Knowing You (28 page)

Sliding his glasses back on, he let his gaze drift across the family, smiling as he saw little Tina and
Reese chasing Carla's dog Abbey along the water's edge. Then he saw Stevie. She and Carla were standing together, keeping an eye on the kids. Paul's gaze locked on Stevie and he let himself enjoy the moment of being able to watch her without being seen.

A tight knot formed in his guts and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. She threw her head back and laughed at something Carla was saying. Stevie's blond hair flew wild and free in the wind, and in the moonlight it looked almost silver. Her long legs looked great in faded denim jeans, and the oversize sweatshirt she wore did nothing to hide the figure he knew was beneath. As she bent down to scoop up Tina and throw her high in the air, his niece's giggles bubbled in the air.

And Paul's hands fisted at his sides.

Stevie looked perfect like that. With a laughing child in her arms and the wind in her hair. He etched the picture she made into his brain so that even fifty years from now he'd be able to look at this one snapshot in time and see her as she was now.

As he would always see her.

Scowling to himself, he started down the rocky slope toward the beach. His running shoes skidded on the loose gravel and sand, but he could have made the walk blindfolded. He knew every step, every niche in the ground. He and Nick used to take this same trail down to the beach when they were kids. They'd played pirate in the coves and later, they'd tried their hand at surfing, until the board cut loose one day and banged into the back of Nick's head.

Paul frowned again as he reached the bottom. If he hadn't been with Nick that long-ago day, his twin
would have drowned. And realizing that had him looking for Nick in the crowd. Standing beside one of the fire pits, he was talking to Tony and, for the first time in days, actually looked happy.

Good sign? Bad sign?

Hell, who knew?

“Paul!” Mama shouted. “You're almost late.”

He grinned and kissed her as soon as he was close enough. “‘Almost late' actually means ‘on time' in most cultures, Mama.”

“Funny. Everybody's funny.” She handed him a can of lighter fluid. “You make the other fire; Tony made this one.”

Paul tore his gaze from Stevie to take the can being thrust at him. “We don't really need two, do we?”

Mama sniffed. “Always have two.”

“Fine. Tradition must be upheld.”

They had too many damn traditions. Like the tradition that said “Nick and Stevie” forever. Like the tradition of him looking out for his twin no matter what. Like Nick expecting life to
keep
handing him gifts, despite the fact that he clearly didn't appreciate them.

Mind racing, Paul set off for the second cement ring, not twenty yards from where the family had already set up camp. He only half-listened to the sounds of his family, rushing toward him and receding like the waves, sliding toward shore before easing back out to sea.

He shoved twists of newspaper between the stacked logs, then squirted the mess with the lighter fluid. Striking a match, he cupped it in his palm to protect it from the wind, then touched the wavering flame to the edges of the papers. The fire caught quickly, snatching
at the fuel, feeding on itself with quickening snaps and crackles, dancing along the logs, flickering in the wind.

“Nice job, Boy Scout,” Nick said, coming up behind him.

“I wasn't a Boy Scout,” Paul reminded him. “You were.”

“Oh. Right.” He laughed shortly and took a long sip of beer. “Damn, that was a long time ago.”

“Yeah.” Paul eyed the beer bottle, then looked at his twin. “How you doin'?”

“Fine,
Mom
. This is my first beer.”

“Good. When's the interview?” Paul asked, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

“Tomorrow.” He stared off at the ocean, squinting into the wind, and said, more to himself than his brother, “I've gotta get this. It'd be perfect.”

Old loyalties rose up inside Paul as he watched his brother and, for the first time in weeks, didn't feel that stab of irritation that had become such a familiar thing. He and Nick shared something that very few people would ever understand. That twin thing—scientists could call it what they wanted—was so bone-deep, so ingrained in nearly every damn cell, it was a hard thing to hold out against for very long.

He slapped Nick on the back and waited for his brother to look at him. “You'll get it,” he said. “It's your turn, right?”

