too."
She sounded tart. "And why, all of a sudden, are you planning fifteen years ahead?"
Evade, or tell the truth?
Half the truth. "The kids are happy. Things are going well. Why not?"
"Because we’re still strangers."
Why did that hurt? "I thought we were getting past that."
Her tongue touched her lips. "I feel as if I still know hardly anything about your past."
"You’ve met my parents. What else is there to say?"
“Your marriage..."
Wariness lent a hardness to his voice. "Jennifer has been dead for three-and-a-half years. She has nothing to do with us."
Lynn was silent for a long moment. He resisted the urge to shift under her probing gaze. At last she nodded. "Maybe you’re right." Her tone was pleasant but distant. He’d lost her, somehow.
"I’m not trying to pressure you." Another lie.
"I will think about the possibility of selling the store," she said, as she set her book aside and stood. "I have been already, to tell you the truth. You know I love what I do, but I also recognize that you can’t practically move to Otter Beach, and I could find work over here."
"You could not work at all for a few years. I make plenty."
"But then I’d feel like a kept woman," she said gently. "I know I shouldn’t. We’re married, after all, but..." An almost infinitesimal pause gave away what she was thinking: but I don’t feel married. "No," she concluded, "I need to maintain some independence."
Adam wished he could be sure her fear was rooted in the failure of her first marriage, in the knowledge that sometimes a woman had to be able to take care of herself and her child, rather than in a lack of commitment to this marriage. He wanted to know she was in it for the long haul, too.
Was that what he wanted? Reassurance?
No, he thought, letting his gaze sweep once over her, from that mane of unruly hair to slender bare feet. He wanted everything, held out on an open palm.
But that couldn’t be coerced.
"Okay." Adam made his voice deliberately soothing. "You need to feel as if you’re earning your way. I don’t have a problem with that. And I’m really not trying to push you into anything. Until Shelly and Rose start kindergarten, we can probably go on this way. I’m just, uh, not looking forward to you and Shelly packing up Thursday. We feel like a family when we’re together."
Their eyes met and she smiled with dawning warmth, although her mouth was tremulous. "We do, don’t we?"
Then come to me, he thought. Blush. Say, "I think it’s time we take the next step."
"Good night, Adam," she murmured, and left the room.
He had to grit his teeth to keep from stumbling to his feet and begging, Don’t go.
Maybe he would have noticed her, if under completely different circumstances he’d wandered into her bookstore. Heard her soft laugh and been tempted by her hair before she turned to face him. Seen a blush turn her cheeks to wild roses as her lovely, cool eyes met his.
Groaning, Adam tried to remember Jennifer, the way she’d looked up through her lashes, the coy tilt of her head, her throaty laugh, her sultry mouth, but it was all just words, fleeting impressions. Lynn was real, vivid, here.
Jennifer was a long-lost dream.
Even Shelly no longer reminded him of her mother. He knew objectively that they looked alike, but his little girl had so much personality of her own that only her cheerful, endless chatter and her boldness recalled Jennifer. Perhaps when Shelly was a teenager she would bat her eyes and smile with deliberate, mysterious purpose. But for now she had Lynn’s directness and the sweetness of a much loved child.
Not Jennifer’s hunger for attention.
Now, where had that idea come from? he wondered, frowning, but knowing it was true. His Jenny had wanted always to be the center of attention. Her own company was never enough.
Adam clenched his jaw. He’d loved his wife, and she was dead. Why all the analysis now?
So he could justify letting Lynn walk into Jennifer’s place? Not just in his home and bed, but in his heart?
No! he thought, on a shattering wave of remembrance too vivid. Suddenly he did see his Jenny, still and warm, but gone, her life an illusion given by machines.
Adam buried his face in his hands and yanked at his hair. Remember her alive! he told himself fiercely. Remember her quirky sense of humor, her lively mind and effortless ability to make whatever she touched