by Linda Seed
“Your accountant,” Martina put in.
“Right. When he said I needed to buy some real estate, I picked up Cooper House, thinking I’d come here on weekends to unwind, get away from it all—you know, all of that. But I got busy with my company, and I didn’t make it down here much.”
“But now?”
“Now, I’ve sold the company, and I don’t have to be in the Bay Area for business anymore. I was tired of it. Tired of the traffic, the crowds … just everything. So I thought I’d come down here to figure out my next move.”
“Your next move?” She leaned forward a little, her forearms on the table, and the way she moved toward him gave him a glimpse of cleavage over the neckline of her dress. He almost forgot he was supposed to be talking.
“Ah … yeah. I’m a little too young for retirement.”
He’d also discovered that not working was boring as hell, but he didn’t add that. He needed to do something with his time, something useful and challenging. He just didn’t know what that would be yet.
“So, what’s the next move? What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. For now, I’m restoring my car.”
She smiled, and he loved the way the smile reached every part of her face—especially her eyes. Alexis had only smiled with her lips—a calculated gesture meant to signify pleasure. That smile had been no more natural than her breasts. But Martina was different. She was real. Both the smile and, he assumed, the breasts.
“Oh. How’s that going? Is it harder or easier than putting together an Ikea dresser? Because I have some experience with that, and I’m telling you, it wasn’t pretty.”
“I’ve never put together an Ikea dresser.”
“Oh. Of course you haven’t.”
From the change in her expression, he thought he might have said something wrong, though he didn’t know what it was.
Well, that was a stupid thing to say. Of course he’d never put together an Ikea dresser. He could probably buy Ikea if he wanted to. His dressers were probably handmade by Scandinavian forest elves.
The fact she’d even suggested he might shop at Ikea showed the wide gulf between them. She was someone who had, at one time, bought premade, assembly-required big-box furniture, and he probably had people on hand not only to shop for his furniture, but to place it in his home and polish it daily.
What was she doing here? She was in over her head. She’d never dated anyone with this kind of mind-blowing wealth. What could they possibly have in common? What could they have to talk about? How could they ever relate to each other?
But as he went on about his car and about how he’d gone on the Internet to learn to replace the door—with less than ideal results—she found they were talking to each other just fine. She listened to his story about bending the door handle, and she smiled to imagine him struggling through the steps just as anyone else would. She loved that he wanted to do the work himself, with his own hands. Maybe they actually did have something in common.
The conversation came around to her, and she told him about Sofia’s upcoming wedding.
“It’s getting closer, and we’re not completely ready,” she told him. “It was planned years ago as Bianca’s wedding, but that isn’t helping it to go any more smoothly.”
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean, Bianca’s wedding?”
She’d almost forgotten that everyone didn’t know the story. She told him about how Bianca and their mother had planned the wedding when Bianca was sixteen and in love with a boy who, as it happened, was now her husband. She hadn’t married TJ back then, of course—she was far too young, even if he hadn’t broken her heart the way he did—but Bianca and Carmela had bonded over the exercise, making binders full of plans: the dress, the cake, the venue, the music, the flowers.
She told him that when Sofia had met Patrick, she’d been unable to move the relationship forward because of her grief over their parents. Using Bianca’s wedding plan had allowed her to feel closer to their mother, as though Carmela might somehow be there to watch her daughter walk down the aisle.
Chris rubbed at his chin and considered it. “So, Bianca did marry the guy eventually, but Sofia’s the one using the wedding she planned?”
“Well … Bianca had already given Sofia the binders by the time she and TJ decided to get married. Sofia offered to give the plan back when Bianca and TJ got engaged, but Bianca wouldn’t hear of it.”
“You still haven’t told me how your parents died,” Chris said softly.
No, she hadn’t. Telling that story clouded her world with sorrow that blocked out any joy she might be feeling, and she didn’t want to have her world clouded or her joy blocked. She was having too nice a time being here with him.
“That’s not a happy story,” she said. “And if I tell it, I’m going to stop having fun. Are you sure you want that? Because I don’t.”
“I guess not, when you put it that way.”
“All right then. Should we get dessert?”
Chris loved hearing Martina her talk about her sisters, and he loved the bond they obviously shared.
In contrast, Chris was the only child of a single mother who had worked two jobs to support them. When she wasn’t working, she was usually drinking. He had come home from school to an empty house most days, and he’d largely had to fend for himself. He didn’t blame his mother for the part about the two jobs. She’d had no choice but to work her ass off for their survival. But he could blame her for the drinking—and he had. He still did.
On one hand, he thought having a sibling or two would have made things less lonely for him. On the other, why should more than one kid have to live through what he had?
He hadn’t told Martina that story, but he would one day. Just as she’d saved the details of her parents’ deaths for a time when their relationship was not so new, he’d saved the story of his upbringing for another day.
