IX TWENTY-THREE on Wednesday night of a long weekend. He could work. Or eat. He could make dinner, then eat, then work. Also, maybe watch some television.

Nicole was at yet another sleepover, as school was closed tomorrow for a teacher-development thing, then on Friday as well for Founders’ Day Weekend. It was her third sleepover since they’d moved. This was either good, in that she was making friends, or very bad, in that she might at this very moment be guzzling vodka and doing Ecstasy with a bunch of boys, after which they’d get in a car and all end up dead.

Granted, he’d dropped her off twenty minutes ago, spoken to both Emily and Chris Carlisle at length, ensuring that both parents would be home all night. They seemed perfectly responsible, but still. He’d left his phone number (home and cell), and his address, just in case. Nicole had given him the Slitty Eyes of Death, followed by a hard elbow to the ribs, which still hurt a little, thanks to Cordelia Osterhagen trying to kill him.

And by the way, that whole hospital aftermath…that was oddly vague. The pain meds had knocked him flat, but there was something he should remember there. He and Cordelia had bickered at the hospital, he remembered that. She drove him home with the giant dog…but something else had been flitting at the edge of his brain for days now. Irritating.

Well, at any rate, Nicole had promised to text him at nine and eleven and call in the morning, then threatened suicide if he dared to call the Carlisles to check up on her. “Bye!” she said. “Have fun! Get out of the apartment, okay? You’re not dead yet.”

So here he was. In the apartment. Home alone, a widower picturing his child’s misdeeds…not so much fun. Work held no appeal; he’d just come from there to take Nicole to the party. No. He should get out of the house, be with other people. Life was changing, and Nic was right. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. He picked up the paper and got lucky.

A little while later, Liam pulled up in front of the adult education building. The ad had said walk-ins were welcome, so here he was. Granted, learning to design a website wasn’t high on Liam’s list of priorities, but he guessed the garage wouldn’t hurt by having an Internet presence. Besides, it sure as hell beat out singles cooking or, God forbid, ballroom dancing.

Speaking of, there were the dancers. And oh, crap, there was Taylor Bennington of the talented teeth. Her face lit up at the sight of him, and Liam gave a terse nod, then continued down the hallway.

The smell of garlic slowed him down. A chorus of laughter came from that room, and Liam glanced in. People were paired together, chopping and tasting, and the smell was fantastic.

Cordelia Osterhagen was in there, opening her mouth for a spoonful of whatever her partner—a man—was feeding her, and Liam had an abrupt flash of Cordelia over him, and he could practically feel her mouth on his, that lush, beautiful mouth—

“Hi there.”

Liam jumped. A man in his thirties stood in front of him. “I’m Jonathan White, your daughter’s home-ec teacher? We met the other night at Rosebud’s.”

Liam nodded, offering his hand. “Nice to see you again.” This guy was related to Cordelia somehow, he remembered.

“Nicole is such a great kid. I wish I had twenty of her. You hungry? Want to join us?”

“I’m starving, actually.”

“Come on,” the teacher said, smiling. “We eat at the end of the class. If Posey doesn’t cut off someone’s finger, that is.”

“I wish I could take credit for that,” Cordelia said, turning. “But it was just luck.” Her smile fell as she saw Liam, and her face flushed. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey,” Liam said. Oh, yeah. There was something about that mouth, all right.

“Gang, this is Liam, the dad of one of my students. You don’t mind if he hangs out, do you? We always have too much food as it is.”

“Hi, Liam!” Kate Ellington called, and Liam gave her a smile. She was with an older man who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her rack, not that Liam could blame him. It was nice there.

“Let’s put you with Ginny, shall we?” Jon said, leading Liam over to a woman in her fifties.

“Oh, wow, thank you, Jon, I owe you,” she blurted.

“Hi. Liam Murphy,” he said, shaking her hand.

“Wow,” she repeated. She wiped her hands on her T-shirt, which showed the werewolf kid from the vampire movies. Team Jacob, the shirt proclaimed. “I’m Ginny. Hi. Yeah. You are gorgeous.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, grinning. They were next to Cordelia, who was studiously ignoring him, and her partner, a rather odd-looking man wearing a fur hat with earflaps.

“My ribs are doing just fine, thanks for asking,” Liam said to her.

“Of all the cooking classes in all the world, you had to walk into mine,” Cordelia muttered.

For the next half-hour, Liam flirted with Ginny, who was full of sighs and giggles. The class was actually kind of fun…they were making a Bolognese sauce, and the smell was thick and spicy. Liam was a pretty fair cook himself, but it was nice, being out with grownups. People joked and laughed and swapped insults. Everyone except Cordelia, Liam noticed, who seemed awfully quiet. When they all sat down to eat, pushing two tables together, Liam made sure he was across from her.

