“Well, people are idiots.”
She shrugged. “I understood. I mean, I’m white, but I don’t look anything like Max and Stacia, God knows. They’re these big, strapping farmhand people, and I look like Anne Frank. It never bothered Henry—he’s not bothered by much. But it always bothered me.”
“Audrey Hepburn, I was thinking,” he said.
“What?”
“Not Anne Frank. Audrey.”
She paused, gave him a feeble grin. Still, it was something. “You get a sticker for that. Even if it’s wildly untrue.” She sighed. “It’s just…see, when Henry was about five, my mom got pregnant. But they lost the baby, and it was a girl.”
When Emma had been pregnant, she’d had a little bleeding. Turned out to be no cause for alarm, but that night in the E.R. was one of the worst in Liam’s life. Funny how precious something became when you thought you’d lose it. He could only imagine how wrecked the Osterhagens had been.
“So you felt like that’s why they adopted you?” Liam asked.
She gave a small shrug, her eyes still on the grave. “That is why they adopted me. And I’m glad they did…I just always felt a little bit like the consolation prize. And then there was Gretchen, constantly reminding them of the baby they lost, since she looks so much like my mom.”
“Come on. Your folks are crazy about you.”
Another ghost of a smile crossed her face. “Yep. That’s true, too. But the other thought is still there.” She moved on down the row of graves. “So now…you know, learning that my birth mother reached out…I don’t know. There are all kinds of adoptions. The birth mother can stay in touch, all sorts of visitation arrangements. But mine didn’t want that, and I totally understood. I pictured all these scenarios over the years…she was really young, or a drug addict, or maybe she was…raped. But now I find out that maybe she did want to see me…” Her voice broke again.
Cautiously, because she looked like a loaded spring, Liam went up behind her and slipped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest.
“Don’t be nice to me,” she whispered, though she didn’t move away. “I might cry if you are.”
“And here I thought a hug would help,” he said, holding her a little closer. “I really need a user’s manual where you’re concerned. Want me to pull your hair? Would that be better?”
She gave a shaky laugh. “Sorry I’m so…unfun today.”
He turned her around. “Cordelia,” he said firmly. “Don’t be a dope.”
“Such a sweet-talker, you.”
“You just told me not to be nice.” He tipped her chin up, glad to see she wasn’t crying anymore. “What do you want to do? Want me to take you home? Take you to your parents’ house so you guys can talk?”
She pursed her lips, thinking, and even though he was trying to be princely, a bolt of lust shot through him. That mouth was really something, and sure enough, he found he was kissing her, gently, her soft, full lips such a surprise coming from that wiry little package.
“I don’t want to go home just yet,” she said, blushing. Her arms were still around him.
“You want to talk some more? I have a teenage girl. I know all about feelings and crying and mushy stuff.”
She laughed, and that warm thing in his chest squeezed. “Nah. I have to think about this a little more, but I’m done talking.”
“Come on, then,” Liam said. “Cemeteries don’t generally cheer people up. Back on the bike, woman. I know just the place.”
Twenty minutes later, they pulled up at their destination, and when Posey saw where they were, she gave him a big smile, the first he’d seen from her that day. “Jimbo’s Batting Cages, huh?”
“That’s right,” he said, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “Time you learned to put some wood on ball.”
“That sounds vaguely dirty,” she murmured.
“We can only hope,” and he gave her a kiss and was somewhat amazed at how great it felt to cheer her up.
WELL, LIAM HADN’T managed to teach her to hit, Posey thought, but it had been very fun (and yes, vaguely dirty) to have him stand behind her, his arms enveloping her as he tried to get her to swing at the right time, her bottom pressed most comfortably against his groin. Yep. Dirty. Who knew batting practice could be so much fun? As an improvement on her swing, it was worthless. As foreplay, much better. And he’d made her laugh, and that was really something, given how churned up she’d been feeling.
“Okay, try it yourself a few times. I have to call my kid,” Liam said, stepping out of the batting cage. Seemed a lot lonelier in here without him. The next ball came. She swung. Missed. “You are the worst hitter I’ve ever seen,” he added, smiling.
“We all have our talents, lunkhead,” she said. Another pitch from the machine. Another miss.
“Hey, honey, it’s your father,” Liam said into the phone. So sweet. He gave Nicole the paternal interrogation—Posey was standing just feet away, it wasn’t like she was eavesdropping. But it was…warming, Liam asking Nicole how was her paper going, had she checked in with Mrs. Antonelli, did she eat the leftover chicken and not just M&Ms. Posey’s chest swelled. Liam was a good father, that was clear, and there was little more appealing than a man who was a loving dad.
Liam glanced at her a couple of times as he talked. “Mind if I grab dinner while I’m out?” he said into the phone. He had yet to mention her—Posey tried not to notice, but, yeah, her name had not come up, she was pretty sure. Not that it mattered, not really. “Okay, baby,” Liam said finally. “See you later. Love you.” He put his phone back in his pocket and looked at Posey once more. “Here it comes…you can do it…swing!”
Posey swung. Missed. “Okay, enough humiliation. What’s the plan, Big Papi?”