Chris sincerely hoped there would be time for all of their stories: hers, his, the happy ones and the not so happy. He wanted more of this—this sense of being where he was supposed to be with the person he was supposed to be there with. He didn’t know if Martina was the woman for him—how could he, this soon?—but he knew that right now, he felt content, and that was rare for him.
Right now, he didn’t want anything other than what he had, and that was a novelty.
When they’d finished dessert and Chris had paid the check, he walked her outside. He wished they had come to the restaurant together; now that he knew this was a date and not just a dinner to discuss remodeling options and app ideas, he relished the idea of driving her home, walking her to her door, and kissing her tenderly, both of them staying quiet so her sisters wouldn’t hear.
But he hadn’t known it would be a date, so he wasn’t prepared. Instead, he would have to settle for saying goodbye at the door to her car.
Then, a miracle. Martina turned to him and explained they’d come in Benny’s car, and she’d left with it. Could he give her a ride home?
He let out a low laugh. “Was that part of the plan? Her leaving with your only mode of transportation so we’d have to go home together?”
Martina blushed. He loved seeing her blush.
“Now that I think about it, yes. It had to be part of the plan. I’m really sorry. If you need to go—”
“Of course I can drive you home.” He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her to where he was parked—the Mercedes, this time, because his Mustang currently didn’t have a door.
He opened the passenger side door for her and closed it when she was comfortably inside. Then he walked around to his side, whistling.
Was he really whistling? He wasn’t even aware that he knew how.
Martina was going to have to yell at Benny when she got home. Either that, or give her an enthusiastic hug.
She’d thought of everything—including the ride home. Martina supposed it would be awkward as hell if she and Chris had suffered through an awful time
together, and now she needed to be in his car for the drive back to her place.
But they hadn’t had an awful time. They’d had a lovely time. And now, because of Benny’s foresight, the very best part of any date with a new person—the goodbye at the door—had been preserved.
Later, Martina might doubt the wisdom of dating a man like Chris—a man who was so far out of her normal experience and who went through women like used paper towels—but now, she just wondered what it might be like to kiss him.
She hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, and she missed it. And there was nothing quite like a first kiss with someone new. That sense of infinite possibility, of discovery. The electricity of that first touch.
And the anticipation beforehand.
During the drive to Happy Hill, Martina was intensely aware of Chris in the car beside her. The drive wasn’t long, but she spent it speculating about him: Was he a good kisser? It could go either way. She knew he’d been with a lot of women—glamorous, beautiful ones, judging by Alexis. But something about him spoke of awkwardness and self-consciousness, as though he were still a high school senior wondering about his chances of feeling up his prom date.
She liked that he didn’t seem self-assured. She sure as hell wasn’t, so it put them on equal footing. He was already in a power position compared to her because of his wealth. It would have been too much if he’d also been a smooth, experienced player when it came to dating.
Martina was so involved in her thoughts that she didn’t realize they weren’t speaking to each other.
Chris said, “Is everything all right?”
“What?” Martina was jarred out of her reverie.
“Just … you’re very quiet. I wondered if you’re okay.”
“Oh. Yes! I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
“That’s good. I’m glad.” He reached over, took her hand, and held it as he maneuvered the car along Main Street and toward the hills east of Moonstone Beach.
It felt nice to hold a man’s hand again.
Even if hers was sweating a little because of her nerves.
When they got to the house, Chris parked at the curb, got out of the car, and hurried to the passenger side so he could open the door for Martina.
He wanted to be a gentleman. He wanted to impress her with his manners.
He also really wanted to walk her to the door and kiss her.
The walk to the door went fine. He didn’t trip over his feet, and neither of them was attacked by a mountain lion, so that was a plus. But once they got onto the porch and the big moment came—the moment to act or not act—he lost his nerve.
“I had a nice time.” Martina turned to face him. She grinned slightly, signaling she might want to continue having a nice time. With him.
“So did I.” He knew this was his cue. Damn it, he knew it. He put his hands gently on her shoulders. Her eyes slid closed and her lips parted. She looked so lovely, so ready for this moment between them.
And then …
Chris patted Martina’s shoulders companionably. “Well, okay, then. I’d better get going. I’ll call you about the kitchen.” He turned, walked down the porch steps, got into his car, and drove away.
What the hell?
The curtain in the front window moved, and a moment later, the door opened. Sofia stood in the doorway, her hip leaning against the jamb.
“Hey. So, where’s Chris?”
“He left.”
“Did you have fun?”
“I thought so. But maybe not.”
Sofia’s brow furrowed. “How do you not know whether you had fun?”
Martina pushed past Sofia, walked into the house, and threw her purse onto the side table next to the door. “Because, when you have fun on a date, and the guy has fun, he kisses you at the end of it, right? Especially when you’re standing there like an idiot, waiting for the kiss with your damned eyes closed.”
“Uh oh,” Sofia said.
“Yeah! Uh oh! At first I was pissed at Benny—and at you, by the way—for setting me up the way you did. But then he admitted he’s attracted to me, and I admitted I’m not repulsed by him.…”
“Well, that’s a start.” Sofia closed the door and came into the living room.
