water’s edge, the surfers catching the wave of the day.
She was pulled straight across the room to look at it more closely.
“How did you— Did you paint it? It’s amazing.”
“Not me. Not an artistic bone in my body. But my sisters are. Martha, the younger one, did this. It’s what she does. Paints murals.”
Ally was enchanted. “It’s … captivating. I can almost feel the breeze off the sea, smell the surf and the board wax and—”
“—and Benny’s plate lunch,” PJ finished with a grin.
Ally laughed because it was true. “And Benny’s plate lunch,” she agreed, shaking her head. “It’s fantastic.”
PJ nodded. “I think so. It’s a good reminder. Sometimes.”
Ally cocked her head. “Sometimes?”
He shrugged. “Things were simpler then. Hopes, dreams. That sort of thing.” His mouth twisted wryly for a moment, but then he shrugged. “But the memories are worth it, I guess. At least, most of them.”
There was a moment’s silence as Ally stared at the mural and reflected on her own memories of those days.
Abruptly PJ said, “I’ll get started on dinner.”
He vanished before she could say another word, not that she could think of anything to say. She was too captivated by the mural—and by his house.
The furniture here was all spare dark wood and leather. Bold geometric-designed rugs dotted polished wooden floors. The walls, except for the one his sister had painted, were either exposed brick or floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
When she’d known PJ his bookshelf had been four boards and two stacks of milk crates. And the titles, as she recalled, had run to mechanical engineering texts and the latest thrillers.
His library now was much more eclectic. The texts and thrillers were still there. But there were books on woodworking and history, some art tomes and thick historical biographies. She would have liked to explore more, but the mural drew her back. She crossed the room and studied it more closely, noticing that there were people she recognized.
“That’s Tuba,” she said, surprised at recognizing the small figure of an island boy carrying his board on his head as he walked toward the surf. “And Benny!” she exclaimed as she found her boss sitting, as he often did, in the shade of a tree away from the bustle of his lunch shop.
“Lots of people you know,” PJ agreed.
He had shed the suit and had reappeared barefoot, wearing a pair of khaki shorts and dragging a faded red shirt over his head, then tugging it down over a hard flat midriff.
This PJ she remembered—and he could still make her catch her breath. The view of his tanned muscular belly vanished in an instant, but a single glimpse was all it took. Once Ally had seen it, she could still see it in her mind. And once again she remembered things she didn’t want to remember at all.
So she swallowed and dragged her gaze back up to his face, trying to remember what she had been talking about. The mural.
Right.
“Am I in it?” She was avidly curious, but didn’t want to appear as if it mattered.
“Of course.”
She squinted at the beach, at Benny’s. “I am?” She frowned briefly and squinted more closely at it. “Where?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Come on. I’ll get dinner started. Want a beer? Glass of wine?”
“Um, wine, I think.”
Ally wasn’t sure she should be drinking anything. She needed her brain sharp and her wits all under control. But a glass of wine might help her relax. She didn’t want to feel as uptight as she felt right now. She wanted to settle down, take a deep breath, stop making such a big deal out of this.
It wasn’t a big deal, she assured herself. Just a minor bump in the road on her way to marital bliss.
She should know that there were going to be bumps in the road. It was just that in the last few years she had become accustomed to things going her way. In her work, in her life. She’d made them go her way.
But PJ wasn’t quite as easy to steer in the direction she wanted him to go.
She left the mural for later, tempted but at the same time unwilling to explore it further. It spoke too much of the past and she didn’t need to be thinking about the past. She needed to think about the future. So she followed PJ into the kitchen.
He was every bit as intriguing as the mural. Probably more so because he was the same, yet different. In part, he was still the man she remembered—casual, easygoing, barefoot here at home—on some level taking life as it came.
But there were obviously parts of this PJ Antonides that she didn’t know at all. The man who had worn the suit and stood behind the solid teak desk wasn’t a man she’d had any experience with. But he was the man who had said, “No divorce.”
So that was the man she would have to deal with now.
“Right,” he said. “You want some wine.” He removed the cork from a bottle on the counter and poured a glass of red wine, then handed it to her.
“Thank you. You’re very civil.”
He raised a brow. “Why shouldn’t I be?”
“You weren’t exactly falling all over yourself to be civil this afternoon.”
“You were a bit of a surprise this afternoon.”
“And now I’m not?”
“Now … we’ll see. Won’t we?” There was a wealth of speculation in his tone. But he didn’t challenge her, just reached in the refrigerator and snagged a beer, then popped off the top.
Ally, though, thought she needed to challenge him. “Why won’t you sign the divorce papers?”
“You’ve got a one-track mind.”
“It’s what I came for.”
“Not to see me?”
She flushed at the accusation. “Well, of course I’m glad to see you, but … you’re right. That was my priority.”
“You didn’t think maybe you should get to know me a little better before you decided I wouldn’t suit?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again before she said something she’d regret.
But if she’d expected him to go on, she was out of luck. He just stared at her, waiting for an answer.
“It wasn’t like that, PJ,” she said finally. “I met Jon when I was at the hospital with my dad. I got to know him there. Got to see how hard he worked. How much he cared. I fell in love with him there.”
