The past two days had passed in a bit of a blur. I already had a new client for Lost Loves, my Christmas shopping was now all but done, and Sean and I had been spending a lot of time together. As much as we could manage with our crazy schedules. It wasn’t until late yesterday afternoon when Cara called Sean to tell him she was moving to Arizona to live with her mother and stepfather that I told him about the Handmaiden letters and Cara’s confession that she wasn’t really sick.
“You took quite a risk,” he said.
I shrugged. “All’s fair in love and war, remember?”
“Love?”
“Love.”
He took me in his arms, held me close. “You could have told me about the letters.”
“You would have smothered me.”
“If you want to call twenty-four-hour, never-leave-my-sight, glued-to-your-side protection smothering.”
“Well, put that way, it sounds more like a fantasy come true.”
And from that point on, all had been forgiven, and Cara had all but been forgotten.
It was sometime in the middle of last night when I realized that battle I had been waging had not been with Cara. It had been within me. Whether I’d been ready to make that leap into a full, long-term commitment, to voice what I truly wanted from Sean, what I truly wanted from us.
I should thank Cara, really, for provoking what I’d been trying so hard to deny—that I loved Sean Donahue. Deeply. Desperately. And knowing so, without a doubt, would help me fight anything that stood in our way. Stalkers, exes, curses, fates.
Leo paced a two-foot square. “What if she doesn’t like me?”
He was referring to Lea. We’d already had this conversation ten times today. I smiled. “She’ll like you.”
Sam had called last night with the news that Joanne and Lea were on their way to Boston. Leo had been beside himself since. Preston wasn’t much better. She was alternately giddy and nervous.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked.
“Leo?”
“What?”
“Hush.”
Using the information I provided, Sam’s contact found Lea Czo yesterday afternoon. She and her husband lived on their sailboat months at a time but also rented a house on a small cay in the Abacos. The house, however, was where Lea’s mother lived year-round. Both were home when Sam’s contact found them.
And three hours later both were on a seaplane headed back to the States.
From Florida, they had a connection through Cincinnati before landing in Boston. Stormy weather had delayed their flight, making Leo a nervous wreck.
“There,” Preston said, pointing to the board. “It’s landed. It’s landed,” she squealed.
He went pale. “I can’t do this.”
I put my arm around him. “Come on. You lived for years as a prisoner of war and you’re afraid of two women?”
“This is worse.”
“I doubt that.”
“It feels like it.”
“Will you recognize Joanne?” I asked.
“I’d know her anywhere,” he said, his voice thick.
Preston looked down, studying her shoes, but I saw the moisture in her eyes. She’d do just fine writing human interest stories.
Being taller, I spotted the pair of women first. There was no mistaking the genetic link between the two, mother and daughter.
Lea was a little slip of a woman, suntanned to a dark almond brown. She had her father’s eyes, and the same face shape as her mother.
Joanne, I noticed, looked as nervous as Leo. With short white hair, deep tan, and a quick step, she didn’t look anywhere near her eighty-plus years. She kept standing on tiptoe, obviously trying to see over the crowd of passengers leaving the terminal.
“You ready?” I whispered to Leo.
“For years I’ve been ready, Ms. Valentine.”
I slowly spun him as Lea and Joanne emerged from the crowd. They both stopped still when they spotted us. Other passengers shot them dirty looks as they swerved around the teary-eyed obstacles.
Joanne stepped forward. Trembling hands covered her mouth. She was shaking her head as if in disbelief.
“Go,” I said to Leo, nudging him.
He stepped forward. Stopped. Then in a burst, he rushed forward at the same time as Joanne, and he caught her, pulling her close.
Preston’s lower lip quivered. I went to stand beside her.
Tears swelled in my eyes, blurring everything around me. I tried to stay strong and not cry like a baby. Then Joanne took a step back, and opened her arm to include her daughter.
Ah, hell. I let the tears fall.
Dovie’s party was in full swing by the time I made it home. I took a quick nap, changed, and pulled my hair into a knot. I took a few minutes to let Thoreau out and play with Grendel, who stared at the fridge longingly.
“We’re cutting back on the cheese,” I said.
His tail shot up.
“Sorry.”
I handed him a salmon kitty treat, which he sniffed, then dismissed.
“Suit yourself,” I said as I picked up my handbag, checked to make sure I had everything, and drove up to Dovie’s so I wouldn’t ruin my shoes.
A valet driver insisted on taking my car, but it was Dovie who opened the door.
“Look at you, all dolled up. Beautiful,” Dovie said, air-kissing my cheeks.
“Thanks.”
She cornered me in the foyer. “LucyD, there is a very handsome man here saying you invited him. True?”
“Who? Mr. McGill?”
“Yes, I believe that’s his name.”
A uniformed woman appeared out of nowhere to take my coat. “Then yes, I invited him.”
Dovie grabbed my arm. “What’s this about? Who is he?”
A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne. I snagged a glass. “A very nice gentleman. I suggest you get to know him.”
She smiled, fluffed her hair. “You have good taste in men, Lucy. Speaking of which, is Sean here yet?”
