instant Laurel took her seat at their dinner table. But even at eighteen, Cooper could see Hudson didn’t want Laurel Babcock the way he’d wanted Alexandra Wright; he could see how infrequently his brother’s hands strayed toward Laurel, hands that had sought out Alexandra like vines.
The years had been kind to her. She was still beautiful, maybe more so, her body more lush with age, her confidence firmly settled. But there was no question she wasn’t the same carefree young woman he remembered, the one who’d dared Hudson to meet her on the roof to watch the fireworks that one Fourth of July. She’d become guarded, careful. And yet, looking upon her today in the great room, Cooper had felt a startling rush of compassion and desire, as fierce as the one he’d felt sitting with her in his father’s Porsche that August night.
Truthfully that night had been the first tear in his relationship with Hudson. He was so angry that his older brother could have dismissed her so cruelly, so disgusted that Hudson could have led her along when he’d never had any intention of marrying her. Cooper had overheard the discussions between his father and Hudson in the weeks before, the details of Hudson’s proposal to Laurel Babcock planned out as strategically as a company merger. Alexandra had been blindsided.
How the confessions had poured out of her that night. Cooper had tried to capture every word, as if he’d known he might be the guardian of her sorrow for a very long time. There were pieces of that night in novels he’d written—pieces of her too.
Yet for all the intimacy of that one evening, as clear and fixed as it was in
his
memory, she’d not shown an ounce of recognition—or discomfort—in his company today. She’d looked at him with a pleasant detachment.
No, Cooper thought with a rueful smile, if she did remember the kiss he’d boldly—and badly—delivered, it bore little significance to her.
He turned toward the window, reaching back to lace his hands under his head. What would Hudson think to know he’d seen Alexandra again? Would he care? Probably not. Cooper couldn’t understand then—and still didn’t—how his older brother could turn off feelings like a gas range, twist from a rolling boil to a simmer, then out entirely.
“You’re too honest, for one thing,” Hudson had informed him when Cooper was sixteen. “You don’t have it in you to be smooth, and frankly you have to be if you want to make the most of it.” When Cooper had pressed Hudson for an explanation of what “it” was, his older brother had grinned broadly and said only, “You’ll see.” In time, Cooper had.
There had been many women he’d wanted over the years, but few he’d wanted with that deep, youthful hunger, that reckless breed of lust that could drive him around a track at full speed. Alexandra Wright had been one of those few. Now she was here. And so was he.
Almost asleep, Cooper heard the crash of a door. He bolted upright and fished around in the dark for his shorts, tugging them on as he began down the hall.
Vandals, he thought. Probably just town kids messing around. He should have figured. All the summers they’d come back to find the remnants of winter visitors, local teenagers so crazed from cabin fever that they’d stormed the house, camping out on the porch, or the bolder ones finding their way in through a second-floor window, only to be evicted when the caretaker came around for his weekly checkups on the property. Small as Harrisport was, there was no way everyone in town had caught the news of his return.
He was grateful for the rush of air against his sticky skin as he walked down the corridor to the stairs, in no hurry and feeling no fear. He could have called the police, could have even picked up his smart phone just in case, but he didn’t see the point. This was how he knew he was old, he thought as he marched easily down the steps; he was more concerned about the kids he’d find
The years had been kind to her. She was still beautiful, maybe more so, her body more lush with age, her confidence firmly settled. But there was no question she wasn’t the same carefree young woman he remembered, the one who’d dared Hudson to meet her on the roof to watch the fireworks that one Fourth of July. She’d become guarded, careful. And yet, looking upon her today in the great room, Cooper had felt a startling rush of compassion and desire, as fierce as the one he’d felt sitting with her in his father’s Porsche that August night.
Truthfully that night had been the first tear in his relationship with Hudson. He was so angry that his older brother could have dismissed her so cruelly, so disgusted that Hudson could have led her along when he’d never had any intention of marrying her. Cooper had overheard the discussions between his father and Hudson in the weeks before, the details of Hudson’s proposal to Laurel Babcock planned out as strategically as a company merger. Alexandra had been blindsided.
How the confessions had poured out of her that night. Cooper had tried to capture every word, as if he’d known he might be the guardian of her sorrow for a very long time. There were pieces of that night in novels he’d written—pieces of her too.
Yet for all the intimacy of that one evening, as clear and fixed as it was in
his
memory, she’d not shown an ounce of recognition—or discomfort—in his company today. She’d looked at him with a pleasant detachment.
No, Cooper thought with a rueful smile, if she did remember the kiss he’d boldly—and badly—delivered, it bore little significance to her.
He turned toward the window, reaching back to lace his hands under his head. What would Hudson think to know he’d seen Alexandra again? Would he care? Probably not. Cooper couldn’t understand then—and still didn’t—how his older brother could turn off feelings like a gas range, twist from a rolling boil to a simmer, then out entirely.
“You’re too honest, for one thing,” Hudson had informed him when Cooper was sixteen. “You don’t have it in you to be smooth, and frankly you have to be if you want to make the most of it.” When Cooper had pressed Hudson for an explanation of what “it” was, his older brother had grinned broadly and said only, “You’ll see.” In time, Cooper had.
There had been many women he’d wanted over the years, but few he’d wanted with that deep, youthful hunger, that reckless breed of lust that could drive him around a track at full speed. Alexandra Wright had been one of those few. Now she was here. And so was he.
Almost asleep, Cooper heard the crash of a door. He bolted upright and fished around in the dark for his shorts, tugging them on as he began down the hall.
Vandals, he thought. Probably just town kids messing around. He should have figured. All the summers they’d come back to find the remnants of winter visitors, local teenagers so crazed from cabin fever that they’d stormed the house, camping out on the porch, or the bolder ones finding their way in through a second-floor window, only to be evicted when the caretaker came around for his weekly checkups on the property. Small as Harrisport was, there was no way everyone in town had caught the news of his return.
He was grateful for the rush of air against his sticky skin as he walked down the corridor to the stairs, in no hurry and feeling no fear. He could have called the police, could have even picked up his smart phone just in case, but he didn’t see the point. This was how he knew he was old, he thought as he marched easily down the steps; he was more concerned about the kids he’d find
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