Down on Love (29 page)

After standing in the dark for so long, George was nearly blinded by the bright light inside the barn. She was glad there was a logjam of people just inside the door; she could hide behind them for a few moments, collect her thoughts, and let her eyes adjust. Or was she furtively trying to find someplace to look that wasn’t directly at Casey? She had no idea why she was so nervous—she was here because Casey had asked her to come. It was just Casey. Why should she be so tied in knots?

Well. It was because of the e-mail he’d sent, in the guise of asking for advice. No, she wouldn’t think about it now—it would completely derail her. She especially wasn’t going to think about one part in particular, the three words—no. Her knees would buckle right here if she did. Even though she kept telling herself he couldn’t be serious. She’d never heard anything crazier. Still, it was time for George to have a little heart-to-heart with Casey Bowen.

And then, just like a scene from a cheesy movie, the crowd parted, and she was in Casey’s direct line of sight. And yes, he stared. And she stared back. She forced her feet to move her forward, and it was like she was walking . . . where? That thing when you’re going down this straightaway, with people you know on either side, facing you, all eyes on you . . . oh yeah. Not going to think about aisles and churches and weddings. Nope. Not going to do it.

“Hi, Casey.”

Well, he definitely looked happy. His megawatt smile was trained on her, and his gorgeous green eyes danced. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She hesitated. Was she supposed to hug him? Kiss him? Maybe on the cheek? He looked like the same thoughts were going through his head, and he didn’t have an answer, either. Then Celia saved the situation by putting a hand on George’s shoulder and drawing her in for a quick hug.

“So good to see you again,” Celia said. “Promise you’ll stay this time. Everyone’s missed you.”

George smiled. It was what she wanted. She knew it now. It had taken her this long to figure it out, but now it was clear. She had nothing, absolutely nothing, tying her to Boston. No matter how much she tried insisting to herself it was her home, it just wasn’t. But crazy old Marsden . . . well, she was ready to take the bad with the good and accept the place for what it was: flawed, wackadoodle, and definitely maddening, but home all the same.

“So?” Casey prompted. “Is that a yes?”

Before she could answer, Celia spoke up. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

George was taken aback. “Sure, of course,” she stammered.

They took a few steps to the side. Not that it made a bit of difference; the gallery was full, they were surrounded, and George was positive everyone in their vicinity had an ear cocked. But when she glanced around, nobody seemed to be listening in. In fact, a space had cleared around them, and everyone nearby had their backs to the women. That was downright odd. She
was
in Marsden, right?

“I wanted to let you know . . .” Celia began.

“What?” And George’s stomach clenched. Was this the point where Celia told George she and Casey were a couple? She had to cut to the chase or she’d lose her mind. “Are you and Casey . . . ?”

“Absolutely not,” Celia said with a kind smile.

“Oh!”

“We did try dating after you left, though.”

“You did?” George felt even queasier, which irritated her. She had
wanted
them to get together, she reminded herself. She’d flat-out
told
Casey it should happen. And now she got all upset at the news they did date. What the heck. She took a steadying breath. “And . . . ?”

“And . . . nothing. There’s just nothing between us, George. There hasn’t been in a really long time. In fact,” she went on, after taking a sip of wine and grimacing delicately, “that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve come to realize I don’t want a man in my life. I’d rather have what you have.”

“What, now?”

“You moved away to a big city, you have a successful career . . . I want to try that too, before it’s too late.”

“You’re hardly over the hill.”

“You know what I mean. The longer I stay here, the less I’m likely to do it. I need to try before I get too settled—and too frightened. Then I’d spend the rest of my life in Marsden with a giant ‘what if’ hanging over my head, all old and bitter and nasty because I didn’t pursue my dreams when I had the chance. I’m unattached, so now’s the perfect time.”

Thinking of Sera, George said, “You could still be happy here, you know.”

“I tried. It didn’t work. Matt and I . . . it was really unpleasant. And you think it’s all sunshine and unicorns working for Ray in the print shop?”

