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The news that he still visited her parents when he was in town did not come as a surprise. Her mother proudly mentioned it each occasion when it happened. Ethan was two years younger than Gemma and the same age as Scott Carmichael, Elyse’s fiancé. He and Scott had met while playing middle school sports. Growing up with an aunt and uncle who’d rescued him from a dysfunctional situation, he’d spent lots of evenings and weekends accompanying Scott to the Gould home. Elyse and Scott were already an item in middle school, and Gemma’s mom had considered Ethan a “trustworthy chaperone.” Ha! She should only have known.
“My parents won’t be happy until every one of us kids moves back into our old rooms—with or without our spouses and children,” Gemma said, intending to dismiss her mother’s complaint, but then she winced. Ethan’s eyes narrowed, and she realized her parents must have told him that her engagement to William Munson, a math professor, had ended almost a year ago. “Anyway,” she said with false brightness, “I come home almost every weekend.”
Oh, hell’s bells. Could you sound more boring?
A burst of hysterical laughter rose in the family room. Her star turn as the worst bridesmaid on the planet must be playing in surround sound.
Looking down so Ethan wouldn’t see the heat that rose furiously to her face, Gemma wiped her hands on the apron she wore over her dress. “Well, I’d better go...check on the dessert.” A lame excuse, for sure, but she needed to escape.
He grabbed her arm before she could leave. “Why do you let them take advantage of you?” The words were soft, but penetrating.
She blinked at his expression. Gemma had seen Ethan on TV when his team went to the Super Bowl. The whole town had watched. Ernest Dale at Ernie’s Electronics had set up three TVs in the store window, all programmed for the game. Gemma couldn’t have missed it if she’d tried; Thunder Ridge had turned into one giant Super Bowl party just for Ethan.
As the wide receiver, he’d caught a number of passes and was playing well, but then three-quarters into the action, he’d missed an outside pass. He took off his helmet and threw it to the ground, the camera following him. Jaw square and tense, brow lowered, eyes penetrating, he looked very much the way he did right now—angry and disgusted.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, because she truly didn’t. Her family wasn’t perfect, of course not, and as the baby, Elyse could appear spoiled at times, but they loved Gemma. She was the eldest daughter, and perhaps the only one in their family tree who was logical, practical and coolheaded in a pinch. “No one is taking advantage of me. I help because I want to.”
“Admirable.” His eyes looked almost iridescent in the afternoon sun slanting across her parents’ backyard. “But who helps you?”
Maybe it was his lowered voice adding intimacy to the question. Or perhaps Gemma was simply tired and vulnerable, but tears pricked her eyes. Oh, no, no. We are not going there. Not with him.
She had thoroughly humiliated herself twice in her life. One of those times was being replayed in the family room for everyone to see. The other incident was long past, but in many ways it had been worse, and Ethan Ladd had been responsible for it. Partly responsible. Mostly responsible.
Oh, what the hell, it had been all his fault. He had ruined her senior year homecoming dance. He had ruined her senior year, period. Gemma had her revenge, but she’d stayed emotionally distant and physically away from him as much as she’d been able to after that miserable night. No way was she going to give in to the weird urge to blubber into his broad chest now.
“Thank you, Ethan,” she said in her best Professor Gould voice, “but I have lots of support. Right now, all I need is to make sure the cheesecake stands at room temperature for twenty minutes before we serve it, so if you’ll excuse me.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Yeah, it is. I brought my own veggie burger. Left it in the kitchen.”
She glanced at his heavily muscled body, evident even beneath the T-shirt and jeans. “Veggie burger?” she said doubtfully, walking toward the patio door that led to her parents’ ample kitchen. “Since when?” In high school, he’d once sat in their kitchen and scarfed down four hot dogs and half a large pepperoni pizza.
“I consider my body a temple.” Mischief undercut his tone. He reached the door, opened it and held it open, his arm high above her head, looking down at her as she passed through. She caught his wink. “Have to make up for all those years of debauchery.”
He was angling for a response. “Careful you don’t change too quickly,” she replied, “you wouldn’t want to send yourself into shock.”
Ethan’s easy laughter rang through the kitchen. Her body responded to the sound, sending shivers over her skin. Darn.
“I was kidding about the veggie burger. I only like them if they have meat and cheese.” He went straight to the refrigerator and peered in. “That’s a lot of cheesecake.” He began to stack the boxes in his arms.
“I’ll do it,” she protested.
