“Maurice,” she repeated. “It suits him. He’s friendly and affectionate and he has a lot of confidence.”
“Too much confidence, if you ask me.”
And that was it. They’d run out of words. Several seconds dragged by.
Finally, she spoke again. “Is it okay if I come in, too?”
“Uh, sure. Of course.” He stepped back and she stepped forward. He shut the door.
“It’s a beautiful house,” she said. “I love the weathered gray shingles.” Her impossibly thick black eyelashes fluttered up as she glanced at the vaulted ceiling. “What kind of wood is that?”
He blinked to make himself stop staring at her. “Hemlock.”
“Gorgeous. I noticed there’s even a big porthole window upstairs.”
“Yeah.”
“Kind of beachy and nautical. The perfect house for Valentine Bay.”
He really didn’t give a damn about his house at this particular moment. “What’s going on? Is everything...? I mean, are you okay?”
“I’m fine—well, I still have the, er, major memory problem, but it’s not any worse.”
Relief made him realize he’d forgotten to breathe. He drew in air and let it out with slow care. “So...?”
She folded her pale hands together in front of her and licked those amazing, pillowy lips of hers. The sight sent a bolt of lust straight to his groin, which annoyed him no end. He tried really hard to think about unsexy things—getting his oil changed, power-washing the driveway...
Finally, she spoke again. “My mom gave me your address. Don’t freak out, but she admitted she’s kind of kept tabs on you since we split up—not in a stalkerish way, I promise.”
“Why?”
“Long story. Let’s just say she always liked you.”
A Santangelo who still liked him. Who knew?
Aly glanced away. She seemed really nervous now. And then she huffed out a breath and faced him again. “Look, Connor. Can we talk?”
He put out a hand toward the raised living area behind him. She went where he indicated, taking a seat on the gray leather sofa. Maurice jumped right up beside her and started to purr.
Connor hesitated midway to the armchair. “I can make coffee or something...”
She shook her head. As he sat down in the armchair, she asked, “You live here alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Got a girlfriend, Conn? Someone special?”
“No.” And what did it matter to her if he was seeing someone exclusively? “I’ve got a question for you, now.”
“All right.”
“Should I expect your brothers to show up any minute, eager to beat the crap out of me?”
She smiled at that. “Don’t worry. My mom will handle my brothers.” She concentrated on petting Maurice, her bruised hand moving in long, slow strokes. “Actually, I came to ask you a favor.”
Whatever it was, he would do it. Maybe he could make up at least a little for all the ways he’d messed up back when. “Name it.”
And just like that, she dropped the bombshell. “I’m on an extended family leave of fourteen weeks to take care of my mother, or so my dad and brothers have repeatedly explained to me since the accident. I want to move in here. I want to live with you until I go back to New York.”
Live with him?
Had she really just said that?
And why was his heart beating so hard against the walls of his chest? “What about your mom?”
“What do you mean?”
“You just said it. You’re here to take care of Cat until after the baby’s born.”
“I am, yeah. And I will. I’ll spend my days with her, be with her any other time she needs me, too. But if you say it’s okay with you, I would, um, have a room here, if you have an extra one. So that I could spend time with you, too.”
He was really trying to get his mind around this. “You want to live with me?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“Yeah. And I don’t get it. I really don’t.”
“I, um...” She brought a hand to her head at the place where the bandage had been. Her sleek black eyebrows were all scrunched up.
“Alyssa. Are you okay?”
She rubbed the spot. “I am, yes. It’s just that when I get tense my head hurts sometimes. A little.”
“Are you sure that you...?”
“I’m all right,” she insisted. “It’s just what it is. Stress reaction after trauma. I’m not going to go crazy on you or anything, I promise.”
A scary thought occurred to him. “Did you drive yourself here?”
“Ungh.” Now, she pressed both hands to the sides of her head, as though his question had almost caused her brain to explode. “You sound like my dad, you know that? And yes, I did drive myself. It’s all worked out with the rental company. The blue Mazda out front is mine for the rest of my visit here. I’m cleared to drive, so you don’t have to worry I’m going to run into another tree or anything.” Her eyes sparked with equal parts irritation and determination. “And as for my staying here with you, I would pay rent.”
“Aly, forget about rent. It’s not about that.”
“Listen, I’m not asking to share your room or anything. It’s a pretty big house and you said you live here alone. You have to have a spare room.”
“I just don’t get it. We’re divorced. It wasn’t friendly. And it’s not like we’ve kept in touch.”
“I know that. I understand the actual facts of the situation, I promise you. All I want is a chance to...” She made a small, frustrated sound as the words trailed off. He waited, giving her time to collect her thoughts. Finally, she offered a sad little shrug. “Look, I get it, I do. Having me underfoot for three months does not make you feel warm all over.”
She had no idea how wrong she was. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to say it. It’s right there on your face.”
“Alyssa. I want to be up front with you.”
“Yes. Please. Be up front with me—and say you’d love to have me stay in your house while I’m in town.”
He braced his knees wide and bent to lean his elbows on them. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, okay? And I just don’t see how your moving in with me could possibly be good for you. Our marriage is over.”
“I know that.” She said it through clenched teeth.
“But you told me yesterday that you didn’t really believe it.”
“Connor. I do believe it. Yeah, my head’s a little screwed around right now, but I still have all my faculties. I know we’re not married. I have no illusions that I’ve somehow fallen down a rabbit hole and when I finally emerge, we’ll be married again and everything between us will be like it was eight years ago. I’m not Alice. There is no Wonderland. I get that. I do.”
“But you don’t believe it.”
She touched her head again. “I do believe it. I just said I believe it. I know my own brain is lying to me.”