Her gaze slipping from the paperwork in front of her to an unspecific spot in the living-room air, Rachel touched her fingertips to her lips. Kissing Courtney had
not
been in her plans. She was not one to move that quickly. Truth be told, she normally moved much slower than was deemed necessary by most normal people. She thought things out, planned each step with painstaking precision, mapped out her life from beginning to end. Spontaneity was not a common word in her vocabulary. But Rachel couldn’t help herself; that kiss had been truly unexpected, totally spontaneous.
And hot. God.
Rachel was almost positive her lips were still warm to the touch.
She was nervous. Just a little bit. Moving too quickly always had that effect on her. Being impulsive meant that more than likely, something would bite you in the ass later, when you weren’t expecting it. If there was one thing Rachel Hart despised more than anything else in the world, it was being caught off guard.
Her brain tossed her the image of Courtney from Friday night, sitting in Rachel’s car, the soft yellow of the streetlights casting streaks in her hair, those big green eyes looking at her, into her. Who wouldn’t have kissed Courtney McAllister at that moment? How could she possibly have been expected not to?
She touched her own lips once more. And damn if that kiss hadn’t been worth it. Jesus. She forced herself to concentrate on her clients and the house she was going to show, trying her best to push Courtney and the previous night from her mind for the time being. She was only partially successful.
Chapter Ten
There was a chill in the air that was uncharacteristic for very early October, even in upstate New York. Courtney had a love/hate relationship with autumn. She loved the beauty of it, the changing leaves painting the trees in bright oranges, reds, and yellows, turning the horizon into a canvas of color. She loved the idea of pulling out her warm, cozy sweaters after weeks and weeks of heat that could often become uncomfortably humid. She loved the smell of a wood-burning fire crackling in the fireplace and the crisp taste of the cooler air. At the same time, autumn meant the impending winter, which she despised. She hated being cold. She hated maneuvering her car on slick, icy roadways, something that had made her almost unreasonably anxious since Theresa’s accident. She hated the chore of shoveling the driveway and brushing endless piles of snow off her car. Most of all, she hated that winter where she lived could last almost six months.
The room in the community center had been too chilly during group. Pulling the sleeves of her sweatshirt down past her wrists, she stood up and gathered her windbreaker, wishing she’d worn something a tiny bit heavier.
“Want to grab a drink?” Lisa asked, smiling as she slung her purse over her shoulder.
“On a Tuesday?”
“What, is there some rule I don’t know about that says no alcohol consumption is allowed on Tuesdays?”
“I don’t know,” Courtney hedged as they spilled out of the room and into the hall. “I’ve got some papers that need grading. I should be a good girl.”
“Screw being a good girl. Good girls never have any fun. Just one drink. Come on.”
Courtney couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s insistence. She wondered if Lisa wanted to talk a little bit about Mark. “All right. But just one.”
“Take my car?”
“Sure.”
The bar they chose was dark, cozy, and practically empty. Just the way Courtney liked it.
“So, is group helping you?” Lisa asked once they were seated and each had a glass of wine in front of them.
“I think it is,” Courtney replied with honesty. “I mean, even if I don’t participate much, just hearing that other people are going through the same stuff as me is a big help.”
“Even if they’re all old enough to be our parents?”
“Or grandparents?” Her feet propped on the rails of the bar stool, Courtney shifted to get a better view of her friend. “We’re kind of in our own little tragic party, aren’t we?”
Her mouth pressing into a firm, straight line, Lisa agreed. “It’s hard. I feel like we don’t really belong with the rest of the group because we’re so much younger, but it doesn’t mean we’re not going through the same pain, the same confusion, the same worries.” She sipped her wine, then perked up just a bit. “I like that Ted guy.”
“He seems really nice, not as far removed as the others. Maybe we should invite him to have a drink with us sometime.”
“We should.”
“Definitely. I bet he’d come. He likes us. On the other hand, I think Joanne hates us.”
“I think Joanne hates everybody. That is one bitter woman.”
“Don’t ever let me get that way. Promise me.”
