Unfinished Business: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down

“Well, hello there.” She ruffled his ears. “Where did you come from?”

“From two blocks down, at a dead run.” Panting, Brady walked out of the shadows. “I made the mistake of taking him to the office today. When I went to put him in the car, he decided to take a hike.” He paused in front of the glider. “Are you going to punch me again, or can I sit down?”

Vanessa continued to pet the dog. “I probably won’t hit you again.”

“That’ll have to do.” He dropped down on the glider and stretched out his legs. The dog immediately tried to climb in his lap. “Don’t try to make up,” Brady said, pushing the dog off again.

“He’s a pretty dog.”

“Don’t flatter him. He’s already got an inflated ego.”

“They say people and their pets develop similarities,” she commented. “What’s his name?”

“Kong. He was the biggest in his litter.” Hearing his name, Kong barked twice, then raced off to chase the shadows. “I spoiled him when he was a puppy, and now I’m paying the price.” Spreading his arms over the back of the glider, he let his fingers toy with the ends of her hair. “Joanie tells me you drove out to the farm today.”

“Yes.” Vanessa knocked his hand away. “She looks wonderful. And so happy.”

“She is happy.” Undaunted, he picked up her hand to play with her fingers. It was an old, familiar gesture. “You got to meet our godchild.”

“Yes.” Vanessa tugged her hand free. “Lara’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah.” He went back to her hair. “She looks like me.”

The laugh came too quickly to stop. “You’re still conceited. And will you keep your hands off me?”

“I never was able to.” He sighed, but shifted away an inch. “We used to sit here a lot, remember?”

“I remember.”

“I think the first time I kissed you, we were sitting here, just like this.”

“No.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“You’re right.” As he knew very well. “The first time was up at the park. You came to watch me shoot baskets.”

She brushed casually at the knee of her slacks. “I just happened to be walking through.”

“You came because I used to shoot without a shirt and you wanted to see my sweaty chest.”

She laughed again, because it was absolutely true. She turned to look at him in the shadowy light. He was smiling, relaxed. He’d always been able to relax, she remembered. And he’d always been able to make her laugh.

“It—meaning your sweaty chest—wasn’t such a big deal.”

“I’ve filled out some,” he said easily. “And I still shoot hoops.” This time she didn’t seem to notice when he stroked her hair. “I remember that day. It was at the end of the summer, before my senior year. In three months you’d gone from being that pesty little Sexton kid to Sexy Sexton with a yard of the most incredible chestnut hair, and these great-looking legs you used to show off in teeny little shorts. You were such a brat. And you made my mouth water.”

“You were always looking at Julie Newton.”

“No, I was pretending to look at Julie Newton while I looked at you. Then you just happened to stroll by the court that day. You’d been to Lester’s Store, because you had a bottle of soda. Grape soda.”

She lifted a brow. “That’s quite a memory you’ve got.”

“Hey, these are the turning points in our lives. You said, ‘Hi, Brady. You look awful hot. Want a sip?’” He grinned again. “I almost took a bite out of my basketball. Then you flirted with me.”

“I did not.”

“You batted your eyes.”

She struggled with a giggle. “I’ve never batted my eyes.”

“You batted them then.” He sighed at the memory. “It was great.”

“As I remember it, you were showing off, doing layups and hook shots or whatever. Macho stuff. Then you grabbed me.”

“I remember grabbing. You liked it.”

“You smelled like a gym locker.”

“I guess I did. It was still my most memorable first kiss.”

And hers, Vanessa thought. She hadn’t realized she was leaning back against his shoulder and smiling. “We were so young. Everything was so intense, and so uncomplicated.”

“Some things don’t have to be complicated.” But sitting there with her head feeling just right on his shoulder, he wasn’t so sure. “Friends?”

“I guess.”

“I haven’t had a chance to ask you how long you’re staying.”

“I haven’t had a chance to decide.”

“Your schedule must be packed.”

“I’ve taken a few months.” She moved restlessly. “I may go to Paris for a few weeks.”

He picked up her hand again, turning it over. Her hands had always fascinated him. Those long, tapering fingers, the baby-smooth palms, the short, practical nails. She wore no rings. He had given her one once—spent the money he’d earned mowing grass all summer on a gold ring with an incredibly small emerald. She’d kissed him senseless when he’d given it to her, and she’d sworn never to take it off.

Childhood promises were carelessly broken by adults. It was foolish to wish he could see it on her finger again.

“You know, I managed to see you play at Carnegie Hall a couple of years ago. It was overwhelming. You were overwhelming.” He surprised them both by bringing her fingers to his lips. Then hastily dropped them. “I’d hoped to see you while we were both in New York, but I guess you were busy.”

The jolt from her fingertips was still vibrating in her toes. “If you had called, I’d have managed it.”

“I did call.” His eyes remained on hers, searching, even as he shrugged it off. “It was then I fully realized how big you’d become. I never got past the first line of defense.”

“I’m sorry. Really.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“No, I would have liked to have seen you. Sometimes the people around me are too protective.”