d never swayed like that.

Shannon led him to Danny’s old room, where Nate had spent the night hundreds of times. She grinned as she pushed the door open, and he peeked before stepping in.

“A sewing room?”

“Not just a sewing room,” Shannon said, nudging him forward. “A library, a tea room, a knitting parlor and a quiet room. Mostly a place to escape from the heathens and their games.”

“I didn’t know your mother sewed. Or knit. Or read.”

“She’s…expanding her horizons,” Shannon said, although there was more to it than that if he correctly read her raised brows.

“Has she retired?”

“Yep, she still does the books for the plant when I’m swamped, but she decided when Brady took over as manager that she was going to spend time on things that weren’t cooking or cleaning.”

Speaking of, Danny’s clothes were spread over a very comfortable-looking recliner, what probably was a daybed when it wasn’t a mess of linens, and even over the doorknob of the closet. “At least one of your brothers hasn’t changed.”

Shannon leaned toward Nate and lowered her voice, her breath warm and sweet touching his skin. “He’s actually doing really well at the advertising firm. Don’t tell him I said so, but he’s good. He’s got a gift.”

Too busy inhaling her scent, he almost missed his cue. “Okay, I must be in the wrong house. You? Saying nice things about Danny?”

“It’s probably because I don’t see him very often. Absence makes my tolerance stronger.”

“I don’t think that’s how that saying’s supposed to go.”

“It’s true, though,” she said, eyeing the pile of yarn that had been pushed to the side. “Be warned. You won’t leave here without at least a half-dozen new wool scarves.”

“I’m working in Indonesia. The average yearly temperature is eighty degrees with ninety-percent humidity.”

“As if that’ll dissuade her. Oh, and they’ll be hideous colors, too.”

“I look forward to it.”

“No, you don’t,” she said as she went back to the hallway. “But you can give them away. They are definitely warm.”

“What about your room?”

“Mine? It’s still too small.”

“I’d like to see it,” he said.

For a long stretch of barely breathing, Shannon stared at him, her lips parted. Then she moistened them, the tip of her tongue taking a nervous swipe. “Why?” she asked finally.

“Why?” Shit, he felt as if he were twelve again, caught trying to snatch a peek at Mr. Fitz’s
Playboy.
“I’m curious about grown-up Shannon’s natural habitat.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s two doors down.”

“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, wondering if crashing here was the right decision. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel. Which was probably more convenient. The real problem was Shannon. He hadn’t expected her, not this version. “Is this going to be too weird?”

“What?” she asked, widening her eyes, but she didn’t fool him for a minute. Her pupils were dilated and the pulse at the side of her neck beat as fast as his own.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

“Don’t be silly.” She laid a hand on his arm, then proved his point by withdrawing a moment too quickly. “We’ll practically have the whole floor to ourselves. Brady’s room is down the hall but he spends most nights at his girlfriend’s place.”

He had no business being so pleased about that last fact. No business at all.

* * *

F
OR
EVERYONE
’
S
SAKE
SHE
HAD
to snap out of this case of nerves and act naturally. So he wanted to see her bedroom. Not only was she making too much of it, but it also wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen it before. Usually with her screaming at him and Danny to get out and stay out, or yelling for her mom, or throwing something that was handy. But it wasn’t a little girl’s room anymore, and he wasn’t that Nate.

He paused as they reached her door. “It occurs to me I should have asked about this first. As in giving you warning, and not just, hey, I want to see your room.”

She smiled. “I’m not like the savages. My room is neat enough for surprise visits.” She saw the uncertainty flicker in his eyes, and she shrugged. “I think it’s going to take us all some time to adjust.”

He turned. “You think we’ll still like each other?”

“Still? I don’t think we ever liked each other,” Shannon said. “But then we were kids, and being my brother’s best friend, it was your duty to torment me.”

“And now?”

She looked into his warm, direct gaze and her body tightened. “Annoy me and I’ll short-sheet your bed.”

“Ah, so the room comes with maid service.” Nate grinned, making him seem more like the boy she remembered and she relaxed a bit.

“Dream on.” She moved to her closed door, her hand on the knob. “Go ask Mom about maid service. See what she says.”

Nate winced and acted as if he’d been wounded. “You are trying to get rid of me. I don’t know why your parents put up with me to begin with.”

“Because they’re big old softies. They don’t even ask for me or Brady to pay rent, and when I started paying them anyway, I discovered they were putting my checks into a savings account for me.”

“That’s nice.”

“My point exactly. With the benefit of hindsight, I believe they thought you needed the security of a big family.”

He smiled, but it was more out of pathos than anything else. “My folks tried. They did. They loved us. They didn’t have a gift for child rearing.”

“Then isn’t it good you had a backup plan?”

“Brilliant, even in third grade.”

“Now I’m seeing the old Nate.” She felt more like herself, as if they’d turned a corner. Not a huge one, but enough to start with. “So, ready for the reveal? God, it’s hard to admit I still live here, even though it’s becoming common again for people my age, no thanks to the recession.”

“I like that you do. You’ve always been connected to your clan. I envy that.”

“Depends on why I do it.” She opened her door and stepped back to let him in.