“How about some dinner?” he asked.
“That would be fantastic,” she said. “I’m so hungry, I’m about to gnaw off your arm.”
They found a nice little place on the water, ordered some fried clams and scallops, a beer for him, a white zinfandel for her. “No whiskey sours?” Liam asked. “Because you were a lot of fun that night.”
“Well, same to you on pain meds, you big baby.”
He grinned. She smiled back. Goofy in love, that’s what she was. Dang. Or huzzah. She wasn’t quite sure.
They talked about ordinary things—she told him about the one-sided romance between her coworkers, he told her about Nicole wanting to go to the prom.
At the word prom, Posey felt that old twist of…betrayal. The complete and utter dashing of expectations. But it was clear Liam had no knowledge of the impact of Posey’s own prom, and it was better to keep it that way. “So, will you let Nicole go?” she asked.
“I said yes today.” He took a long pull on his beer, clearly not convinced that his decision was a good one.
“Well,” Posey said briskly, looking out the window, “proms can be very formative.”
“Exactly what I’m hoping to avoid. Some idiot boy breaking her heart.” The irony of his statement was lost on him; he gave her a half smile and a shrug. “Anyway. Enough about my kid. How are you doing? Feeling a little better?”
Her heart softened. “Yes. A lot better, actually.”
“Good.” Liam smiled fully, making her knees tingle. So he’d said a crummy thing back in the olden days. He was clearly a great guy now.
The waiter approached, slipping the check on the table. “I’ll take this whenever you’re ready,” he said, gliding away.
“Let me get it,” Posey said, grabbing the check. “You were a prince today. You deserve payment.”
“Yes, I was a prince, and no, I’m paying.” He reached over and took an end of the check.
Posey didn’t let go. “Don’t make me wrestle you, Liam,” she warned. “We both know who would win, and you don’t want to be embarrassed in front of all these nice people.”
“No, no, let’s wrestle,” he said, and with that he leaned over and kissed her, a soft, full kiss, his fingers sliding through her short hair, and Posey felt herself melting against him, against his mouth, toward his heat.
Then he pulled back and tugged the check out of her unresisting fingers. “Sucker,” he said, grinning.
“Jerk.” She straightened up and slid him a glance, still a little flustered from that kiss. “Thanks for dinner, biker boy.”
“My pleasure.” He stuffed a couple of bills into the leather check holder and continued looking at her. His eyes were smoky. Maybe they’d have time to zip back to the church, have a tumble, before he had to get back to—
Oh, bieber. Oh, no.
George and Louise Tate were standing at the maître d’s desk.
Staring at the two of them.
“Liam?” she whispered. “Um…the Tates are here.”
His smile vanished. “Oh, crap,” he muttered.
“I’m so sorry,” Posey said, biting her lip. Dang it! Right when they were out in public—public, you know, with kissing and everything, meeting all of Jon’s criteria—there were his dead wife’s parents, frozen in dismay.
“No, no. It’s… Well, let’s go say hi.”
They stood up and approached the Tates.
“Hi,” Liam said, offering his hand to George. George didn’t take it, and Posey had to force herself not to cringe. “Uh, George, Louise, this is Cordelia Osterhagen.”
Louise Tate stared at her like she was a severed head on their doorstep. Posey swallowed. Her cheeks were on fire, her hair was, doubtlessly, a mess… “Hi, Mrs. Tate, Mr. Tate,” she said, a little too brightly. “I remember you from church, way back when.” She paused, lowering her voice. “I was so sorry to hear about Emma. We were friendly in high school, and she was—”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Tate interrupted stiffly. “Liam, who’s with Nicole?”
“She’s at home, working on a paper,” he said.
“Alone?” Mr. Tate asked.
“Yes. She’s almost sixteen, George.” Liam’s hands were jammed in his pockets. The Tates said nothing. “Well, have a nice dinner,” Liam said. “Talk to you soon.”
“It was nice to see you again,” Posey added, then kicked herself. It wasn’t nice, certainly not for them.
“Tell Nicole we’d like to see her twice this week, since we didn’t get to visit today,” Mrs. Tate said, ignoring Posey. Her tone was ice-cold.
The sky was red and purple outside, and the lights of the Piscataqua River Bridge glittered in the reflection of the water. “I’m really, really sorry about that,” Posey said quietly as they walked to the parking lot.
“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s fine.” His voice was normal, but of course, it wasn’t fine. He was tense as they drove home, the ride not nearly as pleasant as it had been earlier. His back was stiff and straight, his movements overly cautious.
When they pulled into her driveway, Liam walked her to the door, despite her protestation that he didn’t have to. From inside, Shilo began barking in joy, his baying voice bouncing off the forty-foot ceilings.
“Okay, well, thanks, Liam. For today. You were really great,” Posey said. She took a deep breath. “Sorry about the Tates and the kissing and stuff.”
He shrugged. “I kissed you. And don’t worry about it. But I should get back to Nicole.”
“Sure, sure. Okay.”
They stood there another minute, the silence growing awkward. Then Liam reached out and pinched her chin. “Good luck with the family stuff,” he said. “And you know, you can call me. If you want.”