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She clapped her hands together. “That’s great. I’m very excited. I was hoping you’d agree. I’ve been thinking about the plan and we need to make sure we agree on terms.”
“Friends for six months.”
She nodded. Her eyes were wide and blue and right now filled with earnest determination.
“We’ll hang out and do things together,” she said. “Get to know each other. Develop trust. I’ll see you as a man who doesn’t threaten me and you’ll see me as a person, not a bed partner.”
“Agree. No sex. Nothing romantic. We’ll hang out and do stuff.”
She squared her shoulders. “Then in six months, we’ll both be better people. Healed. We’ll finish our experiment and go our separate ways.”
“That’s easy for you to say, but I’m not sure you can keep your end of the bargain.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He grinned. “I’m a great friend. You might get hooked. I’m still friends with guys I knew in grade school. I can’t seem to shake ’em.”
She laughed. “I’m an excellent friend, as well. What if you don’t want to stop being friends with me?”
“That could be a real possibility.”
“All right,” she said slowly. “What if we commit—” She shook her head. “No, you hate that word. What if we dedicate ourselves to our plan for the next six months? Then, if we still want to be friends, we still will be. But regular friends, without a plan for mutual personal growth.”
He couldn’t imagine any man on the planet coming up with something like this, he thought. Which was why women should be ruling the world.
“Sounds like a plan.” He held out his hand.
She leaned across the counter and took it in hers. They shook.
“I don’t work Saturday,” she said. “Are you free?”
He had a couple of tours, but he could trade the afternoon one. “Sure. Say three?”
“Perfect. I’ll come to your place. It’s a date.” She frowned. “Not a date. A...”
“A nondate?”
“An undate?”
He grinned. “A friend date.”
She nodded. “Do you want another cookie?”
“No, thanks. I don’t want to have to work out more and have Eddie think I’m flirting with her.”
“Good point.” She bit her lower lip. “Do you think this is going to work, Aidan?”
He thought about the pain in her eyes when she’d talked about her past. He remembered the accusations the other woman had hurled at him on New Year’s Eve. Shelby had a good job and was part owner in a business he was pretty sure she loved. He knew he enjoyed everything about his company. Each of them had nearly all they could want and yet something was missing. Something big.
“We’re going to make it work,” he told her. “We know the problem and we’ll find a solution. We just have to show up and put in the effort. It’ll happen.”
Her smile returned. “You have a little motivational speaker in you. I didn’t know. I’ll see you Saturday.”
“I’ll be there.”
* * *
AIDAN PULLED INTO the driveway of the house where he’d grown up. The roof had been recently replaced and the paint was new, but otherwise it looked exactly as it always had.
The property was a few miles outside of town, with plenty of land and a workshop for Ceallach out back. A giant workshop, where the gifted artist created his masterpieces. There was even a separate driveway and parking area for his various assistants who came and went. Because glass blowing wasn’t a solitary venture. Someone was needed at nearly every stage.
Aidan remembered being taken to his father’s workshop as a kid. While the power and heat of the furnace had intrigued him, he’d had no real interest in creating anything. His father had despaired of ever having a son to follow in his footsteps. Then Nick was born. From about two or three, he’d been obsessed with what his father did. Even his very first crude creations had shown talent. From that day, Del and Aidan had ceased to exist. At least for their father.
Different from what Shelby had gone through, he thought idly. But still not the happy childhood from TV sitcoms. He and Del had banded together—protecting each other, talking sports instead of art. The twins—the babies of the family—had been like Nick. Talented and interested in their father’s world. And so they’d grown up—five brothers divided into two camps. There had been affection between them, caring, but no real common language.
Aidan got out of his car, but before he could walk up the porch steps, the front door opened and a happy beagle dashed toward him. Sophie yipped in excitement as she raced forward, her long ears flapping as she ran. He crouched down and held open his arms. Sophie slammed into him with all the enthusiasm one delighted dog could contain.
“How’s my girl?” he asked, patting and rubbing her. She squirmed to get closer, then swiped his cheek with her tongue. Her tail slapped his arm as she wiggled and whined.
His mother stepped onto the porch. “She doesn’t do anything moderately,” Elaine Mitchell said with a laugh. “I’ve always admired that about her.”
