Mr. Maybe

by M. Kate Quinn

  He nodded. “I, uh, don’t know what to do, Hop. We, Kit and I, we, uh, have been getting close.”

  “How’s that lady over in Paris feeling about that?”

  “Dana’s in Italy, and we broke up.”

  “Because of Kit?”

  “No. We just realized we weren’t meant for each other, I guess. But I’m not going to lie, Hop. I’ve been developing feelings for Kit since I met her. She’s, well, you know, she’s a great girl.”

  “She’s been through some rough stuff, son.”

  “I know.”

  Hop jabbed his thumb at his chest. “You hurt her, and friend of your father’s or not, you’ll have to answer to me. You understand?”

  Shane nodded.

  For a long moment, Hop studied him. “You care about her.”

  “I do.”

  A crooked smile slanted Hop’s mouth. “She’s a piece of work. Ornery when she’s upset, snippy when you try to help her.” He shook his head. “Stubborn as a mule. But, man, she’s got a heart of gold, that girl. She’s a keeper. Like I said from day one.”

  “I’m just not sure how she feels, Hop, or what this is between us. I just don’t want to mess it up.”

  Hop nodded. “Then I think you and that girl need to have a conversation.”

  Shane smiled at his father’s best friend, the one man who knew him longer than anyone. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

  “Say what’s in here.” The old man pointed to the center of his chest. “That’s the best you can do.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I’m always right.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  That night when Shane pulled his truck into the driveway, Kit’s heart did a little dance. He came in through the door with a bouquet of yellow tulips and a bag from the grocery store in his arms. Her heart swelled.

  All day her mind had played ping-pong with how things would go from here. Was it a mistake? Was it a beginning for them? She still didn’t know, but just seeing his smile and the flowers sent warmth flooding through her. Maybe this could be the start of something good, wonderful even. Maybe.

  “For you.”

  She accepted the tulips and thanked him. “What’s in the bag?”

  “I thought I’d make you dinner.”

  “I thought you said you don’t cook.”

  His mouth slanted. “Does English-muffin pizza count?”

  She laughed. “I like English-muffin pizza. So yes.”

  “Great.” He put the bag on the counter. “And look.” He withdrew a bottle of white zinfandel.

  “Wow.” She picked up the bottle and examined the label. She knew this brand. It was one she didn’t buy for herself because there was a two in front of its price. “Thank you, Fireman.”

  He sauntered to her and stood so close she could smell his earthiness. “I thought about you all day.”

  “Same here.”

  “You’re not regretting anything?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Honestly, I go back and forth with wondering if we’re jumping the gun on things.”

  “Is that how it feels in here?” He touched a finger to her chest where her heartbeat quickened.

  “Not at the moment.” Her mouth curved into a smile.

  “Okay, let’s go with that.” He turned back to the bag on the counter and unloaded his purchases, a package of English muffins, a jar of pizza sauce, some shredded mozzarella. “Now let the maestro perform his masterpiece.”

  “I’ll make us a salad.” She went to the fridge and pulled open the crisper drawer. “Just so you know, I recorded a movie that was on the thriller channel.”

  He stopped what he was doing. “What movie?”

  “The original Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”

  “The 1956 one?” He sounded like it was Christmas morning.

  She nodded. “With Kevin McCarthy.”

  “Oh, baby,” he whooped. “To what do I owe this special specialness?”

  For being you. She didn’t say it; the words were almost too scary to even think them. But what she did say was “To thank you for coming with me tomorrow.”

  “Ah,” he said. “The bridal shower. What’s a Jack and Jill shower again?”

  “It’s where bridezilla and Brian are showered with gifts together.”

  “Didn’t these parties used to be for women only?”

  “Yup.”

  “I mean, what’s a guy care about slow cookers or mixing bowls?”

  “Apparently, Brian does.”

  He shook his head. “So we have to sit around while they open up all that kind of stuff.”

  “We do.”

