At times over the past weeks, Mel had been lonely, scared, unsure, but she had pushed through as she'd discovered the strength and determination to do what had seemed impossible at first. With Pam's help, as she brought the warmth of another human and a dog into the empty house, and Danny's, as he worked alongside her or sent support through texts and calls. But now, work on the inn didn't have to be all-consuming. It didn't have to keep her away from people, from her new community. She couldn't use it as an excuse to avoid new relationships any longer. The intense loneliness she felt while surrounded by happy people, by people in love, was threatening to drown her. She could either give in and live miserable and alone-with only her imagination to keep her company-or she could get to work and rebuild her personal life. Just like she had rebuilt the inn.

"Hey." Mel turned away from the window at the sound of Pam's voice. She walked to the center of the studio and turned slowly.

"You've done a great job in here. It's beautiful."

"Thank you," Mel said. She was only happy to see Pam because she was feeling lonely and ambivalent about her role as innkeeper.

And because Pam was the only familiar face around. Her response to Pam was in no way related to the sleepless night Mel had spent listening for the sound of Pam moving around in the room next to hers. Or to her fantasies about Pam touching her, soothing her anxiety about the day ahead, calming her mingled hope and fear as she shifted focus from renovating the inn to creating the life she really wanted.

She had imagined Pam's hands on her, refusing to let her slip into darkness, forcing her to move through her emotions until they burst forth into something new and hopeful.

"Sorry I left so early this morning, but I needed to spend a couple of hours in the gallery today. Inventory."

"That's okay," Mel said. She was sure Pam had left to avoid eating breakfast with a table full of strangers. She still didn't understand the reasons behind Pam's emotions, but she was learning to read them.

Her intensity, her need for beauty and quiet. The way her breath grew shallow when there was too much noise or chaos around her, and her long exhale when she was at peace again. "Can you stay for the ceremony?"

"Yes, and I had an idea for decorating the area where it'll take place. You know that old wooden boat in the garage? I thought we could put it in the small garden where the fountain will eventually go.

It'll look interesting with the nets and floats you've put out there, sort of like they're getting married on a desert island." Pam pointed at the gla.s.s Mel held. "What's that?"

"Punch."

Mel tightened her grip as Pam slipped the gla.s.s from her hand and took a drink. "Jesus," Pam said with a cough. "This is the punch?"

"Well, it also has some scotch in it," Mel said, taking her gla.s.s back. "And no actual punch."

Pam laughed. "You keep managing to surprise me. But, seriously, you don't have anything to worry about. Today will be great. They'll be happy and they'll tell all their friends. Your inn will be the place for commitment ceremonies in the Northwest."

Mel gave Pam a smile, but she could feel its weakness without needing a mirror to check it. She didn't want to admit that she was more worried about today being a success than a failure. Her guests understood the rough state of her inn, and they seemed pleased with their rooms and the yard. Judging by the short time it had taken for breakfast to be consumed, Mel's experiments with Pam and Danny as guinea pigs had been successful. She had planned the ceremony and reception down to the last detail, and she was confident the day would go well. But she wasn't convinced she could face an inn full of guests every day for years to come unless she made the effort to fill her own life with the kind of love she wanted. She wouldn't have Walter's advice or a box full of expensive tools to help her through this project.

She'd have to do it on her own. Set a goal and learn how to master each step along the way. Make mistakes and try again. And again.

"Now come on," Pam said, pulling on Mel's arm. "Let's go move that boat."

Pam kept her fingers wrapped around Mel's biceps as she tugged her toward the garage, to keep her from running off and leaving Pam to drag the boat out on her own. The feel of Mel's muscles under her hand was just a bonus. Tight and strong, contrasting so enticingly with her silky shirt and the soft, pensive expression she'd worn all day. Pam could picture how well-defined and s.e.xy Mel's arms would be, braced on either side of Pam's head before Mel leaned down and...Pam let go of her vision and let go of Mel's arm when the cluttered garage forced them to walk single file. She was on edge because of all the strangers milling around the inn. She had to distract her mind from wondering why she felt like the strangers had invaded her home. Mel's place was not her home. She climbed over an old, rusted bicycle and stopped to brush a cobweb out of her hair. "See?" she asked, pointing at the boat that was barely visible under the plastic flowerpots piled on it. "It's perfect."