“I promise,” Lisa reassured her, patting her arm. “I’ll slap you or something.”
“Slap me hard.”
Lisa arched a teasing eyebrow. “Interesting request. But, hey, if that’s what you want…”
Feeling the heat of her own blushing, Courtney poked at the inside of her cheek with her tongue and gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Yeah, so not into that. But thanks.”
“What are friends for?”
They sat in silence, each with a small grin on her face. Courtney couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so comfortable with somebody so new in her life, and even if group didn’t work the way it was supposed to, she’d always be grateful that it introduced her to Lisa.
“I like Mark,” Lisa said, totally out of the blue. She shot an apprehensive expression Courtney’s way.
“That’s great,” Courtney replied. “I’m glad. He’s a good guy.” She was afraid to ask too much. While she wanted to know how it was going, she also didn’t want to make either of her friends uncomfortable by seeming nosy or opinionated.
“He is.”
Courtney waited for more, but none came. Deciding Lisa was testing the waters, she chose not to push. When Lisa—or Mark, for that matter—was ready to talk to her, she would. She hoped.
*
Wednesday had been crazy. Courtney felt pulled in sixteen different directions throughout the day and began to wonder if the clock would ever reach three. The kids were talkative and distracted and she had to fight the urge to give them a pop quiz simply so she wouldn’t have to deal with them for half an hour.
She was also reaching the limits of her patience with Andrew Gray. He seemed to be very fond of invading her personal space, like a youngster who hasn’t yet learned the concept of boundaries. He never touched her. He just sauntered up the aisle at the end of the class like he hadn’t a care in the world. His eyes never left her face and he never said a word. He simply inched up so close that she had to force herself not to give in and step back. Mark was right, it was pure intimidation, and she refused to be baited or to let him win. Her rational teacher’s brain told her she needed to go talk to her boss and have something done. But her female pride sneered,
And tell him what? “Andrew Gray stands too close to me”?
She was frustrated and it made her snippy and she hated it. And she so wished she could talk to Theresa about it. She’d have the right advice, just like always.
The deep red, smooth-tasting merlot went a long way in helping Courtney to calm down and relax. It was a new brand from Washington she hadn’t tried before and she was pleased with its warmth and fullness. She studied the color, momentarily hypnotized by its ruby depths. Letting a sip roll around on her tongue, she closed her eyes and willed her stress to seep from her body. This was supposed to be a fun, enchanting evening and she didn’t want something as insignificant as the proximity of a student more than two hours ago to color the ambience she was trying to create. Scraps and empty packages were strewn around the kitchen like litter on a highway and she sipped her wine, looking at it with disdain.
I could really use a self-cleaning kitchen.
Shaking her head with a grin at the ridiculous prospect, she began a quick tidy, sweeping garbage into the wastebasket and lining dishes in the dishwasher. Rachel would arrive within a half hour and she didn’t want any part of the house looking like a cyclone had gone through.
The dining room looked terrific. She’d toyed with the idea of candles, but worried that they might seem too forward. Not that the idea of a romantic dinner with Rachel was unpleasant. More to the point, Courtney didn’t want to scare her away on the second date. The place settings were neat and orderly, her rich, plum-colored place mats pulling the same shade out of the border Amelia had mounted. The dishes had the same color in their pattern and Courtney found herself actually impressed with her own decorating skills…not something she’d have said she was good at. But with the soft light from the chandelier bouncing off the crystal water glasses, the room looked warm and inviting and she was proud.
Back in the kitchen, she double-checked all the food. The pork tenderloin was seasoned and ready to go into the broiler. It had been Theresa’s favorite cut of meat, but that’s not why Courtney had chosen it. She knew she could do a good job on it; that was her reasoning, but a tiny twinge of guilt hit her right between the eyes just the same, and she did her best to shake it away. Green beans from her parents’ garden were sitting in a pot. The next burner over held a matching pot of potatoes that was boiling gently. The chocolate cream pie for dessert was in the refrigerator, and though Courtney had really wanted to make something homemade, time just hadn’t been generous with her, so it was store-bought.
