Falling For Nick (13 page)

"You had my photo with you?" she asked, surprise lacing her tone. "I don't remember giving you a photo."

"Remember when we had our pictures taken at the photo booth at that discount store?" Nick looked into her eyes, eyes the color of summer grass. He wanted to drown in the crystal green depths, but he had to move slowly. He'd spooked her with his photo confession. Her body had tensed. Worry shadowed her features.

"I remember," she said. "I just can't believe you kept them."

"Did you keep yours?" He willed her to say yes. They'd split the photos that day.

"No."

The single word caused a sharp disappointment to knife through him. Had she cut up the pictures when he'd sent her away? He couldn't blame her if she had. She hadn't sent him one photo of John. And the money he'd sent Clea while in prison had been returned to him unopened. The lack of contact between them told him more than words ever could. He had so much to make up to her he didn't even know where to begin, but having dinner with her seemed a good place to start.

The pizza arrived and the next minutes were spent eating.

"God, this is good." He took a monster bite.

"I know." Clea wrapped some wayward mozzarella around her finger then popped it into her mouth. "John and I look forward to pizza night all week." She licked her fingers. "We're regulars."

"I've missed this." A wistful note crept into his voice and Clea brought her eyes to his.

"Missed what?"

"All of this." He glanced around. "Pizza, the smell of fresh air, the freedom to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Freedom is endless here. It's more than coming and going as you please. In prison, your choices are limited and regulated. Here, on the outside, anything is possible. Anything."

She stopped eating. The way she looked at him, as if she couldn't bear what he'd been through, cut to his soul.

"Was it awful in prison?" she asked.

He swallowed his pizza, not sure how much he wanted to tell her. The reality of prison life was brutal. "Yes, but I got used to it."

"I don't think I could." She took another bite of pizza. "What did you do all day?"

He wanted to say,
Think of you. Think of our son
. But that was only half-true. Fighting to stay alive and in one piece exhausted every minute when he wasn't in his cell. Instead he said, "I kept busy. I earned my Associates of Arts degree in Business through an online program. I also earned my certifications for collision repair and refinishing, brakes, suspension and steering, and engine repair. That's why Mr. Mullin was so interested in hiring me back."

"That's amazing." Her eyebrows shot up, her pizza forgotten. "I'm impressed."

"Don't be." He shrugged. "It filled the hours."

"If you have your AA and so many certifications why are you working at Mullin's?" she asked. "I'm sure there are higher paying, more specialized jobs out there."

"It's where I want to be right now." He looked at her and her eyes darkened. "What I'd like to do is open my own classic car restoration shop. I've drafted a business plan. A solid restoration business can be run from anywhere, even Port Bliss, thanks to the Internet. Parts can be located, bought and sold with a keystroke. It's exciting. There's big money to be made in classic car restoration."

"Wow." Clea smiled. "You managed to go on with your life even though you were locked up. You should be proud, Nick."

The pride in her words embarrassed him. He'd been in prison. There was nothing to be proud of. Wanting to change the subject, he said, "Let's talk about something else." He finished off his pizza.

Clea leaned back. "It looks like we are both finally getting what we want."

"What do you want, Clea?" he asked, almost afraid to hear her answer.

She twirled the straw in her drink. A myriad of emotions crossed her face. He could see her hesitation to tell him anything, but also her need to tell him everything.

"Tell me." He wanted to know, to understand her.

Clea let go of her straw. "I want to make a living from my photography. I'm so close, Nick. I told you about the internship I've won. Winning the internship guarantees me a show in the Mitchell Art Museum. Doors will open for me. I'll be on my way to getting everything I want."

"Everything?" The knot in his gut tightened. He didn't want her to leave, not when he couldn't follow, not when things were unresolved between them.

"Everything. It will be a fresh start for me and for John."

"What about Boomer?" Nick asked. A terrible hollowness burned in his chest at the thought of losing Clea and his son. "Where does he fit in?"

She shook her head. "What do you mean? You know where he fits in."

"Is he part of your dream?"

"Of course he is," Clea replied, her tone defensive. "He's going with us. He's got a good job waiting for him with a prestigious law firm in New York. He's going to help take care of John while I do my internship."

Nick sat up straighter. Suddenly everything seemed clearer. A tiny ray of hope shone on his despair. "Is Boomer your babysitter, Clea? Is that why you're marrying him?"

"No!" Her cheeks reddened. "I can't believe you would suggest such a thing. No, wait. I can believe it. You haven't changed at all, Nick." She waded up her napkin and tossed it on the table.

"That's why you didn't say yes to him before," Nick said, ignoring her words, needing to dull the ache inside him. He didn't want to lose her, but had no idea how to keep her. Anger drove him, and he wanted to strike back. "You didn't need him like you do now. I'm right."

"You're crazy!" Clea pulled some money from her pocket. "I have to go."

