Where the Heart Is (8 page)

He glanced at the bedroom.
Down boy,
take things slow
. But he was having a damned difficult time. She was so great. Everything about her drew him to her, and then she'd said that stuff about her family and how she'd never have left the Archers if they were hers, and he'd fallen hard. She loved and craved a family as much as he did—the same family, which was even more perfect. Last night she'd said he was lucky. She didn't know the half of it.

Chloe hung up her coat and went to the couch where Ashley was snuggled up on a blanket. She nuzzled Chloe's hand and after a moment of petting her, Chloe turned back toward Derek. Overcome with the need to touch her, to convey the emotion bubbling inside of him, Derek went to her and clasped her waist. Then he kissed her intensely, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She wound her arms around his neck to hold on.

After a long moment, he pulled back, but only a little. She gazed up at him, her hazel eyes slitted with desire. “Wow,” she breathed.

Yeah, wow.

“I'm glad you're coming to Christmas.” That was a huge commitment. He'd never invited anyone home for the holidays before. “I was afraid you'd say no.”

“Not on your life.” She twined her fingers into the hair at his nape. “Besides, I haven't had any better offers.”

He heard the teasing note in her voice and arched one brow at her. “Is that so? This is a contingent ‘yes' then?”

She shrugged playfully. “I'm pretty sure you can convince me.”

He knew she meant physically—and he was more than happy to oblige her game—but he couldn't resist being obnoxiously obtuse first. “Well, let's see, it's convenient, for one. I mean, you could shuffle over in your pajamas if you wanted to.” He actually hoped she did. He usually spent Christmas Eve at the house and the entire family gathered in the great room on Christmas morning in their pajamas to see what Santa had brought.

Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “But I won't be here on Christmas. I'll be in your house.”

Shit.
He'd forgotten all about the house, which shouldn't have surprised him. He'd made ignoring the place a goddamned art form. His heart pounded in his chest and his breath felt short. Overwhelmed with some emotion he couldn't—or wouldn't—name, he left her arms and retreated to the bar where he'd set their beers and took a long drink.

“Derek?” She went to stand beside him. “What's wrong?”

Reluctantly, because he didn't want to talk about this at all, he faced her. “I told you—it's complicated.”

She touched his arm, lightly, with infinite care, but it didn't soothe him in the slightest. “Will you tell me why? I really love it, and knowing that it's yours makes it seem perfect. Like we were fated to meet.”

Derek wished he could talk about this with her, but he just couldn't. God, it had been ten years. When was he ever going to get over the damn place? “I'm just uncomfortable there. You know my mom died. We lived there together. It's . . . hard to explain.” The urge to flee overcame him. “I need to go.” He made a beeline for the door, his insides turning over themselves in a decade-old dance of despair that he'd managed to avoid for the most part. And that was precisely why he didn't want her in his house. He should've sold it when he'd had the chance.

“Derek, wait.” She followed him to the door. “Let's talk about this. I know we can figure it out.”

His hand was already on the door handle and his feet were itching to run. “I can't. Not now. I'll talk to you later.” He ran down the stairs and out the door as fast as he could.

 

B
Y 4:30
that afternoon, Chloe was climbing the walls of her apartment. She'd played the conversation with Derek over and over in her mind and was just as unsettled as when he'd left two hours ago. Desperate for a change of scenery, she decided she'd just show up for dinner a bit early.

Again, she didn't bother knocking on the mudroom door of the house. But unlike last time, she didn't hesitate. She went straight to the kitchen where she heard voices.

“Chloe!” Emily smiled at her from the kitchen where she was chopping vegetables for a salad.

Sara sat at the bar opposite her mother. She was slicing a cucumber. “Hey, Chloe. Come and help.”

Chloe moved into the kitchen. “What can I do?”

“Do you mind setting the table?” Emily asked. “The silverware's in that drawer.” She pointed to a drawer near one of the two commercial-size dishwashers. “And plates are up there.” She gestured to a cupboard over the silverware drawer.

Sara set down her knife. “I'll get the placemats.” As she went to a cupboard over by the keg bar, she listed off names. “Let's see, Mom, Dad, Chloe, me, Alex, Derek. Are Evan and Hayden coming?” she asked, turning toward Emily.

“I don't know. Set places for them anyway.” Emily threw a smile at Chloe. “You never know who's going to show up.”

Such . . . flexibility would send Chloe's mother over the edge. “That doesn't frustrate you?” Chloe asked, pulling the last of the silverware from the drawer. She'd grabbed knives, forks, and spoons, but now wondered if she should've maybe grabbed salad forks too. Her mother would say yes. And maybe that was why she hadn't.