"For what? Kindling?" Mel stepped gingerly over the bike and stood next to Pam.

Pam ignored the sarcasm in Mel's voice. She stacked the flowerpots on the floor of the garage and picked up one end of the boat to check its weight. "Get the other end," she said. "It isn't very heavy."

Mel moved the bicycle out of the way first, and then she went to her end of the boat. Pam counted to three and lifted. The boat was bulky and awkward to carry through the cluttered garage, but Pam kept her voice cheerful as she called out directions and encouragement as they maneuvered their way into the backyard. She wasn't about to give up on the vision she had of the boat in the garden. Plus, she wanted to keep Mel occupied.

The last thing Pam wanted to do was sit through a ceremony and watch two people making the kind of commitment she had longed for with Diane. But last night, when the first guests had arrived and transformed the quiet house into a noisy inn filled with strangers, Pam had seen a look of desperation and regret pa.s.s over Mel's face. She knew what Mel was going through, what Pam herself had experienced when she sold her first paintings-the vulnerability and protectiveness as the object she had nursed along in private was suddenly exposed and public. Pam guessed Mel might be feeling as if strangers were rummaging through her underwear drawer.

Pam wanted to focus on getting Mel through her first weekend with guests and avoid examining why she cared so much about Mel's feelings. Naturally, she and Mel had developed a sort of friendship since they had lived together over the past couple of weeks, even though they rarely socialized and spent most of their time in separate sections of the big house. And just because she found Mel attractive enough that she had spent the night before tossing on Danny's bed, uncomfortably aware that Mel was right across the hall instead of two floors away, didn't mean she was getting attached to her. She could walk away from her without a second thought if she wanted to. She had chosen to come back and support Mel today. As a friend and nothing more.

"Careful through here," Pam said, skirting a pile of gas cans as she stepped out of the garage and onto the driveway.

"Ouch. Can we take a break?" Mel asked as she tripped over a garden hose.

"We've only gone a few feet," Pam complained, but she eased the boat onto the pavement and stretched her back. The boat was heavier than she had expected. When she had imagined the desert island scene, she hadn't factored in the mechanics of moving the d.a.m.ned thing to its new place. She leaned against the boat and lit a cigarette, nodding toward the gas cans. "Are you planning to burn down the inn for the insurance money?"

"The gas is for the generator," Mel said as she propped her hip on the boat next to Pam. She wasn't really telling a lie. She hadn't thought about dousing the house with gasoline for at least a week now. Not counting this morning. She watched Pam exhale a puff of smoke. She'd been smoking more than usual over the past few days, lighting up every time Mel mentioned the wedding. "Have you ever wanted to get married?"

"What's the use?" Pam asked. "You can promise whatever you want on the day, but how many people actually keep those promises? The whole commitment thing just isn't for me."

Mel heard the bitterness in Pam's voice, saw it in the way she flung her cigarette down and crushed it out with her shoe. She should have guessed Pam wouldn't be the type to settle down. She probably had plenty of women trying to get her to commit to a relationship when all she wanted was to date whomever she chose. Pam hadn't seemed to go out while she had been living at the inn, but on the few occasions Mel had run into her in town, she had been obviously flirting with someone. Always a different someone, and never anyone Mel recognized as local.

Pam sighed and picked up the cigarette b.u.t.t she had ground out.

She tossed it in one of the ashtrays she had stashed around the inn.

"I can't imagine you'd want to get married again, after what your husband did. And now that you finally have a chance to play the field."

