From the Heart

cheek.
    “Liv.” It was impossible to believe he could love her more at that moment than he had the moment before. Yet he did. Locking the oars, he drew her close to his side.
     
    It was late afternoon before they walked back into Liv’s apartment building. Each carried a paper sack filled with groceries.
    “I know how to roast a chicken,” Liv insisted, pushing thebutton for her floor. “You put it in the oven and turn it on for a couple of hours. Nothing to it.”
    “Please.” He gave her a pained look. “It might hear you.” He cradled the sack that held the chicken more protectively. “There’s an art to these things, Liv. Seasoning, timing, preparation. If a chicken’s going to give up its life for your consumption, the least you can do is have a little respect.”
    “I don’t think I like the tone of this conversation.” She glanced dubiously at his grocery bag. “Why don’t we just send out for pizza?”
    “I’m going to show you what a master can do with a two-pound roaster.” Thorpe waited until they had stepped out of the elevator. “And then I’m going to make love to you until Sunday morning.”
    “Oh.” Liv gave this a moment’s thought and struggled with a pleased smile. “Only till then?”
    “Until very late Sunday morning,” he added, stopping to kiss her before she could locate her keys. “Maybe,” he murmured against her mouth, “until very early Sunday afternoon.”
    “I’m beginning to appreciate the idea of this cooking lesson a bit more.”
    He let his lips wander to her ear. “I’m beginning to appreciate the idea of sending out for pizza. Later.” His mouth came back to hers. “Much, much later.”
    “Let’s go inside and take a vote.”
    “Mmm, I like your thinking.”
    “It’s the Washington influence,” she told him as she slipped her key into the lock. “There’s no issue that can’t be resolved with a vote.”
    “Tell that to the senators who are waiting for Donahue and his filibuster to run out of steam.”
    She laughed and turned the knob. “I’ll tell you something, Thorpe,” she said as she closed the door behind them. “I don’t want to think about senators or filibusters.” She shifted the bag in her arm so that she could bring her body close to his. “I don’t even want to think about that two-pound roaster you’re so crazy about.”
    “No?” His free arm came around her. “Why don’t you tell me what you do want to think about?”
    With a smile, she began to undo the buttons of his shirt. “Why don’t I show you instead? A good video reporter knows that action’s worth a thousand words.”
    He felt her cool, long fingers roam down his chest. He set down his bag, then took hers and let it lean against the closed door. “I’ve always said, Carmichael, you’re a hell of a reporter.” Her laugh was smothered against his mouth.
     
    It was late Sunday evening. Liv sat close to Thorpe on the sofa. The entire weekend, she thought, had been like a dream. She had shared with him more than she had ever intended to share with anyone. But then, he had come to mean more to her than she had intended to allow anyone to mean to her again.
    Last night, they’d laughed through the cooking and eating of dinner. It was so easy to laugh with him. So easy, when she was with him, to forget all the vows she had once made. He loved her. The knowledge still staggered her. This tough, relentless man loved her. He’d shown her gentleness and understanding—traits she had needed but had never thought to find in him. How different her life would have been if she had found him all those years ago.
    But no . . . Liv closed her eyes. That would be like wishing Joshua out of existence. She wouldn’t give up the memory of those brief years for anything. He’d been the focus of her world. Her child.
    Perhaps because her time with him had been concentrated into two short years, she could remember almost every detail of it. Loving like that was the greatest wonder a woman could know. And the greatest danger. She’d promised herself never to experience it again.
    Now there was Thorpe. What sort of life would she have with him? What sort would she have without him? Both of the questions, and their answers, frightened her.
    Already, she thought as her head stayed nestled on his shoulder, he’s gotten close enough to frighten me. I’m not certain I can turn back now . . . . I’m not certain I can go ahead. If things could go on just as