Page 45 of Summer Weddings

“H i.” Bethany felt almost shy as she opened her front door to Mitch that Saturday night. Chrissie was with them so much of the time that whenever Bethany and Mitch were alone together, an immediate air of intimacy enveloped them.

“Hi, yourself.” Mitch unwound his scarf and took off his protective winter gear. He, too, seemed a little ill at ease.

They looked at each other, then quickly glanced away. Anyone watching them would have guessed they were meeting for the first time. Tonight, neither seemed to know what to say, which was absurd, since they often sat and talked for hours about anything and everything.

This newfound need to know each other, as well as the more relaxed tenor of their relationship, came as a result of Thanksgiving dinner with Sawyer and Abbey.

The four adults had played cards after dinner.

Two couples. It had seemed natural for Bethany to be with Mitch.

Natural and right. Conversation had been lively and wide-ranging, and Bethany felt at home with these people.

So did Mitch, judging by the way he laughed and smiled.

And somehow, whatever he’d been holding inside had begun to seem less important.

They’d all enjoyed the card-playing so much that it had become a weekly event.

In the past few weeks Bethany had spent a lot of time in Mitch’s company, and she believed they’d grown close and comfortable with each other.

But then, they were almost always with other people.

With Chrissie, of course. With Sawyer and Abbey.

The other O’Halloran brothers. Ben. Margaret Simpson.

Rarely were they alone. It was this situation that had prompted her to invite him for dinner.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said self-consciously, rubbing her hands on her jeans. “I hope you like Irish stew.”

“I love it, but then I’m partial to anything I don’t have to cook myself.” He smiled and his eyes met hers. He pulled his gaze away, putting an abrupt end to the moment of intimacy.

Bethany had to fight back her disappointment.

“I see you got your Christmas tree,” he said, motioning to the scrawny five-foot vinyl fir that stood in the corner of her living room.

She would’ve preferred a live tree, but the cost was astronomical, and so she did what everyone in Hard Luck had done.

She’d ordered a fake tree through the catalog.

“I was hoping you’d help me decorate it,” she said.

It was only fair, since she’d helped him and Chrissie decorate theirs the night before.

Chrissie had chattered excitedly about Susan’s slumber party, which was tonight.

Bethany wondered if Abbey had arranged the party so Bethany and Mitch would have some time alone.

Whether it was intentional or not, Bethany was grateful.

“Chrissie said the two of you baked cookies today.”

“Susan helped, too,” she said. Bethany had offered to take both girls for a few hours during the afternoon; Mitch was working, and Abbey wanted a chance to wrap Christmas gifts and address cards undisturbed.

Mitch followed her into the kitchen. They were greeted by the aroma of sage and other herbs. The oven timer went off, and she reached for a mitt to pull out a loaf of crusty French bread.

Mitch looked around. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

“No. Everything’s under control.” That was true of dinner, perhaps, but little else felt manageable. Mitch suddenly seemed like a stranger, when she thought they’d come so far. It was like the old days—which really weren’t so old.

“I’ll dish up dinner now,” she said.

He didn’t offer to help again; perhaps he thought he’d only be in the way. With his hands resting on a chair back, he stood by the kitchen table and waited until she could join him.

The stew was excellent, or so Mitch claimed, but for all the enjoyment she received from it, Bethany could have been eating boot leather.

“I imagine Abbey’s got her hands full,” she said, trying to make conversation.

“How many kids are spending the night?” Mitch asked. “Six was the last I heard.”

“Seven, if you count Scott.”

“My guess is Scott would rather be tarred and feathered than decorate sugar cookies and string popcorn with a bunch of girls.”

“You’re probably right.” She passed Mitch the bread. He thanked her and took another slice.

Silence.

Bethany didn’t know what had happened to the easy camaraderie they’d had over the past few weeks.

Each attempt to start a discussion failed; conversation simply refused to flow.

The silence grew more awkward by the minute, and finally Bethany could stand it no longer.

With her mouth so dry she could barely talk, she threw down her napkin and turned to Mitch.

“What’s wrong with us?” she asked.

“Wrong?”

She gulped some water. “We’re so polite with each other.”

“Yeah,” Mitch agreed.

“We can hardly talk.”

“I noticed.” But he didn’t suggest any explanations—or solutions.