“I’d think you were already a pretty good cook,” he said, taking a bite of the pasta.

His foot touched hers accidentally, but she jumped as if he’d slugged her. “Excuse me?”

“Since your parents own a restaurant,” he said. Granted, people didn’t really go to Guten Tag for the food, but still.

“Um, right. I cook a little.” She didn’t look at him, and Liam smiled.

“She’s lying,” the teacher said, coming over and putting his arm around her. “She’s my sister-in-law, and even though I’ve been with her brother since the dawn of time, I can say that Posey here has never made me anything more than a Newman’s Own pizza.”

“Which was excellent,” she retorted.

“Well, I’m sure she has other skills,” Liam murmured, and bam, her cheeks went nuclear. She shoveled in a bite of pasta and chewed, still not looking at him. She wore two flannel shirts, but both were unbuttoned a few, and Liam could see a little camisole thing underneath it. Girl clothes, in other words, and Liam had the sudden urge to peel off those layers of flannel and see what lay beneath.

Well, well, well. Granted, it had been a while, but here he was, picturing Cordelia naked. Might be a nice little package under there. Compact. Petite. The word spitfire came pleasingly to mind. As if reading his thoughts, Cordelia laced her hands together and stretched out her arms, cracking her knuckles and staring at him with narrowed eyes. The Slitty Eyes of Death, Osterhagen-style. Liam grinned at her and took another bite of the spaghetti Bolognese.

“It sure has been nice meeting you,” Ginny said, and Liam stood up.

“Same here,” he said and kissed her on the cheek. “I had a great time.”

“I’m going to relive that for quite some time,” she said, and he laughed and kissed her again, then took his seat once more.

Most of the people were trailing out, he noticed. Jon was leaning in the doorway, laughing with a student. Only Cordelia and he were still eating—she might pretend not to notice him, but here she was—and Liam realized he really didn’t want to go home just yet.

“Do you have plans tonight?” he asked.

“N— Um, yes.”

“No, you don’t.”

She narrowed her eyes again—pretty eyes, now that he noticed. Brown. He’d always liked brown eyes. “What makes you so sure I don’t have plans, Liam?”

“Do you?”

Another blush. “Jon, we’re having drinks tonight, right? At Rosebud’s?”

Jon paused, his eyes going from Posey’s face to Liam’s. “Uh…yes?”

“Mind if I tag along?” Liam asked.

“I… Posey?”

She set down her fork and glared up at him. “Okay, Liam, fine. I don’t have plans other than going home and watching a movie with my dog and cats. Okay? Happy now?”

Liam cocked his head and studied her face. “Are you mad at me?”

“Nope.”

“You seem mad.”

Jon’s phone rang. “Oh, there’s Henry. Bicker away, young lovers. I’ll call you tomorrow, Posey. Nice seeing you again, Liam.”

“Same here. Thanks for letting me stay.”

They were the only ones left in the room. She was clearly pissed, but why? And why wouldn’t she just tell him, since he’d asked and everything? Women. They were the least straightforward creatures in the universe. “So,” he said. “Back to your bad attitude. Are you always this grouchy?”

She shoveled in a huge bite of pasta. “No,” she said thickly. “You just bring out the worst in me.” She pursed her lips, and there it was again, that not-quite memory.

“So, how about it?” he asked. “Want to grab a beer? Or a coffee?”

Her face flushed. “Liam, I’m betting at least two dozen women have come on to you since you got back to town. I bet women have to take a number just to stand close to you. Why don’t you call one of them?”

“Why don’t you want to go out with me?”

“On a date? You want to take me on a date, Liam? Because don’t forget, this is a singles cooking class, and only desperate people sign up for these things. I’ve never been married, I’m thirty-three years old, I have three cats, my mother already has an entire roomful of toys for my unborn children. You really want to take me out for a beer? Because you know I’ll read into this and start shopping for a wedding dress.”

He bit down on a smile. “Is that a yes?”

She tossed down her fork. “It’s a no.”

Well, color him shocked. He wracked his brain for a memory of the last time he’d been turned down and came up empty. “Okay. I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Truck.”

“Whatever.”

The smell of rain was in the air, and a damp wind blew from the river. Liam sighed. Guess he’d be sitting home alone after all tonight. Well. At least he’d gotten out a little.

Cordelia’s hair fluttered in the wind, and she hugged her thick jacket more closely around her as they approached her truck.

“Liam,” Cordelia said abruptly, then stopped. She sighed and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Do you really want to get a beer with me, or are you just jerking my chain?”

