This Thing Called Love (A Mirror Lake Novel) Read online

  Oh, yeah, it was. And maybe it still is. But by then they were in the middle of downtown, in front of the Dairy Flip. The big window showed a long counter with bright pink stools and a sign that said Flavor of the day: strawberry chocolate cheesecake, but the lights were dim and no one was inside. “They’re closed,” Olivia said. She’d invented the ice cream reason to get him away from Samantha but now she was actually disappointed.

  “We must’ve just missed it.” Brad checked his Rolex. “You still up for ice cream?”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “Hello. When am I not up for ice cream?”

  “Come with me.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her along Main Street, under the glow of the old-fashioned post lights. They cut through the park, where a four-person band was packing up and people were dispersing.

  “Looks like we missed the ice cream and the dancing,” Olivia said.

  “Not necessarily.”

  They walked another block to the marina, where Reflections sat basking near the water in a glow of subdued landscape lighting.

  “I want to show you my restaurant.” His eyes held a look of eager excitement, like a boy about to tear open a birthday present. She was thrilled beyond words that he’d brought her here. “If you want to see it, of course.”

  “I’d love to.” She remembered the night she’d come here with Alex, how Brad had come over to advise them about the menu. It had felt wrong, both of them being there with other people. She felt his pride now, understood how important this was to him after all his years of scraping and saving.

  Inside, she caught glimpses of polished wood, crisp white tablecloths, flickering candles. A wonderful mix of aromas—seafood, garlic, butter, and rich coffee—filled the air. A few couples lingered at the bar at this late hour, talking quietly as soft jazz played over the speakers. Brad introduced her to his kitchen staff and headed directly over to a huge walk-in freezer. “Wait here,” he said, disappearing inside.

  A minute later he reappeared. “We have vanilla rosemary, chocolate graham cracker, and lemon frozen yogurt.” He looked at her expectantly. “The chocolate it is.”

  “I didn’t say which flavor yet.”

  “You don’t have to. Your eyes glazed over when I said ‘chocolate.’”

  They took their ice cream outside and sat on the dock with their feet dangling over the water, close to the still roped-off deck. Lights from lakeside businesses reflected off the water, and across the lake, a lighthouse beam intermittently scanned the sky. The same soft jazz piped outside over the speakers.

  “Is it as good as Dairy Flip?” Olivia asked, looking down at her ice cream. “I mean, with the fancy flavors and all, I wasn’t sure.”

  “Don’t judge my ice cream till you’ve tried it.”

  Olivia dug in. It wasn’t long before she’d scraped her bowl and licked the spoon, setting it down with a chink. “Amazing,” she said on a sigh.

  “You always did have a thing for ice cream.” One second he was chuckling and the next he was extending his arm, pulling her up and walking with her onto the newly built deck.

  “What are you doing?” she asked on a sudden breath, her hands pushing against the hard muscles of his broad chest as she tried to find balance.

  “I thought since we missed dancing, we could do it here.” Brad swept her into his arms and did a few turns, the fresh sawdust scricking under their shoes. He led with grace, panache, and the confidence of a man used to sweeping a hell of a lot of females off their feet.

  The moon was as large as a full scoop of vanilla, casting glistening, pearly caps on the waves. The smell of the lake was familiar and soothing, but the feel of Brad’s muscles flexing under her fingertips was dangerous and unsettling.

  As the song ended, he took a final turn and dipped her low.

  He pulled her up slowly, inching her closer to his magnificent body. At last she was upright, staring into the depths of his warm, green eyes. Eyes that looked straight into her and told her he wanted her six ways to Sunday right now.

  Her mouth went dry, and her thoughts tumbled aimlessly, unable to form into words. Oh, she was in big trouble.

  “I remember the last time I saw you on a dance floor,” he said.

  “Trish and Kevin’s wedding. You came with a gorgeous model with a wildly inappropriate dress and legs as long as I-95.”

