Used-To-Be Lovers. Linda Lael Miller

      1

      Trying hard to concentrate on her work, Sharon Morelli squinted as she placed a wispy chiffon peignoir exactly one inch from the next garment on the rack. This was a standard antiboredom procedure reserved for days when almost no customers wandered into her lingerie shop, Teddy Bares. She was so absorbed in the task that she jumped when two dark brown eyes looked at her over the bar and a deep voice said, “Business must be slow.”

      Sharon put one hand to her pounding heart, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out again. Clearly, Tony hadn’t lost his gift for catching her at a disadvantage, despite the fact that their divorce had been final for months. “Business is just fine,” she snapped, hurrying behind the counter and trying to look busy with a stack of old receipts that had already been checked, rechecked and entered into the ledgers.

      Without looking up she was aware that Tony had followed her, that he was standing very close. She also knew he was wearing battered jeans and a blue cambric work shirt open halfway down his chest, though she would never have admitted noticing such details.

      “Sharon,” he said, with the same quiet authority that made him so effective as the head of a thriving construction company and as a father to their two children.

      She made herself meet his gaze, her hazel eyes linking with his brown ones, and jutted out her chin a little way. “What?” she snapped, feeling defensive. It was her turn to live in the house with Briana and Matt, and she would fight for that right if Tony had any ideas to the contrary.

      He rolled his expressive eyes and folded his arms. “Relax,” he said, and suddenly the shop seemed too small to contain his blatant masculinity. “We’ve got a project a couple of miles from here, so I stopped by to tell you that Matt is grounded for the week and Briana’s with Mama—the orthodontist tightened her braces yesterday and her teeth are sore.”

      Sharon sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. She’d worked hard at overcoming her resentment toward Tony’s mother, but there were times when it snuck up on her. Like now. Damn, even after all this time it hurt that Briana was Carmen’s child and not her own.

      Beautiful, perfect Carmen, much mourned by the senior Mrs. Morelli. Eleven years after her tragic death in an automobile accident, Carmen was still a regular topic of lament in Tony’s extended family.

      To Sharon’s surprise, a strong, sun-browned hand reached out to cup her chin. “Hey,” Tony said in a gentle undertone, “what did I say?”

      It was a reasonable question, but Sharon couldn’t answer. Not without looking and feeling like a complete fool. She turned from his touch and tried to compose herself to face him again. If there was one thing she didn’t want to deal with, it was Maria Morelli’s polite disapproval. “I’d appreciate it if you’d pick Bri up and bring her by the house after you’re through work for the day,” she said in a small voice.

      Tony’s hesitation was eloquent. He didn’t understand Sharon’s reluctance to spend any more time than absolutely necessary with his mother, and he never had. “All right,” he finally conceded with a raspy sigh, and when Sharon looked around he was gone.

      She missed him sorely.

      It was with relief that Sharon closed the shop four hours later. After putting down the top on her yellow roadster, she drove out of the mall parking lot. There were precious few days of summer left; it was time to take the kids on the annual shopping safari in search of school clothes.

      Sharon drew in a deep breath of fresh air and felt better. She passed by shops with quaint facades, a couple of restaurants, a combination drugstore and post office. Port Webster, nestled on Washington’s Puget Sound, was a small, picturesque place, and it was growing steadily.

      On the way to the house she and Tony had designed and planned to share forever, she went by a harborful of boats with colorful sails bobbing on the blue water, but she didn’t notice the view.

      Her mind was on the craziness of their situation. She really hated moving back and forth between her apartment and that splendid Tudor structure on Tamarack Drive, but the divorce mediators had suggested the plan as a way of giving the children a measure of emotional security. Therefore, she lived in the house three days out of each week for one month, four days the next, alternating with Tony.

      Sharon suspected that the arrangement made everyone else feel just as disjointed and confused as she did, though no one had confessed to that. It was