Waking Up To Love (Lakeside Porches Book 4) (11 page)

Lyssa sucked in a steadying breath. Tears spilled over, and she covered her face with her hands. “I thought I could do this without crying.”

Manda pulled a package of tissues from her purse and tapped it against Lyssa’s hand. Lyssa clutched it.

“I miss him so terribly, and here I am an ocean away, while his business is in London and his mum, whom I adore and who needs him, is in Cornwall. We could have . . . If I hadn’t gone
right
to sex as the next step . . .” Lyssa plucked out three tissues and blotted her face.

Manda looked around at the other tables. No one was listening. “He’s a guy. Why wouldn’t you?”

“And he’s right, I
did
hide my true feelings behind the quick laugh and the cute story. I
do
that, I
know
I do.”

“Lyssa, you’re not making sense. Tell me everything Kyle said in his letter.”

With another noisy snuffle, Lyssa fished the envelope out of her purse and passed it across the table.

“Handwritten. Sweet.” Manda studied the four words on the front. “‘For Lyssa, from Kyle.’ His handwriting is like Joel’s, strong and deliberate.”

“He’s like that.” Lyssa turned pleading eyes on her sister. “Would you read it out loud?”

“I can’t do a British accent to save myself.”

“Then I will.” Lyssa reached for the letter. “I hope I can do it without sobbing.”

My dearest Lyssa,

Can you ever forgive me for keeping my feelings from you? For a year I lived in a dream, thinking we would go on as we were, happy and contented, until one day I might find the courage to speak of my love for you and my desire to spend the rest of my life with you as my wife. The day didn’t arrive, as you know.

I knew you wanted a more sexual relationship, as did I, of course, but I hid behind my pledge to Justin Cushman, who had asked me to respect your youth and vulnerability. In truth, since my disastrous marriage to Victoria, I have been hesitant to initiate a sexual relationship without knowing in my heart the foundation is deep mutual love and respect.

And then at the airport, when you said, with such tenderness and tears, that you might be in love with me, I saw that we already shared deep caring and respect. I felt such a fool! My only defense is that your sunny humor and easy nature had blinded me to the depth of your feelings. And then it was too late, because you had vanished.

I waited hours, watching planes take off, calling your cell, abhorring every character flaw I’ve ever had. I’ve drafted this letter dozens of times, wanting it to be perfect. No more hesitation.

I love you, Lyssa, and I mean to win you back, if you’ll have me.

Yours forever,

Kyle

Lyssa kissed the signature, folded the single page, and tucked it back in its envelope.

Manda reclaimed the package of tissues and took two for herself. “How did you answer him?” She blotted her eyes and nose.

“I haven’t yet. I keep thinking—”

“Don’t overthink this, Lyssa. You love him, he loves you. Tell him.”

“Is it really the right thing, though, Manda? I mean maybe this,”–she gestured out the window and swept her arm south to north, the length of Cayuga Lake–“this whole cosmic change, moving from London to be near you, getting the job of my dreams. Maybe this was meant to be, and Kyle was just a wonderful man who made me believe I could be loved.” She choked on the words. “Maybe I was meant to come here and start again with someone else, someone local. Bridey said . . .”

“What
did
Bridey say?”

“She cautioned me to choose carefully. I mean, think about it. With a whole year of dating, Kyle and I ended up parting. Maybe that was meant to be.”

Manda shifted in her chair. “Well, I don’t think so. I think you’re afraid. You and Kyle both needed to be more honest with each other about your feelings. But, before you could, Justin turned the tables on you. You learned about honesty in a relationship the hard way, by having one fall apart. That’s the takeaway. You and Kyle need to work on your communication.

“And, come on, how hard is it to cross an ocean? I’m the world’s most nervous traveler, and I did it.” Manda jiggled Lyssa’s arm. “Let’s ask Kyle to come here for a month and see how it goes between you.”

“Maybe.” Lyssa glanced out the window. The water skier tried to execute a 360, but lost his hold on the towrope and plunged into the wake of the flashy purple speedboat. “The reality is, I have a great job here, Kyle has his business there, and my effort to move on with my life is going swimmingly. Rand is really more my type, don’t you think?”

“No, not from what you said on the way over this morning. He sounds like a playboy.”

“But, Manda, I’m sure I’m more than a passing fancy for him. He told me again last night he’s never before dated anyone that’s a colleague, and we get on so well together.” She pursed her lips. “Mostly. And, in any case, we have a date tomorrow that I’m excited about.”

