Evening Stars. Сьюзен Мэллери

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      But then they’d broken up, and somehow finding the money to follow her dreams had become impossible. Between dealing with her mom and her baby sister, the store and everything else, she’d lost her way. Nursing school had been so much more practical. She’d only needed two years away at a four-year university. She couldn’t remember making the decision—somehow life had happened.

      Dylan pulled into the driveway of her house. Rain still pounded on the windshield, and she wasn’t looking forward to the dash into the house. Not with her scrubs clinging to every bulge and him watching. Just as unfortunate, she could see the general shabbiness of the house from where she sat. It hadn’t changed at all in the past ten years. It needed paint and a new roof. She’d had plans for both, but a plumbing disaster last October had pretty much sucked up her savings.

      “Thanks for the ride,” she said, turning to him and offering a smile she hoped looked pleasant and confident. “Great timing. It would have been a long, ugly walk home. I’m sorry for dripping on your seats.”

      “They’ll be fine. Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

      Before she could respond, he was getting out of the driver’s side and walking around the car. What? He was coming with her?

      She quickly scrambled out and met him on the walkway. “I’m fine. You don’t need to come in. Seriously. Go on with what you were doing. You saved me from the long walk home. That should be enough for one day.”

      He gave her an easy smile and put his hand on the small of her back. “For someone soaking wet and cold, you’re sure arguing a lot.”

      Then they were moving toward the front door, and she was opening it. As she stepped inside, she kicked off her soggy shoes. Dylan moved past her. She tugged off her socks and dropped her purse on the tiles of the foyer before walking barefoot into the living room.

      She was aware of several things at once. First, there was a suspicious dampness in the stained ceiling in the corner. As she watched, a single drop fell onto the carpet below. Which meant her mother hadn’t called about the roof. Tim, their general handyman, was always timely about taking care of whatever crisis they had. So if the roof was still leaking, he hadn’t been told he was needed.

      Second, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time a man had walked into their house. Well, a man-man, not a service guy. Dylan looked tall and masculine. Very out of place in a room crowded with too much furniture and “treasures” from the store. Every corner, every shelf and all surfaces were littered with figurines, wooden or glass boxes, picture frames and vases that her mother couldn’t stand to sell. In Bonnie’s mind, some objects were meant to be shared with the world and others were meant to be saved for family.

      Last, and maybe most unsettling, was how having Dylan standing in the living room made her see just how scruffy everything had become.

      The sofa was old and worn, with permanent dents in the cushions where they sat night after night. Nicks and dings marred the coffee table. The lampshades had faded from cream to a dingy yellow.

      Nina stared at the room as if she’d never seen it before, shocked by how she’d ceased to see what was all around her. For a second, she had the realization that her hopes and dreams had suffered the same kind of neglect, becoming invisible due to inattention. Sadness swept through—the loss nearly painful enough to make her gasp.

      “I’ll wait while you get changed,” Dylan said, walking over to one of the chairs and sitting down, as if he planned to stay a while.

      She blinked at him. Why? Then she felt the damp chill of her clothes and water dripping down her back from her hair.

      “Sure,” she told him, then hurried toward the hall, feeling the burn of wet cotton rubbing against her skin.

      Ten minutes later she was in jeans and a sweatshirt. She’d done the best she could with her hair, towel drying it before combing it. She wasn’t going to take the time to blow-dry it. That would imply... She wasn’t sure what, but either way, she wasn’t going there. She shoved her feet into flats and went back to the living room.

      Dylan sat where she’d left him. He stood as she came into the room. “Better?”

      “Much.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “You didn’t have to stay.”

      “I thought we could catch up. I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

      Simple words that genuinely confounded her. The obvious question was why? Why would he want to catch up? They hadn’t seen each other in forever, and aside from living on the island, they had nothing in common. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

      If only he wasn’t so tall, she thought, gesturing to the kitchen. Back in high school, Dylan had been what her mother had called dreamy. Now he was successful, polite, employed and still good-looking. The green eyes and strong jaw, not to mention broad shoulders, probably ensured he had a flock of available women at the ready. She wondered why he hadn’t married one of them.

      She paused in the middle of the kitchen. No way she was going to bother feeling ashamed of the worn linoleum or ancient cabinets. There had been enough humiliation for one day.

      “Wine?” she asked, heading for the small rack on the counter. She pulled out a bottle of red before he could reply. “Or I could make you coffee.”

      “Wine sounds good.”

      She collected the opener, but before she could do more than reach for the bottle, he was at her side.

      “Allow me.”

      Such a gentleman, she thought, not sure if she was impressed or annoyed. His mother must be so proud.

      He pulled out the cork with a lot less effort than she usually needed, then poured them each a glass. Nina had a brief thought that she should keep some kind of snacky thing around to offer guests. She had kept the leftover brownies, but she wasn’t about to share those. The wine would have to be enough.

      She led the way back to the living room and claimed a corner of the sofa. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her. Dylan took the chair opposite and raised his glass.

      “To old friends.”

      She raised her eyebrows. “I assume you mean that in the spirit of friends you haven’t seen in a while and not ‘old’ friends.”

      He grinned. “Exactly.” He took a sip of the wine. “Nice.”

      “Thanks.”

      “So how are things?”

      She thought briefly of Tanya and the inventory theft, of the leak in the roof and how she still had to call about getting her car towed. “Great.”

      “I heard your sister moved out of state.”

      “Averil lives in Mischief Bay. That’s in California, south of Santa Monica.”

      “Right. Is she in college?”

      Nina smiled. “She graduated a long time ago, Dylan. Averil’s married. She’s a writer for California Girl magazine.”

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