Free Splinters of Light by Rachael Herron Page A

he’d touched her.
    “Where’s Ellie?”
    “Volleyball.” Suzanne Carpenter had volunteered to drive the girls. Harrison knew as well as Nora did that Ellie wouldn’t be home for another two hours.
    But he just sat on the barstool, watching her with those dark eyes of his, taking the glass of wine from her as if they’d never been naked together, as if they’d never tasted the inside of each other’s mouths.
    “Whatcha doing?” he asked, pointing. “I mean, besides cleaning.”
    “Oh.” Nora sat next to him and restacked the brochures, closing her notebook on what she’d been jotting down for Ellie. “Colleges. I ordered a bunch of their catalogs.”
    He pulled the stack toward him. “Berkeley.”
    Paul’s alma mater. “Yep.”
    “Has he called her recently?”
    It was kind of Harrison to ask, but of course Paul hadn’t. “No.”
    Another catalog. “U of Mississippi?”
    “Random. She heard something about it. I can’t remember what.”
    “Huh,” said Harrison. “UCLA. Portland. Dallas?”
    “Another random one. Smith College is still her first choice. I don’t know what she’s thinking with the others.”
    “You always know what she’s thinking.”
    If Harrison were Ellie’s father, he would have a say in the college decision. He’d have an opinion and a right to share it. Nora knew he had an opinion, and like always, he’d keep it to himself until he was asked. “I don’t,” she said. “Not anymore. Not for a while now.”
    “Why are you doing this for her? She can’t order these for herself?”
    “She’s overwhelmed, I can tell.” Nora took the Cal booklet out of his hands. “I
want
to do this. I’m helping.”
    Harrison nodded.
    “I am,” she said again.
    In a normal voice, as if he were answering a question she’d asked, Harrison said, “I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.”
    The muscles in her thighs, the ones that would have to hold her if she stood now, warmed and weakened. “Tea tree oil,” she said.
    Harrison nodded. “Whatever you say. Open your card.”
    “That’s what I forgot. In the cleaning paste.” Her voice shook. As well as having to tell Mariana and Ellie, she would have to tell him. If the second opinion came in with the same diagnosis—the wrong one—she’d have to tell him. She could imagine his face when she did. That was the problem.
    “As much as I adore you, I sure as hell don’t care what you forgot in the cleaning paste. Open the card, would you?”
    She carefully slit the envelope with the paper scissors as he sighed in impatience. The outside of the card was a large, red-foiled broken heart, jagged and torn. Inside, the heart was in one piece, sewn together with actual red thread.
You mend me.
So close, almost word for word, to the card she got him.
    Harrison had seen it, of course, and he stood, reaching behind her to take it off the windowsill. He was so close to her she could feel his shirt brush her upper arm. One rip and the envelope was open.
You melt me.
    He didn’t move his feet, just ducked his head so that he could kiss her, hard. He tasted like popcorn and cinnamon. Stubble scraped Nora’s chin, and she wanted him to kiss her harder.
    But she pulled her head back. She didn’t remember reaching forward, but her fingers were clutching the front of his shirt. “I . . . What about Penny?” Harrison’s latest was an ex–Hare Krishna who drove a red convertible Mustang.
    “Over.”
    “Oh.” He hadn’t told her that.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked.
    She didn’t let go of his shirt. “This—we don’t do this.” When he’d asked her in the past why she didn’t date more, she’d told him she was too busy, her life too full to give her heart to anyone but her daughter. She’d thought it was the truth, but now . . .faced with the fear that ripped through her at the feel of his shirt. Maybe she’d just been a coward. Harrison would nod and say that’s why it was easy to date women who didn’t know