Chapter Eighteen
Wren
“ C lose to two weeks and nothing?” Sella asked me over the phone.
“That’s what I said. I mean, of course I thanked him for an amazing time when I got home, and he said the pleasure was all his…but then it’s been mostly quiet.” It was late Saturday, and Rourke and I were lying on the couch while I enjoyed a glass of wine. “I work, you know? I can’t text and call all day. He’s some kind of laissez-faire West Coast playboy…”
“Oh shut it, Wren. Seriously. We all know you work. You’re a freaking surgeon. But you must have a few minutes here or there to text or call Daniel? That’s plain nuts.”
Gulping the Cabernet only made it worse because it reminded me of him and the wine we’d shared. It might or might not have been the same brand. “He hasn’t texted or called much either. It’s been sporadic—”
Sella cleared her throat, interrupting me. “Girl, I know you’re not dumb so don’t pretend to be. He basically begged for an invite, and you didn’t give one.”
“I got nervous. And before you start in on me, you know this is all too much for me. I uncomplicate things, get rid of people who make me feel too much. I don’t jump in—”
“Oh, I do know all that, but after hearing what you did last night…”
I couldn’t help but smile to myself when the doorbell rang. Thinking it was my sushi, I told Sella, “Saved by the bell. My food is calling.”
“Call him,” she said before hanging up.
Setting my wine down and telling Rourke to behave, I made my way to the door. Yanking it open, I was shocked not to find my sushi but rather—
“Daniel,” I murmured his name. “What?”
He stepped over the threshold while speaking. “What am I doing here?”
He couldn’t answer his own question because Rourke came steamrolling through the foyer, barking and jumping in circles, so happy to see a man he’d met only once.
Traitor.
“Hey, tough guy.” Daniel bent over and greeted my dog.
I watched with bug eyes, remembering I was in a pair of Boston Celtics sweats, a gift from the team, and a ratty thermal T-shirt, my hair all curls and waves.
Standing, Daniel looked at me. “Hi,” he said.
“Ummm, hi,” I found myself responding, hand on my hip. “Were you in the neighborhood?” That was what I came up with.
“Not quite. But imagine my surprise last night when an old friend gave me a ring, saying that some sweet, smart, and how can I forget the last thing he said—‘a sassy number’—came in for an indoor lesson. Tossing my name around, saying she’d recently played with me.”
I thought back to my scandalous adventure the day before, when I’d finished work an hour early and took a private stroke clinic at the posh and exclusive Country Club in Brookline. “I had to show my credentials. I didn’t mean to throw you under the bus. Plus that guy didn’t even say he knew you. Personally, I mean. He said he’d heard of you and how lucky I was to have played with you.”
This had Daniel bent over laughing. “Babe”—that was what he called me right now as he pulled me into his arms; I was pretty sure I was being punked—“No hot-blooded man is going to admit to knowing a dude you’re going gaga over. Peter played at UCLA about fifteen years ago. He used to hang around with me…and it’s golf. We are a small community. He went on to win the US Open and he is at The Country Club like I’m at the Riviera, as a pro emeritus. I’m shocked he took your lesson.”
I felt myself nodding, my thoughts jumbled. “Pro emeritus, he said that,” I whispered. “My partner treats the Harvard team. They play there. He’s also a member, so he connected me with Peter,” I tried to explain in a thoughtful manner.
“If you needed some golf pointers, you could have called me.” His mouth tickled the top of my head as he spoke.
“You didn’t call me. Oh God.” I jammed my forehead into his shoulder and clamped my mouth shut. “I sound like an absolute idiot. I didn’t call, you’re right.”
“Look at me,” he said softly. I did as he asked because he was Daniel. “I came on too strong. I wanted you to want me as much as I wanted you. In your space, in mine, all of the above.”
“I do, but the whole prospect of it is scary.”
“I understand. I’m sorry I made you feel that way, and I recognize showing up here unannounced doesn’t really scream that message…but hearing you were all chummy with another golf pro had me crazy.”
“Come in,” I said. It was kind of cute how jealous Daniel was, but I didn’t think this was the moment to call his attention to it.
As we started walking toward the back of the house, the doorbell rang again.
“That’s my sushi,” I explained.
“Damn. I was going to ask if you wanted to go to dinner…”
“It’s after eight.”
“I’m still on West Coast time.”
The delivery person knocked this time. “Let me get that.” I sidestepped around Daniel, threw open the door, thanked the driver, took the food and got back to the man in my hallway. “We can share. And I can make some brownies?”
Daniel waggled his eyebrows at me.
“Not that kind. I don’t do that… Do you?”
He shook his head, taking the sushi bag from my hands. “No, you’re just too fun to mess with.”