He looked down at her; she was staring at her truck door. “I’d love to get a beer with you, Cordelia.”

“Why?”

He hesitated a second. “Because I’m a lonely widower who doesn’t want to go back to his empty apartment and stare at the walls.”

She folded her arms and scowled at the pavement. When she looked up, her expression wasn’t nearly so fierce. “Okay. But only because you pulled the widower card.”

“At least it’s good for something.”

Then she smiled, just a flash, and something moved in Liam’s chest. Something warm, and something he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Meet you at Rosebud’s,” she said.

Then she jumped in her truck. Turned the key. He heard the click of a dead battery.

“I’ll drive,” he said, grinning.

“Shoot,” she said. “I need a jump.” She glanced dismissively at his car.

“My battery won’t have enough juice for a truck that size,” he said.

“I’m aware.” She pursed her lips, and he found that he really wanted to get that beer with her.

“How’s this?” he said. “I’ll come back tomorrow and jump it with the truck from the garage. I can drive you home tonight. Good enough?”

“Okay,” she said after a pause.

“Great,” he said, and as he opened the passenger door of his car for her, Liam found that he was smiling.

As he started the car, however, Liam glanced at the dashboard clock—crap. It was 9:20.

He’d missed Nicole’s call. “Hang on one second,” he said as Cordelia buckled herself in. He dug his phone out. No missed calls, no messages. He typed a quick note. Having fun? Text your dear old dad. Waited a beat— Nicole, like every teenager he knew, practically had her phone implanted in her palm. She’d answer back within seconds.

Except she didn’t. “Come on,” he muttered.

“Problem?” Cordelia asked.

“Um…not yet.” He’d call her. She hated when he called, but she’d missed their check-in, so she’d have to deal.

“Hi, you’ve reached Nicole Murphy’s voice mail! Sorry I’m not around, you know what to do.”

“Nicole, it’s your father. Call me,” he growled.

“‘Nicole, it’s your father,’” Cordelia mimicked in a low voice, smiling. “I bet she knows your voice by now.”

“It’s not funny,” he said. “She’s at a party. They said no boys were coming, but you know what? I bet there are boys.”

“Why don’t you call the parents?”

“Good idea.”

Unfortunately, the Carlisles seemed to have an unlisted number. Very suspicious. He should’ve asked for their number when he dropped Nicole off. He’d left his numbers, sure, and obviously Nicole had her own phone. Why hadn’t he asked for the Carlisles’ number? Furthermore, why hadn’t they offered it, when he was reciting his own? Huh? Because maybe they didn’t want him to know it, that’s why. That’s what you’d do if you were a drug dealer, right? And drug dealers relied on children getting hooked, and Nicole was in fact a child and therefore a potential client for a drug dealer, and even if that was a little far-fetched, you never knew.

“We’re just gonna swing by their house, okay? Just to check on them,” Liam said, the tires screeching as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“Great. Another fun night stalking Liam’s daughter,” Cordelia muttered. “Can you let me out at the corner? I left something on the stove, I just remembered.”

He didn’t answer. Best-case scenario, Nicole was simply being a teenager, forgetting to check in with him, even if that rule was carved in stone, damn it. Worst-case scenario? Vodka. Ecstasy. Boys. Cars. Dismemberment and/or death.

They turned onto Lighthouse Avenue, where the Carlisles lived—okay, yes, they screeched onto Lighthouse Avenue. “For the love of Elvis, slow down,” Cordelia said, clutching the dashboard.

Liam didn’t answer, too busy sweating. The downstairs curtains of the house were drawn. On every window. That was not cool. In fact, it was really, really suspicious. He stared at the house, his hands clenched around the wheel.

“So…you going in?” Cordelia asked.

“What? No. I’m just… I’ll just check.”

“What do you mean, check?”

Liam opened the car door. “I’m going to…look. Because if they’re doing something illegal in there, I want proof.”

“Illegal? Liam, you’re… Come back!”

He barely heard her. If there were boys in there—and oh, if there were boys, Nicole would be in such trouble she would never see the stars again, because he’d ground her for the rest of her life. If it was worse—a bong, maybe (hell, every party he’d been to in high school had a bong), or worse, some kind of crack paraphernalia…

He felt a hand on his arm. “What are you doing, idiot?” Cordelia asked.

“I’m just gonna climb this tree and take a look.”

“Are you insane? You’re going to spy on a bunch of teenage girls? You want to talk illegal, Liam? Climb that tree, and I’ll call it in myself.”

“Well, I’m not just gonna knock on the front door and ask if they have any drugs in the house, am I?”