"Of course not," Mel said. Of course she didn't want to get married again. Commit to someone and give up her ident.i.ty to be part of a couple. Allow another person to lead her on and give her the illusion of forever. Mel couldn't figure out why Pam's vehemence about marriage left her so sad or why she felt even worse when she claimed she felt the same.

Pam nudged her with an elbow. "You have so much to experience, so many women to date, you won't have time to settle down."

"You're right," Mel agreed with a weak laugh. Her anxiety was to be expected. She was used to her quiet life in the inn with Pam, but she'd need to start meeting women, dating, if she wanted to find companionship and love. She was being pushed out of her comfort zone, or what barely qualified as one. But after all the effort she'd put into the inn, it might be able to repay her in more ways than the financial. Most of her clientele would be people with similar interests as hers-a love of the ocean and travel and being outdoors.

She wouldn't have to go out and meet women when she'd hopefully have plenty of them knocking on her front door. At least one of them should be able to push Pam out of her dreams. "And if the inn is successful, I'll have a steady stream of women to meet."

"Yes, you will," Pam said, her voice quiet. She paused and then stepped away from Mel. "The ceremony will be starting soon. Let's get this boat in place."

Chapter Fourteen.

Mel sat next to Pam in the back row of chairs as the grooms recited vows under the trellis she had made and decorated.

She hadn't been convinced of Pam's vision for what she had seen as an ugly, spider-covered piece of junk until she saw the boat in place.

Pam had draped it with netting and gla.s.s floats that matched those on Mel's trellis. Suddenly the garden had been transformed into a grotto by the sea, with a magical quality that added to the otherworldly feel of the ceremony. As she watched the two men exchange the vows they had written, Mel really did feel as if she had been transported out of everyday life-where not everyone would approve of or accept the love she was witnessing-and into a world where only love mattered.

The differences between this ceremony and her own wedding were enormous. Hers had been formal, traditional, officially sanctioned. She had loved the planning involved. Her days had been filled with lists and meetings, decisions and structure. Yes, she had dated women and experimented with lesbian life while in college.

But she had loved Richard in some ways and had been convinced she could make a conventional marriage work. Her friends had done it.

One of her sisters had done it. Give up the experiments and youthful flings and settle into the life everyone expected of her. And for a few years Mel had been able to keep pretending she was satisfied and fulfilled. Especially after Danny was born. Until she had a meeting with his second-grade teacher. And she had been hit hard with the realization that what she had seen as a choice was really a matter of a nature she couldn't deny.

Mel watched the two grooms kiss and then turn to accept the congratulations from their guests in an informal receiving line. She had been irritated to have guests in the inn. Scared, intimidated, full of doubts. But the truth was, she was jealous. Strangers had come into her home. They had arranged to have this most intimate of ceremonies in her backyard, had eagerly insisted she attend, had been so excited to share their happiness. And all she could feel was envy because she wished she had been married, body and soul, to someone she really loved.

But she had given up her chance when she married Richard, and again when she told him about her crush on Danny's teacher.

They had decided to remain married for their families, for Danny.

She might have declared to Pam that she didn't want to get married again, but she wanted... something. A lover, a friend. She wanted to make up for lost time. To finally get it right, without giving up the self-sufficiency and strength she had found on her own. She had been raised to believe in the expected route from dating to love to marriage, but she wasn't sure what love would look like this time around. She'd have to invent a new paradigm, forge her own way. The thought was exciting. And scary as h.e.l.l.

And not something Mel needed to deal with tonight. Tonight she was on the outskirts, hosting the celebration and not really a part of it.

She hovered around the edges as her guests moved to the studio. She emptied a bag of ice into a bucket on the self-serve bar and cleared the used cups and napkins off the table. She'd enjoy the evening from the outside, allow herself to feel proud of the atmosphere she had created.

