Homeport

tell us how she was. I thought about that and what I might have done differently to make it work between us. The answer is nothing.”
    He let out a short laugh, running his hands up and down her arms. “Nothing. It used to be realizing that made me feel like a failure. Now it just makes me understand the marriage failed. I didn’t, she didn’t. It did.”
    Almost absently, he bent to kiss the top of her head. “I waited until I was sure she was going to be all right, then I came here because I had to tell you.”
    “I know that, Andrew.” In support, and with mild impatience, she patted his arm. “The bacon’s going to burn.”
    “I haven’t finished telling you. I haven’t started to tell you.”
    “Tell me what?”
    “My name is Andrew, and I’m an alcoholic.” He seemed to quiver once, then steady. “I’ve been sober for thirty days. I’m going to be sober for thirty-one. I sat in the hospital tonight and I thought about drinking. It just didn’t seem to be the answer. Then I thought about you. You’re the answer. I love you.”
    Her eyes went damp, but she shook her head. “I’m not your answer, Andrew. I can’t be.” She pulled away, started to turn the bacon, but he reached over and snapped off the flame.
    “I love you.” He cupped his hands over her face to hold her still. “Part of me always has. The rest of me had to grow up enough to see it. I know what I feel and I know what I want. If you don’t have those same feelings for me, and don’t want what I want, then you tell me. You tell me straight. It’s not going to send me out looking for a bottle. But I need to know.”
    “What do you want me to say?” She rapped one frustrated fist against his chest. “You’re a Ph.D. I’m GED. You’re Andrew Jones of the Maine Joneses, and I’m Annie McLean from nowhere.” She put her hands over his, but couldn’t quite make herself draw his away from her face. “I run a bar, you run the Institute. Get a grip on yourself, Andrew.”
    “I’m not interested in your snobbery right now.”
    “Snobbery?” Her voice cracked with insult. “For God’s sake—”
    “You didn’t answer my question.” He tugged until she was on her toes. “What do you feel for me, and what do you want?”
    “I’m in love with you, and I want a miracle.”
    His smile spread slowly, dimples deep in his cheeks. She was quivering under his hands, and his world had just gone rock steady. “I don’t know if it’ll qualify as a miracle. But I’ll do my best.” He picked her up.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Taking you to bed.”
    Panic fluttered in her throat and curled all the way down to her toes. “I didn’t say I’d go to bed with you.”
    “You didn’t say you wouldn’t. I’m taking a big chance here.”
    She grabbed the doorjamb and clung for dear life. “Really? Is that so?”
    “Damn right. You may not like my moves this time around. If not, you’ll probably turn me down when I ask you to marry me.”
    Her fingers went limp as wax and slid off the wood. “You—you could ask me now and save yourself the suspense.”
    “No.” His eyes on hers, he laid her on the bed. “After. After, Annie,” he murmured, and sank into her.
    It was coming home, it was finding treasure. It was simple, and it was extraordinary.
    They weren’t innocent this time, weren’t fumbling children, eager and curious. And all the years between then and now had given what was between them time to ripen.
    Now was like decanting wine of a fine vintage.
    Her arms came around him. He was so gentle, so careful, so gloriously thorough. His big hands smoothed over her, tracing her throat, her shoulders, paving the way for his lips.
    He murmured to her, wonderful foolishness, as he stripped out of his jacket, let her help him out of his shirt. Then his flesh cruised along hers and made them both sigh.
    Dawn was breaking in the rosy red light that heralded storms. But there in the narrow bed was peace and patience. Each touch, each taste was taken, was given with quiet joy.
    Even when she trembled, when the need began to build to an ache inside her, she smiled and brought his mouth to hers again.
    He took his time, stroking her body to life, his own pacing it. And the first time she crested, arching up and up with a moan of delight, he rolled with her for the sheer joy of it.
    He traced kisses down her back, over her shoulder blades, down to her hips, then shifted her over to nuzzle at her breasts. Her hands