Bethany met his eyes, hoping he’d do something to resolve this dilemma. He didn’t. Instead, he set his napkin carefully aside and got to his feet. “I guess I’m not very hungry.” He carried his half-full bowl to the sink.

“Oh.”

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.

No! her heart cried, but she didn’t say the word. “Do…do you want to go?”

He didn’t answer.

Bethany stood up, pressing the tips of her fingers to her forehead. “Stop. Please, just stop. I want to know what’s wrong. Did I do something?”

“No. Good heavens, no.” He seemed astonished that she’d even asked. “It isn’t anything you’ve done.”

Mitch stood on one side of the kitchen and she on the other. “It’s my fault,” he said in a voice so quiet she had difficulty hearing him. “You haven’t done anything, but—” He stopped abruptly.

“What?” she pleaded. “Tell me.”

“Listen, Bethany, I think it would be best if I did leave.” With that, he walked purposefully into the living room and retrieved his coat from the small entryway closet.

Although the room was warm and cozy, Bethany felt a sudden chill.

She crossed her arms as much to ward off the sense of cold as to protect herself from Mitch’s words.

“It’s back to that, is it?” she managed sadly.

From the first day in September, Mitch had been running away from her.

Every time they made any progress, something would happen to show her how far they had yet to go.

His hand on the doorknob, he abruptly turned to face her. When he spoke his voice was hoarse with anger. “I can’t be alone with you without wanting to kiss you.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “We’ve kissed before.” There had been those memorable passionate kisses. And more recently, affectionate kisses of greeting and farewell. “What’s so different now?”

“We’re alone.”

“Yes, I know.” She still didn’t understand.

He shook his head, as if it was difficult to continue. “Don’t you see, Bethany?”

Obviously she didn’t.

“With Chrissie or anyone else around, the temptation is minimized. But when it’s just the two of us, I can’t think about anything else!” The last sentence was ground out between clenched teeth. “Don’t you realize how much I want to make love to you?”

“Is that so terrible?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.” The only sound she could hear was the too-fast beating of her own heart. She could see Mitch’s pulse hammering in the vein in his neck.

“I can’t let it happen,” he told her, his back straight, shoulders stiff.

“For your information, making love requires two people,” Bethany told him simply.

“I wish you’d said something earlier. We could’ve talked about this…

arrived at some understanding. It’s true,” she added, “the thought of us becoming…intimate has crossed my mind—but I wouldn’t have allowed it to happen. Not yet, anyway. It’s too soon.”

Without a word, Mitch closed the distance between them. With infinite tenderness he wove his fingers through her hair, and buried his lips against her throat. “You tempt me so much.”

She sighed and wrapped her arms around him.

“Feeling this way frightens me, Bethany. Overwhelms me.”

“We can’t run from it, Mitch, or pretend it doesn’t exist.”

His hands trembled as they slid down her spine, molding her against him. His kiss was slow and melting, and so thorough she was left breathless. She rested her head against his shoulder.

“I guess this means I can put away the celery,” she whispered.

“The celery?”

“When the catalog order came, I didn’t receive the mistletoe. The slip said it’s on back order. I talked to my mom earlier today and told her how disappointed I was—and she suggested celery as a substitute. So I nailed a piece over the doorway. Apparently you didn’t notice.”

Mitch chuckled hoarsely. “You know what I like best about you?”

“You mean other than my kisses?”

“Yes.”

The look in his eyes was as potent as good whiskey. “You make me laugh.”

She shook her head. “Don’t shut me out, Mitch. I can’t bear it when you shut me out of your life. There isn’t anything you can’t tell me.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Mitch eased her out of his arms and stared down at her, as if testing the truth of her words.

“Mitch,” she said gently, touching his face, “what is it?”

“Nothing.” He turned away. “It’s nothing.”

Bethany didn’t believe that. But she had no choice other than to end this discussion, which obviously distressed him. When he was ready he’d tell her.

“Didn’t you say something about decorating your Christmas tree?” he asked with feigned enthusiasm.

“I did indeed,” she said, following his lead.

“Good. We’ll get to that in a moment.” He took her by the hand.

“Where are we going?”

“You mean you don’t know?” He grinned boyishly. “I’m taking you to the celery, er, the substitute mistletoe.”

Soon she was in his arms, and all the doubts she’d entertained were obliterated the second he lowered his mouth to hers. She felt only the touch of his lips. Slow and confident. Intimate and familiar.

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