LITMIR.BIZ

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like a callow jerk still smarting from a long-ago rejection.

      Which he wasn’t. He’d gotten past that a long time ago.

      Yeah? Then prove it. See if you can’t locate a little of the Irish charm Clarice and Caroline and Angelina and the rest of your dates are always prattling on about.

      He drew Colleen slightly closer. Ignoring the treacherous leap of his pulse, he swung her around and reversed direction as they reached the edge of the dance floor. “So what about you?” he inquired, doing his best to sound mildly curious and nothing more. “Did you get your teaching degree?” Given her chic little haircut and stylish suit, it was easy to imagine her teaching French or Nineteenth-Century Romantic Poets to a giggly group of teenage girls at some posh private school.

      Some of the tension left her body. “Yes, I did.”

      “So what are you doing these days?”

      “I run a counseling program for gifted but at-risk kids at Jefferson High.”

      He missed a step. “You what?” Surely he hadn’t heard her right.

      Her voice held a totally unexpected hint of wryness. “Don’t look so horrified.”

      “I’m not. Just…surprised.” That was putting it mildly. Jefferson was his alma mater, a tough school in an even tougher neighborhood. Given Colleen’s privileged, sheltered, parochial-school background, he would’ve thought she was joking if not for the calm, steady way she was gazing up at him. “When did you start?” Even if she was being serious, surely this had to be something recent, some sort of fleeting, poor-little-rich-girl scheme to help the needy and downtrodden.

      “This is my third year.”

      For a moment he was so stunned he couldn’t think what to say. “And your family—your parents—are all right with it?” he finally managed. He simply couldn’t imagine the fashionable Moira Barone allowing such a thing.

      Colleen gave a slight shrug. “They’re not wild about it. But then, they were so over-wrought when I decided to leave the order that they consider my subsequent errors in judgment these last three years minor in comparison.”

      Her voice was so matter-of-fact it took a moment for her words to sink in. “You left… What order? What the hell are you talking about?”

      All solemn blue eyes, she looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I just assumed you knew.”

      “Knew what?”

      “After we broke up…and after college, I joined the Sisters of Charity. For seven years I was a nun.”

      Two

      “Hey, lady.” The cabbie turned to give Colleen a quick, questioning glance over his shoulder, then twisted back around to peer through the windshield at the street ahead. “You sure you gave me the right address?”

      Jarred from her thoughts, she contemplated the back of the man’s balding head and told herself to focus. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

      He snorted with disbelief. “You’re kiddin’, right?” He lifted a hand off the wheel and gestured at the surrounding area. “Take a look around. In case you haven’t noticed, this ain’t exactly Beacon Hill.”

      She dutifully turned her head although she already knew what she’d find outside. With each block they passed, the sidewalks grew narrower, the store signs less refined, the building facades dingier. More and more steel and iron grills secured by chains and padlocks protected businesses; more upper-story windows were barred.

      Wryly she conceded the cabbie had a point; the area didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to either Beacon Hill or the upscale neighborhood where Nick and Gail’s wedding reception had just been held.

      Yet as she noted the eclectic mix of people on the street, some standing and chatting, some coming and going from various bars, cafés and delis, some clearly intent on getting somewhere else, she felt a distinct fondness for the area. It might not be squeaky clean nor even particularly attractive, but it was very much alive, with no pretensions. It was also home.

      “You’re right. It’s not Beacon Hill. But we are in the right place. My street is the third one after the next light. When you reach it, go right, and my building is a few blocks down, just past a small park.”

      The man parted his lips as if to make yet another disapproving observation, then seemed to think better of it. He shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

      Colleen swallowed a smile, suspecting his sudden lack of opinion had more to do with the sizable tip he’d been promised by her father than a sudden appreciation of the neighborhood. Carlo Barone had not only insisted on calling her a cab, but had told the driver he’d get an extra twenty if he saw her to her door. Then, ignoring her protests, he’d pressed a wad of bills into her palm as he’d handed her into the back seat, given her a tender kiss on the cheek and told her to take care of herself and “not be such a stranger.”

      Dear Papa. They’d always had a special bond, no doubt in part because she’d been the only girl among the four boys in the family until she’d been five and Gina had arrived. Even so, it had been a distinct shock when she’d eventually come to realize that her decision to join the Sisters of Charity had sprung not from a true vocation on her part, but from a desire to fulfill her father’s long-held dream for her and, to a lesser extent, to please her mother.

      And? prompted the gentle voice of her conscience.

      She shifted on the vinyl-covered seat. Ever since she’d admitted to herself—and God—that she wasn’t meant to be a nun, she’d vowed she’d always be honest with Him and herself, no matter how difficult or humbling.

      So quit avoiding the other reason you knew you weren’t meant to stay in the order. Admit that despite the passage of time, you never completely quit having feelings for Gavin. That for all these years, a part of you has continued to long for him—the sound of his voice, the scent of his skin, the warmth of his touch…his presence in your life.

      The shudder of pleasure she hadn’t allowed herself at the time swept through her now as she recalled how it had felt to be held in his arms on the dance floor tonight. She squeezed her eyes shut, thanking the Almighty for lending her the strength to appear composed, to keep the conversation light, to not make a fool of herself and blurt out to Gavin that she’d never stopped missing him.

      She also thanked God for helping her keep her chin up when, moments after telling Gavin she’d spent most of the past decade as a nun, he’d fled. Or close enough. Conveniently for him, the music had ended a few seconds after her revelation. Murmuring an uninflected, “I see,” he’d glanced at his watch and grimaced. “I’m sorry to be abrupt, but there’s a phone call I need to make.” He’d looked up, flashing her a duplicate of the polite, impersonal smile with which he’d first greeted her. “It’s been nice seeing you, Colleen. Thanks for the dance.” Then he’d turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone on the dance floor.

      “Jeez, lady, is that what you mean by a park?”

      The cabbie’s incredulous question put a merciful end to Colleen’s recollections. She snapped her eyes open, grasping at the chance to concentrate on the present, even though she knew she was only postponing the inevitable. Like it or not, she was going to have to deal with the caldron of feelings her encounter with Gavin had stirred up.

      But not yet. “Pardon me?”

      “I said, is that the park you were talking about?” He waved at the dark patch of ground that stretched between the lighted brownstones like a dark gap between a row of pearly teeth.

      “Yes, it is.”

      “Huh.” He met her gaze in the rearview mirror as he slowed the taxi and pulled to the curb. “Where I live, we’d call that a vacant lot.”

      She did her best to look serene. “Everyone is entitled to his opinion.” Besides, she hadn’t a doubt

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