“Let’s go.”
Inside the kitchen, Rourke hopped around at our feet as Daniel lifted the wine bottle, clearly noting with a raised eyebrow that it was the brand we’d shared together. He found himself a goblet and poured himself a glass, moving about my kitchen as if he’d lived there forever.
Taking a sip, he took his time, swirling it in his mouth, slowly allowing it to travel down his throat before he spoke. “I’m guessing that showing up at a woman’s house, a few thousand miles away, after a fit of jealousy isn’t the way to apologize for pushing too hard or fast.”
“When you put it that way,” I said through a burst of laughter.
I gathered myself and started rummaging for brownie supplies as Daniel unpacked the sushi.
“I mean it. I’m sorry.” He stopped what he was doing and spoke. “I also don’t regret being here. Happy Valentine’s Day. Is that better?”
“It’s tomorrow, but I don’t do Hallmark holidays. Actually, I was sitting at home, missing you and trying to figure out what my next move should be. So maybe I willed your visit into existence.”
“How am I not surprised you don’t do V-day? But maybe you do, and that’s why you manifested me.” He approached and pulled me in for a kiss, his arm wrapping around my waist, holding me close. “I’m sure glad you ordered me right up,” he said when he was done making love to my mouth. “But let’s be honest from now on. If something I say is too forward, you need to say so. On the other hand, if you want to talk, text, ask me something, you should. We don’t need to play games, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I echoed his sentiment. “This is uncharted territory for me.”
“Me too.” We didn’t dwell anymore on my mistake or the past. Daniel’s lips grazed mine before he said, “Brownie time. Get to work.”
“It’s just a mix…”
“I forgot, we both don’t cook. Funny, after giving me such a hard time?”
“Maybe a little. I cook some. Mostly I work and order sushi or Mediterranean.”
“Fascinating. Tsk, tsk,” he taunted.
“Hey! I’m sharing my sushi with you, so you best be nice.”
“Very nice.”
He stole another kiss before walking with Rourke at his heels to where I had the TV on and the fireplace going.
After we’d shared my rolls and split the edamame, easy conversation flowing, Daniel asked, “So, did you learn anything from Peter? Did he perfect your swing?”
“Jealous? Maybe he’s a better pro than you?” I felt my cheeks redden and warm at my accusation.
“Jealous, for sure. A better pro, impossible. He learned from me.” Daniel focused his gaze on me. “I like that you want to learn golf. Maybe more than I should. It means you want to enjoy something I do—but it’s not necessary.” He ran a hand through his hair, and I could see a small smattering of gray around his temple. “I’ve tried to leave my mess of a marriage in my past, and I certainly don’t want it to be a part of us…presuming there is an us…after I showed up here, and I’m rambling like a sad bloke.”
I slid over toward Daniel, closing the distance between us. With my hand on his cheek, I spoke. “There is an us. A weird us, but one nevertheless. We had an odd beginning and even stranger reconnecting. I’m glad you are here. Unannounced or invited, you are welcome in my home anytime.”
“What I mean to say is, my ex acted like golf was better than sliced bread. Isn’t that what you Americans say? But really she liked the notoriety and money that came along with golf and me.”
“That’s not why…”
“I know,” he said, his hand taking my hand from his cheek—I didn’t even realize it was still there—and kissing along my knuckles. “But I would like to help you with your stroke. Lord knows you need it.”
“Hey!” I play-tackled him, falling into his arms where he kissed me senseless, our mouths doing a tango until our tongues got involved. We played out something more passionate with our lips, a promise of later. Breaking free, I asked, “Where are you staying?”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “The Four Seasons. I didn’t want to presume.”
“Is that where all your stuff is?”
He nodded, his hand sifting under my thermal top and up the bare skin of my back.
“Can you get it tomorrow?”
“Is that your coy way of asking if I’ll spend the night?”
I didn’t have a chance to answer because the timer went off. “Gotta get the brownies,” I declared.
“Way to avoid my question. But the answer is yes, I will get my stuff tomorrow,” Daniel called after me as I left for the kitchen. When I returned empty-handed, he asked, “How long until they cool?”
“Twenty minutes? Maybe twenty-five.”
“Good. Gives me a little time to work you over,” he said with a wink, beckoning me closer with his pointer finger.
I went willingly, sliding into his lap, his hand snaking back up my shirt and lifting it over my head, his mouth finding my nipple through my satin bra. All the sensations already had me on edge—the heat of his mouth through the silky feel of the fabric and the dampness left behind.
And then with his lips near my ear, he spoke quietly, only for me. “The answer is always yes when it comes to you, Birdie.”
There was no time for me to respond because he quickly headed south, and all I could do was moan.