Confessions from the Quilting Circle Read online

  “It’s the damn cigarettes.”

  “It’s you, dammit,” she shot back. “This town.”

  “I didn’t do anything to you. You said you wanted to go to my place, you did. You wanted to stop, we did.”

  She looked at him, his face covered with dark stubble, his jaw so perfectly formed and beautiful. And she had to be honest with herself, that maybe it had been easy to keep herself from getting involved with other men because no one had ever seemed quite so exceptional to her. Maybe the problem was her sexuality had imprinted on Josh Anderson a long time ago, and no matter how much she might wish it were otherwise, no matter how much she could find a guy who was close enough, and handsome or amusing, he just wasn’t him. And the other night had been...

  It had been intense in a way she hadn’t been prepared for.

  Isn’t that always the problem with him?

  And do you really think that you deserve it?

  Think about everything he doesn’t know about you...

  “I thought... I thought we could just have some fun, okay? But you and I weren’t fun when we were seventeen,” Hannah said. “When we were all earnest and crazy and could only see things in terms of breaking up or staying together forever.”

  The space between his eyebrows crinkled. “What are the other options?”

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “Well, I guess there aren’t any.”

  “So you were just thinking we’d hook up and...that’s it. We’d hook up. Get off and go on our way?”

  “Yes,” she said, the word was lodged in her throat like a cement block. “You’re a single, attractive man in his thirties. A booty call shouldn’t be a foreign concept to you.”

  “I don’t do that. I don’t hook up casually, and you know...it pisses me off that I was willing to do it for you, Hannah.”

  That made her feel angry and small, and she didn’t like it. “I don’t believe you.”

  “If I meet someone, and I’m interested, I have a relationship. I’m not averse to commitment. I just haven’t met the right person to keep me in it.” He shrugged. “But I don’t go into it thinking it will be temporary.”

  “You don’t? Well, you’re a lot less jaded than I am.”

  And she felt bitter about that. Really, quite bitter. Because her heart felt hard like obsidian and so much of it was related to what had happened between the two of them. To the way they had broken up. And he... He still believed in love? In the potential for forever?

  Wow. You really are a horrendous bitch. You like the idea that you ruined him.

  But maybe you just ruined yourself.

  She wasn’t ruined. She was first chair for the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and maybe not principal chair.

  If it isn’t everything, it’s nothing.

  “You don’t believe in forever?” he asked.

  “I told you,” she said. “I’m committed to my music. I wouldn’t ask anyone to try to compete with that.”

  “I don’t know, Hannah. I... I’m in awe of that. I’m in awe of you, a little bit. Because I never had dreams that were much bigger than this place. I’m happy here. I have a piece of land that I’m happy to work. I have my family. I’ve always believed that I would find somebody, fall in love, have some kids. That feels like something to me. I know it never did to you.”

  “It isn’t that it’s nothing. I just don’t think that you can have both. I don’t think that you could be exceptional and ordinary at the same time.”

  He nodded slowly. “Right. Because you always thought that was ordinary. I just never thought we were. I really thought we were something else.”

  Special.

  The word whispered through her like a curse this time.

  He shook his head. “I wish... I wish there was something to make it go away. Because let me tell you something, Hannah Ashwood, I am damn sick of wanting you.” He rounded that bar, and nothing was between her and his anger, his height, his broad male body that was harder, and even more beautiful than it had been at seventeen.

  He took a step toward her, so that they were only a breath apart. “I’m sick to death of it. But I’m weak. I’m weak as hell. Because I wanted you all this time you were gone, and you’re here now. I still want you so much.”

  It was the rawness in his voice that caught her. It made it impossible for her to be cynical and she hated that. She wanted to make a joke. She wanted to push him away.

  She couldn’t.

  She could have cried. With how much she wanted him. Not just because she was attracted to him, though there was that. But because he was...him. Solid and real and right there. A link to a past she hadn’t wanted. But now it just made her...

  Everything was such a mess. Gram was gone and Avery’s life had crumbled.

  Hannah hadn’t gotten the position she’d spent her whole life sacrificing for.

  Josh Anderson was the one thing in her life she’d let distract her.

  She wanted that distraction now. But it scared her.

  That was the problem. Sex with other men was something easy.

  A touch from him never could be.

  This didn’t feel simple at all. Or fun. Or like embracing nostalgia. And she felt like he was asking her for something that there was no way in hell she could give.

  But she couldn’t resist taking a step closer.

  She could feel his breath against her lips. She put her hand on his chest and could feel his heart raging there, a furious beat that matched her own.

  “Hannah...”

  She stretched up on her toes and kissed him.

  The storm that brewed between them burst into thunder and lightning and every sharp, painful thing she told herself she would never want ever again. But she let the past burn away, and she let the future go right along with it.

  He was here right now. He was kissing her right now. And he might be angry, and he might have every right to be. Right now she would just take it as passion. All the passion that she could feel coming from him. The hope that he still had inside of him that she didn’t have anymore.