The reception was as unconventional and personalized as the ceremony had been. Guests mingled around the buffet of pastas and salads, the tiramisu instead of traditional wedding cake, and the makeshift bar complete with a drink-mixing guidebook. Mel replaced an empty tray of fettuccini with a full one and looked around for something else to do. She had been pleased to find that what she saw as the studio's shortcomings actually added to the charm and casualness of the event. There was no power or heat in the room, but the strings of small lights powered by an extension cord gave the room a nice soft glow. The guests wore coats and moved freely between the room and the backyard. A light rain, luckily delayed until after the ceremony, beat a comforting rhythm against the newly installed windows.

Mel moved around the room, picking up empty plates as soon as they were set down and returning to the house at every opportunity.

She could feel Pam watching her from her post on the edge of the room. Her determination to be a good host drew her over to Pam occasionally, and she chatted about the food or the weather before she would find some excuse to move away again. Observing the wedding had made Mel start to think about how she would have planned hers differently if she had been completely unconcerned about conventions and what her family and friends expected. Imagining the food and music and outfit she would have chosen was entertaining. Imagining herself at the altar, not as a young bride but at her present age, seemed daring somehow. But hopeful. But imagining Pam standing next to her, reciting vows, kissing her, would only get her hurt. Pam had come right out and said she would never be interested in any sort of formal commitment. And Mel didn't really want one, either. In her experience, marriage meant compromise. She had almost forgotten who she was. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Pam sat on a folding chair along the back wall of the studio. She watched Mel return to the house yet again, merely to throw away a couple of paper plates even though there was a garbage can in the room. Pam wanted to leave, needed to get far away from the happy couple and their friendly guests. She had felt claustrophobic during the ceremony even though it was outside, and now she was out of place. At a normal party, she would have been able to mingle with the strangers, but adding a commitment ceremony to the event made it too uncomfortable for her to even consider joining the conversations around her. Her reasons for staying sounded weak even in her own mind. Mel might need help cleaning up after the party ended. A guest might get drunk and cause trouble. Mel might need to talk. Pam was staying because she wanted to explain herself to Mel, to rephrase what she had said when they were moving the boat.

She had been caught off guard by Mel asking whether she had ever wanted to get married. Of course she had. She had proposed, had wanted to start the adoption process so Kevin would be her son legally as well as emotionally. Diane had rejected both ideas, refusing to make any legal or public commitment. Looking back, Pam could see her own urgency in the matter was due to her insecurity in the partnership, her sense that Diane's jealousy of her talent would eventually drive them apart. She had been trying to secure her relationship with Diane and to protect her ties to Kevin. She was his mother in every sense but the one recognized by law. And Diane had used their lack of legal bonds to keep Kevin from her. Pam couldn't forgive her for it. She had fought all her life against a society that kept her from having equal rights. To have her own partner use that prejudice against her was unbearable.

"Want some tiramisu?" Mel asked. Pam looked up to see Mel standing by her chair. She nodded and accepted the plate from Mel's hands.

"Thanks," she said. She grabbed Mel's wrist as she was about to walk away again. "Sit with me for a few minutes."

"I really should..."

"You should help me eat this," Pam said.

Mel hesitated and then sat down with a sigh. "I could use a break. I'm glad I'll only have to worry about breakfasts for the guests most days. If I have to organize a party every weekend I'll go crazy."

"This is a big event for your inaugural weekend. Once you've done it a few times, it won't be as stressful." Pam took a bite of the tiramisu. "Mm, this is wonderful. Try some." She handed her fork to Mel and watched her sample the creamy dessert. Mel licked some mascarpone from the corner of her mouth, and Pam looked away.

"The grooms seem happy," Pam said, eager to get her mind off Mel's tongue and to return to their earlier topic of conversation.

Mel shrugged and took another bite of dessert. "I looked happy on my wedding day, too. In fact I was happy. Blindly so."

"Would you go back and change it if you could?"

"No," Mel said, giving the fork back to Pam. "I have Danny because of my marriage, and I'd never want to give him up. But I won't make the same mistake again."

"You mean getting married? Committing to just one person?"

Mel hesitated. "Exactly."