  “You were with that Wall Street guy with the thousand-dollar suit.”

  “You tongued her on the dance floor.”

  “When I found out you were engaged to him. What happened with that, anyway?”

  She shrugged. “He wasn’t the type to eat ice cream on a dock or dance on a bunch of sawdust in the moonlight.”

  Oh, God, she shouldn’t have said that. Too revealing.

  “I’m glad you didn’t marry him.”

  His words hung still as the sand-dollar moon glistening over the water. They stopped moving. The earth stood still. The piped-out music faded to black. All she saw was Brad’s beautiful face, his soft, kind eyes, green as the sea. She melted under his sizzling gaze, her knees caving. She had to remind herself to drag air into her chest, as though she forgot how to breathe.

  Just like so long ago.

  And God, she wanted him, a hundred times more than back then, when she knew nothing about life or love. She would never fit as perfectly with anyone.

  But he didn’t want forever, especially forever with a child. That was even clearer after what he’d just said about his sister. And she owed Annabelle more than a man who could only promise a one-night stand. She forced herself to pull back.

  “Brad, I don’t think—”

  “Why’d we break up, anyway?” he interrupted. He was still so close. Everything about him overwhelmed, his just-showered scent, the sudden brutal honesty of his gaze.

  The question caught her off-balance. “Well, from what I recall, we both changed after I left. I think it was your classic case of going away and growing apart.”

  He grabbed her by the arms. “That’s the polite version. I want to know what you really thought.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes, unwilling to dredge up painful memories. “Okay, you want the truth, then here it goes. That first semester away, I was excited about everything. Maybe too excited. I’d probably gone on and on about the people I’d met, the places I’d seen. You must have thought I was spoiled, going to parties and having fun while you were working your ass off.”

  “I had no concept of the things you talked about at college. I was afraid when you came home at Christmas that you saw me as little more than a country boy.”

  “I never thought of you like that.”

  “I couldn’t compete with your new life. You’d changed and I hadn’t. I didn’t think you’d even really missed me.”

  “I missed you desperately. But when you came to visit, nothing went well. You hated my friends. We couldn’t communicate anymore.”

  “I expect I was resentful. Pitied myself, thought I wasn’t good enough.”

  “I thought you didn’t care enough about me to make it work.” Olivia squeezed her eyes shut. She remembered the devastation. The hurt, the anger. Their differences had seemed permanent, like visible scars that would never go away.

  She’d told herself it was just as well, that she could never see herself settling in Mirror Lake, on the same scary path as her mother, tied down by marriage and kids and unable to accomplish what she needed to make her happy.

  “I knew I would only hold you back. Drag you down. Bring you back to a place you outgrew.” He cupped her face with his hand, smoothed his thumb over her cheek. She was mesmerized by the rough feel paired with the most gentle of motions. “Letting you go was the worst mistake I ever made.”

  Oh, what she wouldn’t have given to hear that through all those lonely years, when no one she dated had ever matched
up to him.

  “In some ways I did think of myself as more sophisticated, more worldly. I guess we both had a lot of maturing to do.”

  “Seeing your success spurred me to go to college, then to grad school. I knew there was more out there. I wanted to better myself.”

  “You’ve done really well.”

  “I own a yacht. It’s docked a ways down the marina. I’ve traveled all over Europe, and I own a place in Key West where I can get away in winter.”

  He looked a little sad. Why was he telling her this?

  “I don’t really take much time off,” she said.

  His lips tipped up in a half smile. “You only get one life. Work hard, play hard, that’s my motto.”

  The magazine spread with Brad flanked by the Greek beauties flashed in her mind. Yes, he played hard. Instinctively, she backed up a step.

  She didn’t know anything but work. Had always been hell-bent on accomplishing something, being something. Proving to everyone she was somebody other than a throw-away child, a kid not good enough or perfect enough to get her own mother to stay.

