Almost Home

T
HE BELL
over the door in Steffie Wyler’s ice-cream shop rang and Steffie glanced up as the latest group entered the small one-time crabber’s shack that now served as Scoop’s home, and her words died in her throat. Dallas MacGregor, a regular customer, came into the shop, trailed by her great-aunt and the tall, ridiculously handsome guy who’d been the object of Steffie’s affection—and lust—since before she was old enough to know the difference between, well, affection and lust.

She tried to ignore the smile of recognition that spread across his face when he saw her. Tried just as unsuccessfully to keep her heart rate under control. Tried to push from her mind the scenes her imagination had conjured up of Wade walking into Scoop—like he just had, all nonchalant and gorgeous, smiling a special smile just for her—at which time she put the
CLOSED
sign on the door and they fell into each other’s arms and frantically—

“I said two scoops of chocolate,” the customer she was waiting on waved a hand in front of her face to get her attention. “That’s pistachio.”

A
LSO BY
M
ARIAH
S
TEWART

Home Again
Coming Home
Acts of Mercy
Cry Mercy
Mercy Street
Last Breath
Last Words
Last Look
Final Truth
Dark Truth
Hard Truth
Cold Truth
Dead End
Dead Even
Dead Certain
Dead Wrong
Forgotten
Until Dark
The President’s Daughter

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, many thanks to the stellar team at Ballantine Books: Kate Collins, Linda Marrow, Scott Shannon, Libby McGuire, Kim Hovey, Gina Wachtel, Kelli Fillingim, Junessa Viloria, Scott Biel, Kirstin Fassler, and Quinne Rogers. (I hope I haven’t forgotten anyone!)

Once again, the ADWOFF raffle benefitting the Nora Roberts Foundation resulted in a reader having won the right to have her name used for a character in one of my future books. Cindy Sims, the future is now! And thanks to Phyllis Lannik’s kind heads up, Cindy’s mother made a cameo appearance. I hope Helen Kay Hinson would have approved.

Thanks as always to my agent, Loretta Barrett, and the crew at Barrett Books.

Many thanks to the crew at the Borders Express, Springfield Mall, Springfield, PA, but especially to Maureen and Jenn. You guys most certainly do rock!

And last but God knows, never least—hugs to Chery Griffin aka Victoria Alexander for sharing some
extra
fine whine this time around.

T
HE
high school gym had been transformed into a fantasy in white. Small twinkling lights were draped everywhere, from the fake palm trees that lined the walls to the bandstand where the DJ hired for the occasion kept the music playing. Huge pots, spray-painted glossy white, sported arrangements of white flowers—roses, gladiola, hydrangea—all dusted with glitter. Here and there throughout the room, white helium balloons were gathered into bouquets that bobbled and floated. A silver glitter ball overhead spun continuously, a gaudy moon that cast a shimmering glow over the dancing couples beneath it.

The theme for Bayside High’s senior prom, Candle in the Wind—no doubt inspired by the tragic death of England’s Princess Diana—had been taken literally by the decorating committee, who’d planned for one thousand white candles to flicker throughout the gym all night long. Unfortunately, Principal Naylor—obviously a man without a single romantic bone in his portly body—had put the kibosh on that idea, citing the fire codes.

Steffie Wyler snuggled up to her date and swayed to
the music. Like so many of the other girls, she’d had her hair done that afternoon, and had her nails—fingers and toes—done as well. She spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting her makeup, then another few hours second-guessing her choice of gown. And like so many of the others, Steffie had chosen a white gown. But where most of her friends had picked white satin, Steffie’s dress was white chiffon. She’d seen it in the window of a shop in Annapolis and begged her mother to let her try it on. Simple in design, it had a wide swath of chiffon over her left shoulder, a sweetheart neckline, and a skirt that flowed around her body when she moved.

