“All right,” he said, “we have choices.”
She reached up and grabbed his hand where it rested on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Let’s start with the ice cream.”
They hopped in the truck and headed off to Mapleton. There was only one place for ice cream, Ivy’s Drive-In. Dermot swung the truck beneath the overhang, and a minute later, a carhop put a tag on the windshield and stood next to the driver’s door, awaiting their order.
They both ordered a cone, then hopped out of the truck and walked around to the back. Rachel boosted herself up on the open tailgate, her slender legs dangling.
“I love nights like this,” she said. “So warm and so perfect. Makes me wish winter would never come.”
“I bet it’s beautiful around here in the winter,” Dermot said. “I’d like to see it.”
She bumped his shoulder. “You would not love the winters here. They’re cold and windy. And you don’t have to say things like that.”
“I’m not supposed to say something I really mean?” He grabbed her hand. “I don’t want to argue with you, Rachel. I think we should spend our last few weeks enjoying ourselves.”
The carhop appeared with their ice cream cones, defusing the tension between them. Dermot took a bite and smiled. “Raspberry twirl,” he said. “Good choice. What did you get?”
“I’m just a vanilla girl,” Rachel said.
“You are not vanilla,” Dermot said. He leaned close and dropped a kiss on her lips, licking his as he drew back. “Yum.”
“That’s about as exciting as it’s going to get,” she teased.
“I like kissing you. I could kiss you all night. Where do people go around here to make out? Maybe we could go see that place.”
“I never did that when I was in high school. I was a good girl.”
“Well, maybe you should give it a try now.”
“And maybe you could take me to the homecoming dance, too,” she teased.
“I never went to a high school dance,” he said. “That would be fun.”
She seemed surprised by his admission. “You never went to a dance? I find that hard to believe.”
“Kieran and I really didn’t do a whole lot at school. We spent most of our free time working at my grandfather’s boatyard. We built a racing sloop junior year of high school, and then senior year, we spent every weekend tearing up and down the sound.” He wove his fingers through hers. “Now, if you had gone to our high school, I might have asked you to a dance. Or taken you out on our boat.”
“You never would have noticed me,” she said. “I used to just blend into the walls. I was very plain and very shy. I was the girl with the pencil case. I used to carry all my colored pencils around in this plastic case with a little handle. It kind of became my thing. I was odd.”
“All right. Maybe I wouldn’t have asked you out.”
She reached over and dabbed a bit of ice cream on the end of his nose. “See. I like it when you’re honest with me.”
Dermot stared at her for a long moment. He’d been completely honest with her. She was the one who didn’t believe him. God, she was the most beautiful, exasperating, exciting woman he’d ever known, and every day that they spent together, she grew more beautiful. He lived for her smile and her laugh and the way her eyes lit up when they spoke.
“Would you like to hear another truth?” he asked.
“First you need to clean the ice cream off the end of your nose.”
“You do that,” he said.
When she leaned into him, he caught her by surprise, kissing her again. “Here’s a truth,” he murmured. “I like you a whole lot, Rachel Howe. And if I’m not careful, I might fall in love with you.”
Her breath caught in her throat and she stared at him, wide-eyed. “I like you, too,” she said.
It felt good to say those words out loud. And he didn’t care if all they shared was the occasional kiss from now until he left. He was satisfied just to sit next to her and talk.
He had eighteen days left to figure this all out. It didn’t seem like a lot of time, but for the two of them, it would have to be enough.
SLEEP WAS IMPOSSIBLE. Rachel stared at the ceiling of her bedroom and groaned softly. The heat made her skin sticky and her hair damp. Even the fan in the window didn’t provide any relief. But she knew it wasn’t the heat. It was Dermot.
Her mind was spinning, a tangle of thoughts she just couldn’t seem to sort out. She’d left him at the door a few hours before, determined not to let a few delicious kisses rock her resolve to put distance between them.
Was it so difficult for him to understand? She was only trying to protect herself from the hurt that would eventually come. Surely he could see that she was growing far too dependent on him.
It would be so easy to fall in love, to believe that he was some white knight come to rescue her from all her problems. With a partner, she could keep the farm, she could have time to do her work as an artist, she could honor the promise she made to her father. Everything would fall into place so neatly.
But was she idealizing what they shared because she needed him to make her life easier? Or was she feeling a connection that was meant to last a lifetime? Rachel had thought she’d found love in the past and she’d been proved wrong. So what made her think this was the real thing—and after only three weeks together?
With a soft curse, she sat up and raked her hands through her tangled hair. This was crazy! No matter what she did, she was going to get hurt. Even now, the thought of falling asleep without him brought a lonely ache to her heart.
He was a wonderful man, kind and compassionate, patient and concerned, so incredibly sexy. Exactly the sort of man she could see herself loving for the rest of her life. But was she in love or just caught up in the possibility of love?
Her stomach growled. Maybe if she made herself a snack she’d be able to sleep. Rachel rolled out of bed and walked downstairs. The kitchen was dark and she pulled open the refrigerator door and let the cool air rush out.
The pitcher of lemonade looked appealing and she set it on the counter, then pulled out a package of string cheese. She found a glass and a plate and added a few crackers, then carried the food out to the porch.
After living in the heart of Chicago, she was always amazed at how silent the world could be. It almost hurt her ears to search for a noise. A dog barked in the distance, the sound traveling in the still air.
“Can’t sleep?”
The sound of his voice startled her. He sat on one of the wicker chairs at the end of the porch. He was wearing just his boxers, his bare feet resting on the porch rail, a bottle of beer in his hand.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry.