“They're all busy, they get distracted, or they get a better offer.” Emily shrugged as she chopped up a tomato. “I don't mind. I'm happy to have whoever's here.”

Sara laid placemats on the table as Chloe joined her with the silverware. “Sure, but when there's no one here, she's bummed,” Sara whispered.

“Sara, don't whisper, it's not polite.”

“Sorry, Mom.” Sara grinned at Chloe and finished with the placemats before returning to her slicing job.

Emily chatted for a few minutes about this and that, but Chloe was only half listening. She was still consumed with thoughts of Derek and his reaction about his house. Before she could think better of it, she asked, “Why doesn't Derek live in his house?”

Emily's hands froze in mid-chop.

“Because he has a great loft,” Sara said, without missing a slice.

Emily finished with the tomato and swept it up into the salad bowl. Then she wiped her hands on her apron as she looked at Chloe.

Chloe finished laying the last fork down. “Why does it make him so uncomfortable? Is it because of his mom?”

“I think so, yes.” Emily came around the counter and leaned against the side. “He doesn't talk about it much. To any of us.”

Sara spun her stool around to face them. “I thought he was going to sell it.”

Emily glanced at her daughter. “He decided not to, honey.” She returned her focus to Chloe. “It's a very sensitive subject for Derek. Please be patient with him. The time is coming when he's going to have to face his past once and for all.”

What did that mean? Chloe didn't want to barrage the woman with questions, though. It was bad enough that she was talking to his family about such a personal subject. If Derek hadn't wanted to discuss it, what right did she have talking about it with the Archers?

Emily moved forward and took Chloe's hand. “I can see this troubles you, which tells me how much you care for Derek already.” She smiled warmly. “I'm so glad. I think he feels the same. At least, I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. Or talk to anyone the way he talks to you. It's lovely.”

“How's that?” Sara asked, looking at her mother.

Emily turned, dropping Chloe's hand and returning to the kitchen. “How people look when they're falling in love.”

Sara made a little sound like a squeal and grinned at Chloe. “That's so wonderful! Is it true, Chloe?”

“Uh . . .” She was literally at a loss for words. She hadn't even considered that she was falling
in love
with Derek, but she was definitely falling in something. Was there such a thing as almost love?

“Oh, Sara, don't put the girl on the spot. It's bad enough I did it! I shouldn't have said anything.”

Sara turned on the stool to look at her mom. “Then why did you?”

Emily laughed. “Sara, honey, I'm afraid I was being too motherly. Will you go and tell your dad that dinner is just about ready?”

“In a sec. How can you tell it's love?”

Emily took a pair of oven mitts from a drawer and pulled them on her hands. “I'm not sure it is,” she said firmly, with an apologetic glance at Chloe. “I can only say that the way Derek looks at Chloe reminds me of how your dad looked at me way back when.”

Sara's brow furrowed. “Doesn't he still look at you that way?”

“Sure, just not in front of you people.” Emily laughed as she turned and opened the wall oven. She pulled a gorgeous stuffed tenderloin from the interior and set it on the counter. Then she picked up a long fork and opened the second oven. She prodded something inside, which Chloe couldn't quite make out. “Roasted root vegetables aren't quite done, but almost.”

“And what ‘way' is it?” Sara asked, leaning forward, clearly entranced by the conversation. It was cute and gave Chloe a welcome reprieve from worrying about Derek.

Emily closed the oven and leaned against the back counter. She smiled, her gaze far-off as if she were seeing the past. “It's a special look. How you look on that first perfect spring day. How you look when the first snowflake hits your nose in winter. How you look when you finish the last page of your favorite book for the tenth time. How you look when your babies are born.” She shook her head. “It's a look that perfectly conveys the feeling of joy threatening to burst from your chest, like if you don't let it go in some way, you'll simply explode.”

“I hope I feel like that someday,” Sara said matter-of-factly.

Chloe realized she felt like that already. Was she really in love with him so soon? How had that happened? She tried to apply what Emily described to her past relationship with Ed, but she just couldn't. Sure, she'd felt something for him and she remembered feeling giddy back in college, but in some ways it was because he was such a big deal. He was one of the top students at school, good looking, and he had the “right” name. That he'd wanted her over any other girl had been incredibly flattering. But it wasn't the same as what she felt with Derek. This visceral feeling of rightness, of wanting to see him at every moment, wanting to share everything.

