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“Tiffany?” J.D.’s voice rang through the house. Tiffany braced herself. The tension between them had been so thick, she was certain it could have been sliced with a butcher knife.
“In here.” She was in the hallway when he met her.
“Where are the kids?”
“Out for a couple of hours or so. Christina’s with Mrs. Ellingsworth, and Stephen’s with some friends at the movies—”
“Great.”
Great? Why didn’t she think so?
“It’s time we took a little time off and celebrated.”
Something in his voice gave it away. She felt a cold, dark emptiness as she said, “A celebration. Why? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. It’s because you’re leaving.”
He paused, his gray eyes holding hers for an intimate second. “It’s what you’ve wanted since the moment I walked in your front door.”
Oh, dear God. No. The thought of the house without him caused a new dread to fill her heart. “But—but your lease is for six months.”
“I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to ease the knots of tension in his muscles. “But I’ll keep the apartment because I’ll be back.”
Her stupid heart soared at the thought. “When?”
“Off and on, probably a couple of days a month.”
“That’s all?”
A smile slid from one side of his mouth to the other. “Don’t tell me you’ll miss me.”
She managed a cold smile. “In your dreams, Santini.”
“Always.”
She froze, and something in his eyes beckoned her, touched that part of her soul she’d tried to keep hidden. “Come on, Tiff,” he said, his voice low. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”
“What?”
His flinty eyes sparked as if with a very private secret. “The reason I can leave sooner than expected.”
“Oh,” she whispered and felt as if she’d been kicked in the gut. “Sure.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes. No.” Confusion tore at her. She’d told herself a million times over that if only J.D. would go back to Portland, or LA or Timbuktu, for that matter, her life would be better, but now, faced with the fact that he would be gone, she felt none of the elation she’d hoped for. “I, uh, don’t know.”
His eyes searched her face, as if hunting for a hidden message, a silent clue to her feelings. For a second she thought he would kiss her.
Instead he pulled on her hand. “Come on, Tiff.”
She couldn’t resist.
Before she could come up with one bit of argument, she was inside his Jeep, sitting close to him and staring out the windshield as the main streets of town faded behind and they were on a winding country road, slowing for a tractor pulling a mower, whipping around a truck towing a horse trailer, and avoiding squirrels that dashed frantically across the strip of asphalt that carved through the hills.
“Ever heard of the Zalinski place?” J.D. asked. The windows of the Jeep were open, and the hot breeze that filtered in ruffled his hair and tugged at her ponytail.
“I’ve met Myra Zalinski at the agency. They moved.”
“But they hadn’t sold their farm. Until today.”
