Free In From the Cold by Meg Adams Page B

college, but she thought she could fix him, or wait him out, or something.” He shrugged, then looked over his shoulder, back toward Sharon, now sprawled on the sofa, one arm slung over eyes.
    Had that been my problem, I wondered? Had I recognized Jim’s flaws, but thought I could fix him? Had I been in denial all along, more mad at myself than at him?
    Drake didn’t look at Sharon like he condemned her. He seemed sad and resigned, as if he recognized her problems, but knew she was helpless to change herself.
    “You care about her.”
    His eyes returned to me, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess.” He sighed. “Miles was my oldest buddy, but he’s selfish and totally thoughtless. He hurt a lot of people, Sharon the most because she stood too close, too long. She’s obviously fried.” He closed his eyes. “It’s hard to just walk away when you’ve known them so long.”
    A loud snore rent the air. Sharon lay asleep, her mouth wide open.
    He shook his head, as if his brain needed clearing like an eight ball, then rubbed his hands up and down my arms. My nerves purred from his soothing touch. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    I nodded and then yawned, a huge lion’s roar of a yawn, almost as loud as Sharon’s snore.
    “Sorry.” I grinned ruefully. “Tired, though.”
    “Yeah? Imagine that.” He grinned, then gave me a kiss on the forehead. It was simple and sweet, friendly. “Go to bed. You’ve had a long day.”
    I nodded, happy to comply. I returned to the sofa and draped the fleece throw over Sharon, and then we walked together down the hall. I opened my bedroom door, but then I heard him stop.
    “Claire?” His face was obscured, but his voice sincere.
    “Yes?”
    “Thanks for the talk. I needed that.” Then he walked into his bedroom and shut the door.
    I felt lighter somehow, as if sharing my pain had broken its hold on me. Sharon was a wake-up call. Were men and booze her version of my sleep and withdrawal? Could Drake keep me out of that awful hole I’d dug for myself?
    “Thanks for the talk. I needed that,” he’d said.
    Yeah, me too.
    The next morning dawned clear and cold, with no sign of Sharon. She must have dragged herself to bed later that night, but I didn’t have time to dwell on her. The girls had me up at dawn and by the time Drake joined me, I was already tired and frantic for something to occupy them. He scooped Suzie up to his chest, kissed her loudly, then scooped up Yvette and did the same. She looked startled at first, then wonder flitted across her face. When he put her down, she reached her hand up to where he’d kissed her, as if branded with happiness. A smile flickered, stayed for a second or two, then died away. I knew exactly how she felt. The wonder, the happiness, then the reality again. We both knew how fleeting happiness could be. Poor Yvette. Poor me.
    I smelled him before I registered that Drake had come up to me, all flannel shirt and jeans and muscles. His outdoorsy scent of balsam and smoke had me leaning into him. His eyes sparkled with devilment.
    “What do you think, girls? Does Miss Claire need a kiss this morning too?”
    The girls giggled and started to chant. “Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.”
    I put my coffee down and edged away. “I don’t…”
    He stalked toward me, intent on his prey. “Oh, but you do.”
    He grabbed me around the waist, then pulled me up to his chest until I was face level. He stilled and waited, giving me a chance to decide. I smiled, gave him a peck on the cheek, then looked at his face. Something shifted in his eyes, and before I could even breathe, his lips were on mine. I could feel the smile on his lips, taste his toothpaste. He moved slowly, deliberately. One hand came up and held my neck, gently, but forbidding any retreat. And I didn’t want to. If anything, I was starved.
    Something had changed last night, my panic gone, and now, in his arms, some inner switch flipped. I followed the heat in his lips and