Her breath shouldn’t be stuck in her throat just from looking at him. She shouldn’t want to smooth his hair, keep her hand there to run her fingers through the strands.
She swallowed hard. “Do people really eat after their pets?” She used the spoon to scoop out more peanut butter. Ate it, though she wasn’t sure she could get it past the tightness in her throat. “That doesn’t seem very hygienic.”
“You’re like a teenage boy,” he grumbled.
She choked back a surprised laugh. “Not sure that’s an accurate assessment, but seeing as how it’s so late, I won’t hold it against you. What are you doing up? Couldn’t sleep?”
He grunted.
“Do you happen to have a pocket translator I could borrow?” she asked. “I don’t speak caveman.”
“I heard footsteps.”
Instantly contrite, she sat up straight. “I’m sorry. Elvis and I thought we were being very stealthlike.”
“You probably were, but Zoe hears every sound. She woke me, I heard you moving around and here I am. What’s your excuse?”
She wished she knew. For weeks...months...she’d been restless. On edge.
Unhappy.
No, she corrected quickly, not unhappy. More like...dissatisfied. Unsure of what she should do next, where she should go. Sometimes she was even unsure of who she was anymore. Who she wanted to be.
“Elvis and I just wanted a snack.”
“How can you be hungry? My mom had enough food at the party for two hundred people.”
“I didn’t get a chance to eat much.”
“That’s because you didn’t stop talking long enough to take a breath, let alone eat.”
“I’m sociable and people want to chat with me. It’s a burden. Hey,” she said, remembering her earlier promise to the dog, “want to order a pizza?”
“Where are you going to find a pizza parlor open at two forty-five in the morning?”
Good question. Panoli’s, her favorite pizza place in Shady Grove, was probably long closed. “We could drive into Pitts—”
“Sadie.” His voice was soft, his gaze patient. “What’s wrong?”
His kindness undid her. “I screwed up,” she admitted, injecting a lightness she didn’t feel into her tone. “Nothing new there.”
Nothing new except that this time—for the first time—screwing up, failing so spectacularly, bothered her. It had been weeks, and she still hadn’t been able to shake off the sense of malaise, of disappointment in herself.
She shook her head. Tried to smile. “Hey, I have something for you,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
She hurried up the stairs and into the room on the left, dug through her suitcase until she found the brightly wrapped package. When she returned downstairs, he was on the couch, his legs straight, his head resting against the back.
“Happy birthday,” she said, holding the present out.
Looking from her to the gift and back again, he sat up.
But he didn’t take it.
For some stupid reason, nerves settled in her stomach. “I hope you don’t mind that it’s technically late—though I’d like to point out only by a few hours.”
Finally, he took the present. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Of course I did. It’s your birthday. Besides, I’m hoping this’ll make up for not getting you anything the past few years.”
He stared at the package in his hands. “I don’t expect anything from you, Sadie.”
He didn’t. Never had. She appreciated it. Counted on it. “I know, but I saw this and I had to get it for you.”
James was so thoughtful, always sending her flowers or her favorite chocolates on her birthday while the most she usually did was give him a call. It wasn’t as if she didn’t think about him—she did. Often.
“Besides,” she continued, “this isn’t the first gift I’ve given you. Two years ago I sent you that subscription to National Geographic.”
“It was four years ago. And you sent it a month late.”
“I did?”
Not seeming upset about it, he nodded and unwrapped the present. His smile bloomed, slow and warm. “This is great.”
Relieved, she sat next to him. “You like it?”
“Are you kidding?” He opened the first-edition copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, his long fingers smoothing the aged pages. “I love it.” Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, he gave her a quick hug. “Thank you.”
She had to force herself not to lean into him for longer than necessary, but he felt so good, so solid and warm and strong. Steady. She may not want steadiness in her life too often, but it might be a nice change of pace now and again.
Brushing her hair over her shoulder, she eased away and swung her legs up so she sat cross-legged. “I’m glad you like it.”
Silence surrounded them, the quiet hush of night, the only sound their breathing, the dogs’ nails clicking as they walked across the floor. It was peaceful. She’d never craved peace before, had always preferred the exhilaration of the next adventure, the surprise of jumping off that cliff, seeing how far she could fly before having her wings clipped.
But this, being with James in his overly drab house, was nice.
It was also dangerous. Sitting so close to him, wearing nothing more than a pair of cotton shorts and a T-shirt. He shifted, his knee brushing her bare thigh. He stiffened at the contact, but didn’t pull away. His gaze flicked to her chest before jerking up to her face again.
Her breasts grew heavy. Her heart pounded in her ears.
Dangerous. Exciting.
Two of her very favorite things.
Afraid he’d go to bed, that he’d leave her, she blurted, “So, what’s been going on with you? How’s work?”
“You know me,” he said, setting the book on the coffee table. “Same old, same old.”
“That’s good. I mean, that is how you like things. No surprises. No...bumps in the road.”
“That what happened in New Orleans? You hit one of those bumps?”
He knew her well. Too well.
She almost didn’t answer. She was feeling too vulnerable now. But this was James. He’d never take advantage of her weak state. And she was still strong enough not to give too much of herself away.
“Actually, things were going great in New Orleans. Really, really great.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t say I hit a bump. More like the bottom dropped out. I wasn’t able to make enough tending bar and Doug—”
“Who’s Doug?”
“My boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.”
“What happened to Tim?”
“We split up a year ago.” He’d dumped her for not being adventurous enough in bed to agree to bring in a second woman. As if she’d subject another woman to Tim’s clumsy hands and short...stamina. “Doug worked on an oil rig,