Love on a Summer Night (16 page)

Still nothing.

“What?”

“Well, if it were me, I wouldn’t have him stay in the guest room, but I suppose that makes sense with Eric,” her mother finally muttered.

“Mom!”

“What? He’s very tall.”

Faith was starting to understand where she’d inherited her taste in men.

“Okay, don’t say anything like that to him.” She yanked the door open and pointed inside. “Let’s go.”

— —
 

Faith’s family was totally different than the Minelli clan. They argued silently, for one thing. Over dinner, when Eric didn’t want to eat the frozen peas Miriam added so there would be something green on their plates—“Because coleslaw isn’t a vegetable”, a statement of Miriam’s opinion that Faith vehemently denied as fact—all Faith had to do was give him a raised eyebrow and he shoved a spoonful in his mouth.

And when he said, “yummy,” with a grimace that said the exact opposite on his face, nobody reamed him out.

There were still rules, and rebellion, but both were muted.

Zander thought it was delightful.

For a guy who’d spent his whole life surrounded by ever increasing noise—quarrels, arguments, lectures, drill sergeants, explosives, war zones, motorcycle engines and helicopter rotors—this quiet family dinner was an unexpected balm.

After dinner they cleared the table, but dishes were just scrapped and stacked next to the sink, to be done after Eric went to bed, so they could squeeze in a promised family movie night before it got too late.

Chores taking a back seat to fun? Zander could get behind that, too.

In the cozy, book and photograph lined family room that overlooked the garden, an armoire opened up to reveal a decent sized flat screen TV. Eric hopped on the shabby chic sectional and demanded that Zander sit right in the corner—“So Mommy can sit on one side and I can sit on the other!”—and that sounded damn perfect.

Faith hid her blush by scurrying off to the kitchen to make popcorn. When she came back, Miriam had taken the arm chair. She stood in the doorway for a minute and Zander could feel her watching him reading the back of The Lego Movie DVD case with Eric.

“This looks like it might be scary,” Zander mock whispered, stealing a look up at Faith. She handed a bowl of popcorn to her mother, then disappeared again.

Eric nodded solemnly. “It’s okay to hide under the blanket.”

“Duly noted.”

When Faith returned, she didn’t bring more individual bowls of popcorn, but rather one big bowl. And she put it on Zander’s lap.

Eric curled up on one side of him, and while Faith left a bit more room on the other side, her arm did brush his on a regular basis as they watched the movie. And when Eric squealed and grabbed the throw, hiding behind both it and Zander’s arm, Faith teasingly did the same on the other side.

And she stayed there for the rest of the movie, her cheek pressed against his biceps.

So did Eric.

Zander couldn’t imagine a better last night on the peninsula.

Once the credits rolled, it took Faith half an hour to put Eric to bed. Twice he got up, once to give Zander another hug goodnight and again for a glass of water.

If Zander had been the adult in charge, Eric probably never would have gone to sleep. One adorable tilt of his tousled blond head and that gleeful dimpled smile, and Zander would have put on another movie and made more popcorn.

He was a sucker, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

He also didn’t mind either of those interruptions to the otherwise one-on-one time he was having on the main floor with Faith’s mother.

Miriam was lovely, of course. And she didn’t have anything on the shark-attack approach that his own mother preferred. But there was no mistaking the fact that she too was a mama bear.

He liked her.

But he also feared the way she looked at him, because in Zander’s experience, mothers
knew
things. So he wondered…did Miriam know how much Faith was afraid of making a mistake? Of diving recklessly into a doomed adventure?

Could she see that Zander desperately wanted to be more than an adventure? More than a delayed rebound guy? More than a “right now” fling?

She didn’t say anything. She just washed the plates and handed them over, and he did what any sane man would do—he dried them and pretended he had better answers to the obvious questions—because the truth was pretty damning.

Yes, I had sex with your daughter last night. Yes. I’m covered in tattoos and drive a motorcycle. Yes, I’m leaving tomorrow.