Aidan climbed the two porch steps to hug his mom. She hung on tight. Sophie circled them both and barked. Elaine stepped back.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, holding open the door. “This is a nice surprise.”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
He followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the barstool by the island. Elaine collected a filter and tin of coffee, then poured water into the carafe.
She moved with energy, which he liked to see. The previous summer she’d battled breast cancer without telling anyone in the family. After the news had come out, he’d been able to look back and see how she’d been tired, with the strain of her illness showing on her face. Now he did his best to be more observant. While his mother had promised to never keep a secret like that again, Aidan wasn’t sure he believed her. Theirs was a family built on information withheld.
“How’s the business?” she asked after she’d started the coffeemaker.
“Good. I have a couple of snowshoeing trips along with the usual cross-country skiing.” He offered guided tours for those not familiar with the area. Most of his tour guides were college students happy to take a light load in the winter and get paid to ski. In summer he hired the students who wanted to stay in the area over the long break. Either way, it was a win-win.
Sophie crossed to her bed in the corner and scratched the soft fabric several times before settling down. The little beagle had been there for his mom as Elaine had gone through her surgery and treatment. Totally faithful and supportive.
Once again he wondered if he should get a dog. Being responsible for another living creature would go a long way to bolstering his character. Plus a nice, big dog would be fun. He could take him hiking and camping. Fay liked dogs, so having one in the office wouldn’t be a problem. Something to consider, he told himself.
“Your father and I are talking about going away again,” his mother said. “Our vacation last fall was so nice for both of us. We’re looking at taking one of those river cruises in Germany.”
“That would be good,” he said automatically, thinking that being trapped with his father on a boat was his idea of hell. But his mom would have a different view of things. “I’m glad you’re getting away more.”
“Me, too. Now that your father is slowing down with his work, we can think about other things.”
Right. Because every part of their life was defined by Ceallach’s work. That came first and the rest of it could wait its turn.
Stuck, Aidan reminded himself. Here was a prime example of why he never wanted to be in love. His mother was always the one who bent, who surrendered to whatever Ceallach wanted. He remembered being a kid and asking her why she didn’t tell his dad to stop destroying his work. She’d told him it wasn’t that easy—that Ceallach had his demons.
At eight or ten or twelve, Aidan hadn’t cared about demons. He’d cared that he could hear his mother crying because another commission had been destroyed and there wasn’t any money. That she didn’t know how she was going to feed her children.
Whatever the problem, Ceallach was always right, always the important one. Theirs wasn’t a partnership, at least not from his perspective. He’d often wondered why she stayed. No. The real question was why she’d married the man in the first place.
She poured them each a cup of coffee. “You should think about getting away.”
He took the mug and grinned. “Mom, my life is a vacation.”
“Not the business aspect of it.”
“I don’t mind that.”
She studied him. “I guess you never did. You were always smart that way. It’s interesting how you and Del are so different from your brothers.”
“You mean not like Dad?”
“I mean different.” Her voice chided ever so gently. “Speaking of your brothers, have you seen Nick?”
“Sure. A few days ago. Why?”
“I worry about him. But then I worry about all my boys.”
He knew that in her way, she was telling the truth. She’d always been there for her sons, loving them, taking care of them. He’d known that she would listen, would do her best to understand, even if, in the end, she would side with his father.
Like every good mother, she’d always claimed to love her five boys equally. Still, if he was asked to say who was her favorite, he would have to admit it was Ronan. The irony of that truth was the fact that Ronan wasn’t even hers. As he and Del had found out the previous fall, Ronan was their half brother—the result of Ceallach’s affair. Yet when his ex-mistress had abandoned her child, Elaine had taken him in and passed him off as one of her own. Mathias’s twin.
More secrets, he thought, wondering briefly what else he didn’t know about his family. Of course there were things they didn’t know about him. Like how badly he felt about what had happened on New Year’s Eve. And how he was determined to be different. But no matter how he changed, he knew one thing for sure. He would never fall in love. The pleasure was nowhere near worth the pain.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_d452c653-ccd3-5425-b6b4-f738e98ba5df)
SHELBY WASN’T SURE what to expect when she showed up at Aidan’s house on Saturday afternoon, but the small, well-kept bungalow was something of a surprise. There was a two-car garage, a wide porch and a huge snowman in the front yard. While most of the town celebrated Cabin Fever Days with snow people of all genders and sizes, she hadn’t thought that Aidan would be one to participate.
