Semi-Sweet (42 page)

He put the cursor on “submit” and pressed the mouse button, and off it went.
That’s that,
he thought.
End of story.
He’d given it his best shot, and he’d failed.

“What now?” he asked Kirby, crouching to scratch the dog’s rough coat. “Should I go out and get drunk and pick up a nice young
one?”

Kirby grunted, tail swinging lazily.

“You’re a great help,” Adam told him. He shut down his computer and rummaged in the chest of drawers until he found his trunks.
A swim would help. A few fast laps up and down the pool should clear his head and banish the gloom. And if that didn’t work,
he might just consider a few pints later on.

At the sight of him, so wholly unexpected, Hannah’s stomach lurched. She pushed the tray she’d been refilling back under the
counter, her heart beginning a steady, heavy thudding.

“Hi, stranger.” Patrick smiled. His suit as immaculate as ever. His shirt so white it must have been brand-new. “Long time
no see.”

She should probably congratulate him on the baby, but the words refused to come. She could feel the warmth in her face. “Hello.”

He looked around. “Hey, I like this,” he said. “It’s great.”

She made no reply.

He moved closer, and she instinctively took a step backward. If he noticed, he made no sign.

“Han,” he said, planting his hands on the counter, looking straight into her eyes, “I need to say something to you. I know
this isn’t the ideal place, but”—he gave a small laugh—“to be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d agree to meet me anywhere else,
and I can’t say I’d blame you.”

She said nothing. He was still full of easy charm; that hadn’t changed.

He held her gaze, his expression contrite now. “You probably want to kill me after what I did to you—and you’d be dead right.
I was a total bastard.”

Still Hannah didn’t respond. Her heart thumped, and she could feel the blood pulsing through her. She folded her arms, willing
a customer, or Una, or anyone, to walk in.

Patrick rubbed a hand across his face. “Look,” he said, “Han, I think this really isn’t the place for what I want to say—someone
could come in any minute. Can we meet up when you’re finished?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t want to meet you,” she said, her voice steadier than she’d expected. “I have nothing to
say to you.”

“Han,” he said earnestly, “I completely understand how you feel. But…I really need to talk to you. Please.”

His eyes, such a deep brown you could melt into them. She’d kissed those eyes; she’d gazed into them over a candlelit table.

“Anywhere you like,” he said. “Name a time.”

She watched his mouth forming the words. She remembered it on her skin. She knew what it tasted like.

“No,” she said. “I’d like you to leave now.”

“Han, listen to me.” He spoke rapidly, leaning toward her, his upper body slanting across the counter. His familiar aftershave
wafting over to where she stood. “Leah and I are done, we’re finished. It was a huge mistake—it should never have happened.”

Hannah looked at him, her arms tight across her chest, her heart still thumping, her face too warm.

“She meant nothing to me, nothing,” he said. “I was a prize idiot.”

How many times had she told him she loved him? How many nights had she lain in his arms, imagining them growing old together,
looking forward to all the years in between?

“She gave me the come-on,” he said, “and I was stupid enough to fall for it. You must believe me—she meant nothing.” He took
a deep breath. “Han, it’s you, it was always you. You must believe me,” he repeated.

So sincere, looking at her so earnestly. Hannah uncrossed her arms. She planted her hands on the counter and gazed steadily
into the deep brown eyes. Their faces were inches apart. “And what about Nora?” she asked softly. Her palms damp against the
cold glass.

Patrick frowned.

“Leah threw you out, didn’t she?” Hannah said. “She found out about Nora, and she threw you out.” Her legs were trembling,
but her voice didn’t betray her.

“Han, you can’t believe—”

“What? I can’t believe you’d do it again?” His air of injured innocence was beginning to grate. “The thing I can’t believe,
Patrick, is that you honestly think I’d have you back.”

He reached toward her, and she stepped away quickly. “Don’t.”

“Han, it’s all in the past,” he said. “None of them meant a thing, I swear. You were the—”

“Why don’t you go?” she said loudly. “Why don’t you just turn around now and leave?”

“But you haven’t—”

“Patrick,” she said coldly, “please leave. I have nothing more to say to you, and there is certainly nothing more you could
say that I would want to hear.”

He began to back away. “I’ve sprung it on you,” he said. “I can see that. I should have waited, like I was planning to do.”

Hannah said nothing.

Patrick reached the door, still looking at her. “We’ll meet up,” he said, “when you’re ready. When you’ve had time to think.
Give me a call, and we’ll talk about it.”