"Life's too short for monogamy." Pam raised a forkful of tiramisu in a mock toast then put the fork with its uneaten bite back on her plate. Mel was just like Diane, keeping the option to walk out the door at any time. Pam could understand it since Mel had been betrayed, had lived too many years in self-denial. But for some reason understanding didn't stop her from being disappointed to hear Mel's admission.

Mel stood and took the plate with its half-eaten dessert from Pam's unresisting hands. She collected a few more empty cups and plates as she walked through the studio. The party was starting to break up, and Mel headed back to the house with a few of the wedding guests who were staying at a hotel in town. They asked for business cards, and Mel gave them a couple from the dwindling pile she had carried in her pocket. She shut the front door behind them and added design brochures to the lengthy list in her mind. She had been so consumed with the physical building, she had barely thought about advertising the business. But she had made contacts tonight and had even booked a group of four for the weekend before Christmas.

She tried to dredge up some excitement about the successful launch of her business, but she kept returning, instead, to her declaration to Pam. No, she wasn't interested in a relationship that stifled her, changed her into someone unrecognizable as an individual.

But could she find some way to share a commitment, love, and support with another woman without losing herself in the process? Or could she be satisfied with casual dating? Casual s.e.x, the kind Pam seemed to prefer? Maybe, if their physical attraction was too strong to deny.

Or if neither of them was willing to offer more. Why not?

She returned to the studio in time to say good night to the last of the guests. Pam wasn't there, but Mel could see the shadowy figures of a person and a dog, and the glowing tip of a cigarette, in the back of the yard near the beach access. She quickly cleaned up the remnants of the party. Thanks to her constant trips back to the house with bits of garbage, she had very little left to do. Piper joined her and trotted at her heels, looking for handouts as Mel stacked the trays of leftover food and stowed them in her fridge. Finally she carried a box of liquor bottles back to the house and set them on the kitchen counter. Piper lost interest and slipped into the darkness of the backyard, presumably going back to Pam. Mel considered following her to explain to Pam that she had only agreed with her dismissal of marriage because it was too late to start over again, too exhausting to think of learning the ropes of a completely new kind of relationship. As a lesbian. As a woman who made her own choices and didn't pa.s.sively rely on her partner. Mel could barely remain strong and independent while on her own. How could she stay that way if she was partnered with someone confident and self-a.s.sured?

Someone like Pam. Pam, who had no interest in an exclusive, committed relationship. Mel moved away from the back door. She turned off the lights, leaving the back porch lit up for Pam, and went downstairs.

Chapter Fifteen.

Pam came into the kitchen, damp and chilly even in her heavy coat. She poked through the fridge and dished up a plate of rigatoni with sausage, heating it in the microwave and settling at the kitchen table with an eager Piper at her feet. She had spent the past hour sitting in the cold October rain, relieved to be away from the celebrating guests and on her own. She had told herself she was hanging around at the reception to help Mel clean up, but instead she had hidden in the shadows waiting for everyone to go into the inn or back to their hotels. Waiting for the lights in the house and studio to go out and signal that Mel had gone to bed.

She'd left the reception but hadn't gone far. She could have ducked into Danny's room and locked away the crowd. Or driven into town for a drink. But she had sat close to the studio, her coat wrapped around her like a coc.o.o.n, and listened to the voices and laughter from the party. Mel had brought laughter here, color and dimension permeating the inn and even seeping into Pam's life. Pam was very aware of the effort Mel had put into this evening, from her renovations on the inn to her backbreaking work on the garden to her realized vision of the studio. What Pam hadn't expected was to see so much of her own input throughout the day. Her garden design, her arrangement of the ceremony s.p.a.ce, some suggestions she'd made for decorating the studio. She had created art-not on canvas, but art nonetheless.