  “You might owe me more than a vintage monster movie there, lady.”

  A crooked smile claimed her mouth. “I can put croutons on the salad. Does that count?”

  His mouth twisted sideways, but his eyes danced. “That’s a start.”

  “Open the wine, Fireman.”

  Her landline rang, and she peered at the display. “It’s Hop.” She connected the call. “Hi.”

  “I need your help.”

  Hop was never the one to ask for help other than needing a button sewed back on his uniform or to borrow and eventually take ownership of her wine opener. And his voice sounded urgent. A squeezing sensation filled her chest.

  “What is it, Hop?”

  “You have to come over here and see this. I’m in trouble.”

  “Be right there.”

  She hung up and turned to Shane. “Come on. Something’s up with Hop.”

  They hurried out of the house, the screen door slapping loudly behind them. They trotted over to Hop’s house, and after a quick rap of her knuckles on the door, they went right in.

  “Hop?” She and Shane charged down the hallway to the kitchen. He wasn’t there. “Hop?”

  “Out here.”

  His voice came from outside the sliders that led to his deck, and she’d been wrong when she thought he sounded distressed. He sounded aggravated, which was much more like the old guy. The clench in her chest eased.

  Hop sat on the deck’s built-in bench, a beer in his hand and a cardboard box at his feet. He was talking to the box. “Don’t look at me like that.” He shook his head. “You can give me that face all day, and I won’t care.” He swigged his beer. “Capish?”

  “Um.” She and Shane exchanged a look. This was either comical, or Hop had lost his marbles. “Whatcha doing?”

  He pointed the neck of his bottle to the box.

  “What’s in it?”

  “Trouble with a capital T.”

  She and Shane closed the gap between them and peered into the box. A gray kitten with one white tip on the end of its tail looked up at them with milky dark eyes. It emitted a pathetic mew.

  A squeal shot from her mouth, and she fell to her knees. “Hello, little guy. How cute are you?”

  She reached a hand into the box and petted the fluffy creature. She raised her gaze to meet Hop’s. “You call this an emergency?”

  “I never said emergency. I said trouble.”

  Shane crouched next to her and peered at the kitten. “Where’d he come from, Hop?”

  “He was crying out on the deck. I didn’t know what was making the racket when I first heard it. I gave it some water, but I think it might be sick or something. It hasn’t tried to get out of the box or anything. Maybe he’s rabid. What the hell do I know from cats?” He called on a trio of saints—Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—and downed the rest of his beer.

  Shane reached in and scooped up the little kitten into his hands. It mewed at him as he cradled the small body against him. He turned it over to reveal a white underside.

  “Careful, Irish. He could be sick.” Hop called on the trio again, punctuating it with “I need this like I need a hole in my head.”

  Kit shook her head. “Hop, it’s just a little kitten. We can bring it to the animal shelter.”

  “Then what? If he’s sick, they’ll put him down. I
f he’s not sick, they’ll hope someone comes along to adopt it. And if not, it’s curtains for him.” He blew out a breath. “How am I supposed to do that to the poor pathetic-looking thing?”

  She eyed the kitten in Shane’s hold. His big hand was gentle as it ran back and forth over the small body. Her heart melted.

  “Helloooooo.”

  Kit stiffened at the sound of her mother’s voice coming from the front of the house. What was Mom doing here?

  “Oh God, now what?” Hop stood.

  She and Shane exchanged a look. “She must have gone to our place and then figured we were here.” She went through inside the house and hurried to the front door. God, she hoped her mother didn’t walk through her cottage when she was next door. One look at the loft and she’d figure it out that she and Shane were sleeping apart, that he was just a roommate, not the love of her life, as Mom thought. Shit, shit, shit.

  Mom stood at Hop’s door. She must have been to the hair salon today. Her hair was a different shade. Suddenly her mother was a redhead.

  Kit opened the door. “Hi, Mom. You, uh, you changed your hair.”

  Mom reached up and gave the spiky ends of her hair a quick flip. “You like?”

