Until There Was You(100)
“Right?” Elise said, blinking back tears. “I totally thought we had that one in the bag.”
“Well, at least Viv won’t have to see it,” Posey said. “The salvage can only start after her death. It’s in her will.”
“She’s lucky, then,” Mac added. “We’re the ones who’re gonna have to drive past and see that poor place ripped apart. It’s not right.”
Quite possibly the longest speech Posey had ever heard from him. “I’m sorry, guys,” she said.
“Seriously? It’s not your fault, Posey,” Elise said staunchly. “You were great, visiting that old grouch all the time. She totally led you on, making you think we had a chance. She took advantage of you, Posey.”
“Well. She doesn’t get a lot of company.”
“No. Elise is right,” Mac said, his voice hot. “You went above and beyond the call. And Elise—you were…” He seemed to lose steam as he looked directly at her. “You were…very…um…good.” His cheeks flushed. “Back to work,” he mumbled and headed for the back room, the flow of words clearly more than he could handle.
Elise sighed. “I wish I didn’t like him so much,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Posey said. Elise looked so miserable. “Maybe you should look around a little. Maybe for someone your own age.”
“Whatevs,” Elise mumbled.
The rest of the day was quiet. Somewhere during the night, Posey had decided to just let the issue of the letter rest. No point in dwelling on it—her biological parents were out there, always had been, and she was here, and she was fine. Her birth mother had put her up for adoption, and Posey was grateful. It would’ve been nice if Clarice—the word felt strange just to think—if Clarice had wanted to send her a letter, give some indication that she had some feelings for the baby she gave up? Sure. But she didn’t, so that was that.
Posey paid bills, answered emails, worked up a bid for a house in Durham. They sold a grand total of two items—an old fire department light and a carved wooden pedestal. Since it was so quiet, she sent Elise and Mac home, watching with a pang as Elise stared after Mac’s broad back. One of these days, the girl would give up and move on.
But speaking of relationships, it was Wednesday— Liam night. And at the thought of seeing him (possibly seeing him naked, which was always quite the thrill), and thanking him for fixing the bell, Posey’s heart rose considerably. Maybe she’d even cook. Yes. She could do it. That class hadn’t been for nothing, after all. She closed up shop and headed to the market for the ingredients for spaghetti Bolognese, needing to call Jon only twice with questions. Once home, she put on Hot August Night, muting the music only to hear the bell chime six times—the greatest sound ever, in her opinion. It rang at six in the morning, nine, noon, six in the evening and nine. She could hear it from Irreplaceable, even. Hopefully, no one would complain, though how someone could object to that sound was a mystery.
She showered, squished down her cowlick and opened her closet. She only owned two dresses—the sheath and the itchy one. Well. Shorts, then. But a girly shirt, a yellow tank top with a little stripe of satin at the edge. Bought in the juniors department, but hey. She looked kind of cute. Definitely female. Maybe she’d get her ears pierced, even.
Since they’d hooked up, Liam had called her every Wednesday afternoon to ask if she was free that night. Gretchen had warned her not to be too available, but Posey didn’t really go for that kind of game playing (and what did Gretchen know about relationships?). It seemed dumb to pretend she was unavailable if she was dying to see him.
But Liam hadn’t called today.
Maybe, she rationalized, he didn’t need to, because this was their thing, their routine, and he was as comfortable with it as she was. She chopped an onion and added it to the frying pan with the garlic. It was starting to smell really good in here. Shilo whined, so she tossed him a little ball of ground beef. Poured herself a little wine. Checked her hair. Squished down the cowlick again, which only seemed to give it new life. Replayed “Kentucky Woman” and danced around with Shilo. Sautéed the beef. Added it to the sauce. Looked at the clock.
Quarter to seven.
Every time she heard a car on her street, her heart wobbled. Crikey, she had it bad. And maybe…it seemed, anyway…that Liam had it bad, too. While their sex life was undeniably fun, and smiling during kissing was becoming a habit, Liam also had a way of looking at her once in a while, or touching her lips, and his gaze would lose that laughing light, and he’d look…in love.
Those other Wednesdays, he’d been here by now. Which meant nothing.
No need to obsess—going slow was the way to go. That was what blew it with Dante. Not that Dante was nearly in the same class as Liam, of course. Dante was all surface charm. Liam…he had substance. He’d come from a ragtag upbringing by some not-very-nice people, yet managed to build a successful business. He’d been a devoted husband. He certainly was a loving (if neurotic) father. He’d come from nothing and made something of himself.
He’d become the man she’d imagined he could be all those years ago.
When the phone rang, shocking her out of her dopey-with-love reverie, she dropped the spatula, spattering sauce on her shirt. Dang it! But hello, here he was, and just the sight of his name on her caller ID made her heart actually flutter.