“Not yet. He said he had something important to do and that it might take a while.”
“Something with her?”
“I don’t know. I’m not too worried about that.” I filled her in on Cara’s move to Arizona.
Dovie laughed. “A sure white flag on her part.”
I smiled, enjoying my new love-can-conquer-all outlook. It had to be true. I refused to believe otherwise.
I caught sight of Em and Aiden standing near the piano. “Is Marisol here yet?”
“Canceled about an hour ago. Emergency call at the clinic.”
Emergency call, my foot. It was all part of the plan—which seemed to be working. Maybe Raphael was right. They know. They feel. “Have you spoken to Dad lately, by the way?”
“Not a peep. Why?”
Now probably wasn’t the best time to tell her about Cutter. “No reason.”
She raised an eyebrow, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.
I wandered into the living room, glanced around. My mother and father were bent head to head, sharing a deep conversation. I left them alone. Suz and her husband Teddy were cuddled by the fire. They only had eyes for each other.
Preston appeared at my elbow and nodded toward my parents. “Inseparable since they arrived.”
“They’re fond of each other.”
“The separate houses probably help.”
I snapped my head to look at her.
“Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”
“Why do I feel like you have an unspoken ‘for now’ at the end of that sentence?”
She shrugged. “You need to learn to be more trusting.”
I scoffed. “You need to learn to be more trustworthy.”
She smiled as she sipped her drink. “I heard from Maggie O’Meara. We’re going to do an article.”
“I’m glad. I think she needs all the help she can get.”
“And”—she sipped—“Santa left a present on my doorstep this afternoon, all
wrapped in pretty paper with a bow and everything.”
“Oh?”
She blinked. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “But don’t go thinking this means I like you or anything.”
I didn’t quite know what possessed me to wake up early this morning to make the long drive to Falmouth to buy the Little House book Preston had loved so much, but I found I wanted to do something nice for her, to let her know that she wasn’t as alone in this world as she thought.
“Don’t worry. I know you only went down there to see that table again.”
“It was sold.” I’d been heartbroken to see the huge red tag.
“Really? Someone bought that hunk of junk?”
“You better watch it, or I’ll take your present back.”
Happiness glowed in her blue eyes. “No takesies back. I have something for you too.” She pulled an envelope from her handbag.
“This isn’t going to be a gift certificate for Fruit of the Looms, is it?”
“Nah. That’s coming in the mail.”
I smiled as I lifted the flap. I studied the sheet of paper and oddly felt like crying again.
Preston said, “I talked to Oscar and turned down his offer to connect me with someone at the Globe.”
The paper in my hand was a photocopy of an admission form for the journalism program at a local community college.
“I’ll take some classes locally, then maybe transfer to somewhere bigger once I prove I can do it.”
“Prove to who?”
“Whom. And myself.”
“Can I keep this?” I asked, blinking hard.
She nodded.
“Thank you,” I said with meaning. “It’s a really great present.”
She waved it off. “I’ll definitely be busy. Between work and school and the articles for Lost Loves.”
“You know, you don’t have to keep writing those.”
“Ah, ah, ah.” She wagged a finger. “I’m not so easy to get rid of.”
I cracked a smile. “I know. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
She rolled her eyes.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked. “Don’t you have a deadline to meet?”
“Met. The story just flowed. My editor loved it. You’re stuck with me the whole night long.”
“Then I definitely need another drink.”
She was laughing as I walked away, headed for the kitchen. On my way, the bell rang in the foyer and I waved off the uniformed maid, and pulled open the door. My throat tight, I squeezed out a hello.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
45 + 9 is 54.
He waved an invitation. “Someone named Raphael sent me an invitation. Was that okay?” he asked. “Wrote something about stopping a rolling ball?”
Looked like Raphael wasn’t done with his physics lesson quite yet. He’d always been the best of teachers.
“It’s absolutely all right. Come on in.”
He waited, stared at me. “Ms. Valentine?” he said as he stepped into the house.
“Please call me Lucy.”
“I want to ask you something.” Cutter McCutchan looked dashing in a dark suit, silver tie. His hair had been combed back off his forehead, James Dean style, and he looked so handsome I could see why Mum had fallen for Dad all those years ago.
My heart throbbed in my ears. “Anything.”
“I need to know.”
“What?”
“Why can’t I see your color?”
My color? Oh … “My aura?”
“You know what I’m talking about?”
I nodded. And I knew why he couldn’t see my aura. Because no Valentine could see another Valentine’s colors. Blood relations, at least.
“How? Why? It’s been bothering me for days. You’re the only person I’ve ever met who doesn’t have a color around them.”
“Your mother hasn’t spoken to you yet, has she?”
“My mother? What’s she have to do with this?”
I squeezed my eyes closed, not sure what to do. Slowly, I opened them. Enough was enough. I grabbed his wrist, pulled him into Dovie’s study. I flipped on the light, closed the door.
He raked his hand through his hair. “Don’t think I’m coming on to you, but I get this funny feeling when I look at you.”