  “Yes, wow, you look…”

  “Snazzy?”

  Kit laughed. She could conjure no adjective to describe her mother’s new do and was glad to be off the hook. “Yes, indeed, Mom. You look snazzy.”

  “Kicky.”

  “That, too.”

  “What are you doing here with that awful man?”

  Mom and Hop didn’t much get along. She didn’t appreciate his gruffness, her refinement lost on the salty old guy. Nothing she said ever impressed good old Hop, and that just irked her like a toothache.

  “We’re out on his deck. He found a kitten.”

  “Hunh.” Mom stepped into the entryway.

  She needed to stall her mother so she and Shane could stage the house to appear as though they were truly a couple. There was only one way to get her mother to stay behind with Hop while they did the switcheroo, and that was to call on Mom’s ever-ready need to rescue.

  “Mom.” The joy of knowing swirled in Kit’s chest. “Can you help? Hop’s frantic, and Shane and I don’t know what to do with a kitten. And it might be sick.”

  If Mom carried a cape in her designer handbag, now was one of those moments when she’d don it. Her mouth opened, and her eyes widened. She charged past Kit, calling out to her as she went down the hall. “Let me see this poor thing. For God’s sake, it’s just a baby. And that oaf better not be manhandling it.”

  When she and Mom went out onto the deck, Shane still held the animal.

  “Hello, Shane.” Mom cast a disdainful glance at Hop. “Hello.”

  “Hey, you’re a redhead.”

  Mom lifted her chin to him.

  “I like it.” Hop came up to her and peered close, as if he were trying to figure out a Picasso painting. “Kind of like Woody Woodpecker.”

  Her mother’s mouth dropped open.

  Kit’s insides knotted. The last thing she needed was for her mother to stomp away. She gave Hop a subtle pinch on the arm. He mouthed an ow.

  He cleared his throat. “But red’s my favorite color, so I approve.”

  “As if I care that you do or do not approve.” Mom turned her attention to the kitten in Shane’s arms. “Let me take a look at this poor baby.”

  “Careful, Red, it could be rabid,” Hop warned. “If you get rabies, we might have to shoot you.”

  She flashed Hop a narrowed gaze, then turned back to lift the kitten into her arms. She cooed to it, as Kit knew she would.

  Kit reached for Shane’s hand and gave it a heavy squeeze. She cleared her throat. “Mom, Shane and I need to go check on, um, dinner. We were in the middle of getting things started when Hop called for us to come over.”

  “What about this little guy? We can’t just leave him, and I’m certainly not staying here without you.” She eyed Hop with disdain to which he shrugged, suit yourself plastered on his kisser.

  “Want a beer?”

  Mom clucked her tongue. “I don’t drink beer.” Her tone was acid, as if Hop had offered her a glass of drain cleaner.

  Mom, can you just lose the crown for once, please?

  “Mom, we’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay put.”

  “Ten minutes, then I come looking for you.”

  She pushed Shane toward the door before he could ask any questions. When they were down the hallway, a hot whisper came from her lips. “Quick. We’ve got to work fast.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Shane and Kit darted up the stairs to the loft and hurriedly worked together to gather his things.

  Shane balled up his furry Mets bed throw. “We can shove this in the closet.”

  “No.” Kit put a hand to the furry ball. “Let’s put this thing on my bed. For effect.”

  Shane laughed. “We’re getting good at this.”

  “That’s not really a compliment, is it?”

  “Desperate measures.”

  In no time the room had been stripped, as if he’d never been there. Her mind reeled. Everything about this felt lousy now. She was getting good at deception, and she hated herself for it. But there was no undoing it now.

  “I’ll get the stuff from my bathroom and bring it downstairs.”

  “Okay.” She headed toward the stairs. “Put some of your toiletries on the counter down there, too.”

  Back in the kitchen she opened the package of English muffins. Shane came up beside her. “I told my mother we were in the middle of preparing dinner. Can you get the cookie sheet out from the drawer under the stove?”