“Yeah, not exactly a barrel of laughs, I’ll bet. So what are you thinking, then?”

“I’m still working on a plan, but I think I’m going to check out some publishers or maybe ad agencies in New York, put my graphic design degree to good use. Or find a way to get paid for my photography. I want to know what you think.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” she said with a warm smile. “And it’s not because I want you to leave town. I don’t.”

Celia laughed. “Thanks. Your good opinion means a lot to me.”

“I’m really happy for you, Celia.”

“It’s pretty exciting,” she murmured. She was downright glowy about it, which amused George no end. Then she changed the subject. “Now . . . what are you going to do about Casey? He’s definitely single.”

That brought George back to the task at hand, and her knees went watery. This was scary. They rejoined Casey, Sera, and Jaz. Darryl was nearby, but he didn’t step into the circle. Of course he wouldn’t. Not with Sera standing there glowering, sucking all the air out of the room. No wonder Darryl never tried to make up with her. And no wonder Casey obeyed her directive never to go after George. Sera was a holy terror.

But she couldn’t worry about them now. They were adults; they should be able to work it out for themselves. No, right now she had more pressing matters. Like this handsome guy in front of her, watching her expectantly. Just waiting.

“Nice party.”
Stupid opening,
she berated herself.

“Thanks.”

And that was what you got when you started with “nice party”—a conversation that ran straight into a brick wall before it even got a chance to pick up steam. She had to try again.

“Nice turnout.”

Casey colored a bit—she wasn’t sure why—and said, “Yep.”

Good grief.

She opened her mouth to try a third time when he said, “I’m really glad you came back for the opening, Goose.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said, then winced. She’d said that already. But it was the truth—she had been crazy to even consider trying to stay away. Why couldn’t she tell
him?
And now she was distinctly aware of eyes on them—Sera, Jaz, Darryl, Celia. But when she looked at them, they suddenly found something across the room immensely fascinating. Amelia squealed loudly, making Jaz, who was holding her, jump. Then the baby reached out for one of Sera’s pots on a pedestal in front of her. Sera ran interference, and Amelia got fussy at being thwarted, until Jaz produced her new favorite teething toy, a happy little giraffe, which the baby grabbed instead and proceeded to gnaw on with gusto.

Smiling at the practiced parental choreography, Casey said, “You must be glad to be back with your family too.”

George laughed. “Most of the time.” Then, in the small silence that followed, she blurted out, “I got your e-mail.”

Casey’s move stopped just short of Confused Head Tilt, but his dark eyebrows came together over his perfect nose. “E-mail?”

Suddenly Celia was there, touching Casey’s elbow. “Casey, why don’t you give George a tour? You know, show her all the stuff you did for the farm?”

He gave her a blank look. “It’s dark out.”

“Take a flashlight,” she practically snarled. George’s eyes widened. She’d never seen Celia so forceful before.

Neither had Casey, apparently. “Okay,” he said placatingly, then turned to George. “Would you like to see the farm, Goose?”

Not at the moment,
she thought, but out loud, she said, “. . . Fine?”

The next thing they knew, they were out the gallery door, helped along by two powerful nudges courtesy of Celia.

“What’s up her butt?” George asked, shivering a little. This dress—and these shoes—were not meant for hiking all over a pumpkin farm on a nippy autumn night.

“You’re cold. We should go back inside—” Casey started to say, but just at that moment, the door was heaved shut from the inside.

“What the—”

Casey shook his head in amazement, marched back to the door, and tried to open it. Nothing doing. “I’ve just been locked out of my own party.”

“Is it something in the water, do you think? All the crazy?”

“Too much inbreeding?”

“Hey, we’re not Whalen.”

“Come on. I can still get into my own house, at least.”

Casey grabbed her hand and led her across the lawn to the Bowen home. The back door was open; one of the caterers came out with a tray of appetizers.