“You could break it.”

“Or I could go,” she said with a firm nod. “But I promise I’ll keep in mind what you’ve said and what Bridey has said.”

“Ladies, your salads.” The waiter presented each of them with a bowl of greens and colorful vegetables topped with aromatic ginger-and-garlic grilled shrimp. “And your dressing.”

“Brilliant, thanks so much.” Lyssa turned the bowl so the peppers were toward her and the tomatoes away.

“Anything else I can bring?” He favored Lyssa with a white smile.

“I’ll have a hot tea with lemon,” Lyssa answered. “Darjeeling, if you have it.” Her gaze wandered to the lake, but her mind’s eye saw Kyle. His gray eyes poured out his heart to her where she sat on the stairs at Pennington House. As she fingered the collar of his favorite old linen shirt, that was the moment to tell him she loved him.

“You’re right, Manda. I was afraid.”
But what of?

Chapter 4

As they sped along the country road, windows open at Lyssa’s request to the fresh fall air, Rand took his eyes off the road long enough to give her a once-over.
Luscious
. She lounged with one hand resting on his seat back, the other slapping the roof of the car in time with the rapper on the Miata’s sound system. “Loose looks good on you, Lyssa.”

She threw her head back with an open-mouth grin. “Perfect weather, fast car, hot driver.” She winked. “And, best of all, we’re doing something with our colleagues, most of whom I don’t know yet. I hope some of them bring their kids.”

“Kids?”
Play nice
. “I’ve never done this apple-picking thing. What do you think we’re in for?” He lowered the volume on the music.

“I think we’re picking apples.”

He squinted. “Seriously?”

“Yes. In an orchard. With apple trees and fruit ripe for picking.”

“People do that? For fun?”

Lyssa touched his arm. “You’ll see.”

He shrugged.
As long as I connect with Tully, I’m good.

“Personally, I’m shooting for a half-bushel of McIntosh for my sister and me. Our mom always said McIntosh make the best pies.”

“You’d bake us a pie?” His smile stretched across his face into his earlobes.

“I will bake us an apple pie.”

“I’ve never known a woman who could bake a pie.”

Lyssa’s laugh rang out like a church bell. “Have you ever
wanted
to know a woman who could bake a pie?”

“Good point. But I like pie. And everyone liked the layered thing you brought Friday.”

A sheriff’s car passed them going in the opposite direction, and he checked his speed.
Slow it down
.

“The Layered Taco Salad Dip? It’s a favorite recipe from Texas.”

“You left awfully early.”

“I’m sometimes a little overwhelmed when I’m thrown in with a lot of people I don’t know. But I had fun, and I met a few women who have interests in common. I like your loft, by the way. Very shiny and sleek. Suits you. Have you really never been to an orchard?”

“Never. Not many orchards in Manhattan. Or New Haven.”

“So we’re expanding your horizons today.” She pointed ahead and to the left. “Orchard. Peach trees, I think.”

“How do you know?”

“Thinnish, curved leaves.”

“No, I mean, how is it that you know about things that grow on trees?”

“I grew up in a small town surrounded by fields and orchards. When we played, it was outdoors. Some of our friends lived on farms. All of us picked berries and apples or bought them at farm stands, in season. Produce always tastes better fresh.”

“And from those formative experiences, you became an economist?”

“Instead of a nutritionist, you mean? I should be looking for signs.” She sat straighter and scanned the roadway.

“I can’t get my head around you, Lyssa.” He gave her a teasing smile, and she glanced over for a second.
Cobalt. Her eyes are cobalt
.

“My dad was an economics professor. I’m an economist who eats a lot of fresh produce. You should try a few different kinds of apples today. They’re quite different from each other.”

“You want me to make it a learning experience?” He frowned at some cows on the left side of the road.

“Absolutely. Hold on, blue and gold balloons ahead.” She leaned forward and read the upcoming sign. “Apples, one mile on right. This is it.”

Rand swung into the parking lot and hit the brakes. The Miata’s front right tire dropped into a rut. “What is this, a cow field?”

“Probably. They’re waving you to the left. Just take it slow. Mind the ruts.”

Rand screwed up his face at the odor.
Pris will not believe this.
“Lyssa,” he said through his teeth, “how will I get cow manure off my white car?”

