The dogs flopped down in a heap on the floor. And something about this whole situation felt surreal to her. She was in Rourke’s bed. In his room. He was bringing her coffee. Reading the paper with her. What was wrong with this picture?
Ah, yes, she recalled. They hadn’t slept together.
The thought seemed petty in the aftermath of what had happened. Gram was dead and her house had burned. Sleeping with Rourke McKnight should not be a priority just now. Still, it didn’t seem quite fair that all she had accomplished in this bed was a bad dream.
“Let’s see.” She reached for the paper, scooting closer to him. This was what lovers did, sat together in bed, sipping coffee and reading the morning paper. Then she spotted the picture. It was a big one, in color, above the fold. “Oh, God. We look…”
Like a couple. She couldn’t escape the thought. The photographer had caught them in what appeared to be a tender embrace, with Rourke’s arms encircling her from behind and his mouth next to her ear as he bent to whisper something. The fire provided dramatic backlighting. You couldn’t tell from looking at the picture that she was shivering so hard her teeth rattled, and that he wasn’t murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, but explaining to her that she was suddenly homeless.
She didn’t say anything, hoping that the romance of the shot was only in her head. She sipped her coffee and scanned the article. “Faulty wiring?” she said. “How do they know it’s faulty wiring?”
“It’s just speculation. We’ll know more after the investigation.”
“And why is this coffee so damn good?” she demanded. “It’s perfect.”
“You got a problem with that?”
“I had no idea you could make coffee like this.” She took another sip, savoring it.
“I’m a man of many talents. Some people just have a gift with coffee,” he added in a fake-serious voice. “They’re known as coffee whisperers.”
“And how do you know I take mine with exactly this much cream?”
“Maybe I’ve made a study of everything about you, from the way you take your coffee, to the number of towels you use when you shower, to your favorite radio station.” He rested his elbows on his knees, cradling the mug in his hands.
“Uh-huh. Good one, McKnight.”
“I thought you’d like it.” He finished his coffee.
She drew up her knees and stretched the oversize shirt down to cover them. “It’s a shallow thing to say, but a good cup of coffee makes even the worst situation less awful.” Closing her eyes, she drank more, savoring it and trying to be in the moment. Given all that had happened, it was the only safe place to be. Here. With Rourke. Safe in his bed.
“What’s funny?” he asked.
She opened her eyes. She hadn’t realized she was laughing. “I always wondered what it would be like to spend the night in your bed.”
“So how was it?”
“Well—” she set her mug on the nightstand “—the sheets don’t match but the thread count is amazing. And they’re clean. Not just-washed clean, but clean like you change your bed more than once in a blue moon. Four pillows and a great-feeling mattress. What’s not to like?”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not sure that was a compliment,” she cautioned him.
“You like my bed, the sheets are clean, the mattress is comfortable. How is that not a compliment?”
“Because I can’t help but wonder what it says about you. Maybe it says you’re a wonderful person who values a good night’s sleep. But maybe it says you’re so accustomed to bringing women home that you pay special attention to your bed.”
“So which is it?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about it.” She lay back and closed her eyes. There were any number of things she could say, but she decided not to go there. Into the past. To a reminder neither of them could escape, of what they had once been to each other. “I wish I could just stay here for the rest of my life,” she said, forcing lightness into her tone.
“Don’t let me stop you.”
She opened her eyes and propped herself on her elbows. “I just have to ask, and this is a sincere question. Who the hell did I offend? Did I upset some cosmic balance in the universe? Is that why all this shit is happening to me?”
“Probably,” he said.
She threw a pillow at him. “You’re a big help.”
He threw it back. “You want to shower first, or me?”
“Go ahead. I’ll just sit here and finish my coffee and contemplate my fabulous life.” She glanced down at the floor. “What are the dogs’ names?”
“Rufus, Stella and Bob.” He pointed out each one. They were pets he’d rescued, he explained. “The cat’s name is Clarence.”
Rescued. Of course, she thought.
“They’re friendly,” he added.
“So am I.” She scratched Rufus’s ears. He was a thick-coated malamute mix with ice-blue eyes.
“Good to know,” Rourke said. “Help yourself to something to eat. Even if you’re not hungry, you should eat something. It’s going to be another long day.” He went across the hall, and a moment later she heard the radio, followed by the hiss and patter of running water.
Jenny glanced at the clock. Too early to call Nina. Then she remembered Nina was up in Albany at some mayors’ convention. Jenny got up and went to the window, her legs feeling heavy, as if she’d just run a marathon, which was odd, because she hadn’t done anything all day yesterday except stand around in a state of shock and watch her house burn.
Outside, the world looked remarkably unchanged. Her whole life was falling apart, yet the town of Avalon slumbered in peace. The sky was a thick, impenetrable sheet of winter white. Bare trees lined the roadway and the distant mountains wore