"Keep your money. It's my treat." He'd upset her. He needed more time with her, time to find answers.

"No." She held the money out to him. "I don't want to take anything from you, Nick."

Her words cut him to the core, making him remember the returned envelopes of money. Refusing to take her cash, he picked up the check, went to the counter and paid.

Clea joined him. The anger had left her eyes, leaving behind a sadness he didn't want to acknowledge. "I didn't want to fight with you, Nick." She passed him, heading for the door.

"Wait a second." He didn't want to fight either. "I'll walk you home."

"No, thank you," she said coolly. "Believe it or not, Nick, I can make my own way home. I've been doing it for years. I'm good at being alone."

She brushed past him, leaving him to stare at her back.

Bullshit
. No one was good at being alone. He'd been alone for ten years. He'd hated the isolation, the wanting, the needing that went unfulfilled. He'd bet his freedom that Clea hated being alone as much as he did, and he intended to prove it.

*   *   *

A cold blast of air hit Clea in the face when she stepped outside. The smell of frozen seaweed mixed with the fresh scent of snow. She welcomed the sting of the snow against her cheeks, hoping the flakes would help cool her temper. Inside her body glowed red-hot with anger at Nick and she didn't think any amount of frosty air could cool her down.

"Clea, wait," Nick called from behind her.

She walked faster. Under the snow a layer of ice had formed, making the sidewalk slippery. Clea lost her footing, but Nick's hand closed around her elbow, keeping her upright.

She tried to yank her arm free, but he held fast. "Let me go, Nick."

He didn't. "I never should have said those things."

She pressed her lips together. She didn't reply; she couldn't, because deep down she knew there might be a grain of truth in what he'd said. A part of her was afraid of being alone, on her own, with John. She'd always had support both financially and emotionally from her family. Had that swayed her decision to marry Robert? Until Nick had spoken the words tonight, she'd never considered the possibility. She loved Robert. He'd asked her to marry him many times, but she'd never said yes until now. Had she said yes out of fear?

"Just let me go, Nick." Her voice cracked.

"I don't want to."

His voice held a caressing tone that brought a deep need for him to life inside her, a need she'd buried long ago. Clea concentrated on the snow-covered sidewalk, on keeping her footing. Nick saw things in her she didn't want people to see. He challenged her to face the truth, even when she didn't want to. That's where he was so different from Robert. Nick wanted her to see the truth. Robert wanted what looked best, what kept up appearances.

"Clea, look at me." When she didn't, he placed two fingers under her chin, guiding her head up. "If I said things that upset you, I apologize. Let me walk you home."

Giving in seemed the quickest way to be free of him and all he made her feel. "All right."

They didn't get more than a few steps when there was a loud crack followed by a flash of sparks up near the street corner. In unison, all around them, the lights went out. Sparkling snow covered everything, giving the town a luster, a natural light. Behind them, on the other side of the street up on the hill, Clea could hear children laughing, playing, probably sledding.

"A limb must have broken under the weight of the snow, falling on the power lines," Nick said. "Let's get inside."

They walked toward The Coffee House, their boots crunching in the snow. Beside them, the street stretched, an empty ribbon of white. On the other side of the street a couple of people came out of the tavern. Someone threw a snowball.

Nick climbed the stairs to her apartment with her. The enclosed stairway didn't have the benefit of the glow of the snow. An intimate darkness pressed in on Clea as she fumbled in her pocket for the keys. She'd never realized it before, but without the overhead light the landing outside her apartment was dark, giving her more privacy with Nick than she wanted.

She didn't need to see Nick to feel his presence. In the dark all her senses tuned in on him. She could hear the soft sound of his breathing, smell the spicy male scent of him, feel the warmth of his hand on her arm, right through the sleeve of her jacket.

Locating her keys, she said, "Thanks for the pizza and the escort home."

"Let me come in." Nick's voice wrapped around her in the darkness. "I don't feel right leaving you and letting you go into a dark apartment."

"I told you, I'm a big girl, Nick." A current of longing ran through her, making her want more from him than just talk.
It's a physical attraction
,
she reminded herself, the keys jingling in her nervous fingers.

"I insist."

Nick's hand closed over hers in the darkness, and he took the keys from her. Stepping around her, he inserted the key, then opened the door.

When they were inside, he asked, "Where do you keep a flashlight?"

Clea opened a drawer near her kitchen sink and switched the flashlight on. She kept two hurricane lamps for power outages, and she took them from the shelf, lighting them both.

Soft amber light filled the room, making Nick's eyes glow with desire, passion, or regret? Uncomfortable, Clea glanced away.

"It's going to get cold in here," Nick said. "Do you want me to light the fireplace?"

"Sure. It's gas. You need to open the front and ignite the pilot by hand."

Nick started the gas burner. The fire jumped to life, bringing more light with it. "The fan won't blow, but it's some heat anyway."