One Thing I Know

by Kara Isaac

  “What are you and Donna doing for lunch tomorrow?”

  “Nothing that I know of. Why?”

  “Want to come and meet my family?”

  - 26 -

  The bunch of calla lilies on Rachel’s lap were clenched in a death grip she couldn’t seem to release. They were only halfway to Lucas’s brother’s house and already the flowers slumped across her legs, limp and mangled.

  “Lordy, girl. What have you done?” Donna surveyed the damage from the driver’s seat. “There’s a pair of nail scissors in my purse. See if you can find them and give those poor stems a trim.”

  Rachel reached down and picked up Donna’s enormous brown leather purse. Fishing around inside, she pulled out a pair of nail scissors. She peeled back the layers of wrapping and trimmed the first broken stem.

  “So what’s got you wound up tighter than a piglet’s tail?” Donna checked the rearview mirror, then overtook the car in front of them, her lead foot pressing Rachel into her backrest. Her aunt drove like she had frustrated ambitions to be an Indy 500 racer, and she had acquired speeding tickets in all fifty states to prove it.

  Rachel swiped her damp palms on the car seat. No way was she going to encourage Donna by admitting the angst that had been feeding her ulcer all night. “I was thinking about the book.”

  It wasn’t a complete lie. At the moment, all roads to Lucas also seemed to end up at the book. It was doing her head in.

  Actually, it was doing her heart in. Her head insisted on reminding her that only disaster could come from letting him get close.

  Donna could not have looked less concerned. “Did I tell you I mentioned Lacey’s idea about doing it as a joint project to Lucas?”

  “You did not.” She should probably put up some sort of protest, but she couldn’t summon up the energy.

  “It was very offhand. Just to see if I could get a read on any interest.”

  “And?”

  Donna gained ground on the next car ahead. “He said that he didn’t know the first thing about writing a book and I told him that was what collaborative writers were for. He didn’t jump at it but didn’t dismiss it, either.”

  “Huh.” That was all Rachel could think to say. If there was a collaborative writer at Lucas’s end it could be doable. Once they agreed on an outline, he’d never need to know that Donna didn’t write her half of the book.

  Donna looked across at her. “You don’t sound as against it as I expected.”

  Rachel tried to focus on snipping the next broken stem. “Did you hear all the screaming women last night? The sales in Madison alone would probably put it straight to number one on the New York Times list.” They’d ended up putting on two events in Madison after the first one had sold out in forty-seven minutes.

  “Yup. I’ll talk to him about it some more this afternoon if we get the chance. Or before the show tonight. I put out some feelers to Max, and he thinks Randolph would jump at the chance to acquire a book by the two of us. It’s the perfect solution.”

  “Yes, well, let’s not count any chickens.” Outside the streets were changing into farmland. Scott and Grace. Lucas’s brother and sister-in-law. Joey’s parents. She smoothed her palm across her green-patterned wrap dress. Hopefully he wouldn’t think this one looked like haberdashery.

  “How’s your father doing?”

  Rachel’s gaze lurched across the seat. They’d long since stopped talking about him. Ever since it became clear his limbo was a more than temporary state. “No change.” She returned her focus to cutting the final few stems, then rearranged the stumps.

  Donna’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel. Her tell that she was looking for the first opportunity to overtake the driver in front of them committing the sin of driving the speed limit. “So, you planning to stop using him as an excuse to live anytime soon?”

  What? “I’m not!” Her words came out in an indignant splutter. “You of all people should know why my life is what it is.”

  “And soon it will all be over, and so will all of your excuses for hiding. What then? Are you going to make up some more reasons to run or are you finally going to deal with why you’ve held yourself hostage for years and move on?” Her aunt said the words slowly, but they hit with the force of a sledgehammer.

  “This isn’t—”

  “Turn right in a quarter of a mile,” Siri interrupted them, and Donna slowed. A white fence with a red mailbox. Those were the instructions Lucas had given them.