“Sara, go and get your dad,” Emily said, removing her oven mitts. “He needs to cut the pork.”

Emily glanced at the clock. It was just about five. And no one else had arrived. She gave Chloe a reassuring look. “The boys know dinner at five usually means five-fifteenish.”

Chloe nodded, but didn't say anything.

“Will you put the rolls on the table?” Emily gestured to a basket sitting on the counter, covered with a festive red and green cloth.

Chloe grabbed the basket and put it on the table. “Butter?”

“There's a dish out on the counter over there.”

Finding the butter dish, Chloe set it beside the rolls.

“I think you moving into Derek's house is going to help him, though it may not seem like it now.” Emily closed her eyes briefly and gently shook her head. “None of this is my business.”

“It's okay, I appreciate any advice. I don't really know what to do. I seemed to have met Derek just when I needed to. He's been so supportive—all of you have—and his house is the answer to my troubles, practically a Christmas miracle. It all just seems—”

“Meant to be?” Emily's mouth twisted into a faint smile. “Sorry, I've a bad habit of interrupting sometimes.”

“No, you're right. It does feel like it's meant to be. But then so does Derek. I can't explain it. Things have moved so quickly, but he's amazing.”

“He is. Which is astonishing, given his life.” Emily's eyes turned sad. “He's had a very difficult time.”

Chloe suspected as much, but hearing it twisted her heart. “He hasn't said much about his mom.”

“No, I expect he hasn't. And probably nothing about his dad?” Emily asked.

“His dad?” Derek hadn't mentioned his father once, and Chloe had assumed he'd never been in the picture.

“I won't say too much—it's his story to tell—but he lost his dad when he was nine. Gloria, Derek's mom, moved them here to start fresh.”

Chloe's heart ached for Derek. She wished he'd told her this, but again, things had moved so quickly, maybe he just hadn't had the chance.

Sara and Rob came into the kitchen just then, and Alex followed a minute behind them. They talked about the pub and how Chloe liked working there and then the conversation turned to Sara's job as an event planner in Portland. She'd organized a lot of last night's party and Chloe couldn't help but be impressed.

She also couldn't help glancing at the clock over and over again until she worried that she would get a crick in her neck. She watched as 5:15 came and went and when the door opened at 5:20, her heart lurched.

But it was only Hayden and Evan who barreled into the kitchen and took two of the open seats at the table. The meal was wonderful, despite the last place remaining conspicuously empty, much to Chloe's disappointment.

It was incredibly inconsiderate of Derek to stand up not just her, but the entire family. Maybe it was her own rigid upbringing, but you didn't say you'd be somewhere and then no-show. Not unless your house burned down.

But his house hadn't burned down. It was whole and perfect and could very well put an end to something very beautiful.

 

 

H
E WAS
such a jerk. Derek had ordered the most expensive bouquet the florist could make that afternoon and had just swung by to pick it up on the way to the pub. The scent of pine and roses filled his car, reminding him of Chloe's hair.

Jerk wasn't strong enough. He was a total asshole.

After freaking out on her yesterday, he'd stood her up at dinner and he hadn't called or texted since. What kind of boyfriend did that? And yeah, he sort of thought he was her boyfriend after Saturday night, not that he'd acted like it.

Then Emily had called this afternoon and made him feel like even more of a schmuck. She'd read him the riot act for not showing up at dinner the night before, which told him more than he needed to know—that he'd disappointed Chloe. Because Emily never took him to task for not coming to dinner. But then, he always texted if he'd said he was coming and then wasn't able to show up.

He parked just down from the pub, plucked up the bouquet, and climbed out of his SUV. On the way to the door, he thought about what he could say to make things up to her, but nothing sounded good enough. “Uh, sorry about Sunday, but I couldn't help wigging out over my old house. I've decided I can't bear for you to live there, by the way.”

He cringed because even though he knew he was being irrational, he couldn't help it. He took a deep breath. He could do this.

Pushing open the door, he stepped into the warmth and bustle of the pub. The smell of fresh fries taunted his nose as he looked around for Chloe. He saw her approaching the bar from one of the tables in the back and met her there.

“Hi,” he said, tentatively.

“Hi,” she said, coming around to the side of the bar and eyeing the flowers.

He held them out to her. “These are for you. Because I'm a jerk. Or an ass. Or both.”

“You're neither,” she said, surprising him. She accepted the flowers. “These are gorgeous.” She smelled one of the dark red roses. For florist flowers, they had at least a nominal scent, which Derek was grateful for.