  Maybe she’d spend the rest of her life using work to fill the void her mother’s lack of love had left.

  Against her will, tears stung her eyes. She turned away, toward the lake, pretending to be engrossed by the view.

  Brad came up behind her and held her. “You’ll be a fine mother to Annabelle. You’ll find balance.”

  She felt the secure weight of his hands on her upper arms. Every part of her yearned to lean back into his solid chest and let his strong arms surround her. Stay forever in his secure embrace. But the weight of the burden she carried was too heavy.

  Olivia turned to face Brad. She had to let out the terrible fear she hadn’t admitted to anyone. “I’ll do anything to be worthy to be her mother. I look at Annabelle and I don’t understand how anyone could ever leave a child. Like my mother did. But I’ll never understand why Trish picked me.”

  “You’re her sister. She loved you.”

  “Maybe it was an accident. You don’t think much about dying when you’re young. She was in a rush to get that will done before she had Annabelle. And she had to put somebody down . . .”

  Brad brushed a wisp of her hair aside. His touch was as gentle as his voice. “Did you ever think that maybe she wanted Annabelle to grow up to be like you—strong and independent?”

  “But I can’t do what she would really want, to keep Annabelle here with her family. I’m not like everyone here. My DNA’s not a part of this town.”

  “You’re not your mother, Olivia.”

  She blinked. How did he sense her deepest fear?

  “Your mom was restless and bored here. But she didn’t have your education, your resources. The world is all connected now.”

  “There aren’t exactly any jobs in my field here. And the pace of life is certainly different. I mean, the newspaper doesn’t even show up at Gertie’s before noon.”

  A double line creased his forehead. “I was a fool for letting you go the way I did, but I was young and stupid and I’m sorry for it. But honestly, what you’re saying”—he tapped his index finger on her chest—“It’s all a big excuse.”

  “What?” Irritation sparked inside her like a match. Who was he to judge her?

  He seemed angry now, pacing in front of her. She didn’t think she’d insulted the town, but he loved it so much, maybe she’d struck a nerve. “Don’t hide behind the excuse of our town being small. Maybe you can’t consider any alternatives for your life because you’re afraid of who you are without your job.”

  She tapped her own chest emphatically. “I don’t make excuses. I act. My whole life has been about attacking a goal and doing everything possible to succeed.”

  “Maybe at work, but not in your personal life. You’ve forgotten what success really is. You think it’s your job and your big-city life, but what have you really got? Do you ever have any fun? Your best friends never see you, and your father tells me you work all the time. Is that a successful life?”

  Her guts twisted in her belly like a wet rag. Tears burned but she’d never give him the satisfaction of seeing them.

  Oh, God. How could she possibly explain that she had no idea who she was without her work? No one. She would be no one. Work had saved her. Given her a sense of importance. Offered her an opportunity to lose herself in something greater and all-encompassing so she’d never be that throw-away child again.

  Even if she agreed to stay here in Mirror Lake, how would she prevent herself from becoming restless and bored? And over time, as bitter and resentful as her own mother. She liked to think she was nothing like her, but what if she was? Her mother was a bright, high-achieving woman. And this town had destroyed her.

  “How dare you judge me!” she lashed out. “Sure, you have your restaurants and your boats and your vacation houses. And any woman you could want. You’d do anything to keep yourself unattached and uncommitted, but what good is all that freedom, Brad? You wouldn’t know what a real relationship was if”—she fumbled around for a clever phrase but nothing came—“if Darcy and Elizabeth were your BFFs.” Lame, that the only example of a happy couple she could pluck from the air was two hundred years old. And fictional. No matter, she’d spilled all her ire, just as he had. It was all out there now, never to be taken back.

  She’d lashed out at him because he’d hurt her. And, if she were completely honest, because he’d put his hand directly on her Achilles’ heel and pressed hard.

  His brows lowered over a narrowed gaze. “You have no business criticizing my right to freedom after all those years I spent without it.”