Lyssa rubbed his shoulder. “We’ll find a carwash on the way back. Just don’t step in any steamy piles.”

Lyssa gave the ladder a forceful shake. “Good and stable. How’s this for a plan?” she asked Rand. “I’ll climb up to the best apples, fill my pockets, and hand them off to you for our basket.” She checked the tie at the front of her too-big canvas apron and gave it an extra tug.

Rand stood with his mouth open. The round, pine basket she’d brought dangled from his hand.

“Sound good?”

“Uh, sure.” He glanced around, as if looking for an escape route.

She grinned and gave him a quick kiss. He pulled her in for a lingering follow-up.

A man cleared his throat. “Not in front of the children, Cunningham.”

Lyssa wiggled out of Rand’s hold and licked her lips. “I didn’t know anyone was following us.” Her cheeks flamed as she surveyed the family behind them on the path.

A bearded man stood eight feet behind his wife, a thirty-something, dishwater blond. The wife kept a hand on her pre-teen daughter’s shoulder. A younger brown-haired boy stood between the parents, his gaze fixed on his sneakers.

Rand moved behind Lyssa and braced her shoulders with firm hands. “These are my friends the Tullys. Marie from mathematics, Jim from history. Meet Lyssa Doughty, Tompkins College’s newest faculty.”

Marie winked at Rand. “Another new girlfriend, Rand?” She sneered at Lyssa.

Lyssa nodded a greeting to the nasty woman and beamed a smile at the disinterested husband. “I’m so glad to meet you all. Rand’s been showing me the fun things faculty do together outside the classroom.”
Let them interpret that
.

Marie fisted her hands on her hips. “You’re not really going to climb that ladder, Louisa?”

“Lyssa. I am, absolutely.” She waved a hand at the bright red fruit out of reach on the upper branches. “Fantastic apples up there, just waiting to be picked.” She moved to Rand’s side and wrapped her arm around his waist. “Rand has agreed to fill our basket as I pick, and he’ll guard it with his life.” When she tossed her head at Marie, her headband flew off.

“Well.” Marie sniffed. “My daughter and I are heading farther down the row where we can reach the apples from the ground.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lyssa said. “Enjoy.” She retrieved her headband from the dirt path and rubbed it clean on her apron.

“And I need to catch up with Jim for half an hour or so, darlin’,” Rand told her. His tone was clipped, something Lyssa had never heard from him. She didn’t care for it.

“Jim, why don’t we take care of that now?” He moved away without waiting for her reaction.

What are they up to?
Her eyes cut back and forth between the two men. “Sure, knock yourselves out.”

Rand and Jim Tully headed back toward the barn. Marie and her daughter went on to easier pickings. Lyssa replaced her headband and toed the basket. She really couldn’t pick a half-bushel without help on the ground. When she stopped fuming, she noticed the brown-haired eight-year-old boy they’d left behind.

“Did you want to go with your mom or your dad?”

He shook his head. “I-I want to pick apples with you.” His gaze lifted to the top of the ladder. “They’re the biggest, reddest apples I’ve ever seen.”

She grinned and leaned forward, hands braced on her knees. “I think we make a good team. I’m Lyssa. What’s your name?”

“T-Tim.” He gave her a shy smile. “But I’m afraid of ladders.”

“And that’s perfect, because I adore climbing ladders up into apple trees. If you’ll take charge of our baskets, I’ll fill my apron pockets.” She demonstrated the two deep pockets of the apron. “I’ll come about halfway down and hand off to you. You can put one in your basket, one in my basket, and so on. What do you think of that plan?”

“I’m on it.” He raised his hand for a high-five and set his basket beside hers.

The scent of the apples filled her head as she rose into the tree. More than half were ripe for picking—full red and firm. As she picked, she remembered her exploits with Manda when they were knobby-kneed kids, climbing trees together and raiding Billy Adams parents’ orchards all summer long for plums, peaches, pears and apples.

“Find any?” Tim asked anxiously.

“There are a million good ones. I’m picking us the very best.” She checked her apron pockets. Not yet full, but already the weight of the fruit shifted her center of gravity, making it hard to stay balanced on the rungs of the ladder. She’d pick four more and start down with the first load. “I’ll hand off to you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“How come you talk funny?” Tim asked.

“I’ve been living in England for a year, and I picked up a British accent.”

“Where’s England? Is that in London?”

