The Prodigal Valentine. Karen Templeton

sway over the moment, lending an Oh, yeah, okay feeling to the whole thing that made her feel almost…comfortable. If it hadn’t been for that sexual hum business.

      Which led to a second question: If yesterday—shoot, this morning—she’d been totally over him, what had happened since then to change that?

      Digging the coffee out of the fridge, she glanced over, noticed him looking around. Then those eyes swung back to hers, calling a whole bunch of memories out of retirement, and she thought, Oh. Right.

      “Cool tree,” he said.

      Grateful for the distraction, Mercy allowed a fond smile for the vintage silver aluminum number she’d found at a garage sale. Some of the “needles” had cracked off, but with all the hot pink marabou garland, it was barely noticeable. Well, that, and the several dozen bejeweled angels, miniature shoe ornaments and crosses vying for space amongst the feathers. This was one seriously tarted up Christmas tree, and Mercy adored it. “That’s Annabelle. You should see her at night when I’ve got the color wheel going. She’s something else.”

      Ben shook his head, laughing softly, and yet more memories reported for duty. Including several that fearlessly headed straight for the hot zones.

      “I just met Mattie and Jake,” he said.

      Whew. “Yeah? Aren’t they great? That Mattie’s a pistol, isn’t she?”

      “She is that.” He sounded a little awestruck. “Took to me right away.”

      “Don’t take it personally, the child doesn’t know the meaning of ‘stranger.’ A second’s glance in her direction and you’re doomed. Drives my sister nuts.”

      “She wouldn’t…Mattie knows better than to go off with someone she doesn’t know, I hope.”

      “With Anita for her mother? What do you think?”

      Ben’s shoulders seemed to relax a little after that, before he said, “I can’t believe you’re still here. In this house, I mean.”

      A shrug preceded, “Why not? It’s home.” She spooned coffee into the basket; took her three tries to ram it home. “It’s just me, I don’t need a huge house. And the landlord gives me a good deal on the rent.”

      “You’ve made some changes, though.”

      “Not really,” she said, wondering why she was flushing. “Oh, yeah, those lamps by the sofa are new—Hobby Lobby specials, half off. And I did paint, about three years ago. During my faux-finishing phase. That lacquered finish was a bitch, let me tell you.”

      “Huh.” He paused. “The walls are certainly…red.”

      “Yeah, I almost went with orange, but thought it would be a bit much with the sofa.”

      “Good point.” Another pause. “Never saw a sofa the color of antifreeze before.”

      “Do I detect a hint of derision in that comment?”

      Ben’s mouth twitched again. “Not at all. But the walls…your father must’ve nearly had a coronary.”

      “To put it mildly. Until I pointed out that since I’ll have to be blasted out of here, painting over the walls is moot.”

      He chuckled, then asked, “How are your folks?”

      “Fine,” she said, even though what she really wanted to do was scream Stop looking at me like that! “Dad’s finally retired, driving Ma nuts. Her arthritis has been acting up more these past couple of years, which is why I have to help her take down her decorations.”

      “She still turn the place into the North Pole?”

      “You have no idea. And every year she buys more stuff. For the grandbabies, she says.”

      “How many are there?”

      “Twelve. Although Rosie’s pregnant with her fourth. A fact my mother never tires of shoving down my throat. That I’m the only one without kids. Oh, and a husband.”

      His expression softened. “Guess there’s no accounting for some men’s stupidity.”

      Uh…

      Mercy spun back to the gurgling coffeemaker. “No matter. What can I say, that ship has sailed.”

      After a silence thick enough to slice and serve with butter and jam, Ben said, “So what are you up to these days?”

      The coffeemaker finally spit out its last drop; Mercy pulled a pair of mugs down from a cabinet, filled them both with the steaming brew. She handed him his coffee, then retreated to lean against the far counter, huddling her own mug to her chest. “Actually, I finally got my business degree, opened a children’s gently used clothing store with two of my classmates, about six or seven years ago. Except it grew, so now we carry some furniture and educational toys, too.”

      He held aloft his mug in a silent toast. “And you’re doing well?”

      “Fingers crossed, so far, so good. We were even able to hire an assistant last summer. A damn good thing since both of my partners have babies now. Had to find a larger place, too. One of those old Victorians near Old Town? Your father’s company did the remodel, actually.”

      “No kidding? I’ll have to drop by, check it out.”

      “You, in a kid’s store?”

      “Why not? Hey, I’ve got a niece and nephew to spoil. Especially…” His eyes lowered, he thumbed the rim of his cup, then looked back up at her. “Especially since I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

      “And whose fault is that?”

      “You know, you could at least pretend to be diplomatic.”

      “I could. But why? And since we’re on the subject…so what exactly have you been doing for the past ten years?”

      His eyes narrowed, a move that instantly provoked a tiny Hmm in the dimly lit recesses of her mind. “This and that,” he finally said. “Going where the work was.”

      “Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

      He looked at her steadily for a long moment, then said quietly, “I didn’t vanish without a trace, Merce. My family’s always known where I was, that I was okay. And I’m here now, aren’t I?”

      “But why, is the question? And don’t give me some song-and-dance about your father needing you. Because I’m not buying it.”

      Ben leaned back on the bar stool, gently drumming his fingers on the counter, as he seemed to be contemplating how much to tell her. “Let’s just say events provided a much needed kick in the butt and let it go at that.”

      “A kick in the butt to do what?”

      One side of his mouth kicked up. “Thought I said to let it go?”

      “Not gonna happen. So?”

      He slid off the stool, moseying out into the living room and picking up a family photo of her youngest sister Olivia and her family, including four little boys under the age of nine. “I needed some time to…reassess a few things, that’s all.” He set the photo back down and turned to her, his hand in his back pocket, and something in his eyes made her stomach drop.

      “Ben…? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

      “You always could see through me, Merce,” he said softly, a rueful grin tugging at that wonderful, wonderful mouth. “Even when we were kids. But this isn’t about something happening nearly as much as…well, I find myself wondering a lot these days how I got to be thirty-five with still no idea how I fit in the grand scheme of things.”

      Yep, she knew that feeling. All too well. Only, up until a few minutes ago, she could have sworn she’d left that “Who the hell am I?” phase of her life far behind her. Apparently, she’d been wrong.