  They worked in silence, partners in crime that they were. Shane found a vase in the cabinet under her sink, put the tulips into it, and placed the arrangement on the kitchen table. She was dizzy with the swirling of truth and lies. Right now she didn’t know what to think or feel, what to believe. She ladled a dollop of the jarred tomato sauce onto each open English muffin and sprinkled shredded cheese on top.

  “You know it’s been a lot longer than ten minutes.” Shane leaned against the counter.

  Kit checked her fitness tracker. A half hour had gone by.

  “Wow. I can’t believe Mom’s still over there. I hope she and Hop haven’t killed each other.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, they seem to be oil and water. How come?”

  She looked out the window to see if her mom’s car was still in the driveway, which is was. “Still over there. As I’m sure you’ve picked up on, my mother is kind of hoity-toity, God love her. You’d think she was born and raised on a satin pillow. Her father’s family was upper crust, but she and my dad were basically your average middle-of-the-road couple. My dad was an insurance salesman who did house painting on the side for extra money. My mom worked part-time in my school library. But she’s always been fastidious, well spoken, well read, and painfully opinionated. But don’t get me wrong. She’s a good soul.”

  “I can see that, too. She is very protective of you. I know that much.” An easy smile claimed his mouth, which looked good enough to kiss.

  “Yeah, she’s over the top with that, too. But when she first met Hop, he wasn’t her type of human. You know Hop. He pulls no punches, he thinks his jokes are funny, and he can get under your skin if you let him.”

  “Heart of gold, though.”

  “Yes sir. And that could be the one thing he and my mother have in common, not that it matters. But maybe we should go over there and see what the holdup is.”

  She covered the doctored English muffins with foil. Shane put the cheese and leftover sauce in the fridge. The house phone rang. Mom.

  “Uh-oh.” Kit picked up the receiver. “How’s it going over there, Mom?”

  “We’re not there. That’s why I’m calling.”

  She looked out the window again. Mom’s car was there. “Where are you?”

  “I’m with Hop. We’re taking Smokey t
o a friend of his who’s a vet. The kind man offered to take a look at the baby at his house.”

  Smokey? She named the kitten?

  “Will you please drive slower,” Mom said to her escort. “You drive like a maniac.”

  Kit heard Hop’s voice in the background. “Oh, I do not.”

  “I’m bouncing all over the seat, and Smokey’s sliding around in the box, you old fool.”

  “That’s the way it is in a truck. But I guess you wouldn’t know. Good news is you bounce pretty damn good.”

  “Of all the nerve.”

  “Mom? I didn’t even hear Hop’s truck leave. When did you go?”

  “Just now. His truck was in the street for some nonsensical reason.”

  “Because I blew the leaves off the driveway, if you don’t mind.”

  “Anyway, Kit darling, I’ll stop by your house to fill you in when we get back. I just wanted you to know not to wait for me for dinner. I don’t know how long we’ll be. We need to have this baby checked out tonight.”

  “And you’re calling him Smokey?”

  “Well, of course. Hop’s a fireman.”

  In the background Hop laughed. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, Red.”

  And she wasn’t hearing things. She recognized the sound. Her mother was giggling.

  When the call ended, she turned to Shane. “Okay, where’s the wine?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The English-muffin pizzas were surprisingly good.

  “The extent of my meal-prep ability, I’m afraid. Unless you count heating up leftover takeout.” Shane’s eyes danced as he looked at her from across the kitchen table.

  God, he was appealing. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was after nine. How long did it take for a vet to give a kitten a look-see? Mom had said she would stop in when she got back, and until she’d come and seen the pretend coupledom of their living arrangements, Shane’s ugly, garish blue Mets throw was staying on her bed. He’d said earlier he was planning to make it an early night, having an early morning meeting at the firehouse tomorrow. She looked at him again. Where was this cute-as-hell fireman going to lay his head tonight?