Her hands closed on another plump, red apple that yielded without a tug. “London is the capital of England, yes, very good.”

“Did you meet Kate? She’s gorgeous.”

“No, I suspect she’s pretty busy with the babies.”
Maybe he’s older than eight
.

“She goes everywhere.”

“Think she ever goes apple picking?” Two more picture-perfect McIntosh came willingly into her hands.

“They don’t have apple trees, do they?”

“Yes, they do. England has lots of beautiful fruit trees. Here comes the first load.” She climbed down a few rungs, slowly, carefully. She dropped each ripe, red apple to Tim who fumbled most of the catches but stayed in the game.

Doesn’t his dad ever play catch with him? Do his parents even know they left him behind?

“Is he your b-boyfriend?” Tim asked.

“Who? Rand, you mean?”

“Yeah, that guy you were with. My mom says he’s a p-playboy.”

“Does she? What do you think she means?”

He shrugged. “He has lots of girlfriends.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve just met him.”

“You k-kissed him.” Tim made it sound like he’d caught her out in a lie. She
had
said she’d just met Rand.

“I did kiss him.”
And he’s a hell of a good kisser
. “We work together at the college, and he’s taking me to faculty gatherings, like today, so I can meet people and make friends.”

The apron pockets were empty. “How full are our baskets? Hey, wait a minute, your basket looks like it has more apples than mine. What’s the story?”

“My basket’s only a peck, which is half the size of yours,” Tim said. “I’m sure they have equal numbers, but you can count them, if you want to.” He stood tall and regarded her with confidence.

“I see you have it under control. Counting won’t be necessary. We’re making good progress, aren’t we?”

Tim eyed the apples. “Yes, your basket is more than a third full, and mine’s close to full. So one more load will almost finish both of them.”

“You’re a very good mathematician, Tim,” she said as she dropped to the ground beside him.

He beamed her a smile. “It’s my favorite subject. I’m going to be a forensic accountant and put the bad guys behind bars.”

“Really?” Lyssa repositioned the ladder and tested it for stability. “My sister’s an accountant, but not forensics.”

Tim shrugged.

Whatever prompted that career choice? Was she missing a new TV series? Who would write a series about an accountant?

“Tell me all about forensic accounting, Tim.” She climbed up, rung by rung, and let her nose lead her to the next big haul.

On the ground, Tim spouted his passion for numbers and rules and doing things right. He didn’t stammer once. Lyssa wondered if his parents had any idea what inspired their little boy.

Mostly she wondered where Rand had gone and what he was doing.

Once Rand finished his business with Jim Tully, he debated searching out Lyssa among the apple pickers. If she were up on a ladder wearing short shorts instead of capris, a chorus of female laughter from the back half of the barn might not have seduced him. He couldn’t resist the siren’s call. Sidling up to the huge, rolling door, he spied inside about two-dozen women of all ages, arranged in four rows.

“What the—”

He must have said it out loud, because a shapely brunette wearing cut-offs and a tight, purple T-shirt grabbed him by the hand and fitted him in the back row next to her. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Rand. What is this?”

“Line dancing class. I’m Lacey. This is Rita.”

Rita’s shirt, knotted below her breasts, showed off a trim tanned abdomen.

“It is a great pleasure, ladies.” He bowed with a flourish.

“You be the fox in the henhouse, Rand,” Rita said and nudged him with her elbow. “We’ll see if anyone notices.”

Lacey sniggered. “They’ll notice.”

“We were very close that time,” the stentorian voice of the leader told the group. “Careful with the hitch, and watch out for your neighbor. Final time through, we’ll be perfect. Ready?” An excited murmur swept through the group. Feet shuffled into place, and they quieted.

The needle came down on an old 45-rpm record,
Green Onions
from Booker T. and the M.G.s. “On three. Right step, right step, back two-three-four.” The group responded with synchronized claps, turns, hitches, and slides.

From his protected place in the back row, Rand focused on his neighbors’ moves and quickly picked up the steps. When the formation of dancers backed and turned again, and his row became the front row, the hens noticed the fox among them. A few chuckles gave way to whistles and laughter.

Spurred on by their enthusiasm, Rand broke away with Lacey and Rita for their own sexy variation, throwing in hip swivels and pelvic thrusts. Several teenage girls who had been having fun in the barnyard, away from parental supervision, wandered in and did a gyrating dance, throwing bold looks at Rand as they showed off for each other.