She alternated between eating and feeding bits of sausage to her dog while her mind recreated the scenes she had made. Trying to paint, needing to paint, always filled her with pain, but her contributions to this day had been emotionally effortless from concept to creation, without the usual angst and self-doubt and hurt. Why? Because of Mel. Because Mel was so hopeful, so willing to take risks and work hard as she brought her dreams to life. Without fear. No, in spite of her fear. Pam put down her fork and rested her head in her hands.

She still struggled every time she picked up a brush, every time she looked at the world and was tempted to capture what she saw, how she interpreted it, on canvas. But Mel had given her this gift, this way to take what her mind created and express it somehow. To let go of the constant filtering, censoring, of her inborn need to create. Pam had no faith it would last, doubted it would transfer to her art, but she was grateful for this brief chance to remember how easy art used to be.

Why, then, had she spent the whole evening lurking around Mel only to disappear the moment they would be alone with each other?

Why not share how thankful she was for what Mel had given her? Pam knew exactly how she wanted to thank Mel. Her mind had imagined plenty of scenarios with Mel as the focal point. With Pam's hands, her mouth, her tongue painting Mel's expression into one of arousal, ecstasy, release. Pam had no doubt she could bring this vision to life.

And she suspected Mel was interested, too, if only in a temporary affair. Mel's adamant dismissal of marriage bothered her more than it should. But Mel wasn't Diane. She had paid her dues, and now she should be free to date, to experience life without being chained to someone else. Instead of being disappointed, Pam should be happy for her.

She rinsed her plate and put it in the dishwasher. More than being happy, she should be relieved to find out how Mel felt. Pam sorted through the box of liquor bottles Mel had left on the kitchen counter and pulled one out. Pam didn't want any attachments, but she couldn't deny her attraction to Mel. And even if she couldn't express her grat.i.tude in words, she could thank Mel with her touch, with shared pa.s.sion, because now she knew they shared the same dating philosophy. She had tried to hide her physical interest in Mel because she had seen Mel as someone who wouldn't settle for less than forever. Now she knew better.

Pam hesitated outside of Mel's bedroom door. She didn't hear any movement coming from within the room, but she juggled the paraphernalia she held and freed one hand to tap on the door. She was about to give up and go back to her own room when Mel opened the door.

"Hey," Pam said. "I'm sorry I didn't stick around and help clean up. I had to let Piper out."

"It was easy," Mel said with a shrug. "And I don't expect you to work around here. You're a guest."

Pam stared at the opening of Mel's silky bathrobe as her shrug widened it slightly. She obviously wasn't wearing anything underneath. The faint hint of roses brought Pam back to a different doorway, to Mel standing outside her room wearing a bulky old robe, oblivious to how s.e.xy she looked. Judging by the deep red silk barely covering Mel's body tonight, doing little to hide her nipples as it slid over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she had figured out a thing or two since then. Pam desperately needed this encounter to end differently than the first, with them both on the same side of Mel's door. She dragged her eyes back to Mel's face. "A guest? Well, that explains the hours I spent digging sod out of your backyard."

"Oh, well, that was-"

"That was a friend helping a friend." Pam smiled at Mel's obvious discomfiture. She held up the tequila bottle. "I thought you might want to celebrate after your triumph. Today couldn't have gone better."

Mel hesitated. A relationship with no commitment, no ties. Pam had said she wanted nothing more. If she invited Pam into her room, so late and when she was wearing nothing but a short robe, she would be sending a clear message. It had been a long day, after a long month, after a difficult year. She didn't want to be alone, even if Pam was only offering her company for a night. A friend helping a friend. She stepped aside and gestured for Pam to come in. She had made her decision already, when she had showered and shaved and put on her new robe. h.e.l.l, she had made it the day she bought the robe. But now she had all the facts. If she wanted Pam, she'd have to accept her terms. And she really wanted Pam.

"I haven't bothered decorating down here," Mel said as Pam walked by her into the spa.r.s.ely furnished room. She had bought new bedding and a couple of throw rugs and blankets, but she didn't have the time or money to sink into her private rooms. "There's no place to sit..."