She watched his hand reach for the handle. She heard the tinkle of the old-fashioned bell as he pulled the door open. “I love
you, Han,” he said. “You’re the one.”

She waited until the door had closed behind him, until he’d disappeared past the window of Cupcakes on the Corner. She leaned
against the back wall then, taking long, deep breaths, feeling her heartbeat gradually returning to normal.

None of them meant a thing.

She’d been right about Nora, which made two women he’d deceived. Which meant he’d slept with Nora when Leah was pregnant with
his child. She wondered how many more there’d been, how many other flings he’d enjoyed when he was still with her.

How blind she had been, how trusting and blind. She remembered how she’d longed to have a baby with him, how she’d brought
the subject up more than once. She thought of Leah, left now with a child to raise alone, and shuddered. How easily it could
have been her.

She watched the steady flow of people past the window, the odd one glancing in. She looked around the shop—her shop—and she
thought of the hours of work that had gone into achieving it, and the slog it still took to keep it afloat. She remembered
the uncertainty of her first few weeks, the mistakes she’d made and learned from.

She pictured Adam draped along the red couch in the evenings, Kirby sprawled on the floor beside him. She thought of how her
life was full of possibilities, and that at thirty-three she hadn’t used half of them up yet.

The door opened, and the bell tinkled as Una walked in. “Well,” she said, “you look pleased with yourself.”

“The station,” Nora said, settling into the passenger seat. “You don’t mind me sitting here, do you?”

“Not at all,” the driver answered, putting the car in gear and pulling in to the stream of traffic.

She’d recognized him as soon as he’d driven up. She remembered the green eyes. She decided he’d do to restore her bruised
ego—not that she had any intention of letting that bastard Patrick Dunne upset her for long.

She could smell her spicy perfume thick in the air, which meant he could too.

“Going far?” he asked.

“Pretty far,” she said. “California.” She giggled. “But as far as you’re concerned, the station will be fine.”

Stretching her legs out, plenty to show in the little gray skirt. Nice and brown, too, from the spray she’d treated herself
to yesterday. She caught the lightning glance he gave them. Piece of cake, this would be. Good job she’d left plenty of time
to catch the train.

He stopped at a red light. “Wouldn’t mind some Californian sunshine myself right now.”

“Yeah, this weather’s crap. I don’t know how anyone sticks it.” Running a hand absentmindedly along her bare thigh as she
spoke. The station still a good ten minutes away. Plenty of time.

“You from around here?” he asked.

Nora yawned, stretching her arms above her head, her top rising to show golden midriff. “Born and bred, I’m afraid. But I’ve
lived in the States for years. Just came back for a few months, and now I’ve had enough. You?”

“Yeah, born here, too. Grew up on Fortfield Avenue.”

“You’ve driven me before,” she said. “You wore a woolly hat—total fashion disaster.”

He laughed. “Hey, gimme a break—it’s chilly driving around in winter.”

Nora smiled. “I have to say,” she said, crossing her legs, causing her skirt to ride up further, “that you’re not half bad
without the hat.”

“Thanks.”

“I suppose you have a wife at home,” she said.

He changed gears as they approached a roundabout. “Nope. No wife.”

She waited for him to ask about a husband, but he didn’t. “Footloose and fancy free, then, like myself.”

No response—but she’d never objected to a challenge. “Hey,” she said, as if she’d just thought of it, “my train isn’t for
another while. Fancy a coffee or…whatever?”

He glanced at her again. “Love to,” he said, “but I’m up to my eyes. Sorry.” He took the roundabout’s second exit, the one
that led to the station.

Nora turned to look out the window. “No problem,” she said. “Just a thought.” Who cared about a taxi driver too dumb to appreciate
what was being handed to him on a plate?

He approached the station and pulled in. He unloaded Nora’s luggage. She paid him what he asked for and waited while he counted
out her change.

“Safe trip,” she heard him call after her, but she didn’t turn back.

Of course he’d been flattered by her offer. What hot-blooded male wouldn’t be gratified by a come-on from an attractive woman?
And he saw nothing wrong with a bit of afternoon delight, under the right circumstances.

The trouble was, Wally thought as he drove back to the taxi stand, that for some time now his mind had most definitely been
elsewhere. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

“You still have time,” Geraldine said. “To change your mind, I mean. Tom isn’t home for another couple of weeks. You might
have a change of heart between this and then. I won’t be a bit put out, really I won’t.”