It was no wonder. We shared the same heart-shaped face, the same nose, the dimple in our right cheeks.
“There’s a lot you need to learn, but I don’t think I’m the person to tell you.”
“Like what? What do I need to learn?”
I held up a finger. I opened the door, flagged down a server, passed him twenty dollars to find my father.
Stepping back into the study, I closed the door behind me, locked it, so no one would barge in. I smiled at him. “I’m not a crazy woman.”
“That’s good to know.”
“I want you to understand that before I say what I’m about to say.”
“Is there a reason you locked the door?”
It had taken him no time at all to start acting like a pesky little brother. “Before all hell breaks loose, and yeah, it’s about to break loose, I want you to know”—I swallowed hard—“that I’m really happy to know you.”
I nearly laughed at the look on his face.
“Okay,” he mumbled, eyes wide as he edged toward the door.
The door shook as someone tried to open it. “Lucy! What’s going on?” my father demanded.
I glanced back at Cutter. “You need to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“My father. Who also happens to be …” I pulled open the door, grabbed my father’s sleeve.
“Lucy, this is highly unorthod—”
“… your father,” I finished.
Both took a step back from each other.
After a good minute, I walked over, stood between them. Looking at my father, I said, “No more secrets. He wants to know why he can’t see my aura. Tell him. Tell him everything.”
My father cupped my face. Moisture shimmered in his eyes. “I will, Lucy Juliet. Go on now.”
I couldn’t help myself. I rushed over and hugged Cutter. Much to my surprise, he hugged me back.
Reluctantly, I let go, hurried out of the room.
My mother stood in the hallway. “What’s going on?”
“Cutter came to the party.”
She gasped.
Dovie came over. “What are you two doing? Who’s in the study? I thought I closed it off.”
“Dad and Cutter.”
“Who? Wait. Cutter McCutchan?”
“Your grandson,” my mother said, not taking her eyes from the door.
Dovie’s hand went to her heart. “My what?”
I smiled at her. “It’s a boy! Congratulations!”
“I need to sit down, I need a drink, and someone needs to tell me what the hell is going on.” She dropped onto the bottom step of the stairs.
Preston quickly stepped in and handed Dovie a champagne glass. “I saw him come in,” she said when I raised my eyebrow in question. “I thought alcohol might be needed.”
“I’m waiting,” Dovie snapped.
I quickly explained to her what had been going on.
She was still soaking it in when Preston tapped my arm. “What did Cutter mean, about the colors? I heard him when he came in.”
I was saved from answering by the doorbell. I rushed over, pulled open the door, smiled when I saw Sean standing there.
“What’s going on?” he asked, watching my mother press her ear to the study’s door.
“Dad’s in there with Cutter.”
“He knows?”
I nodded. “I think it’s going to be okay.”
Dovie fanned herself. “How can you say that? This is—” She broke off. “Wait! Does he have kids yet? Am I a great-grandmamma?”
I glanced at Preston. She would know better than any of us.
/> “Sorry, Dovie,” she said. “No kids. Now about those colors—”
Dovie jumped up. “Now I’ve got two of you to nag. What are they saying?” she asked my mother.
“I don’t know!” Mum said in a harsh whisper. “If you’d stop your yammering!”
“Hey, now.” Dovie bumped Mum out of the way. “Move over.”
Sean laughed. “This probably isn’t a good time to steal you for a second, is it?”
I glanced at Preston. “It’s the perfect time. Where are you stealing me to?”
“Your house.”
“I don’t think that’s so much stealing as returning me, Mr. Donahue.”
“Either way.”
I tried not to think about my shoes as we tromped through the snow, his arm around me. “Is that a U-haul in front of my house?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not moving in.”
“Did I say I was worried?”
He stopped, turned to me, and kissed me. His arms wrapped me in heat, his kisses warmed me from the inside out. I wanted desperately to tell him I loved him, to yell it, but I held it in, not wanting to tempt Cupid’s Curse.
Only the Christmas tree was lit as we stepped into my house. Grendel and Thoreau welcomed us home, purring and yapping.
“I have your Christmas present,” Sean said.
I pressed in close to him. “Was that kiss in the yard a preview? Because that’s a present I could really love.”
His eyes glowed. “No.”
“How disappointing.”
“I have a feeling that won’t last.” He flipped on the light, spun me around.
“Oh! Oh!” I waved at my eyes so I wouldn’t cry. I’d shed enough tears lately. “It’s … How did you know?”
“I was on the phone with you, remember?”
I could barely move as I stared at my new dining room table. A small burl-elm and fruitwood dining table, magnificently crafted, early nineteenth century. With an inlay of acorn and oak leaf circling the edge.
“It took some doing. First I had to call Preston, find out what antiques shop you’d gone to. Then this feisty old lady haggles with me for an hour. I finally buy it and then the shop doesn’t have delivery! I had to drag Sam down there today to pick it up. Do you like it?”
I looked deep into his eyes. “I love it. But you shouldn’t have spent so much on me!”
“All’s fair in love and war,” he said simply.
“Love?” I asked.