'Oh, good. Want to come home with me and tell me your strategy?'
'That's the best offer I've had today.' After tossing his bag in the rear of her car, Parks sprawled in the passenger seat. Accustomed to her driving pattern now, he relaxed and began to unwind by rambling about the previous day's game. Brooke said little, pleased to listen, glad that she had arranged to take the day off so that they could have a few hours together, alone.
''The commercial aired during each play-off game, you know,' she commented as they headed out of town.
'How'd it look?' Parks laid his head back against the seat. God, it was good to know he didn't have to go anywhere or do anything for twenty-four hours.
'Fantastic.' As the road opened up, so did the Datsun's throttle. 'And I have it from the source that it plays very well.'
'Hmm?'
'A teenager girl in that mob today.' With near perfect mimicry, Brooke related the girl's comments.
She caught Parks's automatic grimace at the term beeutiful but swallowed a chuckle as she continued.
'Nice to know I devastate sixteen-year-old girls,' he said dryly.
'You'd be surprised at the buying power of sixteen year-old girls.' With experienced ease, Brooke negotiated the curves on the narrowing road. ''Not so much directly, certainly, but indirectly through their parents. And since they'd like their teenage boyfriends to make their knees weaken, too, they'll push them toward de Marco jeans, shirts, belts, ad infinitum.' Tossing her hair back, she slid her eyes to his. 'And you do have a great smile.'
'Yeah.' He gave a modest sigh. 'I do.'
Brooke stopped in her driveway with a deliberate jerk that had him swearing. Wisely slipping from the car before he could retaliate, she headed up the path.
'Just for that,' Parks began as he dragged his bag out of the back, 'I'm not going to give you the present I bought you.'
At the door, Brooke turned, her grin changing to a look of bewilderment. 'You bought me a present?' Because she looked like a child who expected to be handed a brightly wrapped empty box, Parks treated it lightly. 'I did. But I'm seriously considering keeping it myself now.'
'What is it?'
'Are you going to open the door?'
Brooke shrugged, trying to pretend indifference as she turned the key. 'There's a fire laid,' she said as she breezed inside. 'Why don't you light it while I get us some coffee?'
'Okay.' Setting his bag down, Parks stretched travel-cramped muscles. With a wince, he pressed his fingers to the ribs still sore from their contact with Astroturf.
She'd brought some of her garden inside, he noted, spotting the bowl of vibrant mums and zinnias on the side table across the room. The table, he observed, was Queen Anne; the bowl, dimestore special. Grinning, he went to the hearth. The combination suited her-the exquisite and the practical.
Parks struck a match and set it to the carefully rolled paper beneath the kindling. Dry wood caught with a crackle and a whoosh. He inhaled the smell that brought back flickering images of the past; evenings in the cozy parlor of his family home, camping trips with his uncle and cousins, weekends in England at the home of a college friend. He wanted to add to the pictures now with the memory of Brooke lying in his arms in front of the simmering fire while they made slow, endless love.
When he heard her returning, Parks stood, turning to face her as she entered with a tray holding a bottle and two glasses. 'I thought you might want wine instead.'
Smiling, Parks took the tray from her. 'Yes.' After setting the tray on the hassock, Parks lifted the bottle, examining the label with a lifted brow. ''Is this a celebration?'
'A precelebration,' Brooke countered. 'I expect you to win tomorrow.' She picked up both glasses, holding them out. 'And if you don't, we'll have had the wine in any case.'
'Seems fair.' Parks poured pale-gold liquid into the stemmed glasses. Taking one from her, he clinked the rims together. 'To the game?' he asked with a slow smile.
Brooke felt the quick nervous flutter in her stomach and nodded. 'To the game,' she agreed and drank. Her eyes widened but remained steady when he reached out to take a handful of her hair.
'I saw this in the sunlight,' he murmured. 'Even in that mob of people at the airport, I'm not sure what I would have done if that fence hadn't been in the way.' He let it sift through his fingers. 'It was a long four days, Brooke.'
She nodded, taking his hand to draw him onto the sofa beside her. The curves of her body seemed to fit naturally against the lines of his. 'You're tense,' she said quietly.
'Postseason games.' He drew her closer, knowing the nerves would gradually drain before they built again the next day. 'Maybe the lucky ones are the players raking leaves in their backyards in October.' 'But you don't really think so.'
Parks laughed. 'No, I don't really think so. The play-offs pump you up until you're ready to explode, but the series…' He trailed off with a shake of his head. He didn't want to let his mind run that far ahead. The rules were three out of five-they weren't there yet. For now he didn't want to think of it, but of the woman beside him, the quiet afternoon and the long evening ahead. He thought that he'd remember her this way, a little pensive, with the smell of woodsmoke and fall flowers mixing with her own perfume.
His mind drifted lazily, comfortably, as he sipped the iced wine and watched the flames dance.
'Have you been busy?'
Brooke tilted her head in absent agreement. She didn't want to think of work any more than Parks did. 'The usual,' she said vaguely. 'E.J. talked me into seeing a perfectly dreadful movie where the cast pranced around in mythological costumes and shot lightning bolts.'
'Olympian Revenge?'
'It had a talking three-head dragon.'
'That's the one. I caught it in Philadelphia last month when we had a rain out.'
'I saw the mike in the frame three times.'
Parks chuckled at her professional disdain. 'Nobody else did,' he assured her. 'They were all asleep.'
'Gross ineptitude keeps me awake.' She leaned her head against his shoulder. It occurred to her how empty her home had been for the last few days, and how cozy it felt again. Brooke had never felt the need to share it before. In fact, she had always had a strong proprietary feeling about what was hers. Now, sitting quietly on the sofa, she realized she had already begun to give up her privacy, willingly and with total unawareness. Turning her head, she studied Parks's profile.
'I missed you,' she said at length.
He turned his head as well so that their lips were close, not quite touching. 'I'd hoped you would.' Then he shifted so that his mouth grazed her cheek. She trembled. Not yet, he told himself as the heat flared inside him. Not quite yet. 'Maybe I'll give you that present after all.'
Brooke's lips curved against his throat. 'I don't believe you bought me anything at all.' Recognizing the ploy but willing to play, Parks rose. 'You'll have to apologize for that,' he said soberly as he walked to his suitcase. He flipped open the case then rummaged inside. When he stood again, Parks had a white box in his hands. Brooke regarded it curiously but with some of the wariness he had noted outside.
'What is it?'
'Open it and find out,' he suggested, dropping it into her lap.
Brooke turned it over, examining the plain white box, testing it for weight. She wasn't a woman accustomed to spontaneous gifts and in the short time he had known her, Parks had already given her two. 'You didn't have to-'
'You have to give your sister a Christmas present,' he said mildly, sitting beside her again. 'You're not my sister and it isn't Christmas.'
Brooke frowned. 'I'm not sure I understand the logic in that,' she murmured then opened the lid. Packed in wads of tissue paper was a fat pink ceramic hippo with heavily lashed eyes, a flirtatious grin and varicolored polka dots. With a laugh, Brooke drew it out. 'She's gorgeous!'
'She reminded me of you,' Parks commented, pleased with the laugh and the look of humor in her eyes when she turned them to him.
