Page 114 of Already Home

He was still talking when she hung up.

The phone slipped from her hands. It took her a second torealize it was because she was shaking. Coldness seeped into every cell and shewas afraid she was going to throw up.

“I was thinking we’d rent FunnyGirl for this afternoon,” Beth said as she walked into Violet’s room.“I love that movie, but I can’t get Marshall to watch it with me. Are you—” Bethfroze. “Violet, what happened?”

She looked up, sure that the fear was written on her face.“Cliff called. He wants to see me again.”

* * *

Ellington arrived right on time, which was good becausehis instruction not to cook made her antsy.

She had gotten home at six-twenty, had changed her clothes bysix-thirty and then had little to do but pace. Normally she would have been inthe kitchen, whipping up a snack. Even as she tried to sort through her thoughtsand figure out what she wanted to say, she found herself yearning to be slicingsomething or mixing or blending.

She pulled the door open as soon as the doorbell rang.

“I don’t hide behind my cooking,” she said by way of greeting.“It relaxes me and, like you said, giving someone food is a way ofnurturing.”

He stepped into her town house, looking tall and handsome, butshe refused to be swayed by a gorgeous pair of blue eyes.

“Usually,” he agreed. “But sometimes, you use cooking to putdistance between yourself and others. There are the physical barriers—a counter,a bowl, even a knife—and the emotional ones. Your attention is always dividedbetween what you’re cooking and the person you’re with. If you’re cooking, youalways have an escape.”

She blinked at him. Talk about insightful, not to mentionannoying.

“I assume drinks are acceptable,” she grumbled, deciding shewould simply ignore his point. “I opened a bottle of wine. Would you likesome?”

He surprised her by reaching out and putting his hands on herwaist. When he drew her close, she found herself stepping into his embrace, thenclosing her eyes in anticipation of his kiss.

His warm mouth gently teased hers. She wrapped her arms aroundhis neck and parted her lips. His tongue brushed against hers, sending sparksdancing down her spine.

As quickly as the kiss had begun, it was over. He steppedback.

“I would like a glass of wine. Thank you.”

She eyed him. “Are you playing with me?”

“I was showing you I wasn’t mad.”

“You couldn’t just say that?”

“Would that have been better than the kiss?”

She considered the question. “Probably not.”

“Good.”

She poured them each a glass of Syrah. They settled on oppositeends of the sofa, angled toward each other.

“I don’t suppose you would go first,” she said.

“You’re the one who called the meeting.”

“That’s true.” She sighed. “I guess the problem is my husbandwas always telling me what was wrong with me. He told me how I should feel andat the end of the marriage, he tried to undermine my creativity. And I lethim.”

Ellington watched her without speaking.

“Aaron was so different from me,” she continued. “Outgoing,charming. Everyone wanted to be around him. He could make any event into aparty. I liked that about him and he seemed to like me. We dated and then movedin together. I wanted more. I wanted what my parents have.”

She looked at him. “Both sets of parents. A long, happymarriage. I wanted to find ‘the one’ early on, fall in love and live happilyever after. Once I fell in love with Aaron, I needed him to make my dreams cometrue.”

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