Deciding a last-minute checkup was in order, she bolted upstairs to the bathroom and gave her reflection one last look. Her hair was pulled back in a gentle twist and she’d applied just a tad of mascara, which Amelia said always brought surprised attention to her eyes. Not wanting to be too presumptuous by overdressing, she’d opted for a casual outfit: jeans and a deep green lightweight sweater. Knowing there wasn’t much more she could do and she was out of time anyway, she ran a quick hand over herself—straightening her top, tucking a strand of escaped hair behind an ear, reclasping her earrings. Just as her foot hit the top step, the doorbell rang and sent her heart into her throat.
“Oh, Christ,” she muttered, suddenly shaky.
It was hard to accept how nervous she was. Unsure what to do with the confusion, she swallowed it down and reached for the doorknob, smiling as she took in the sight before her. Rachel stood on the front steps, a bottle of wine in one hand, a small bouquet of yellow lilies in the other, and a grin on her face. She was dressed as simply as Courtney in hip-hugging jeans and a snug white shirt with several enticingly unfastened buttons. Her hair was wavy and loose and Courtney had to fight the urge to reach out and rub it between her fingers.
“Hi,” Rachel said and held out the flowers.
“Hi,” Courtney responded, taking them, allowing their fingers to brush casually and enjoying the feel of it. “These are beautiful.” She stood aside to allow Rachel to enter, the vague hint of her perfume causing Courtney’s head to lift slightly as she walked by, like a dog catching the scent of a bone.
“I hope red is okay,” Rachel said, indicating the wine. “I wasn’t sure what you were making for dinner.”
Courtney examined the bottle, once again impressed with the quality of the brand. “Red is great. And for somebody who doesn’t know much about wine, you do an awfully good job picking it out.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said as she followed her into the kitchen.
As Courtney stretched to reach a wineglass off the top shelf of the cupboard, she was certain she could feel Rachel’s eyes roaming over her, causing both arousal and nervousness to battle within her. “So. How was your day?” She concentrated on operating the corkscrew, hoping the tremble of her hands went unnoticed by her dinner companion. Why the hell was she so nervous?
With a sly grin, Rachel stepped forward and took the bottle and corkscrew from her. “Here, let me.” She went to work on the bottle, talking as she poured. “My day was okay. I had mostly research to do. No showings today, but I set a couple up that I think will be successful.”
After rinsing out her own glass and setting it close, Courtney leaned the small of her back against the edge of the counter and watched Rachel’s hands as she decanted the deep crimson wine into the clear glasses. To her, there was something mesmerizing about red wine—its color, its depth, its aroma—almost as if each individual bottle had a story to tell. This time, however, the combination of the wine and Rachel’s beautiful hands was, for lack of a less predictable word, intoxicating, and she felt suddenly light-headed as she watched Rachel work and listened to her talk. Shaking herself, she tried to focus on the conversation.
“You know,” she said as she took the offered glass from Rachel’s hand, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody who was a full-time realtor. I mean, I know many people are, but I think the common assumption, at least in this area of the state, is that it’s a side job.”
Rachel nodded. “For a lot of people, it is. My mother is semiretired and she still sells houses.”
“Is she your competition?” Courtney asked with a grin.
“I guess she would be if we moved in the same circles. Which we don’t.” Rachel held up her glass for a toast. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” They sipped and Courtney let the liquid coat her tongue and roll around her mouth before swallowing. It was blissfully good, with a hint of fruit, but no sweetness. “Oh, this is wonderful,” she commented. “Smooth. That’s two excellent bottles of wine you’ve brought me. I think you should always bring the wine.” Realizing the assumption that came with such a statement, she flushed and turned to fuss with the pork.
“Deal,” Rachel said softly, leaning against the door frame to watch Courtney work.
An hour later, Rachel sat back heavily in her chair at the dining room table. “Oh my God, I’m full. That was fantastic.”
“There’s dessert.”
Rachel’s eyes bugged out. “Dessert? What are you trying to do to me?”
Courtney grinned. “You can certainly take some home if you’re too full. I really don’t want you exploding all over my newly decorated dining room.”