  Donna put on the blinker and made the turn. “Sweetie, I love you like the daughter I’ve never had. And I worry about you. Because when this is all over, I go home to my sweet Rob and a wonderful life, but who are you when Dr. Donna gracefully retires from the public eye? There is a big life waiting out there for you, Rachel, and I’m not going to let you watch it go by because your father was too drunk and too stupid to stick to the pavement.”

  Rachel gaped at her aunt. Who did she think she was?

  “You have no idea what it’s like!” The words exploded from Rachel’s mouth. “You’re not the one who has to live every day knowing what you did. To be living in a decrepit condo with no close friends because you can’t afford to take the chance that someone will betray you. To—” She stopped at the self-satisfied smile on her aunt’s face. “What are you so happy about?”

  “That you’re angry. Because you have every right to be. You’ve had a lot taken away from you. And it’s a heck of a lot better than the passive acceptance that you’ve majored in. Oh look, we’re here.”

  And with that, her aunt swung into a driveway, came to a sudden stop in front of a ranch-style house, and jumped out of the car, leaving Rachel mid-meltdown, with nowhere to melt.

  • • •

  ONCE SHE’D calmed herself down from Donna’s unwelcome lecture, lunch had been surprisingly fun. Joey had bounced among all the adults like a pinball, which had been a welcome distraction, and Scott and Grace were the epitome of gracious and hospitable. Though she hadn’t missed the inquisitive looks that both of them had bounced between herself and Lucas at different times.

  As for Lucas . . . Rachel had thought Lucas couldn’t look any more attractive than he had sitting in the sun, laughing with his family around the picnic table, but there was something about the wrinkle in his brow, as he now scrubbed the silverware like the President himself was coming for dinner, that made it a mighty tight competition.

  If there was anything sexier than a man as cute as Lucas doing dishes, then she sure couldn’t come up with it. “Well, well, a man who knows how to wield a dish brush. Aren’t you just full of surprises, Lucas Grant.”

  He startled, barbecue utensils crashing back into the sink.

  “Need any help?” She moved around the island, placing the empty salad bowl and meat dish on the counter.

  “Almost done, but thanks.” He placed a pair of tongs on the drying rack.

  Plates caked with coleslaw and sauce glistened up at Rachel from the open dishwasher. Plates crying out for a rinse. Should she?

  “You guys didn’t have to do that, but thanks.” Grace bustled into the kitchen, flip-flops slapping across the wooden floor. “I was just going to get us some more iced tea.” She rounded the island, coming to rest in front of the fridge. Grabbing the handle, she turned to face them. “Do you—”

  Her gaze landed on the plates, then bounced up to Rachel, and they shared a conspiring look of two people acknowledging that Grace would be unloading her dishwasher as soon as Lucas left.

  “All right, you two, what is it?” Lucas stood, arms crossed, looking back and forth between the two of them.

  “What?” Their response in unison made it sound suspicious even to her own ears.

  “You look like you’re trying to work out how to tell me my dog died or something.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just getting some more tea.” Grace grabbed the jug out of the fridge and bolted. Traitor.

  “Rachel.” He raised an eyebr
ow, his tone one that a parent might use on a wayward child.

  She held her palms up in surrender. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just here to help.” Avoiding his gaze, she reached past him for a couple of glasses and stacked them in the top rack. “See?”

  “Miss Somers.” His whispered voice crept down her neck and danced down her spine. “Don’t make me bring out my secret weapon.”

  She fought to stop herself from turning to look at him. “Mr. Grant, I’m just a humble lunch guest trying to help clean up. There’s no need for weapons here.” Another glass in the rack. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice it shaking just a little.

  “Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.” Against her will, her gaze skidded up. To hooded eyes and lilting lips. He slid the top rack away and kicked the door up with his foot. Oh dear. She stepped back, again, until she was trapped against the counter in the corner.

