Past Sins. Debra Webb
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barely had time to manage dinner on a regular basis.
Olivia glanced at her watch. Just past 1800 hours.
Her teeth clenched as she cursed and amended her assessment—6:00 p.m. was what she’d meant.
The tiny gold heart and delicate matching chain lying against her throat abruptly felt like a rock pressing down on her. She would not think about the past.
She took the turn up Mount Olympus, scarcely letting off the accelerator. The oleander and casa blanca lilies and tropical hibiscus were in full bloom. The colorful displays in pots and flower beds were eye-catching and filled the breeze with their sweet smells. She wished she knew all their names. She’d never been much of a gardener. Now that she had the time and place for it, she felt aeons behind on what she should know—what everyone but her appeared to know. Her neighbors gave the impression of having been born with green thumbs.
Maybe she’d get the hang of domesticity eventually. Meanwhile she’d enjoy the other benefits of being a “regular” civilian.
Summer in California, in particular, was nice. Very nice. She’d grown to love it here. Her love for the place had prompted a sort of nesting instinct—at least, the closest thing she’d ever experienced to one.
Braking hard, she took the turn into her narrow drive. A smile spread across her face at the sight of hummingbirds floating away from her bougainvillea. Thankfully the previous owner had cultivated a thriving landscape that required little know-how. All she had to do was remember to do the watering and occasionally pluck a few weeds.
Jeffrey’s practical Saturn was already parked in the drive. She hoped he’d started dinner. That was one of the perks to having a live-in relationship. You didn’t have to do all the cooking or cleaning.
She and Jeffrey had been living together for six whole months, dating for nine. A record for her. The realization still startled her. It was her first long-term commitment of that sort. He wasn’t the love of her life, but she enjoyed his company and the sex was quite adequate.
Memory attempted once more to intrude at that juncture but she kicked it back. She definitely wasn’t going there. Now or ever.
Once the convertible top was locked into place, she slid out of the seat and headed inside. The pleasant smell of her favorite white-wine sauce filled her nostrils the moment she stepped through the front door. Linguini and chicken, a staple of Jeffrey’s culinary repertoire, would be on the menu. In addition to the pleasant aroma, classical music greeted her, the elegant notes playing softly in the background and making her feel immediately more relaxed.
“I’m home!” She almost laughed at the cheesy way she sounded. If she’d only tacked on the “honey” she would have been a living, breathing cliché. Olivia Mills had never been accused of being a stock quotient. Had that changed in the past three years along with everything else about her life? Evidently so. But there were definitely worse things. A lot worse.
“In here!” accompanied a rise in the tempo of the brass, strings and ivory keys.
Her stomach rumbling, she followed the smell into the kitchen. Hesitating at the door, she watched Jeffrey, engrossed in the preparation of a rich green salad. He paused in his work to dump the linguini into boiling water then turned back to slice fresh tomatoes into thin slivers just the way she liked them. He had very nice hands. Long, artist fingers. But the thing she liked best about him was his infinite patience and unconditional trust.
Two things she’d never been able to master herself. Her patience had never been that noteworthy, unless she was billing by the hour. And trust, well, she’d never trusted anyone. Still didn’t…but she tried. Jeffrey made her want to try.
“Rough day?” he asked without looking up.
“Not so bad.”
He would ask her about lunch next.
“Did you have lunch with Liz?”
“She had to cancel.” Liz was a colleague with whom she lunched once or twice each month. They were about the same age, both single. The other woman was pleasant but, to be brutally honest, they had nothing in common other than profession. Still, socializing within the profession was expected. Fitting in dictated certain behaviors on her part.
With her and Jeffrey it was basically the same conversation every night. How was your day? Anything interesting happen at lunch? The only variable was whether she got home first to start dinner. Comfortable. Easy.
A trickle of trepidation seeped into her veins, making her pulse rate increase and reminding her that complacency was a weakness. Weakness was dangerous. All afternoon she’d been experiencing these sensations that alternated between urgency and hesitancy. Strange.
“Too bad. I understand she had some gossip to pass along,” Jeffrey said, tugging her full attention back to him. He glanced at her and smiled that familiar, charming smile that had drawn her to him in the first place. “Wine?”
She nodded and he stopped his salad preparations long enough to pour her a stemmed glass of chardonnay.
Annoyed that she couldn’t stay focused tonight, she moved to the island and accepted the drink. “Gossip?” she asked, feigning interest. Her heart rate’s refusal to drop back to a normal level frustrated her further.
Jeffrey placed the glass in her hand. “She’s leaving her position at Whitworth Clinic.”
Olivia made the expected sound of disbelief. “What brought that on?” She listened as Jeffrey launched into the explanation that Liz’s significant other had no doubt passed along to him. In Olivia’s experience, men did a lot more talking about secrets than women did. She found this apparently common phenomenon among the civilian population amusing—or maybe it was just that her life before had been so vastly different. Whatever the case, there were times when she actually managed to feel intrigued by the juicy gossip floating about their social circle.
For some reason, today just wasn’t one of those days. Today she had to pretend. It had been so long since she’d had to do that….
“What about you?” she asked when he’d completed his dissertation on the subject of their mutual friend’s abrupt decision to move to a rival clinic. “Anything interesting happen in the world of research today?”
Dr. Jeffrey Scott was employed by one of the country’s foremost pharmaceutical research corporations. Though the corporation was strictly private—no government affiliations whatsoever—what he did deep within the bowels of that facility was top secret. That was the part of their relationship that she related to the most readily.
He shrugged. “Nothing notable.”
She hummed a note of acknowledgment and sipped her wine. “I think I’ll change.”
He reached for the next vegetable in need of slicing. “Ten minutes. Don’t be late.”
She produced a smile and turned away from the domestic scene.
This was her life. Comfortable. Easy. But there were times, like now, when she felt out of place. As if she didn’t really belong here in this house…with this man. She downed a gulp of wine in hopes of bolstering the facade of happiness she’d worked so hard to veneer into place over the past three years.
“Don’t think about it,” she scolded softly as she tossed her purse onto the table in the hall. Allowing a patient’s session to prompt this much anxiety was not her usual response. She was stronger than this.
The journey through her home was taken slowly. She surveyed every detail as if for the first time. Anything to get her mind off these ridiculous feelings of apprehension.
She had updated the house immediately after moving in. Gutted the place, actually. Sparing no expense, she had wanted a relaxing yet sophisticated living space. The interior decorator she’d hired had taken great pains with the decor and the furnishings had accomplished that goal. Using things and everyday decisions to fill the emptiness in her life had worked as an excellent distraction