Paying no attention, he deposited the cakes on the center island and opened the white cardboard. “Rocky road,” he murmured. Knowing exactly where to look in her mother’s cabinets, he retrieved a plate and fork.
“Stop!” she ordered as he began to work a knife into the dessert. “I told you, those aren’t supposed to be sliced until they’ve sat at room temperature for twenty minutes.”
“A rule clearly intended to be broken. Like so many other rules,” he purred, sliding a slice of the mile-high cheesecake onto the plate.
“I thought you were treating your body like a temple.”
“I am. I’m bringing it an offering.” Ethan seemed to let the bite melt in his mouth. His eyes half closed. “Mmm-mmm.”
Gemma’s knees went weak. How did he do that? How did he make eating look sexy? If she floated the fork through the air the way he was doing, she’d probably drop a chunk on her bosom. No wonder he’d garnered as much celebrity for his sex appeal as he had for playing football. Suddenly, Gemma felt very, very hungry, but not for cheesecake.
Fiddlesticks. Ethan Ladd short-circuited her brain and hampered her logic. It had been different when she had a fiancé. William was intelligent, educated, taught at the same college as her and was pretty much perfect for her. They’d met in the library, for crying out loud. Engaged to William Munson, Gemma had no longer thought about men who were wrong for her. She’d stopped reacting when Ethan’s name came up or when she heard he was in town, working on the McMansion he’d built on four acres that backed up to Long River. She had become neutral.
She needed another fiancé, stat.
“Gemma? Hey, Gemma!”
Ethan’s voice made her jump. “What?”
“I said, are you sure you won’t join me?” He held his fork out to her, his eyes half closed in a way that made him look as if he’d just rolled out of bed. Or was still in it.
Oh, yes, I’ll join you... “No! Absolutely not.” She marched around the counter and closed the box. Reaching into the cabinet beneath the center island, she withdrew a large silver tray she had polished earlier in the week.
In a moment, today’s guests would emerge from the family room, laughing and ribbing her about her appearance on TV. Elyse would be grinning on the outside, but Gemma knew her perfection-seeking sister was crying on the inside, because Gemma had marred her big moment. So she would try to make amends—again—by earning a spot in the bridesmaids hall of fame.
A few months ago, she’d ordered a book about fruit and vegetable carving online and had dedicated more hours to perfecting watermelon roses than she had spent on her master’s thesis.
“I need to prepare the dessert tray,” she told Ethan, waving him toward the other part of the house. “You have a legion of fans out there. Why don’t you bask in the glory of being Thunder Ridge’s favorite son?”
“Well, now, that’s exactly why I don’t want to be in the other room. All that attention tends to make my head swell, and I’m working on humility.”
He gave her such a deliberately innocent expression that Gemma felt a genuine smile tickle her lips. The man was wearing a Bulgari wristwatch and designer jeans. And the home he’d built? It was so massive and completely out of proportion with any other home in the area, it shouted, “Hey, everyone, a really, really rich dude lives here.”
Seeing her smile, Ethan leaned against the kitchen counter and tilted his head. “How about I help you with the dessert? I promise not to eat any more cheesecake. Scout’s honor.”
A wave of déjà vu hit her: once before, he’d offered to spend time with her, to take her to senior homecoming dance, in fact. And that had been a disaster.
Before she could courteously decline his offer, Ethan’s cell phone rang. He used Kenny Chesney’s “The Boys of Fall” as his ringtone.
“Thought I silenced that.” He grimaced. “’Scuse me.” Into the phone, he said, “Ethan here.”
While he listened to the caller, Gemma tortured herself with memories: the thrill of believing that Ethan wanted to take her to homecoming. Yes, he’d been two years younger, but there hadn’t been a senior girl at Thunder Ridge High who wouldn’t have jumped at the chance to date him. And Gemma, she had...well, she’d...
Oh, go on, admit it. We’re all adults here.
With Ethan turned half away from her, she looked at the massive squared shoulders and sighed. Every time he’d come to her house with Scott, she’d fantasized he was there to see her. That the two of them were going to hang out, study together, talk about music and books and movies and sports teams. Not that she was into sports, but with her photographic memory it hadn’t taken all that long to memorize the stats for every player in the NFL, so that if he decided he wanted to get to know her one day, she would be ready with the kind of conversation he was likely to enjoy.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Ethan’s tone was sharp and concerned, jerking Gemma back to the moment at hand.