  He leaned in, placing one hand on the countertop beside her, the other hanging loosely at his side. She had nowhere to go. He leaned in close, the scent of something spicy but subtle wafting up.

  “So . . .” His voice lingered in her ear, filled with promise. Eject! Eject! her mind screamed, but her body leaned toward him, lips parting in anticipation. “One last chance. We can do this the easy way or take the longer route.”

  She stared up at him, mute.

  “Okay, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  He leaned in, and her eyelids fluttered. “The plates!” The words shattered the moment. For a second she didn’t even realize it was her voice that had uttered them.

  Lucas started, eyes flying open. “The what?”

  “The plates need to be rinsed, otherwise the barbecue sauce will set like glue.” What was she doing? The hottest guy she’d ever laid eyes on was about to kiss her and she shot him down with dish scum?

  “The barbecue sauce will set like glue.” He repeated her words, running a hand through his hair, causing parts to stick up on end. His expression was half bewilderment, half . . . relief?

  He stepped back and pulled open the dishwasher door. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  She just watched, feet glued to the floor, as he started pulling out plates and piling them in the sink, whistling as if he had not a care in the world.

  “I can help.” She pushed herself off the counter and moved to stand beside the dishwasher so she could take the plates as he finished rinsing them.

  He looked over at her and smiled the kind of smile that almost had her sagging back against the counter. “I have a question.”

  “Okay.” There was something about the way his eyes glinted as he said it that made her nervous.

  “Are you going to keep sabotaging our first kiss? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m a patient man. I’d just like to know what kind of time frame we’re talking here. Days? Weeks? Months?” He shrugged his shoulders as if it were all the same to him and handed her a plate. Which she almost dropped.

  He’d done it. He’d put all their near-kisses on the table. Who did that? He did that. Rachel felt something well up in her chest as she looked at him, dishwater up to his elbows, looking at her like he had all the time in the world.

  “I . . .” She looked at the shaking plate in her hand, then bent over and slipped it into its slot before she really did drop it. “Lucas, I haven’t kissed someone in a really long time. And I haven’t kissed someone who mattered in . . .” She closed the dishwasher door that separated them. “Well, it feels like forever.”

  “So you’re saying I matter.” Lucas quirked a smile at her as he placed some clean cutlery in the second sink.

  “Yes.” It was only three letters, but it felt like everything.

  “So is it a Dr. Donna rule? Does she have some rule like no kissing before the third date or something? I knew I should’ve read one of her books.”

  Yes, she did. Don’t go kissing anyone until you’ve established some baseline compatibility. Great physical chemistry too often helps mask incompatibility.

  It was an excellent piece of advice. One clearly written when she wasn’t in danger of kissing anyone, let alone a man who made her toes curl with longing.

  But it wasn’t that. She was all too aware of the things that stood between them that a physical connection was only going to make worse, not solve. “It’s not that. I guess I’m just afraid that once we get past that first kiss, then it’s just the beginning of the end.”

  Lucas leaned his hip against the sink. “But what if it’s not? What if it’s just the beginning of the beginning?” He studied her. Genuinely interested in wanting to know the answer. Not trying to get the chitchat out of the way so he could try again. “It’s not like I don’t come with baggage. My father was an adulterer and a drunkard and he abandoned us. But I had the same dad as Scott, and look at him.” He pointed out the window to where his brother wrestled with Joey in the grass. “I have to believe that I have a chance at that. And right now I want that chance with you.”

  The way he looked at her made her lose all sense of anything except him. “But what if you change your mind?”

  Lucas reached out and tugged her to him. His wet hands plastered her blouse to her waist, but she leaned in. “What if you change your mind? You could hurt me too. Either of us could change our minds. Or both of us. But what if we don’t? What if we fall in love and have six kids and in fifty years I tell my grandchildren about how my legendary sports-commentating career started with a grumpy personal assistant and a bunch of women wanting my advice on their love lives?”

