The Chesapeake Diaries Series (182 page)

“Where are they now?”

“Brooke and two of the other T-ball team mothers took them all out for pizza.” He opened the screen door. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” She climbed the steps and followed him into the kitchen, where he put down the wooden spoon he’d been holding to give her a welcoming hug and a kiss on the side of her mouth. “Whoa, look who’s cooking!”

“I thought we’d eat in tonight.”

“Something smells amazing.” She sniffed appreciatively at the air.

“Roasted asparagus, baked halibut, and brown rice,” he told her.

“Sounds delicious. I’ve never had roasted asparagus, but I’m game.” She glanced around the room. “What can I do to help?”

“You can set the table in the dining room, if you want,” he suggested.

“These plates, I’m guessing?” She lifted two plates from the counter.

“Right. Knives, forks, spoons are in the first drawer there on your left.” Clay pulled on an oven mitt and opened the oven door.

“Got it.”

Lucy went into the dining room and turned on the wall switch for the overhead light. The ancient chandelier came to life and enhanced the now-pale light that filtered through the back window. She’d always loved this room, and felt oddly pleased that so little had changed. The walnut dining room furniture was
the same; the china cupboards held the same dishes she remembered the Madisons using for Sunday dinners, and the sideboard held the same glass candlesticks. The red Oriental rug that was worn from years of footsteps still covered the wide plank floor, and the lace tablecloth was the same one she remembered. She set the table, then stood in front of the china cupboard.

When she sensed Clay in the doorway, she said, “I like that nothing’s changed.”

He shrugged. “When my mom and dad moved to South Carolina, they were going into a small place in one of those over-fifty-five communities and couldn’t agree on what to take and what to leave. So they basically took nothing with them and bought smaller furniture for their condo. Then, when my mom bought her town house here last year, she bought all new furniture for herself.”

“I’m surprised that she didn’t want the antique pieces,” Lucy remarked.

“She said they’d all come down through my dad’s family and she’d never had a chance to have her own things. I expect Brooke will probably take some stuff, now that she’s starting to get settled over in the tenant house.”

“It was nice to walk in here and see the room the way I remembered it. It makes me feel … I don’t know, like I’m home, in a way.”

“I didn’t see any reason to change things,” he said. “I admit that decor isn’t much of a priority.”

Lucy laughed. “If you saw my apartment, you’d say it wasn’t mine either. I’ve never really had the time to do much more than buy some furniture. I spend more time in my office than I do the apartment.”

“You probably need to take a little time off now and then.”

“I know. But look who’s talking. You have more going on right now than anyone I know. You have all those crops in the ground. Stuff for the restaurants and stuff for your brewery, and then there’s the orchard. Do you really think you’re going to have time to pick everything you planted?”

“I’m hiring day pickers to do that part, ’cause you’re right. I won’t have time to do everything myself,” he confessed. “But still, I take time to do other things. I walk into town around seven every day for my morning meeting with Wade. I coach Logan’s T-ball in the spring and soccer in the fall.” He grinned. “And I cook the good stuff I grow, and I’m damned good at it.”

“Oh, aren’t we the cocky one?” She laughed.

“You can judge for yourself in about—” Clay turned to look at the timer on the stove. “Five minutes. I need to get busy.”

Clay returned to the kitchen, and moments later, Lucy joined him.

“There’s a bottle of wine opened on the counter there and two glasses,” he said. “Would you mind pouring for us?”

“Not at all.”

Lucy poured wine into the glasses and took one to Clay at the stove, pausing for just a second to watch him at work. What, she wondered, was so appealing about a man in jeans and a pullover standing over a hot stove, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows?

She handed him his glass and took a sip from her own. The wine was delicious and she looked at the
label. She took another sip and let it roll around on her tongue, and wondered if it was offered at the inn. She’d have to check.

“You look lost in serious thought,” Clay noted.

“I was thinking about this wonderful wine, and wondering if it was served at the inn.”

Clay nodded. “I had it there over the winter. It’s from Hunter’s vineyard in Ballard.”

