we get started?” She gestured to one seat before sitting in the opposite one. She moved with a fluid grace that reminded him of the waves he’d spied on the water. But just like the water, he was pretty sure there was a lot more beneath the surface than she was going to show. At least to him.
He sat, well aware that he had some atoning to do. He hoped he could get through this meeting without turning back into the rebel without a clue.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this place,” he said. “Even when I lived here, I usually wasn’t allowed inside. My dad came here to hang out with his buddies. Your father-in-law was his best friend. Having me here would have cramped their style.”
She nodded. “Your father never came back after...after I took over.”
“Really?”
Another nod. “I’m sorry you lost him.”
“And I’m sorry, too. For your loss, I mean.”
This time she merely pursed her lips, as if he’d said something unexpected. It took him a moment to realize that expressions of sympathy might not go with the image he had presented that morning.
God, when he messed up, he did it big-time.
After a moment of silence, she spoke again. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Delaney, but my—”
“J.T.”
“Fine. I’m Lydia, and my children will be here soon so I can drive them home from school, so could we please skip the getting-to-know-you stage and get down to business?” She leaned forward slightly. “I want to buy the building.”
He tried to answer. He really did. But when she leaned in, he got a glimpse of something purple and lacy beneath her no-nonsense polo shirt, and boom, his neurons went into some kind of overactive shock. Which, as a scientist, he knew wasn’t possible. But he also knew that science couldn’t explain everything.
“Mr. Delaney? J.T.?”
“Uh...sorry, I...long day yesterday. I’m still foggy.”
“Then let me say it again. I want to buy the building. How much are you asking?”
He wasn’t seeing the Realtor for a couple of days, but he knew the assessed value of the building. He added a few thousand for good measure and named the resulting figure.
She blanched just a little.
“That’s a bit more than I expected.”
He reminded himself of the costs of moving his mother and establishing her in a new home in a country without subsidized medical care. “This is a good-sized building. It could probably be subdivided into two or three stores. Or it could stay as one large space, which I gather is what the other potential buyer plans to do with it.”
A bit more color drained from her face. “Someone else wants it?”
In going through his mother’s papers he’d found a letter from a Brockville snack maker asking about the possibility of buying the building to house a Comeback Cove spin-off of his establishment. J.T. didn’t want to come off like a hard-ass, but she needed to know that he had to get the best possible price.
“There is other interest,” he said slowly. “It would be a lot easier to sell to you, and I have no problem doing that. But I can’t dismiss another buyer simply because you were here first.” Then, because the way she was shrinking in on herself made him feel like he’d stepped on a robin’s egg, he added, “I need to do what’s best for my mother.”
He wished he could tell her the truth, that he wasn’t a heartless bastard, that he was only cutting as many ties as possible to make sure there was no reason for his mother to ever come back to this place of long, dangerous winters.
But Iris had gone to great and elaborate lengths during her hospitalization to convince the town that she was suffering from a very contagious flu. If he breathed so much as a hint that she was actually being treated for depression she would never forgive him. Worse, she might never leave town with him. She had already been dropping too-casual hints about how good life was in Comeback Cove and how the school could use an energetic science teacher. If he pissed her off, she would stay here with her friends, for another winter, and pretend she could ride out her illness on her own.
And he would lose her.
“Your mother. Of course. I understand.” Lydia stood, smoothing the fabric of her khaki-colored pants, drawing his attention to nicely rounded hips. All thoughts of the building and the town and even his mother fluttered from his mind at the sight of long fingers sliding nervously down her thighs.
He shook his head. Four months of celibacy was obviously too long. If this were anyplace but the Cove he could try to amend that sad condition, but the mere thought of finding someone here was enough to bring a wry smile to his lips.
“My children will be here any minute.” Her words pulled him back to attention. “I need to get ready for them.”
“Right.” He sprang to his feet, reached for her outstretched hand. Her shake was firm. His grasp lasted a fraction of a second too long. Well, to him it was too short. Who would have suspected that her palm would nestle so intimately against his? But from the slight frown and the speed with which she pulled back, he knew he’d overstayed his welcome.
“I don’t want a bidding war, but I’m not giving up and moving out meekly, Mr. Delaney. I have too much invested here to let go just like that.”
He nodded, certain that if he tried to say anything, he’d end up apologizing all over himself and practically giving her the building. “I understand. Why don’t you take a day or two to consider your options and get back to me?”
Lydia’s gaze darted around the room, lingering in the oddest places—a scarred section of the fireplace, a pane of glass in the window that didn’t seem to match those surrounding it. He would have thought she was reassessing as she looked around, but the soft glow in her eyes told him he’d missed the boat.
“I’ll be in touch as soon as possible,” she said as she walked him to the door. He nodded and reached past her for the handle. For a moment they brushed against each other. He was close enough to breathe in the scents of coffee and vanilla that clung to her, near enough to hear the small breath that escaped from her lips when he touched her. He was filled with a crazy yearning to forget the door and reach for her instead.
It was impossible, of course. She might not have judged and dismissed him like the rest of the populace, but a hero’s widow and the town bad boy—reformed or not—wasn’t what anyone would call a likely pairing.
The best thing he could do was hope that from now on, she would wear shirts that wouldn’t get him thinking.
CHAPTER THREE
WHERE WAS SHE going to get the money?
Lydia gave the wheelbarrow a vicious push as it caught on a root hidden in the grass of her front yard. Officially, she was toting the embers from the evening’s barbecue out front to dump on the giant maple stump in the middle of the yard. In reality she’d jumped at the chance to gain a moment’s privacy—a moment to relive her conversation