  “I’m not having six kids.”

  “I’m negotiable down to four.” He tilted his head down. “But then your all-knowing folder probably told you that already.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny.” He was going to be sorely disappointed one day when he found out there was no such folder. Let alone one that detailed his preferred number of progeny. Unless Donna had been up to something she didn’t know about.

  “Well, at the rate we’re going we’re not going to have any at all, are we? Remember what Joey said the day you flung yourself into my lap?” He murmured the words against her lips, and Rachel had never wanted anything as much as she wanted him to kiss her.

  Then he grinned at her and pulled back a little.

  “What!” She almost exploded with pure longing.

  “I’ve been here a few times before. You can’t blame a guy for being a bit gun shy when he was left hanging a mere five minutes ago.”

  Rachel looked at the glint of challenge in his eyes. “Fine.” She dropped back to her heels and stepped back to open the dishwasher. “Shall we continue, then?”

  A rumble of laughter echoed up from his chest. “You are something else, Rachel Somers.”

  She tossed him a wink. “Just wash the plates, Lucas Grant. You’re not a big radio star in this kitchen.”

  At that, before she even realized what was happening, he kicked shut the dishwasher door, picked her up, kissed her, put her down, and opened the dishwasher door again.

  “There,” he said calmly. Rinsing off a plate as if nothing had happened. “It wasn’t the best first kiss in the world, but I’m sure we can make up for that next time. By the way, I’m going to do the book. With Donna. So we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

  • • •

  THE SOLID oak door closed with a thunk. Lucas rested his head against it for a second, the cool wood soothing his warm face.

  He’d kissed her. And he wasn’t sure if it had been the right call. A groan escaped. Maybe he should have waited. For a better moment. To take her on an actual date like most sane people.

  “So.” Lucas turned his head. His brother stood behind him, face pasted with the big-brother smirk that he had perfected over thirty-four years.

  “What.” He was not in the mood, not now. Not ever.

  “You going to prop up our front door all day, or come fill us in on the mysterious love life of Lucas Grant that you app
ear to have forgotten to mention?”

  Lucas slid his face off the door and turned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He made a show of looking at his watch. “Thanks for lunch, but I need to go prep for the show.”

  Scott laughed in his face. “You have Donna on your show tonight. You don’t need to prep.”

  Oh.

  “Uncle Lucas!” Joey ran in from the family room, shirt undone, pants streaked with dirt, and skidded to a stop in his socks at Lucas’s feet.

  Saved. A triple scoop for that boy the next time they went out.

  “Yes, bud?”

  “Are you and Rachel going to get married?”

  Lucas’s jaw unhinged. “What?”

  Grace appeared behind her son, her eyes twinkling.

  Joey looked at him like he was the five-year-old. “Because you were kissing, and Mommy says that only people who love each other kiss.”

  “I never . . . We didn’t . . .” The words spluttered out of his mouth like a misfiring engine. They weren’t kissing. It was just a single kiss. One that lasted all of a second. Maybe.

  Scott was no help at all, laughing so hard the only sound coming out of his mouth was the occasional gasp for air.

  His wife also wasn’t going to be saving him, propped up against the doorway to the family room, shoulders shaking, tears now running down her cheeks. She wiped a trail from her cheek, then padded over to stand by her son. Bobbing down to his level, she tousled her son’s hair. “Joey, I think Uncle Lucas just might be a little disappointed that we know. I think maybe he might have been wanting to make it a surprise.”

  His nephew pondered this for a second. “Like when you said that I couldn’t have a puppy, but then Daddy brought Nelson home?”

  Grace nodded. “Just like that.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Joey nodded as if it made perfect sense. “So then I probably shouldn’t call her Aunty Rachel yet?”

  There was a thud as Scott buckled against the wall, clutching his tummy, entire body convulsing as he sucked in air. Lucas hoped he was getting a kick out of this because the next time he needed help, he could go whistle in the wind for it.