Steffie had been on the fence about it when the saleswoman stepped into her dressing room and said, “Oh, my, you look like a Greek goddess in that dress.” Which in itself would have been sufficient, but when she added, “So hard to believe you’re only seventeen,” Stef was sold. Ordinarily, her age wouldn’t be an issue, but tonight, it was very much on her mind, since her date was four years older than she was.

Not that it bothered Stef—she couldn’t have cared less how old he was. In her eyes, Wade MacGregor was the perfect man, or at the very least, the perfect man for her. She’d known him for as long as she could remember, so long that she had no recollection of ever having met him. He was part of her life in St. Dennis, or had been, until he left for college in Texas four years ago. Up until then, she’d seen him almost daily. He sailed with her brother, Grant, and in the summers, he worked painting houses with a couple guys in his class, Clay Madison and Cameron O’Connor.
On any given day she could—and did—walk real slowly past whatever house they were painting just to look at him. Wade was always tall for his age, and in the summers, his sandy-blond hair lightened a few shades and his skin tanned nicely. Oh, yes—Wade MacGregor was the perfect guy.

The fact that he’d always had a girlfriend when he was in high school hadn’t deterred Steffie one bit. She knew he was the guy for her, and once he figured that out, they’d live happily ever after.

She just wished he’d hurry up and see the light.

Tonight, she wasn’t thinking of any of that. Prom night was supposed to be special—magical—and Stef was determined that she would have her share of special memories. The fact that she’d had to trick Wade into being her date—and trick her mother into letting her go with him—no longer mattered. She was certain that once he saw her in her goddess-gown, once he held her close enough to see that they fit together just right, once she kissed him—well, he’d feel the magic, too. He’d see that they were
Meant to Be
.

She did wish the magic would kick in soon, though. So far he’d seemed … indifferent wasn’t exactly the right word. She’d seen the way he looked at her when she flowed down the steps in her goddess-gown. But so far, he’d kept his distance, thwarting every move she made to get closer.

Finally, the last dance was announced, and she rested her head on his shoulder, singing along with Shania that he was still the one, meaning every word. She could hardly wait to get into the auditorium, where they’d watch a movie compliments of the parents association—an event intended to keep the
kids under their watchful eyes for as long as possible, though it was anyone’s guess what was going on in the back rows once the lights went out. The movie—
Titanic
—was a love story for the ages. Surely that would put Wade—and every other guy in the auditorium—in a romantic mood.

Her first clue that the rest of the evening wasn’t going to go the way she’d planned came when they filed into the room and Wade led her down the aisle to sit in the first row, pretending not to hear her protestations that they sit in the back. The second was the news that the film they’d received was defective, and instead of
Titanic
, they’d be watching
Men in Black
, an announcement that was met with cheers from most of the guys and boos from the girls.

The night’s final insult came when Wade drove her home, walked her to her front door, and attempted to open it for her—without kissing her good night.

It wasn’t as if he’d had to wonder if she wanted to kiss him. She’d stood in front of the door and wrapped her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, and puckered up.

“Ah, Stef …,” he’d said as he gently unwound her arms and held her hands in his. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Don’t you like me, Wade?”

“I like you a lot, Stef. I really do. I always have.”

“Then why don’t you want to kiss me?”

“Stef, when do you turn eighteen?”

“In August. Why?”

“In October, I’ll turn twenty-two.”

“So?” It was all she could do to keep from sounding whiny.

“So, you are underage. I’m twenty-one.”

“I repeat, so?”

“I’m too old for you, Stef. Next week, I’m flying back to Texas for graduation.”

“I still don’t understand what that has to do with you kissing me.” She pouted.

“Some might think I was taking advantage of you.”

“Yeah, like who?” she asked defiantly.

“Like, oh, your big brother, for one.”

“You’re not afraid of Grant, are you?”

“Whether or not I’m afraid isn’t the point.”

“Then what is?” She all but stamped her foot.

“Your brother is my friend, he’s on my sailing team. I like and respect him. I would not want him to think I was toying with the affections of his little sister.”