  “Well, you can have it. In fact, you can take your freedom and stick it!”

  She strode off, away from him, back toward the road leading to the square. His angry steps clattered on the deck behind her.

  He swung her around to face him, his eyes lit with fury.

  “You’re right, Olivia. You are driven, and who am I to ask you to reverse the tide, go backward to everything you hate. You know your place, and I know mine. Guess we’re on the same page after all.”

  The ice cream lurched in her stomach. The perfect moonlit evening was ruined with a few bitter words. What had started out so magical had blown up into their worst fight ever. “Then I guess I’d better head back home.”

  She did not miss the irony that they were fighting the same fight they should have had years ago, but like then, through life, circumstances, or bone-deep stubbornness, there would be no resolution.

  She walked off, leaving him standing alone on his brand new deck.

  CHAPTER 12

  The next morning, Brad got out of his Popsicle-red Audi R8 Coupe and crunched over Olivia’s gravel drive. He couldn’t concentrate at work. She plagued his fantasies, his dreams, and every waking moment. She made him furious, but still all he could think of was pushing her into the nearest wall and doing all sorts of very interesting things to her until they were both sweaty and exhausted and there was nothing left to fight about.

  He knew—knew just as certainly as he knew his own birthday—despite all their differences, making love would be the one language they’d both speak fluently. Where they’d be in perfect sync. Too bad that came with all sorts of complications two stubborn people like them couldn’t seem to get around.

  Brad checked his phone, scrolling over a list of missed calls and messages then thrusting the damn thing in his pocket. Irritation pricked at him. He had out-of-town business for the next two days and Olivia’s time here was ticking down. He had to take action now.

  As soon as he stepped onto the porch, an alarming whine assailed his ears. The obnoxious chirping of a smoke detector. Fear squeezed adrenaline through his veins. He rattled the handle of the old wood door. Locked. Besides Olivia’s car in the driveway, Annabelle’s stroller sat on the porch. His heart stopped
, sudden as a thunderclap, in his chest.

  He tried kicking in the door but it wouldn’t budge. The kitchen window was open, so he used the penknife on his key chain to slit the screen and climb through. No smoke in the kitchen, but a sharp, acrid odor and the high-pitched pulse of the alarm, ten times louder than it was from outside. It was coming from the hallway. A thin trace of smoke snaked from the first floor bathroom. He called out Olivia’s name as he followed the stinging smell.

  No answer.

  A curling iron sat propped on the edge of the bathroom sink, its red light glowing, the hot metal roller touching the side of a plastic tissue box—and melting it. Brad pulled the plug, pushed the iron into the sink, and threw open the bathroom window.

  As he ran back into the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks. Olivia stood in the middle of the room in a pink terry bathrobe, a shocked look on her face, her hair dripping.

  Two emotions hit him at once. Thank God she’s alive and Lord, she is gorgeous.

  “What is it?” Panic filled her voice.

  “Curling iron.” His voice was surprisingly shaky. “I unplugged it.”

  “Oh, thank God.” She dragged a kitchen chair to the hallway, centered it under the smoke alarm, and stood on it, her hands pulling her belt taut around her waist.

  Gulp.

  His ears were exploding from the noise but he barely noticed it with the sight of her, wet, luscious, and dripping, straining to reach the ceiling with one hand while trying to keep the flaps of her robe together with the other.

  He’d like to help her with that problem, but he wasn’t sure she’d like his solution.

  The robe shifted upward, revealing miles of soft, shapely thighs directly at eye level. The scents of simple Dove soap and berry shampoo surrounded him like a cloud.

  Seconds ticked. Brad stood there for untold moments staring at the shaded border between skin and robe, as she fumbled with the smoke detector.

  He’d criticized Olivia for being afraid to stay but he never once said he wanted her to stay. He liked being in control, and not getting attached meant total control and zero heartache from being left behind again.