“I had one of their wines at Vanessa’s.” She picked up the bottle and studied the label. “I might have to look into this for the wedding. Maybe I’ll drive over this week and pick up a few bottles for the menu tasting.”

Clay pulled a baking dish out of the oven and set it atop the stove. He dished brown rice from a pot on the stove into a bowl, which Lucy took into the dining room. When she returned, he had the asparagus piled in another bowl and the fish on an oval white plate and was heading into the dining room with it. Lucy grabbed his wineglass and brought it to him.

“This was such a great idea,” she said as she took her seat. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“You’re welcome.”

He handed her the fish platter and she helped herself before passing it back to him.

“You are so not the boy I used to know,” she told him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He made a face but she could tell he wasn’t offended.

“The Clay Madison who was my best friend growing up couldn’t even spread jelly on a piece of bread without glopping it onto the floor.”

“I’ve come a long way, baby.”

“I’ll say you have.”

Midway through the meal, he said, “I almost forgot.
You wanted music.” He got up and went into the kitchen. A moment later he returned with a CD player in one hand and a stack of discs in their cases in the other. He set the player up on the sideboard and handed the CDs to Lucy. “Your choice.”

“No one can ever say that you don’t have eclectic taste.” She glanced through the plastic cases. “Bruce Springsteen, Nickelback, Tim McGraw, Maroon 5, Kenny Chesney, Bruno Mars, Rascal Flatts, Cream … Really?” She held up the psychedelic picture on the case. “Is this a test? Find the one that doesn’t go with the others?”

“My dad was a big Clapton fan.” Clay shrugged. “I’d replaced a lot of his old albums with CDs one year for his birthday. When my mom moved back, she gave them to me.”

“Hannah’s not a classic rock fan?”

“Hannah’s deep into country now.”

“And she let you keep the Rascal Flatts?”

Clay laughed. “I think she left that one here by accident.”

Lucy handed him the Tim McGraw. “Let’s live like we’re dying.”

“Good choice.” He slipped the disc into the player and turned the volume on low.

“So have you gotten a lot of work done since you’ve been in St. Dennis?” he asked.

She brought him up-to-date on all she’d accomplished in the past several days.

“Sounds like you’ve got things under control,” he noted.

“For the most part, yes. Things may be a little dicey back home, but I think we’re okay. There was an event
today that Bonnie was supposed to handle, but her ex-husband broke his leg horseback riding. She flew up to Sacramento to be with him, so she passed the event on to Corrine. I’m waiting for her to check in to let me know how things went today.” She patted the pocket of her jeans to make sure she still had her phone.

“Nice of your partner to take care of her ex.”

“I don’t think he’ll be her ex for much longer. I think they’re getting back together.” Lucy considered what that might mean for their partnership. Bonnie had said that Bob would never move back to L.A.

“How’s your new office working out in the inn?”

“It’s fine. I could never work there permanently, though. There isn’t enough room.”

They finished their meal and cleared the table, then rinsed and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher.

“This was a wonderful dinner,” Lucy told him. “Thank you again. I’d like to say I’ll reciprocate, but I don’t have a kitchen and I’m not much of a cook. However, you could come to the inn one night and see what you think of the new chef.”

“I’d love to do that, but I have to confess, I’m already a fan of Gavin’s,” he said. “I took my mom to the inn for her birthday dinner a few weeks ago.”

“Ah, that’s right. You did tell me that.”

“Want to take a stroll outside? There’s a skyful of stars tonight. I could see them from the dining room window.”

“Sure.” She picked up her wineglass on her way to the door.

Once outside, she shivered against the evening air. “I didn’t realize how cool it had gotten.”

“I’ll get you something to put on. Be right back.”
Clay disappeared into the house and returned a few minutes later with a fleece-lined jacket that he put over her shoulders. “Brooke left this in the front hall the other day when she stopped by for her mail. She still doesn’t have a separate mailbox, so the mailman leaves everything in our box,” he explained.

“Thanks. That’s much better.” She looked up at the sky. “It really is a beautiful night, and a beautiful sky. When you live in a place where there’s so much light for the stars to compete with, you forget how many there are, and how dark the nights can be when you’re in the country.”

