For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.*
Robert Burns
CHAPTER I
The snow is falling at a slow, but steady, pace as Athos pilots his Subaru Outback along Route 93. He is hoping the weather will cooperate long enough for them to get to the cabin before dark. The odds are against them. Their flight had arrived two hours late, and the traffic leaving Boston Logan had been a nightmare.
"I've missed this." Anne smiles at him, then leans her forehead against the window, watching the snow-covered evergreen trees whiz by.
"What? Watching me eat Chik-Fil-A?" He grins, and takes a bite out of his grilled chicken sandwich.
She laughs. "No, silly. I mean this." She waves her hand at the satellite radio, and the map spread open on her lap. "Miles Davis jazz—and your insistence on going old school with a map instead of using satellite navigation."
"We'll be fine as long as you keep your hand off the radio dial," he murmurs, giving her a teasing look.
Her eyes sparkles, and she dives for the control. A moment later, harpsichord music is sailing through the vehicle. The jarring notes are cut off abruptly, and her head swivels to meet his eyes.
His voice is smug. "Never mess with someone who has the steering wheel in hand. Ultimate control is just fingertips away."
"Too bad you don't have the same power over me," she says, slanting a look at him from under her long lashes.
His hands grip the steering wheel just a little harder, but he keeps his voice level. "Is that what you think?"
"I don't think, I know." Her voice practically vibrates with confidence.
"We'll see about that." His own tone shades into the lower register, and when he glances at her, she feels as if his magnetic blue eyes are undressing her.
"Maybe—" Anne pauses, and swallows. "Maybe we should just find a cozy bed and breakfast and stop for the night. I mean, the weather is so unpredictable right now-and it will be dark soon."
"If you want me, all you have to do is say so." He gazes straight ahead, but the grin on his face says it all. The ball is in your court.
Anne grits her teeth. Damn him!
She tosses her hair over her shoulder, trying to seem nonchalant. "Please! I think you're just a tad overconfident."
"Really? Fancy a wager?"
"What sort of wager?" she inquires cautiously.
His voice warms. "I bet you that if we take the exit for the next B&B-and I pull over and kiss you for a full sixty seconds—"
"Tongue or no tongue?" she counters.
"Either."
She thinks about it for an instant, then prods him to continue. "Okay. Go on—"
"I bet that you will refuse to go on further, and will beg me to book a room for the night."
Her mouth goes dry at the thought of being in his arms within thirty minutes, rather than three hours. "Done."
He smirks.
"Stop that!"
"Stop what?" he asks innocently.
"Stop acting like you know you're going to win!"
There is a moment of silence.
"So—" he drawls, glancing at her, "- how should I act?"
She waves her hand impatiently. "Nervous—like you're not sure of the outcome."
His eyes flick to hers again. "But what if I am sure of it?"
She makes a face at him. "I always said you would make a terrible actor. Prove me wrong."
Thirty minutes later, they check in to the Inn at Green Meadow Farm, and Anne can barely keep her hands off of him.
"You need to calm down," he murmurs, but grins nevertheless when she slips her arms around her waist.
"Honeymoon?"
Athos looks up at the middle-aged woman behind the reception desk, and tries to ignore the fact that Anne is untucking his flannel shirt from the waistband of his jeans. "A second honeymoon—of sorts." As she slips her hands under his shirt, slowly trailing her nails up his back, he inhales sharply.
The clerk smiles knowingly. "It's okay. We get a lot of newly married couples here." She leans over the desk, and lowers her voice confidentially. "The walls are well soundproofed, so no worries!"
"We will get rose petals on the bed, won't we?" asks Athos, forcing himself to keep a straight face.
"Of course!" she exclaims. "Just give me five minutes." Coming out from behind the desk, she nods towards the small refrigerator in the corner. "The last honeymoon couple had a spat and left thirty minutes after they arrived. They left a bottle of Dom Perignon, so have at it."
Anne detaches herself just long enough to retrieve the bottle of champagne from the refrigerator, then grabs his hand. "Come on! Let's get the luggage!"
An amused look crosses his face. "Didn't you hear her? She needed five minutes. Whatever happened to delayed gratification?"
She hooks her thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans, and draws him to her. "Athos, we lost five years. Five years over something—" Anne tries to continue, but words fail her. She bites her lip, looking away.
"Hey, don't cry on me." Athos' voice is soft as he wraps his arms around her. He feels so solid, so—right—that she can barely stand it. "Look at me." The words are commanding, but there is an almost indescribable note in his voice that is pure, simple yearning.
When he uses that tone with her, she cannot help but comply. Her green eyes lift to his face, and he pauses, then lowers his voice to a whisper. "I never stopped loving you-never." His blue eyes are so magnetic, and his words so soothing—so reassuring—that she begins to cry in earnest.
She doesn't think it possible, but he draws her even closer, then bends to kiss her. As his lips meet hers, and his heart beats against her chest, she cannot help but think it.
I'm home.
*Modern English translation.
For times gone by, my dear
For times gone by,
We will take a cup of kindness yet
For times gone by.