“You’d think so. We ate, and we talked. And then I realized I didn’t have a ride home, so by now, I’m thinking, that’s good. We’ll ride home together, we’ll say goodnight at the door … and at the very least, I’ll get a damned kiss after going way too long without being kissed.”
“Right. That’s good.” Sofia nodded encouragingly.
“You’d think so,” Martina said again. “But when the moment came, he choked.”
“Literally?” Sofia looked alarmed. “Like, with the Heimlich and everything?”
“No, you idiot.” Martina scowled at her sister. “Not literally. Though I wanted to literally choke him when he patted me on the shoulders and ran away like I’d threatened to audit his taxes.”
“Oh. That’s not good.”
At that moment, Benny emerged from her bedroom dressed in plaid flannel pajama pants and a Green Day T-shirt. “So? How did it go?”
Martina didn’t want to tell the story again, so she sank down onto the sofa while Sofia explained what had happened.
“It’s not like I think I deserve a post-date kiss,” Martina said when Sofia had finished. “It’s just that I thought … after the hand-holding and everything …” She didn’t even feel like completing her sentence. She simply went limp instead.
“And you look good tonight, too,” Benny observed.
“I do!” Martina wailed. “But not good enough, I guess. Not as good as Alexis. The woman looks like she should be wearing a thong on the cover of Sport Illustrated.”
Sofia perched on the arm of the sofa, her arms crossed over her chest. “Actually, I have a theory.”
Martina didn’t say anything, so she went on.
“I used to date a lot of really hot guys,” Sofia said.
“That’s not a theory,” Benny pointed out. “It’s just bragging.”
“You didn’t let me finish. I used to date a lot of really hot guys, and I never got nervous about it. It was just … normal. It was just what I did. But then I started seeing Patrick.”
“Patrick’s attractive,” Martina said.
“You don’t have to defend Patrick.” Sofia waved off the comment. “I know he’s attractive. But he’s not attractive in a super obvious, in-your-face way like the others were.”
“Okay,” Benny said. “Your point?”
“My point is, when we got together, it felt … different. Scarier. More significant. With the hot guys, it was all about the hotness. It was all surface. It was for show.”
Benny looked thoughtful. “I get what you’re saying. Chris dates the Alexises of the world, and it’s like buying a new Mercedes. It’s expected. But it’s the Mustang he really cares about.”
Martina lifted her head and looked at Benny. “Are you comparing me to a car with primer spots and an oil leak?”
“Sort of,” Sofia said.
“She’s right, though,” Benny said. “I can see it. Maybe he didn’t kiss you because he doesn’t know how to act with someone who’s not playing him for the sake of his net worth.”
“Huh. If that’s true, then it’s a little sad,” Martina said.
This is freaking sad.
Chris berated himself as he drove from Martina’s house to his own. She’d obviously wanted to kiss him. Why had he failed to come through? He’d patted her, for God’s sake. Like she was a cocker spaniel.
He pulled up in front of Cooper House, ran his hands through his hair, and sat in the car for a while, thinking about it.
He’d lost his confidence, that’s what it was. You could only fail with women so many times before you started to think you were the problem. And once you started thinking that way, it seemed too risky to make a move on a woman you thought you might really like.
Now, Martina probab
ly believed he wasn’t attracted to her. Which was flat wrong. He was so attracted to her he could hardly think when she was around. Which was a problem, because he needed to think.
Specifically, he needed to think about what the hell was wrong with him that he’d acted like such an idiot.
He wished he had someone to talk to about all of it. Someone who could give him some much-needed perspective.
He didn’t have many friends in Cambria, since he’d been here such a short time. But he did have one.
14
The next morning, a Saturday, Chris sat across the table from Will Bachman at Jitters, each of them with a mug of hot coffee. The coffeehouse was buzzing with tourists gawking over the charm of the place, locals with little dogs in their arms or in their purses, and the usual crowd of senior citizen bicyclists who’d stopped in after their morning ride. The room smelled like fresh-ground espresso beans and warm scones.
Will, a professor at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo, had been Chris’s roommate at Stanford when they were both undergrads. Later, Will had worked as a caretaker at Cooper House while he’d studied for his doctorate. Their friendship had almost ended over a woman, but the woman in question had been out of the picture for some time.
Since then, Will had enjoyed considerable success in romance, having married the woman he loved. Chris hoped he might have some helpful insights to share.
“Do you know Martina Russo?” he asked.
“A little.” Will sipped his latte. “I know Patrick Connelly, who’s engaged to Martina’s sister.”
“Okay.” Chris nodded. “Okay, good.”
“What’s this about?”
Chris hesitated. How to describe his exact issue and impress upon Will his urgent need to fix it?
“I went out with Martina last night, and I acted like an ass,” he said. “And I want to stop acting like an ass, and ... I think ass might be my only mode when it comes to women.” There. That put it all on the table. Now they’d see what they could do with it.