Oookay. She moved about self-consciously, withdrawing a tray of edible flowers with which to decorate the dessert while she pretended not to eavesdrop. Which, of course, she was.
“No, I was not aware. Where is she?” Ethan spoke with his jaw so tight, the words had trouble emerging. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll get ahold of her myself...I see. Yes, do that. I’ll be available by phone.”
There was silence. The heaviest silence Gemma had ever heard. She worked at her corner of the center island, her face turned away from Ethan, wondering if she should speak. She had no idea what the phone call was about, but his distress was obvious, and she felt a strong desire to say something comforting.
When the silence had lasted long enough, Gemma finally turned to catch Ethan staring at the floor.
Suddenly he didn’t look like Ethan, King of Thunder Ridge High, or Ethan the Football Star, or Ethan the Sex Symbol, or Ethan the Boy Who Made Gemma Gould Feel Like an Ugly Duckling Loser in High School. He was, perhaps for the first time in her eyes, just a regular human being. And he looked really, really alone.
“Are you all right?” she ventured. “If you need to talk—”
Her voice seemed to bust him out of his spell. “I have to go.” He didn’t look at her directly. “Tell Elyse and Scott I’ll call them.”
He seemed to hesitate a moment longer, or maybe that was her imagination, then exited through the kitchen door. And that was that.
Returning to her edible flowers, Gemma told herself not to feel compassion for the big boob. He’d just rejected her friendly—no, not friendly, simply humane—overture, and, let’s face it, rejection pretty much summed up her relationship with Ethan Ladd through the years.
She shook her head hard, jiggling some sense into it. She was over thirty, had a great career, good friends. She’d had a fiancé and would surely date again. Someday. Ethan Ladd did not have the power to make her feel valuable, attractive and worthwhile or rejected and unwanted. That was so fifteen years ago.
All she had to do was get through this wedding. Then he would be gone again, her regular life would resume and her heart would stop beating like a hummingbird in flight every time she thought about weddings and true love, or about the first man who had broken her heart.
Chapter Two (#u5a0e35c3-92e3-5665-b49c-5ed9c141cfdf)
Two months after Elyse’s bridal shower, Gemma was in Thunder Ridge again, staying at her parents’ place over the weekend, so Minna Gould, mother of the bride, would have an audience while she fretted over last-minute preparations for the wedding.
“You need to decide whether you’re bringing a date,” Minna insisted as they carried the dinner plates to the Goulds’ cozy pale-blue-and-white kitchen. “This is the last chance to order another meal from the caterer. After this, she’ll serve my head on a platter.”
“I’m not bringing a date, Mom. I don’t want your head on my conscience,” Gemma assured her, taking the plates from her mother and plunking them in a sinkful of suds.
“Don’t be silly! If you want to bring a date, then by all means—”
“Mom, I was kidding. I’m not seeing anyone.”
Only twenty-four years older than her second child, Minna Gould, née Waldeck, was still a beautiful woman. Most of the Waldeck women married young, started their families young and stayed beautiful without artificial enhancements well into their fifties.
Gemma, unfortunately, took after the Gould side of the family. The women on her father’s side were outspoken with above-average intelligence, very average looks and way-above-average bustlines and butt, and they tended to marry later in life—so much later that children were often out of the question—or they never married at all. Depressing.
“I’m just saying, Gemma, that if you do want to bring someone so you can have more fun dancing, for example,” Minna suggested, picking up a dish towel, “I’m not really afraid of the caterer. I’ll dry,” she said, holding out her hand for the first dish Gemma washed. Minna’s hazel eyes, the only physical characteristic Gemma had inherited from her mother, sliced her daughter’s way. “Maybe William would like to come with you?”
The mention of her former fiancé nearly made Gemma drop the plate. “Absolutely not.”
“But you’re still friends. You still work together.” It was impossible to miss the hopeful note in Minna’s voice.
“Mom, William and I decided our engagement was a mistake.” Lie. William had decided they were meant to be friends only. Gemma had been perfectly (or pathetically, depending on how you looked at it) willing to accept friendship as a solid basis for marriage. “We are not getting back together.” When Minna opened her mouth to interject, Gemma cut her off. “And he is not coming to the wedding.”
