and Max had said to each other. As they'd made breakfast this morning, they'd been so polite.
Tessa worked with renewed vigor, the rhythmic clawing sound of the rake on the leaves somehow soothing her. She had prevented herself from falling in love with Max nine years ago. She'd told herself she could enjoy his friendship and move on, and she'd made it clear to him from the beginning she'd intended to move on. But had he fallen in love with her ? And had she killed that love by leaving and following her dream?
After Leslie told Tessa she and Max were dating, Tessa had tried to forget about Max. And she'd managed to do that pretty well most of the time. Not long after Leslie and Max married, Tessa thought she'd fallen in love. She'd been covering the war in the Mid East. So had Phil Evans. One eventful day, they'd both almost been killed by stray gunfire. Nothing had seemed more precious than life, and they'd turned to each other in the midst of chaos. But six weeks later, Phil had moved on—to another country, another war. He'd left her without looking back.
Had Tessa done that to Max?
Tessa stopped raking and gazed up at the grey-blue sky. No, she'd looked back. Often. Only Max didn't know that.
She sighed and used the back of her rake to push the leaves she'd gathered into a high, neat pile. All her life she'd been taught that love hurt. Her mother had loved her father and he'd deserted them both. Her mother had loved Tessa so much she'd given her to strangers to raise. By the time she'd met Max, she'd been safeguarding her heart carefully for a long time. And when Phil took off without a backward glance, she'd decided from then on to keep herself protected. Her work had to be her life. Losing hurt too much.
Losing Leslie had hurt most of all.
The sound of a car broke Tessa's bout of introspection. Max pulled into the driveway, and she kept raking. But a few minutes later, she couldn't ignore him when he stood in the path of her rake.
She lifted her head and found him studying her. All six foot two of him, rugged and much too appealing in a grey Penn State sweatshirt and worn jeans. Her heart fluttered and she felt like crying. She hadn't cried since Leslie died. It wasn't her usual reaction to a problem or confusion. Activity was.
She raked around Max's sneakers.
He put his hands over hers on the rake, stopping the motion. "Tessa, what are we going to do? This strain between us isn't good for either of us. Or Ryan."
He obviously knew that would get her attention. She took a deep breath and met his eyes. "What do you suggest?"
"We could try being friends. I don't know if we've ever been that to each other. Even in the beginning...we didn't know each other very well."
Her heart fluttered because his hand covered hers. He emanated a virility she'd found in few men, and she vividly remembered last night's kiss. "And what about the rest?"
After he released her, he leaned away. "We're adults. We can control what we do. For your sake, mine and Ryan's we have to keep this simple. I'll try if you will."
Oh, she'd try. But he was discounting feelings in his formula. She'd just have to keep a lid on hers and hope that was enough. "I'd like to be your friend, Max."
He gave her a crooked smile. "I have Mrs. Bartlett's book in the car. Ready to plan a party?"
"As ready as I'll ever be. I guess for Halloween, we'll have to come up with decorations, too."
He waved to the garage. "There's some stuff Leslie made stored in the crawl space. I'll pull it out."
Suddenly Ryan came skipping out of the house, a milk-and-crumbs mustache hanging across his upper lip. "What are you doing?"
She let the rake fall and stooped down beside him to wipe away the crumbs. "Waiting for you to play a game with me."
His eyes sparkled. "What?"
She pointed to the pile of leaves. "See that?"
"Yeah."
She whispered into his ear,
Tessa worked with renewed vigor, the rhythmic clawing sound of the rake on the leaves somehow soothing her. She had prevented herself from falling in love with Max nine years ago. She'd told herself she could enjoy his friendship and move on, and she'd made it clear to him from the beginning she'd intended to move on. But had he fallen in love with her ? And had she killed that love by leaving and following her dream?
After Leslie told Tessa she and Max were dating, Tessa had tried to forget about Max. And she'd managed to do that pretty well most of the time. Not long after Leslie and Max married, Tessa thought she'd fallen in love. She'd been covering the war in the Mid East. So had Phil Evans. One eventful day, they'd both almost been killed by stray gunfire. Nothing had seemed more precious than life, and they'd turned to each other in the midst of chaos. But six weeks later, Phil had moved on—to another country, another war. He'd left her without looking back.
Had Tessa done that to Max?
Tessa stopped raking and gazed up at the grey-blue sky. No, she'd looked back. Often. Only Max didn't know that.
She sighed and used the back of her rake to push the leaves she'd gathered into a high, neat pile. All her life she'd been taught that love hurt. Her mother had loved her father and he'd deserted them both. Her mother had loved Tessa so much she'd given her to strangers to raise. By the time she'd met Max, she'd been safeguarding her heart carefully for a long time. And when Phil took off without a backward glance, she'd decided from then on to keep herself protected. Her work had to be her life. Losing hurt too much.
Losing Leslie had hurt most of all.
The sound of a car broke Tessa's bout of introspection. Max pulled into the driveway, and she kept raking. But a few minutes later, she couldn't ignore him when he stood in the path of her rake.
She lifted her head and found him studying her. All six foot two of him, rugged and much too appealing in a grey Penn State sweatshirt and worn jeans. Her heart fluttered and she felt like crying. She hadn't cried since Leslie died. It wasn't her usual reaction to a problem or confusion. Activity was.
She raked around Max's sneakers.
He put his hands over hers on the rake, stopping the motion. "Tessa, what are we going to do? This strain between us isn't good for either of us. Or Ryan."
He obviously knew that would get her attention. She took a deep breath and met his eyes. "What do you suggest?"
"We could try being friends. I don't know if we've ever been that to each other. Even in the beginning...we didn't know each other very well."
Her heart fluttered because his hand covered hers. He emanated a virility she'd found in few men, and she vividly remembered last night's kiss. "And what about the rest?"
After he released her, he leaned away. "We're adults. We can control what we do. For your sake, mine and Ryan's we have to keep this simple. I'll try if you will."
Oh, she'd try. But he was discounting feelings in his formula. She'd just have to keep a lid on hers and hope that was enough. "I'd like to be your friend, Max."
He gave her a crooked smile. "I have Mrs. Bartlett's book in the car. Ready to plan a party?"
"As ready as I'll ever be. I guess for Halloween, we'll have to come up with decorations, too."
He waved to the garage. "There's some stuff Leslie made stored in the crawl space. I'll pull it out."
Suddenly Ryan came skipping out of the house, a milk-and-crumbs mustache hanging across his upper lip. "What are you doing?"
She let the rake fall and stooped down beside him to wipe away the crumbs. "Waiting for you to play a game with me."
His eyes sparkled. "What?"
She pointed to the pile of leaves. "See that?"
"Yeah."
She whispered into his ear,
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