“Liam, your kid forgot to call you. Relax.”

“Right,” he snapped. “Relax. I don’t know those people, and yet my little girl is inside. And she’s all I have. I have to keep her safe.” There was that damn tightness in his chest again. He rubbed it with his fist, stopping when he saw Cordelia notice.

“Liam,” she said in a gentler voice. “She is safe. She’s at a sleepover. I’m sure it’s completely innocent. Let’s not have the choo-choo jump the tracks here.”

“Really?” he said. “She’s safe? Innocent? Then why didn’t she check in? Is she even in there? Why isn’t she answering her phone? Why do the Carlisles have an unlisted number? The curtains are pulled. Isn’t that what drug dealers do when they’re cutting up drugs?”

“Okay, crazy pants, you know what?” She sighed. “I’ll climb the tree, and if there are boys or kidnappers or ninja assassins, I’ll let you know. Okay?”

Liam gave a reluctant nod. “Okay. That’s a good idea.”

“No, it’s not. It’s a terrible idea, Liam. But at least you won’t get arrested. I’ve already had one date this month get hauled away in handcuffs. Give me a boost, idiot.”

CLIMBING A TREE on a windy April night to spy on a sleepover party…well, it was different, Posey had to admit that. She’d also admit that climbing trees was pretty fun. So was spying, if you got right down to it. And she had to hand it to Liam—she could see right into the bonus room window from here.

“Okay,” she said, glancing down at the world’s most neurotic father. His face was clenched with worry, and her heart gave an unwilling tug. She looked back across the street. “There are four girls. Does Nicole have green Hello Kitty pajamas?”

“Yes.”

“Well, she’s there. Looks like they’re playing Wii. Golf, I think. Or bowling. And oh, here comes a woman…forties…has a big bowl of something…is it needles?”

“Are you serious?”

Posey grinned. “Nope, seems to be popcorn. Should we call a SWAT team?” She looked down at Liam again. He was staring at the house, arms folded across his chest, the breeze ruffling his dark hair. “Can I come down now?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Taking care not to slip, as the branches were damp with the fog, Posey climbed down from the tree, making a mental note to climb one again when it wasn’t night and they weren’t spying on people. She jumped down the last few feet and brushed off her hands.

Liam was still looking at the house. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. He didn’t look at her, but his expression was…well, miserable. Remembering his admission last week about his accident, his fears over Nicole’s well-being, her heart gave a tug.

“It’s okay.” She punched his shoulder. “She’s a good kid. And you seem like a good dad, in a neurotic, insane kind of way.”

“Right.”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure a lot of parents envision the worst.”

“True enough.”

“They just don’t…run with it the way you do.”

He looked at her then, a slight, self-deprecating smile in his eyes. “Thank you for climbing up there.”

“You’re welcome. It was kind of fun.”

His smile grew, her girl parts meowed. Danger, Posey. “Well, it’s pretty damp out here. We should get going, huh? I think I’ll skip that beer, okay? You could just take me home. That would be great.” Posey took a step toward his car, but Liam stepped in front of her, blocking the way. “What? You want me to climb up again?” she asked.

“No.”

He was looking at her…at her mouth, specifically. Posey’s stomach gave a warm squeeze. “So, let’s get going, okay?” she said, her voice a little loud in the cold night.

He nodded but didn’t move, just studied her mouth, then finally raised his eyes to hers. “Did I kiss you the other day?”

She sputtered, her face suddenly blazing with heat. Looked at the Carlisle house, the car, the tree.

“Did I?”

God, that voice. Low and smoky and such a turn-on! She cleared her throat. “Um…sort of. Yes.”

He didn’t answer. Risking a glance at his face, she saw that he was smiling. Just a little. She licked her lips. Mistake, because his gaze dropped again to her mouth as if…well…like he might…

“How was it?” Liam asked, and her knees threatened to give out.

“Um…you know. You were medicated. I’ve had better.” Her voice was breathy now. If he stepped on her foot, she might well conceive a child.

“Can I give it another shot?”

Holy Elvis Francis Aloysius Xavier Presley! “Um…”

He stepped a little closer, enough that she could feel his warmth. “Doesn’t seem fair that you remember and I don’t, that’s all,” he murmured.

“Life is often unfair.” Her voice sounded brisk, despite the wobbly knees, so at least there was that.

“Can I kiss you, Cordelia?”

Her brain barked out an admonishment…something about his track record, his current stable of interested women, his…his…his eyes were just beautiful, it should be against the law, the way he looked at her with that faint smile. If she took half a step toward him, they’d be touching.