Nick met his gaze and held it for a long minute. Then shrugging, he tried to brush it all off with a smile. “Right. My turn. Why shouldn't I get it?”

“Exactly.”

“Come on, you guys,” Carla said, coming up behind
them and threading her arms through theirs. “Food's on, and you know how cranky Mama gets when people aren't eating.”

And as they had been as kids, the three youngest Candellanos walked, locked together. An indivisible wall against outsiders.

*   *   *

“You don't tell ghost stories?” Jackson asked, surprise in his voice. “What the hell kind of campfire is this?”

Carla grinned and leaned into him. “It's not a ‘camp' fire at all, dummy. It's an end-of-summer fire. Completely different.”

Stevie and Paul sat opposite the newlyweds, and between the heat of the fire and the desire humming in the cold, damp air, she felt like she was sitting on a stove top. She cast a sidelong glance at Paul, leaning forward to jab a long stick at the burning logs. Wavering shadows danced across his face, and a reflection of the fire sparkled in his dark brown eyes, giving them an almost hypnotic magic. But then, that wasn't surprising, was it? She'd been mesmerized by him for three weeks now.

He scowled at the flames as red-hot cinders lifted into the air, dazzled in the wind, then winked out of existence. Stevie thought she saw tension etched into his features. But maybe that was just wishful thinking.

It had been days since they were together. Days since he'd held her. Long, lonely nights since the last time he'd touched her. And the fires inside her were burning a hell of a lot hotter than these little bitty bonfires.

“Okay,” Jackson said, laughing, “an explanation is required for non-Candellanos.” He cradled his new wife against his chest and looked at Paul.

One corner of his amazing mouth quirked in a half-smile. “End of summer is a celebration,” Paul said. “And I'm pretty sure it started with our folks celebrating the fact that we'd all be going back to school and getting out of their hair.”

Carla laughed. “Probably.”

Paul smiled at her, then turned his head so he could see Stevie, too. She was a part of his memories. She'd always been there. From the time they were kids. She'd had a piece of his heart for years. “But however it started, it ended up being just a big excuse for the family to get together and eat outside.”

“As opposed to all the eating you usually do
inside
,” Jackson said, laughing.

“Exactly.” Paul looked at his brother-in-law. “And then of course, Papa liked the idea of making fires. Which is why it's ‘tradition' to have two rings.” He chuckled and glanced to the other fire, where the rest of the family sat in a wide circle, toasting marshmallows on straightened-out wire hangers. “I think Papa was a closet pyromaniac.”

Stevie laughed shortly and gave him a shove. “He was not!”

Paul grinned at her. “Okay, maybe not. But I
do
know one thing for sure,” he said, and looked deep into Stevie's eyes. “With two fires, Mama and Papa could let us kids toast marshmallows at one fire while they did a little snuggling at the other.”

Something in her eyes flashed and he knew she was feeling the same damn thing that had a grip on him. And knowing that didn't make him feel any better.

“Well,” Jackson said, splintering the tension-filled
moment, “snuggling sounds pretty good to me.” He stood up and then reached down to pull Carla to her feet. “But I think we'll take a little walk, first.”

Carla smiled up at him, and the pleasure on her face would have been evident to a blind man. Paul's back teeth ground together. Though he was happy for his little sister, he couldn't help resenting the fact that while she was free to hold her husband, if he so much as hugged Stevie, it'd set off a Candellano civil war.

Carla and her new husband, arms wrapped around each other, moved out of the circle of firelight and into the deeper shadows closer to the water's edge.

Stevie sighed as she watched them. “They're good together, aren't they?”

“Yeah,” he said, but he wasn't watching his sister as she moved farther into the shadows. Instead, his gaze was locked on Stevie. In the firelight, she looked almost impossibly beautiful. Dancing shadows played on her features. Flames danced in her eyes.

Then slowly, as if she sensed his gaze on her, she swiveled her head to look at him. And the fire he saw in her eyes had nothing to do with the reflection of the flames shimmering in those wide blue depths.

