She toasted him, sipped. “Thats the plan.”

“Its a good one. The three of you look good together. You fit together, complement each other. Youve all got different styles, but they mesh nicely.”

“Funny, I was thinking almost exactly that just the other day. Its like if anyone had suggested Id be going into business—putting basically every penny I have on the line—with two women Ive known only about a month, Id have laughed my butt off. But here I am. And its right. Thats one thing Im absolutely sure of.”

“As far as the bookstore goes, Id bet on you any day of the week.”

“Save your money. I may have to borrow some before its done. But following along, tell me what you would look for in a good neighborhood bookstore. From a writers perspective.” Like Dana, he sat back, a signal to the waiter to clear. “You called me a writer without any derogatory adjectives.”

“Dont get cocky. Im just maintaining the mood of the evening.”

“Then lets order dessert and coffee, and Ill tell you.”

* * *

BY the time they were done, she was wishing shed brought a notebook. He was good, she had to give him that. He touched on aspects she hadnt thought of, expanded on others that she had.

When they spoke of books themselves, she realized how much shed missed that perk. Having someone who shared her absolute devotion to stories. To devouring and dissecting them, to savoring and wallowing in them.

“Its a nice night,” he said as he helped her to her feet. “Why dont we walk around the grounds before we drive back?”

“Is that your way of saying that I ate so much I need to walk it off?”

“No. Its my way of stretching out the time I have alone with you.”

“You really have gotten better at this,” she replied as he led her from the room.

Her coat reappeared nearly as quickly as it had been whisked away. And, she noted, Jordan didnt miss a beat when themartre d presented one of his books and asked to have it signed.

He did that well, too, she thought. He kept it light, friendly, added some casual chatter and his thanks for the evening.

“How does it feel?” she asked when theyd stepped outside. “When someone asks you to sign a book?”

“A hell of a lot better than it does if they dont give a damn.”

“No, seriously. Dont brush the question off. Whats it like?”

“Satisfying.” Absently, he smoothed down the collar of her coat. “Flattering. Surprising. Unless theyve got a crazed look in their eye and an unpublished manuscript under their arm.”

“Does that happen?”

“Often enough. But mostly it just feels good. Hey, heres somebody whos read my stuff, or is about to. And they think itd be cool if I signed it.” He shrugged. “Whats not good about that?” “Thats not very temperamental of you.”

“Im not a temperamental guy.”

She snorted. “You always used to be.”

“You used to be argumentative and pigheaded.” He smiled broadly when she scowled at him. “See how weve changed?”

“Im just going to let that go, because Ive had a really good time.” She breathed deep as they wandered a bricked path, and looked up at the thick slice of waxing moon. “Into week two,” she murmured.

“Youre doing fine, Stretch.”

She shook her head. “I dont feel like Im getting to the meat of it. Not yet. The days are going by really fast. Im not panicked or anything,” she added quickly, “but Ive got serious concerns. So much is depending on me. People I care about. Im afraid Ill let them down. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes. Youre not alone in this. The brunt may be on you, but youre not carrying all the weight.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, drew her toward him a little, until her body rested against his. “I want to help you, Dana.”

She fit well with him. She always had. And her realization of that made little warning bells sound in some dim part of her brain. “We already know youre connected, somehow or other.”

“I want more.” He bent his head to brush his lips over her shoulder. “And I want you.”

“Ive got enough to worry about right now.”

“Whether it worries you or not isnt going to change a thing.” He turned her to face him. “Im still going to want you. Youre still going to know it.” His lips curved as he ran his hands up and down her arms. “Ive always liked that look.”

“What look?”

“That mildly irritated look you get when somebody gives you a problem to work out. The one that puts this little crease right here.” He touched his lips to her forehead, just between her eyebrows.

“I thought we were taking a walk.”

“We did. Now Id say this evening calls for one more thing.” He loved the way her lips curled just as much as he loved the flicker of surprise over her face when instead of kissing her, he slid her into a slow, swaying dance.

“Pretty clever,” she murmured, but she was moved.