But like her daughter, Miriam didn’t need to say anything. She just looked at him from time to time, eyebrow raised ever so slightly. He stood straighter and squared his shoulders. Yes, he knew how special her daughter was. He saw how strong she was, even when she didn’t feel it in herself. He saw her wanderlust spirit and her need to protect her son and he loved both equally. Fiercely. Yes, he was leaving, but he’d come back.

He was already thinking about how he could re-jig his monthly leave days, usually used for shopping trips into the city or personal appointments, and fly back once a month until his contract was up in March.

He wouldn’t leave Faith and Eric hanging.

“Can you put this bowl on the top shelf?” Miriam asked, interrupting his thoughts. She was holding the glazed pottery dish she’d served the peas in, which she’d just dried herself, and pointed to the fourth shelf in the extra tall cupboard. He’d noticed her use a footstool to get it down earlier. That stool was now folded up and tucked in a nook beside the fridge.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Faith says you work out west.”

“I do. That’s coming to an end.”

“And then what?” She gave him that appraising
mother knows
look that said she saw him, too.

A week earlier, he’d ridden off the ferry wondering that exact same question. Now he felt a lot more comfortable in his answer. “Then I’m moving back to the peninsula. I’m from Pine Harbour. Got a lot of roots here.”

“Big family?” For someone who didn’t talk a lot, Miriam suddenly had a lot to say. Or ask.

Her right, of course. Zander nodded. “Two brothers and a sister. They’re all in the area.”

“And you joined the army and travelled far and wide.” She smiled, but there was a tremor of tension in her brow even as she did it.

“Got it out of my system,” he said evenly.
For the most part
. But the thought of not being able to pick up and go—of maybe having some responsibility beyond a job—suddenly didn’t terrify him.

“Good to know.”

And that was that. She pointed to the cupboard again, he put the dish away, and returned to drying plates.

When Faith came downstairs, she’d changed out of her jeans and t-shirt, and put on a simple black jersey dress. Bare legs. Bare feet. No jewelry and just a bit of lip gloss, maybe.

She took his breath away.

“I’m going to bed,” Miriam announced.

“Night, Mom,” Faith murmured, but her gaze didn’t leave Zander’s face.

He slowly dried the plate in his hand, then reached up and put it on the shelf without breaking that connection.

“You can leave the rest to dry in the rack,” Faith said, coming closer.

“It’s no problem,” he said gruffly.

Miriam smiled at him from behind Faith.

He tried and failed not to turn red.

— TWELVE —

T
HE house was suddenly very, very quiet.
 

Faith stood in the doorway, watching Zander dry the last two plates and listening to her mother climb the stairs at the same time. At the top of the landing there was a door to the granny flat above the garage, where Miriam had made her own space. Faith tipped her gaze up, staring at the ceiling as she heard the door open, then some rustling around. Miriam went into the main bathroom between Eric’s room and the spare room and got the baby monitor Faith had left on the counter.

Her mother knew her so well, for better or worse. Miriam knew that Faith needed someone else to keep an ear out for Eric…and that she wanted to be alone with Zander.

From the way he was blushing, he knew all of that too.

And the house was too damn quiet to share that knowledge in any other way than with equally embarrassed looks.

She crossed through the kitchen to the living room and turned on the stereo, which they kept tuned to public radio, and on a Friday night, that meant a weekly lecture series. Someone was talking about the meaning of “self” and individuality.

An excellent question for the end of a week where Zander had made her reconsider every notion she had about herself. He’d stormed into her life and given her ideas and fears and hopes and desires, and now they had one more night, a bonus chance to say goodbye properly.

He was done with the dishes, and he met her in the middle of the room. She looped her fingers through his. She couldn’t imagine a more unexpectedly natural feeling in the world than holding his hand, ready to lead him away from this domestic scene to something more private.

She’d been a mother for so long, and
only
a mother, that she’d thought this selfishness would be harder.

From the second he’d been born, her son had owned her heart, and raising him—getting to see him grow and learn—it was a gift. It didn’t feel hard fought at all, and she knew she was lucky for that. But the few times she’d tried to take something like this for herself, it had felt
wrong
.