  She just wanted to take it. Just for a little bit.

  And it would never be anything else. It never could be.

  Because Avery wasn’t the only keeper of secrets. But some were better left untold. Because it was too late to do anything to make it better.

  Because he wanted her now, and if he knew the truth, he would never want to touch her again.

  He pressed her back against the kitchen wall, hard muscle pinning her there. She opened her eyes and the expression she saw on his face took her breath away.

  She could see him, sixteen years ago. When she’d told him all the reasons they couldn’t be together.

  You’re not good enough for me.

  She closed her eyes again and kissed him harder. Deeper. Trying to blot out the memories. Erase the past with the present.

  I’m special.

  Her own words, so sharp and horrible, cut through years and desire like a knife.

  Just because you’re happy with your sad little life, doesn’t mean that I will be.

  She pushed her fingers through his hair, arched her body against his. His hand moved down her back to cup her rear end.

  You’re holding me back.

  She pushed away from the wall, and he held her, kept them both from falling.

  “Upstairs,” she whispered against his mouth.

  He grabbed her hands, pinned them down at her sides. “Are you sure? Because I already told you who I am. How I do things. And how I don’t.”

  “Please,” she said, her chest tight, her throat throttled with so many emotions it was all she could do to force the word out.

  He picked her up. Like she weighed nothing. Like all her problems and baggage weighed nothing. She took a breath but it turned into a sob.
But he didn’t ask what was wrong and she was so grateful for that.

  They went to her room and he shut the door hard behind them, peeling his T-shirt up over his head. His body was familiar and totally new all at once. The years had brought a blessed maturity to his chest and stomach that sent a kick of arousal through her.

  He was perfect.

  She felt clumsy as she tried to take her own clothes off, but his movements were decisive as he stripped her bare, his lips firm against hers. His hands were rough in a way they hadn’t been sixteen years earlier. Changed by labor and time.

  She moved her own hands down his chest and wondered if he could feel her calluses. If he’d always been able to. The rough edges of her fingers from years of building up defenses against her strings.

  It was who they were. The roughness on their hands.

  He kissed her neck, her shoulder. She shivered. He’d always made her shake, but this was more. Better. He was better.

  And he knew her body. They were different now and years had passed but he knew where to touch her and how. He was more confident now. There was no hesitation.

  This was why she’d run.

  Because this was something perfect that she’d never experienced before. This rush of new exciting sensation with an intimacy that lingered, even though before that night three days ago it had been years since he’d touched her, kissed her.

  He kissed a path down to her breast, down farther still, pushing her back on the bed and spreading her out for him like a feast.

  And then she couldn’t think. Not anymore.

  Not with his lips and tongue creating wicked music that echoed inside her like magic.

  She had the strangest urge to cry.

  Music. What a funny way to think of pleasure, but it was like that.

  Music he made for her, rather than music she had to create for the world. It was effortless and wonderful and it made her feel like she was flying.

  She was gasping for breath when he moved up her body and captured her mouth again. When he surged inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut and held on to his shoulders. Whispered against his neck. Begging for more. Afraid she couldn’t possibly handle more.

  This was more than a wave of pleasure. Than the crash of an orgasm. It was that and more. Deep.

  Everything she had been right to fear.

  And want.

  And need.

  And when he held her afterward, a word, deep and quiet echoed inside of her.

  Special.

  22

  The baby came last night. She’s so small she terrifies me. I look at her and my heart feels bruised. I thought I might have a son. A son could bear more shame surrounding his birth. But not a little girl. The world is unspeakably cruel to women. Men die in war. We die in our hometowns, crushed to death by expectations we could not meet.

  Dot’s diary, December 1944

  Lark

  Lark had made some new flower crowns, but angrily. She was finding it hard to concentrate on... Anything, since she had full on made out with Ben the night before. She was sitting on the purple chaise in the living area by the kitchen, when she heard the front door open. She heard the thunderous footsteps of her niece and nephew, followed by the less thunderous footsteps of her sister. And then, the clear sound of boots, which was her other sister.

  “Hi,” Lark shouted, not quite able to keep the irritation from her tone.

  “Hi, Aunt Lark,” the kids chorused.

  “Hi. Did you go viral today? Or whatever it is the kids are aiming to do these days.”

  “No,” Peyton said, looking vaguely appalled.

  Hayden grinned. “You know, if we could film a clip of you dancing, it might do it.”

  “I’m gonna pass on that. Thankfully, when I was your age, all humiliation stayed between the pages of our diaries.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Peyton asked.

  “I worry for your generation,” she called as her niece disappeared into the kitchen.

  Hayden waved, and then went up the stairs. Hannah and Avery appeared in the door a moment later. Avery was wearing an open, pink hoodie, a T-shirt and leggings. Hannah in black on black on black, her red hair a beacon.