“Okay,” she said. “Get it over with.” She jammed her hands in her pockets and waited.

Liam closed the small distance between them, and he was so warm, she could’ve melted right into him, that heat was so welcome, so wanted. His hands cupped her face, his smile fading as he studied her, and Posey’s eyes fluttered closed—yes, fluttered—she couldn’t seem to help it. Then his lips were on hers, softly, gently, and she had to clench her fists inside her pockets to keep from grabbing him by the belt buckle and throwing him to the ground right there. Oh, Elvis, it was the world’s most perfect kiss, soft and warm and so…affecting, heavens…his mouth moving gently on hers, their lips fitting together like they’d been made just to kiss each other.

Then it was over, and Posey forced open her eyes. He was looking at her, that light still in his eyes. She swallowed, rather loudly. “Not bad,” she announced. “It’s just that with all the hype, I don’t know. I guess I expected more.”

Liam burst out laughing, so surprising her that she jumped back. “I really like you,” he said.

“My life’s work is done, then,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice that she seemed to be shaking.

“So…take you to your house?” he asked, opening her car door.

“Just driving me home, big guy. Don’t get any ideas.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Posey was somewhat surprised she could form sentences, as her brain was roaring with white noise. Her limbs were flooded with a hot buzz, and her heart clattered in her chest as Liam started the car and pulled into the street.

“You going to the parade this weekend?” Posey heard herself ask after a mile or five.

“I guess so,” he answered, turning onto South Church Road. “Does Guten Tag still go all out?”

“We sure do.”

He pulled into her small driveway, and Posey had the car door open before he came to a full stop. “Okay, see you soon,” she said, bolting.

“Uh…good night,” she heard him call.

She practically ripped the church door off its hinges, slammed it closed behind her and slumped to the floor as her wobbly legs gave out. From the great room, Shilo woofed twice before collapsing back in front of the wood-stove. Gretchen had said she’d be working late, thank goodness. Meatball gave a little squeak of welcome, and wind gusted around the steeple, the only sound other than the roaring in her ears.

Now that she was safe, the reality of that kiss sank in. If he could make her feel this much with one chaste kiss, then what—

A knock on the door made her jump. “Who is it?” Her dog, purchased for protection, gave a snuffling snore.

“It’s Liam.”

Posey scrabbled up off the floor and opened the door a few inches. “Yes?”

His expression was wry. “You forgot your purse.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

He handed her the battered leather backpack. “Have a good night,” he said, turning to go.

“You, too. Um, Liam?”

He turned back, and without further thought, she’d grabbed the front of his leather jacket, yanked him inside and kissed the stuffing out of him. One hand was gripping his damp, soft hair, and the other was inside his coat already, and she felt him smile against her mouth, and thank the heavens, he was kissing her back, pushing her against the wall of the little foyer (oh, the wall!), his strong, solid arms wrapped around her tight and sure. He slid one hand down her back, pressing her against him, and his heat and strength, his mouth on hers, was un-bleeping-believable; she was panting already. He dragged his mouth off hers, then kissed her neck, and Posey’s knees buckled.

Then Liam pulled back, kissed her lightly on the mouth once more, and looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “I have to say,” he murmured, running his thumb along her lower lip, “I’m a little surprised.”

“Mmm,” she managed. His weight was the only thing holding her up.

“I wasn’t even sure you liked me.”

“Who says I do?” she managed. He grinned, and without her explicit permission, her fingers tightened their grip on his shirt.

“Do you like me enough that I can I come in and stay for a little while?” he asked, leaning against her a little more purposefully. Elvis! One lean, and she was halfway to the moon.

She didn’t answer. Waited for a reason to say no.

None came.

“Want me to go?” he whispered before kissing her jaw, trailing a finger down her throat.

“Nope,” she said, her voice calm.

“You sure?”

“Yep,” she said. Now or never, Posey. She grabbed his hand and towed him through the great room. “Shilo, you remember Liam,” she said as they passed her dog, who snuffled in response before resuming his power nap. Through the kitchen strewn with Gretchen’s detritus. Don’t let him change his mind. Don’t let him over-think this.

At the top of the stairs, Posey pushed open the door to her bedroom, then stopped abruptly, dropping Liam’s hand. Then, even though it wasn’t easy, she forced herself to really look at him.

Liam Murphy. With her. Despite aeons of adolescent yearning and a goodly amount of more recent lust, Posey had never actually believed that anything like this would really happen. That he would choose her. That he would look at her the way he was, intently, seriously.

Then he reached out and touched her lips, gently, almost reverently, and that’s what did her in.

Before he even kissed her again, she was in love.

Again.