“God, I miss you,” he whispered, and his voice was nearly swallowed by the rush of the ocean and the hiss of the fire.

“I miss you, too.” Stevie wrapped her arms around her up-drawn knees, then rested her chin atop them. “It would be so much easier—
better
—if I didn't.”

An icy wind shot in off the ocean and breathed into the fire, sweeping brightly lit cinders and sparks along with it as it raced off again into the darkness.

Stevie shivered.

“Cold?” Paul asked, then gave a self-conscious laugh. “Stupid question.” He shifted, moving close to her.

“What're you doing?” Stevie leaned away as he draped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her in tight to his side.

“Keeping my ‘pal' from freezing to death,” he muttered darkly, and sent a quick look at the others, none of whom were paying any attention to them. “Relax, Stevie. No one's going to think anything.”

He felt the tension in her drain away as she melted against him. It was all he could do to keep from drawing her onto his lap, wrapping both arms around her, and kissing her until neither of them could breathe.

But
that
, someone would notice.

A flicker of irritation snapped to life inside Paul and he tossed another glance at his family. Would it really matter so much? he wondered. Would they really come unglued if they found out that he was in love with Stevie?

Love?

Shit.

Everything in him stopped dead. He would have sworn even his heartbeat stuttered to a halt.

Love?

Something he hadn't counted on. Something he hadn't really expected. Sure, he'd had a crush on her for most of his life. But who would have thought that trying to get over that crush would be the impetus to making him fall so in love with her?

Stevie rested her head on his shoulder, and when her breath dusted against the base of his throat, he felt that soft sigh right down to his soul.

The thing to do here was look at the problem from a scientific standpoint. Rationally. Logically.

A. He was in love with her.

B. He wasn't at all sure he
should
be.

C. He didn't have a clue what to do about it.

*   *   *

Carla laughed, low and throaty, as she turned into Jackson's arms. Her new husband—God, she loved the word
husband
—swept her into a fierce hug and buried his face in the bend of her neck. Over his shoulder, she saw Stevie and Paul, huddled close together, Paul's arm around her, Stevie's head on his shoulder.

And there was something so …
intimate
about the scene, she almost looked away. Until she realized what she was thinking and told herself she must be wrong.

But as the firelight played on her brother's features, she noticed the tension, the hunger, drawn there and a small kernel of worry took root deep inside her.

*   *   *

“It's okay, Scruffy,” Stevie said as she stepped into the too-quiet loft apartment. Strange how empty her house had been feeling lately. And up until recently, she'd been so content here. Not completely satisfied with her life of course, but she at least hadn't been desperately lonely. Like now. “I'm home, Scruff!” she called out, ignoring the ache in her throat.

The tiny dog scuttled out from under the coffee table and hurried toward her, claws ticking out a quick rhythm against the wood floor. Smiling, Stevie dropped her purse and went down onto her knees to welcome the little cutie. In just a week or so of regular meals and baths and lots of love, Scruffy had undergone a
transformation. Her coat was sleek and shiny and her ribs were no longer standing out against her skin like the brass rings on a barrel. That one ear was still crooked, but now she looked like a well-loved pet.

Oh, she'd never be a blue ribbon winner, but then, heart was so much more important than beauty. Stevie scooped the dog into her arms and cuddled her against her chest. Scruffy wriggled like a puppy, licking, whining, and doing everything she could in doggyspeak to say, I'm so glad to see you!

“Let's get you some dinner, okay?” Stevie walked into the kitchen, still carrying Scruffy, then set her down when she picked up the stainless-steel dog bowl. For company, Stevie talked to the dog while she worked. “You're such a cutie now, I bet we could find you a new home with no problem.”

Scruffy sat on her haunches and cocked her head as if listening intently.

“Do you like kids?” Stevie asked. “I bet you do. I could find you a place with kids.… ”

Scruffy barked once.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Stevie laughed, shook her head, and carried the bowl of food to the placemat against the wall. Setting it down, she plopped down, too, bracing her back against the wall. She stroked Scruffy gently while the dog ate.