  “How was your day?”

  “Fabulous. I met with a lawyer.” Avery did not look like she thought it was anything like fabulous. “Division of assets is not sexy.”

  “Good,” Hannah said. “Make the separation from that illegal.”

  “It just sucks. The whole thing sucks.”

  “Yeah, that’s why we need a wine and attic party after dinner,” Lark said.

  “Which kind of wine is that?” Hannah asked.

  “Any kind. Whine. Wine. Red. White.”

  About an hour later, they ate a very nice chicken dinner with the kids, who then went up to do their homework, and that meant that the sisters could go upstairs.

  Lark had brought her bag with her, filled with some of her various craft things, and the swatch book that she was still perusing, looking for her fabric piece.

  And just then, with all that was going on, Lark didn’t have the ability to hold in what had happened with Ben. Not now.

  “Okay, let’s talk about everything that’s terrible. I’ll go first. I made out with Ben Thompson.”

  She kept thinking about that moment. And about the realization she’d had that she lost the bravery that had once enabled her to do things like that.

  She wanted him, and couldn’t have him, because of him, and it was a circle that she kept on going in.

  “You did what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Isn’t he married?” Hannah asked.

  Avery lifted a finger. “No. Divorced. She left him.”

  “No kidding,” Hannah said. “That’s actually pretty shocking.”

  “Right?” Lark asked. “They were like this golden couple. Meant to be.” She poured herself a generous glass of wine. “So meant to be, mind you, that I never... I mean I didn’t... I didn’t tell him I was in love with him.”

  “You were in love with him?” Avery asked.

  Hannah snorted. “That was obvious.”

  “How was it obvious?” Lark asked.

  “I read your diary. That did make it obvious. Because you wrote that you were.”

  “Hannah! You are terrible.”

  “You left it open. It’s not my fault.”

  “I thought you were only interested in the violin.”

  “Mostly. But I did enjoy tormenting you.”

  Lark digested that for a moment. “But you never said anything about that. I mean, you never teased me.”

  “Because you were fifteen, and he was dating Keira, and actually that just seemed too mean. So I never read your diary again, and I never looked at it, and I didn’t make fun of you. Because at that point I knew what it felt like to have my heart broken.”

  “Josh...”

  “I know I broke up with him. But it hurt and it’s complicated. But, the sex with him now is amazing.”

  “I knew you were having sex with him.”

  “We’re not that subtle. Do you honestly think he’s patching holes in the wall at ten o’clock at night in my room? More like making more.”

  “And what are you going to do about it? I mean... Are you actually going to...”

  “I have a life in Boston. I have a career. It’s no more practical for me to give it up now than it was then. So no. And he knows that.” But her sister suddenly looked sad.

  “Enough sex talk,” Avery said, pulling a face. “It’s not fair.”

  “I didn’t have sex with Ben,” Lark said. “I kissed him.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re going to sleep with him,” Hannah said prosaically.

  Lark’s whole body tensed up as excitement and fear poure
d through her in equal measure. “You don’t know that.”

  “I pretty much do,” Hannah said.

  “Stop it, you don’t know.”

  “I do. Because you’re not twelve, you are thirty-four. And you made out with him. You don’t just make out to make out when you’re thirty-four.”

  “Maybe I do. You don’t know my life. Maybe I like a little sensuality. Maybe I don’t need for it to be all about... You know.”

  “Not even I believe that,” Avery said.

  Hannah took another sip of wine. Lark did the same. Avery had gone through three quarters of her glass without Lark even realizing.

  “Why wouldn’t you sleep with him?” Hannah asked.

  “Because last time I ended up devastated.”

  “Last time?”

  “Yeah.” The wine was working through her system, making her both reckless and decisive. “You want to hear virginity stories. Since I had to hear about your vine tryst, let me tell you mine. Ben broke up with Keira for five seconds. I went to his house to watch a movie, and we had sex. Then, he got back together with her.”

  “Oh my gosh,” Avery said. “That’s why you didn’t come back for the wedding.”

  “Yes,” Lark said. “It was... Horrible. Humiliating.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Hannah asked.

  “Why would I?”

  “Because you... Never kept secrets.” Avery shook her head. “I didn’t think you were capable of it. You were always sounding off about every little feeling you had.”

  “I wasn’t. I kept plenty of things to myself, thank you very much. Including the fact that I was terminally in love with him.”

  “It was literally the only thing in your diary I didn’t already know,” Hannah said. “You didn’t keep that many secrets.”

  “You just... You don’t know everything about me.”

  “Well, clearly not everything,” Avery said. “But plenty. I mean, let’s take the quilt for example. You haven’t even chosen the swatch yet. You roped us into doing this, and you’re working on everything but the quilt. It’s classically you.”

  “What does that mean? You keep saying things like that. You make all these proclamations about my life, and I don’t even know what any of it means.”