He didn’t go far, only a few steps, but she noticed he looked at everything. Her queen bed with the pastel sheets, the hint of lilac on the walls and in the reading chair. She wondered if he remembered the posters of all those boy bands, and Doogie Howser and Jonathan Taylor Thomas. Everything had been pink back then and had ruffles. There’d been a canopy, naturally, and stuffed animals. An entire display case of her tiaras and trophies from being Little Miss Gramercy Park and Little Miss Manhattan, and more than a dozen others. Some were still on display in the living room alongside the boys’ sports awards.

“I was right,” Nate said.

“About?”

“Your good taste. Although the room’s not quite the same without that framed picture of Leonardo DiCaprio.”

“Who was all of fourteen at the time.”

He went to one of the pictures on the wall. It wasn’t anything fancy. She’d found it at a local art festival, and she’d spent more on the frame than the picture. It was an ordinary bedroom, small and neat, and filled with light. There was an open book on the bedside table, a shawl left draped on a big chair. It was cozy and quiet, not something she’d felt often growing up.

“I don’t spend a lot of time in houses anymore,” he said. “Or beds. I’m lucky to get a cot sometimes. I’ve even gotten used to hammocks.”

“What drew you away, Nate? Danny said you’d wanted to help after the tsunami, but he never said why.”

Nate turned, and he looked so good, so content. He was wearing jeans, a Henley shirt, boots. She could picture him doing errands, getting his hands dirty. But once he’d grown out of his terrible years, before he’d gone away, she remembered him as a reader. He’d liked architecture and didn’t seem unhappy that he was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps. She’d been surprised at his humanitarian streak.

That sounded kind of awful when she thought about it so bluntly, but she’d never seen him go out of his way much. Admittedly, her perspective had been limited.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think I was running to as much as I was running from.”

“Was it so bad?”

“No. It’s not as if I was abused or mistreated or anything like that. I don’t know. I guess I had read too many books about adventures. I wanted some of my own before I settled down.”

“From the looks of it you’re not done yet.”

“Nope. Not yet.”

“How will you know?” she asked.

“When, you mean?”

Shannon nodded.

“No idea. I don’t think too far into the future, to tell you the truth. Everything is so immediate and real in a way I have a hard time describing. It’s interesting to be back here, to shift my perspective.” He touched the edge of her bed. “I like your room. It’s calm, and it’s pretty, but there’s still you all over it.”

She would have liked to have asked him more about his other life, but she went with the program. “What do you mean, me all over it?”

He walked over to her dresser. “Playbills, perfume, ticket stubs, lectures. I’m surprised you didn’t end up on the stage. You loved it so much as a kid.”

“Some people would say I’ve made my life a stage.”

“What would you say?”

She waved the comment away with her free hand. “Sales, marketing. It’s all just acting, isn’t it? Anyway, I imagine Mom is getting antsy. We should go down.”

He nodded, but turned to take another sweeping look at her small room. “It’s home but it isn’t,” Nate said softly.

Shannon wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or himself. “What?”

“I’m glad I’m here. I’d forgotten I had memories I wanted to keep.”

“About New York?”

“No. This house. This family. You.”

“Me? I was the pain-in-the-ass Princess. What would you want to remember about that?”

“You were the prettiest little girl I’d ever known. By the time I was getting ready for NYU, you’d gotten even more beautiful. Now, you’re…”

She could feel the blush again and realized it was going to be a problem. “I’m…?”

He inhaled deeply. “We should go eat.” He walked past her and out the door.

Shannon touched her cheeks, willing them to cool off, wondering what had just happened.

* * *

N
ATE
HAD
WOKEN
UP
BEFORE
the alarm. He’d adjusted to the time change, being in the Northern Hemisphere, and the sounds of the city. He hadn’t done as well with adjusting to the beds.

At the hotel he’d never found the sweet spot, so those nights had been crappy. Myles’s bed was even worse. It sagged in the middle, so no matter where he started, he ended up sinking, his back curving unnaturally. While in the hottest shower he could stand, he’d debated changing rooms after Danny left, but that would be weird seeing as it was now Mrs. Fitz’s sanctuary.

So, he’d work in a couple of massages while he was here. The shower had helped get the kinks out, but now he was running late. He finished shaving, then wiped the shaving cream away. Making sure the towel around his waist was secure, he opened the bathroom door and bumped right into Shannon.

He decided to ignore that his startled squeak was almost the same pitch as Shannon’s. “Sorry, sorry.”

She’d backed up a couple of steps, pulling the top of her robe together. “No, I just didn’t expect…”

Her gaze had gone from his face to his chest. And stayed there. He checked. The towel hadn’t fallen.

She let go of her robe to gesture at his body, at least from the neck down. “When did all that happen?”

He chuckled. He’d been a skinny kid, but he’d done a great deal of hard manual labor overseas, and when there were lulls, he kept himself ready. He returned her gesture, although his wave was focused more around the breast area. “When did all that happen?”

“Point taken,” she said, with an uneasy laugh. “But hey. Nice.”

“You, too.”

“Now go away. I need to shower.” She sounded friendly, unaffected, but he’d seen the telling blush as she pushed past him in a sudden hurry. “You better not have used up the hot water.”

“Would I do that to you?”

She turned, her gaze flickering to his chest before meeting his eyes. “Please.”

“Yeah, okay. But it wasn’t my fault. Have you ever slept in Myles’s bed? I kept waking up thinking I was being smothered.”

“So, no hot water left?”

“I wouldn’t linger if I were you.” He couldn’t, either. Not without embarrassing himself. Partly her fault, the way she’d looked at him.