A smile played about Amanda’s mouth. “I suspect she would. She likes you a lot.”
“Seriously,” he continued, “I would like to have a family. I don’t know if I want to stay here at Buckley forever, but my first four years have been fine. I need to finish the Pyle manuscript and find a publisher for it. Maybe I’ll be so sick of writing something that long that I’ll go back to newspaper work. I have to admit I haven’t quite figured out what I want to do when I grow up, unlike you. Perhaps we could collaborate—maybe on some magazine articles. I’d like to break into that market with something from my Pyle research.”
She nodded. “I’d be happy to help.”
He gazed at the golden flecks in her brown eyes, their color reflecting the light from the candles near the window.Did she get it, that he was really talking about her when he’d said he’d like to marry someone like Cece? Was he ready to be a parent—to Cecelia? Did Amanda think him husband material, father material? His heart sped up thinking about that. He hardly knew her, yet he felt as though she was the woman he’d been waiting for all his life. And Cecelia. That sweet child would be the icing on that particular family cake, if only …
Amanda glanced back at him. “My life plan may seem set. It could change. And from the scuttlebutt I hear, you’re coming up for tenure in a year. You got that half-year sabbatical after only three years out. I didn’t think that was possible.”
“My chair likes that I’ve made inroads with the local newspaper. And, I’ve placed some pieces in regional rags, too. He knew if he didn’t give me time off I might leave, so I was able to twist his arm.”
“That’s not what I heard. Are you still planning to put together a writer’s workshop this summer? Scott was talking about that the other day.”
“I’d like to, but I need an English professor to help me. It won’t draw enough participants if it appeals only to journalists. Would you like to do it, be my co-teacher of the course? You’ve already had non-fiction pieces published. I know people will want to hear how you broke in, and while still in grad school.”
“It wasn’t that hard. Many of my articles were offshoots of my dissertation. A writer’s workshop would be fun, though, and a challenge. I’ve always wanted to lead one. Let me give it serious thought.”
He took a last sip of his coffee and put down the cup.“Good. With your talent, I know you’d be an asset. Come on, let’s walk outside.”
He paid the bill and they turned away from the parking lot and wandered toward the docks against which the boats bumped in the soft, onshore breeze.
“Scott told me you were in the military. The Army?” she asked.
When Amanda’s hand bumped his, he took advantage and grasped it.
He nodded. “I did my stint right after high school. I was lucky. They made me a clerk when they found out I could type and write, and I never had to go overseas. My service was in D.C. The biggest danger I faced was listening to blow-hard politicians who said one thing and voted something else. The GI benefits helped me when I got out. That, and working for some newspapers, got me through grad school.”
The mention of grad school triggered a spontaneous flashback to Felicity. He still remembered their last dinner. He’d had the ring in his pocket and was preparing to get down on one knee to ask her when her old boyfriend appeared at their table, pulled her into his arms, and she had laughingly introduced him.
“Max, this is Marc. Tell me what to do. Should I stay here and let Marc propose, or go back with you to Texas?” Her hands had reached up and brushed the big Marine’s buzz cut as her mouth sought his in a kiss that sizzled with desire—for Max, not him. Marcus still felt burned by it, burned that she’d never kissed him like that.
The ring never left his pocket that night. Instead, he’d walked for hours before going back to his apartment, certain his life was over, certain he would never get over the hurt of her cavalier dismissal of him and what he thought they had. How could he have been so wrong, thinking she loved him as much as he loved her? He had vowed never to commit to a woman again. Not until he knew, for sure, that the woman he loved also loved him and wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Maybe that was what was wrong with what he’d had with Felicity. He had told her how he felt, what he wanted, not caring that she never reciprocated. He’d assumed she felt the same way he did. Where had he gone wrong—by jumping into bed with her because she was so happy to do so? He remembered telling Mike he didn’t think he’d ever find someone who would love him like their mom had loved their dad, or like Evie loved Mike. His brother had assured him it would happen, but he wasn’t so sure. The woman he’d met in D.C. certainly hadn’t, but then the mutual attraction wasn’t there, either. Not like now, not like what he was feeling with Amanda, like what he’d felt when she sat with him at his house and they rode out the storm together.