“Good luck with that. Bring a crowbar,” George called to his retreating back. The waiter looked over his shoulder, confused. “You’ll figure it out.”

And then she was in the familiar back hall with Casey; the old wall sconces, converted sometime in the last century from gas to electricity, glowed dimly against the dark wood paneling, casting just enough light that they could make their way toward the main part of the house without tripping.

“There’s a fire in the sitting room. You can warm up in there.”

“Of course there is,” she marveled quietly.

She remembered the last time she’d passed through this doorway— was it only three months ago? She’d stomped into the house, full of piss and vinegar and uncomfortable in her low-cut fancy gown, to pick Casey up to go to Taste of Whalen. And even though she’d kept up her bluster while she collected him, focusing on threatening him with bodily harm if he dared to suggest he drive the Pink Lady, she’d been absolutely floored by the fine specimen of manhood that had greeted her. He’d been right over there, by the fireplace, all tuxed up and looking like something out of a
GQ
photo spread. She’d nearly fainted dead away, but she’d kept her feelings in check and remained on her feet. That got harder and harder to do as the summer went on. Now it was darn near impossible.

Casey crouched down and poked at the crumbling, glowing logs. George tore her gaze away from the sight of his broad shoulders, muscles working as he put more wood on the fire, and glanced around.

“Hey, you got furniture.”

There wasn’t a whole lot of it for the size of the room, but since there hadn’t been even a folding chair in the place the last time she’d visited, there was a distinct difference. Two striped sofas faced each other over a low table, a large area rug underneath; end tables held a couple of lamps; there was a narrow table with another lamp under the windows. It was a start—a good one.

“Contrary to popular belief, men can be evolved enough to want the trappings of civilization in their homes,” he said over his shoulder with a grin.

“And not even a leather recliner and widescreen television.”

“They’re in the den.” When the flames danced into life again, he stood up and brushed off his hands. “Better?”

She inched closer to the fire. “Much. Thanks.”

“So what were you saying back in the gallery, before we were so rudely ejected?”

She cleared her throat, kept her eyes on the fireplace as she stammered, “I—I got your e-mail.”

“Oh, right.” He nodded, paused. Then, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Now she did look up at him. He was smiling mildly, his hands in his pockets. “The e-mail,” she repeated, as though he hadn’t heard her. “I got it.”

“The e-mail,” he recited back, to prove he understood. He shook his head slowly. “Still no clue.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Bowen. You’ve said your piece, and look—here I am, so it must have worked. It’s too late to deny it now.”

Casey closed the small space between them. “I am
so
glad you’re here. I didn’t think you were going to come back, after . . . you know. So I was shocked, and thrilled, and everything else, when I saw you walk through the door. And if I haven’t told you yet, you look beautiful tonight. But I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A glimmer of... something . . . flickered in the back of George’s mind, like the small flames licking at the fresh wood in the grate. Still, she wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, so for the moment she stuck to her guns.

“Fine. You want to play it like that, fine.” She dug in her bag and came up with her phone. “Just give me a minute.” George started pushing buttons, going to her blog inbox to pull up the message in question.

Casey gently put his hand on her wrist, and although he didn’t press on her arm, she lowered it slowly and looked up at him again. “Why don’t you just tell me what it said?” he suggested, a small smile playing around the corner of his lips.

She had been meaning to read it out to him, verbatim. Even
those
words. But his eyes held hers, and she couldn’t return to the device in her hand. Besides, her fingers were shaking so much, she knew she’d never be able to hit the right buttons.

George took a steadying breath. “First of all, you’re about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Signing it ‘Feeling Down’? You perv.”

“Tell me more.” Casey still hadn’t removed his hand from her wrist. She didn’t want him to.

“‘I had a crush on a girl in high school? She was a couple of years younger than me? I was sporty, she was intellectual?’”

“Go on.” His hand slid up her arm.

“‘I never asked her out, she was intimidating, her sister threatened me if I dated her.’”