This ease with Zander shook her to her core because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not with him. Not to her.

She wasn’t this lucky.

She led him down the hallway to the small craft room tucked in behind the living room—the furthest point in the house from her mother’s room, safely tucked around the corner from the living room. It had a long, comfortable couch…and the door locked.

She whispered for him to pull it closed behind him while she moved further into the room to find the lamp.

The click of the latch was like a starter’s pistol—both in imagined volume and in a metaphorical start to this most private part of what had been an unexpectedly lovely evening already. He’d closed the door before she got the light turned on, and then he was behind her, his arms around her waist and his mouth on the back of her neck. Her fingers slipped off the plastic knob and she fumbled for it again, then gave up, turning in his arms.

The moonlight streaming in the window was enough for now.

They tumbled together onto the couch, touching in a quiet, reverential moment of reconnection.

He captured her face between his hands and kissed her softly at first, then more insistently. She started to climb into his lap and he dropped his hands to her hips, stilling her movement. “Your mom? Eric?”

“Mom took the monitor for Eric’s room into her apartment, which is on the other side of the house. We probably shouldn’t get naked, but we won’t be interrupted unless the house is on fire.”

“I’m resourceful. There’s a lot we can do without getting naked.”

The first thing he did was ruck her skirt up to her waist. Under her dress she was wearing black boy short panties, and he slid his hands under the stretchy cotton, cupping her bottom.

Then he surprised the hell out of her by continuing to make conversation. “Hey, so…I’m back next month for my sister’s wedding.”

“Yeah?” She beamed at him and kissed the corner of his mouth. A bonus visit, maybe?

“And I want to ask you to be my date.”

Wow. “Okay. You should do that.”

“Ask you?”

“Yes.”

“I will.”

She laughed. “When?”

“When I get up the nerve.” He squeezed her butt cheeks, and she wondered how he could doubt she’d be all over that.

She rolled her hips, finding him hard and ready. Big Zander might be nervous, but Little Zander had no doubt of her interest, and the feeling was obviously mutual. “Zander, I’m going to say yes.”

“People will see us together,” he said, completely seriously.

She cackled and nipped at his jaw. “Babe, I think that ship has sailed.”

“My mother will be there.”

“So? You met my mother tonight.”

“There’s no comparison.”

“I can handle it.”

“Then will you be my date next month? Wear something pretty and dance with me under the stars?”

She hummed against the warm, tasty skin of his neck. Poor guy had walked right into this and she was feeling playful. “Gosh, I don’t know…”

He flipped her onto her back and covered her with his body, his mouth hot and demanding as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. Oh, was he going to punish her for being lippy? Because she was pretty sure she’d enjoy that.

“You’re a minx,” he growled, reaching for her hands and pinning them above her head on the couch seat. “I love this couch, by the way. It’s nice and long. Perfect to stretch out on and take my time in working you up.”

“And then getting me off, I hope?”

“Greedy much?” He shifted his weight, holding her wrists with one of his hands while he used the other to push her dress even higher. He groaned when he found she’d ditched the bra when she got changed. “Oh, fuck, Faith.”

She breathed a heady, aroused sigh as he circled his palm ever so lightly over her right nipple, pulling it into a tight, aching point as if by magic.

“Wait.” He pinched that peak and jerked his hand out from under her dress. “Wedding date? Yes?”

“Yes!” She hissed it to keep from yelling at him. “Please don’t stop.”

His teeth flashed white in the darkness. “I love how sensitive your breasts are, because I think they’re fucking gorgeous and could happily feast on them for hours.”

Yes, yes, yes. “Less talking, more touching.” She closed her eyes. “Please?”

He chuckled, resuming his attention. Right. Left. Right. Between her legs, she was growing so wet she could feel it. She tugged her arms out of his loose grasp and reached for his belt. Even before she got his jeans unzipped, she was palming his erection, tracing the length and glorious width of him with her other hand. And then she had his hot flesh circled with all her fingers, and he was clumsily reaching around her to tug her underwear off.