Clay put his arm around her and she leaned against him. “ ’Member when we used to sit out here in the dark and watch for shooting stars?” she asked.

“I do.”

“That time seems so long ago, Clay. Sometimes it seems as if I was never really that young.”

“Well, I can attest to the fact that you were. You were not only that young, but you were a happy, carefree kid with a great imagination for making up games and a great sense of fun.”

“I was, wasn’t I?” she murmured. Sometimes it was so hard to remember that time. Tonight wasn’t one of them. Tonight she felt like that carefree happy girl again. She wondered how long the feeling would last.

He snapped his fingers. “Wait here.”

Clay went inside, then came back out with the CD player under his arm. He plugged it into an outlet on the porch. When the music began to play, he took her in his arms.

“You wanted music,” he reminded her. “I thought you might want to dance.…”

She smiled. “This is an oldie. Michael Bolton?” Lucy swayed against him. “This song was out when we were in high school.”

“Ah, but it’s a classic,” he told her. “ ‘When a Man Loves a Woman.’ Every guy in school knew all the words to this one. Great make-out song. They played it several times at our junior prom.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. “I didn’t go.”

“I know.” He rested his face against the side of hers. “I looked for you all night. The dance was almost over by the time I figured out that you really weren’t there.”

Lucy sighed. There was no explaining some things. Like why she barely spoke to any guys all through high school, or why, on prom night, she sat in her dark bedroom wondering what it would be like to feel like a normal girl.

Clay tipped her face up to his, and she leaned into a kiss that she’d been expecting. His lips were so soft, so undemanding at first, and he tasted of wine and memories. She held her breath for a moment before reminding herself where she was, and who she was with, and she gave herself over to the moment and the man.

This is the way it’s supposed to feel
, she thought as his kisses—and hers—grew hungrier and the warmth spread through her. When his lips trailed the side of her face to her throat and he whispered, “Stay, LuLu. Stay with me,” she could only nod.

Forgotten, the music continued to play softly as they went into the house and he turned the key in the back door to lock it. Hand in hand they walked through the kitchen into the hall, where, at the bottom
of the steps, Clay lifted her in his arms and started up the stairs.

“Hey.” Lucy laughed softly. “Isn’t this just a little … well, dramatic?”

“Just go with it, okay?” She could hear the amusement in his voice. “Every guy has this secret fantasy of sweeping his girl off her feet and carrying her to his bed. Don’t women dream of being swept away?”

She didn’t want to ruin the moment by telling him that no, she didn’t have such fantasies, that the thought of anyone—anyone but him, anyway—grabbing her and carrying her off terrified her. But she suspected that maybe other women might feel differently. So instead of answering him, she nuzzled his neck and closed her eyes, and reminded herself that, with Clay, she was safe.

The rest of the night seemed to pass in a haze of want and need. His hands and his mouth seemed to have been everywhere at once, and she’d given in to every sensation without hesitation. There’d been a moment—a split second—when she’d felt a twinge of panic begin to curl inside her, but it passed quickly. It was true, what she’d read: it really was different when you were with someone you really cared for, someone you trusted with your whole heart—and there’d never been a man she trusted more than she trusted Clay.

Lucy pushed away the past and allowed herself to feel and touch and experience pleasure, to feel cherished by this wonderful man who only wanted to love her. She hoped that by the end of the night, she’d have found the piece of herself that had been stolen so long ago.

Most of all, she hoped that this feeling of peace, this joy, would last beyond the night.

Chapter 18

Clay lay in a state of contented semiconsciousness, not quite asleep, not quite awake. He’d wanted Lucy so badly for so long that he could hardly believe she was here, in his bed, and that they’d just shared the most unbelievable night together. He reached out for her, and touched … nothing. He opened his eyes and sat up. In the pale light from the moon, he could see Lucy standing near the foot of the bed silhouetted against the window.

“Lucy, what are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting dressed,” she said.

“Why?”

Her fingers paused on the button of her jeans and she seemed to freeze.