His snowman was about five feet tall, with a sturdy shape and smiling face. A ski cap topped his head and two ski poles leaned against him, as if he was about to embark on an outdoor adventure. There was a whimsical quality about the snowman—maybe in the way he seemed ready to spring to life. Aidan might not have his father’s talent to work with glass, but she would guess there were a few lingering artistic genes in him.
She walked up the porch stairs and knocked on the front door. In the few seconds it took him to answer, she acknowledged the nerves bouncing around in her stomach. Part of her wanted to bolt—there was no way this was going to work. But the sensible part of her, the part that had been to therapy and read a bunch of books and really wanted to get better, knew that showing up was the first step. That if her goal of healing from the damage done to her psyche was to be reached, she had to go through the process. Running away rarely accomplished anything.
Aidan opened the door. “Right on time. Come on in.”
She did as he requested, careful to stomp the snow off her boots before walking into the house.
There was a forty-second bit of busyness to distract her from her nerves—unwinding her scarf, handing over her coat before stepping out of her boots. She noticed that Aidan was also in stocking feet, but his socks were thick and dark, while hers were covered with brightly colored cats. The contrast made her smile.
They were both in jeans and sweaters. His navy, hers dark pink. She hadn’t known what to do about makeup and perfume and all that stuff. Because this wasn’t a date. She was hanging out with a friend. But still, she’d wondered, and in the end had done what she did for work. Mascara and lip gloss.
They stared at each other. He was tall and broad. Masculine. The foyer was small and they were standing close together. Awkwardness pressed in on her. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, let alone her body.
“Should we, um...” He cleared his throat. “Go sit down?”
“Sure.”
She followed him into a good-sized living room. One wall was paneled, but not like in those scary midcentury grandma homes. This was rough-hewn, obviously old and well cared for. A big wood-burning stone fireplace stood opposite, with a large mantel stretching across the wall. A huge television hung above it. The furniture was black leather, the floors hardwood. A few paintings, mostly landscapes, were scattered on the walls. A patterned rug of reds and browns and greens anchored the room. The room was eclectic, but ultimately welcoming.
“I like it,” she said. “It’s very masculine, but not in a no-girls-allowed way.”
Aidan shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “I picked out most of it. Nick helped with the rug. He has an eye for color.”
“The artist thing.”
He nodded. “That would be it.” He pointed at the sofa. “Have a seat.”
She sat at one end of the sofa. He took the other. They looked at each other, then away. Silence filled the room and awkwardness returned. Which made sense. She and Aidan barely knew each other. Rather than become friends in the normal way—over time, through shared interests—they were forcing it upon themselves. Where on earth were they supposed to start?
“What about—”
“Did you want to—”
They both spoke at the same time, stopped, and silence returned. Shelby decided there was no point in ignoring the obvious.
“This is really uncomfortable,” she said firmly. “But I think we can get past it.”
“Okay.”
The slow response was more neutral than agreement.
“We have a purpose,” she continued. “I want to fall in love and get married.”
Aidan’s expression tightened with what could only be described as panic. Some of her tension eased.
“Not to you,” she pointed out. “Don’t freak.”
“Then don’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not? Why can’t I be honest?”
“Because it’s not what any guy wants to hear. Not right off. It means you have a picture of what’s going to happen in your life and you’ll use any guy to get there. It makes us feel trapped.”
His words almost made sense. “Like what we want is more important than the outcome? Caring more about the bridal gown than the groom?”
“Yeah, that. Men and women want different things. You want to be committed.”
“And men want to cheat.”
His brows rose. “Who cheated?”
She tucked one foot under her opposite leg as she considered her words. “Wow. I honestly don’t know where that came from. Miles cheated, but we were barely dating, so I’m not sure it counts. I guess what I mean is I don’t trust men.”
“Shouldn’t you be afraid a guy would hit you rather than he would cheat?”
Talk about cutting to be heart of the matter. She held up both hands. “Yes, and maybe we could ease into the honesty just a little.”