In all fairness, Minna had no idea that a scant two weeks after he broke up with Gemma, William started dating the new, adorable French lit teacher at school, and that they were now “serious.” It had seemed kind to spare her family that bit of information. They worried about her, she knew. None of her siblings, who favored Minna in looks and in character, had ever lacked a date on weekends. Only Gemma, with her Gould-given averageness and her keen interest in historical novels and theater versus, say, sports, pop culture and who won Dancing with the Stars, tended to struggle in the dating arena. True, she lived in a busy, exciting city, but Portland tended to skew more toward families and the twentysomething indie-music crowd. Gemma knew her options were decreasing, but she just couldn’t bring herself to look online for a mate.
Okay, lie. She and her friend Holliday had imbibed a mimosa or two one Sunday brunch at Gemma’s place, and Gemma had allowed Holly to make a dating profile for her on one of the more popular sites. In the light of stone-cold sobriety, however, Gemma had deleted it.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll have a great time going stag to the wedding.” She bumped her mother’s hip. “When Dad’s doing the Cupid Shuffle with Grandma, you and I can practice twerking.”
“Oh, stop it, you!” Minna snapped Gemma with the dish towel. “Do you happen to know if Ethan wants to bring someone? I can’t get Elyse or Scott to slow down long enough to tell me anything these days, and I can’t imagine he would come alone. I saw on the cover of In Touch that he’s been dating that redhead from the TV show about vampire cheerleaders. What’s her name?”
Gemma felt a little pinch to her heart. “I have no idea.”
“Well, do you know if he’s bringing someone?”
“How would I know that?”
“You dated him in high school.”
The pinch felt tighter. “I wouldn’t call it a date,” she mumbled, “exactly.” Had nobody in the family ever told Minna the truth about the single evening Gemma had spent with Ethan? Elyse knew all about the disastrous homecoming event, since she had set the “date” up to begin with. And their sister Lucy knew, because she’d seen Gemma crying, and Elyse had blabbed all about it. Even their older brother, David, knew. “Mom,” Gemma said carefully, “that night with Ethan...that was more of a high school convenience thing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You primped for two hours, and he brought you a corsage.”
Amazing how the memory could induce a flood of embarrassing heat all these years later. Yes, she had primped. Yes, she had been excited. No, he hadn’t given her a corsage. Elyse, as it turned out, had provided the corsage for Ethan to give to Gemma. The entire evening had been Elyse’s brainchild, not Ethan’s.
Keeping her eyes on the sudsy dishwater, Gemma said, “Everyone primps for the homecoming dance, Mom. It didn’t really mean anything.”
Minna shook her head, exasperated. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Three daughters, and not one of you interested in Ethan. I don’t understand it. If he’d been in town when my friends and I were in high school...”
Gemma didn’t have to listen to know what came next—we’d have been fighting over him like cats and dogs.
Well, who said she hadn’t been interested? And girls had fought over Ethan like cats and dogs; it was just that Gemma had never had a prayer of winning that particular battle.
“Fine.” Minna shrugged. “It didn’t work out, so that’s that, but he always liked talking to you.”
Yes, I am a sought-after conversationalist, all right. Even William still dropped in at her office for the occasional chat.
“You were the only person he spent any time with at all at the wedding shower,” Minna continued. “Really, I can’t imagine what would have made him run off the way he did. Are you sure he didn’t give you a clue?”
It didn’t feel right to repeat a conversation she probably shouldn’t have overheard in the first place, so Gemma muttered, “He didn’t tell me anything.” That was the truth. “He said he’d talk to Elyse and Scott.”
“Oh, they’re both so busy, they’re useless when it comes to—” Her mother cut herself off.
“Feeding you juicy gossip about Ethan?” Gemma teased.
“Oh, fine. We’ll definitely see Ethan next week. I’ll ask him for some gossip myself.”
“Next week?” Gemma heard the panic in her own voice. She hadn’t seen or heard a word about Ethan since the bridal shower, and life was much more peaceful that way.
“Gemma,” her mother chided. “Please say you didn’t forget the rehearsal dinner. I told you to write the date down immediately. You’re not going to tell me you have one of those endless work functions or dinner with the dean.”
“No, I remember the rehearsal dinner. I just forgot Ethan would be there.”
“Well, of course he’s going to be there. He’s the best man. I’m giving you the job of calling him to confirm.”
“What? Why me? Why not—” Gemma stopped herself. The more she protested, the more she would draw her mother’s attention. And she couldn’t claim not to have Ethan’s number; it had been her job to text the wedding party to give them the time of the fittings for their gowns and tuxes. “All right.”
She’d merely text him again. Wouldn’t have to trade actual words until the rehearsal dinner.
* * *
