Making an effort to swallow, she returned the sendwich to the plate.

Tuna and tears were a rotten combination.

Chapter Three

Adam shoved the key into the back-door dead bolt lock with little enthusiasm for returning home.

He flicked on the kitchen light, crossed the Spanish-tiled floor and took a long swig from the plastic jug of springwater he kept on top of the refrigerator. Restless and moody, he headed to the living room, stood irresolute, then opened his front door and stepped onto the porch.

The early afternoon was cool and gray, with the sun content to play chorus to the clouds. Adam leaned against the porch rail, staring at the soft milky sky and at the strip of ocean he could see from his house. Spring could be the most romantic or the loneliest time of year at the beach. It all depended on your situation. Or your outlook.

At one time this rustic wooden porch had seemed like a lovers’ haven. And he’d been one of the lovers.

He crossed to the cushioned wooden swing that had been here as long as he could remember, since before his parents had bought the place. They’d made a number of changes over the years, but they’d kept the swing.

Running a finger along the heavy chain that suspended the wooden bench from the sturdy overhang, he gave it a push that sent it into motion, seating himself as the unit rocked gently.

Adam shook his head. Back in the days when his hormones had outrun his brain, he’d gotten a lot of use out of this old swing. Those teenage kissing marathons—conducted while his parents were out of the house—had been fun, but they weren’t the first, or the best, memory that flooded his mind when he sat on this porch and looked back…

“Celebrate with me, Adam!”

Delicate and blond, Annabelle held a bottle of pink champagne high in the air, a radiant triumphant smile spread across her face.

Adam took one look at her and thought, Yes, I’ll celebrate with you. Anytime, anyplace.

Annabelle stood below him, barefoot on his front lawn while he sat on the porch swing, listening to the squeaky chirp of the crickets.

He’d been out here for two hours, or maybe it was longer; he rarely wore a watch, and the mood he was in tended to make time blur.

Glancing at the dark sky, he saw that the moon was high and full.

“What are you doing out this late?” His voice was mellow, lazy, his smile for her, indulgent.

“Looking for someone to celebrate with.” He could see the sparkle of her eyes even in the dim illumination of the porch light. “Lia’s in bed already. She was exhausted.”

He grinned. “It went well,” he said. It was an affirmation, not a question. Adam knew she had been working like a dog to make her new business, Wedding Belles, a success. Annabelle had staged her first wedding tonight. He wished like hell he’d been there to lend a hand or just some moral support, but since his father’s last heart attack he had spent most of his time at his family’s dry-cleaning business.

Slowly, Annabelle shook her head. “No, it didn’t. It went great!” Laughing, she held the bottle of champagne aloft, like a smug Statue of Liberty. “I’m bursting with energy. I couldn’t sleep a wink if some-one hit me over the head.” She lowered the bottle. “I just had to tell someone, so I thought I’d see if you were in a festive mood.” He saw her squint doubtfully and watched her enthusiasm falter a bit. “Are you?”

“Am I?” he repeated softly. “What? In a festive mood?”

She nodded.

Adam almost sighed.

Festive? No, he wasn’t that. But sitting alone on his porch, brooding about the future, certainly wasn’t helping.

The smile he gave her was wry and lopsided, a bit like his mood. He nodded toward the fat bottle she held by the neck. “Did you bring glasses?”

Annabelle’s smile dropped so quickly her expression was almost comical. “I forgot. And I have plenty. I ordered way too many of them. I can run back home—”

“No.” Now that she was here, now that he’d decided to let her into his night, Adam didn’t want to let her go. She was spirit and life. She was exactly what he needed.

Annabelle. They’d grown closer than ever over the year since her parents’ death. Sometimes he thought their friendship was the only thing keeping him sane right now. Most of their contemporaries were still in college or still partying. Adam wasn’t interested in college or a frenetic social life, but he had dreams, dreams that would never be realized working twelve to fourteen hours a day in a damned dry cleaners.

His grandfather had started the business and his father had made it bigger. They owned two stores now and had plans to open a third—if Adam would straighten up and cooperate. Three generations of dry cleaners. It was his father’s dream—and Adam’s nightmare.

With Annabelle, he could relax, talk about his interests without feeling judged or foolish. It felt good, too, to return the favor, giving her a shoulder to cry on when she needed it. Yeah, he was damned grateful for their friendship, so he’d celebrate with her tonight even though he wasn’t in a celebratory mood, and he’d mean every toast, because if anybody deserved happiness, it was Annabelle.

“Come on up here.” He indicated the space next to him on the cushioned bench.

With a curve of lips that was almost shy, Annabelle padded up the steps and onto the painted wooden porch. The sheer flowered skirt of her sundress flirted with her calves as she moved.

Adam was sitting toward the middle of the swing. He could have slid over when she started to sit down, he should have slid over—but he didn’t.

Her thigh brushed his as she sat.

“What’re we going to drink out of?” Annabelle’s dulcet voice was lilting and sweet. It became a part of the night music.

Plucking the bottle from her slender fingers, he smiled. She had what he thought of as tea-drinker’s fingers, delicate and ladylike, the kind of fingers that would look just right looped through the handle of a bone-china cup.

He wondered if her hands were cool. If their touch would soothe a fever or ignite one.

The thought came swiftly and without warning, surprising him.

Lowering his head, he applied himself to the task of removing the foil wrap that covered the cork. Annabelle was an attractive woman, but she was his friend, not a date. Her parents had been kind to him. It had made him feel good, even honorable through the years to think he was returning the favor by watching out for their daughter’s welfare. So far in his life, honor had not been one of his strong suits.

Not so for Annabelle. He’d never met anyone more loving or committed. She had come home from college to care for her sister with a devotion that awed and impressed and sometimes almost shamed him. He could not acquiesce as unresistingly to his own family’s needs. He’d graduated from high school five years ago, had been working with his father full-time—overtime—ever since, and lately he felt like he was suffocating.

Uncoiling the wire secured around the champagne cork, he pointed the bottle away from them, placed both thumbs under the plastic top and pressed. A nice echoing thwup accompanied the popping of the cork. The bubbles whispered seductively.

Turning to the lovely young woman at his side, he took a moment to breathe in the clean flowery scent of her. Raising the bottle, he offered a toast.

“To your success, Annabelle. No one deserves it more than you.”

Her eyes locked with his. Her lips were slightly parted, and Adam found he could not pull his gaze away from their softness.

Raising the champagne to formally complete his tribute, he took a long slow swallow.