“I always liked dancing with you. The way everything lines up. The way I can smell your hair, your skin. The way, if I get close enough, look close enough, I can see myself in your eyes. Your eyes always did me in. I never told you that, did I?”

“No.” She felt herself tremble, and the warning bells were lost under the thunder of her own heart.

“They did. Still do. Sometimes, when we managed to spend the night together, Id wake up early to watch you sleep. Just so I could see you open your eyes.”

“Its not fair.” Her voice shook. “Its not fair to tell me something like that now.”

“I know. I shouldve told you then. But nows all Ive got.”

He touched his lips to hers, rubbed softly. Nipped gently. He felt her body slide toward surrender, and fought the urge to plunder.

He went slowly, for both of them, savoring what theyd once devoured, lingering where once theyd rushed. In the starlight, with her arms lifting to come around him, he wouldnt allow himself to demand. Instead, he seduced.

He was still circling her in a dance. Or was it just that her head was spinning? His lips were warm, and patient, all the more arousing with the hints of heat and urgency she sensed strapped down inside him.

She sighed, drew him closer. And let him take her deeper.

Soft, slow, moist. The chill of the air against her heated skin, the scent of the night, the whisper of her name through lips moving, moving over her own.

If all the years between had formed a gulf between them, this one kiss in a deserted autumn garden began to forge the bridge.

It was he who drew back, then shook her to the core by grasping both of her hands, bringing them to his lips. “Give me a chance, Dana.”

“You dont know what youre asking. No, you dont,” she said before he could speak. “And I dont know the answer yet. If you want one that matters, youre going to have to give me time to figure it out.”

“Okay.” He kept her hands in his, but stepped back. “Ill wait. But I meant what I said before, about helping you. It hasnt anything to do with this.”

“I have to think about that, too.”

“All right.”

But there was one thing she knew, Dana realized as they walked back for his car. She wasnt still in love with him. They were, as hed said, different people now. And what she felt for him now made the love shed had for the boy seem as pale and thin as morning mist.

* * *

JORDAN let himself into the house, switched off the porch light. It had been a very long time, he reflected, since anyone had left a light on for him.

His choice, of course. That was what everything came down to. Hed chosen to leave the Valley, to leave Dana, and his friends and all that was familiar.

It had been the right choice; he would stand by that. But he could see now that his method of making it had been the flaw. The flaw that had left a crack in what had been. Just how did a man go about building something new on a faulty foundation?

He started toward the steps, then stopped as Flynn came down them.

“Waiting up for me, Dad? Did I miss curfew?”

“I see your night on the town put you in a cheery mood. Why dont we step back into my office?”

Without waiting for assent, Flynn strolled back to the kitchen. He took a look around. Okay, it was a hideous room, even he could see that. The ancient copper-tone appliances, the ugly cabinets and linoleum that possibly had looked fresh and jazzy in his grandfathers generation.

But he still couldnt visualize how it could, or would, look when Malory got done with it. No more than he could understand why the prospect of ripping it apart and putting it back together made her so happy.

“The guys are coming in Monday to bomb this place.”

“Not a moment too soon,” Jordan commented.

“I was going to get around to it, sooner or later. It wasnt like I was using it. But since Malory, stuff actually gets cooked in here.” He bumped the stove with his foot. “She has a deep and violent hatred for this appliance. Its kind of scary.”

“You brought me back here to talk about Malorys obsession with kitchen appliances?” “No. I wanted cookies. Malory has this rule against eating them in bed. This is something else I cant figure,” he continued as he got a bag of Chips Ahoy out of the cupboard. “But Im an easygoing guy. You want milk?”

“No.”

His friend was wearing gray sweats and a T-shirt that might have been new during his sophomore year of college. His feet were bare, his expression easy.

Looks, Jordan knew, could be very deceiving.

“And youre not easygoing, Hennessy. You pretend to be easygoing so you can get your own way.”

“Im not eating these in bed, am I?”

“Small potatoes, son. You got the woman in your bed.”