Her eyebrows rose. "Okay, now you have to tell me. It's not fair to dangle something like that and not follow through!"
"Promise not to laugh? Talking cars."
"Excuse me?"
"I was afraid of talking cars. My dad was an investor in this company, Lone Shore Innovations, and they held an annual convention. He took me when I was little, younger than Tanner. They demonstrated actual inventions and improvements for the home, but also ideas for the future. This was way before we all had e-mail and flat-range stoves. My dad was talking to some other men and I snuck off to check out this cool car. I was already feeling guilty for wandering off and I jumped about a foot when a low, computerized voice came out of the car. Probably just a recording on a motion sensor of some sort, but it sounded like an evil robot to me at the time."
Addie tried to smother a laugh, which only made it worse.
Giff shot her a wounded look. "It was very tragic. I had nightmares. Imagine my trauma when, a year later, Knight Rider debuted! But I was determined to face my fears."
She was laughing almost too hard to speak. "Dare I ask how?"
"After my parents fell asleep, I'd tiptoe into the garage and shut myself in there with the cars. At night. Just waiting for one of them to say something. I told myself I wouldn't be scared no matter what."
The image was both absurdly hilarious and surprisingly poignant, a barefoot little boy in pajamas, alone in the dark but resolute. "You should tell this story to all your potential consulting clients," she said. "It demonstrates your perseverance. Giff Baker, a man who gets things done."
The amusement in his eyes disappeared, his expression dimming as suddenly and completely as a lightbulb with a blown fuse.
"Did I say something wrong?" Granted, she'd been making fun of him and he'd warned her he was a proud man, but he'd also proven himself to be a man with a sense of humor. And she would have sworn he'd felt the same connection and camaraderie that she'd been enjoying.
"Not at all," he assured her, looking away. "You just reminded me that I have a job to do. We should get our check and go."
"Sure." He had a point. In fact, she should have been the one keeping an eye on the clock, so that she could go back in a timely manner. She didn't need to do anything else this week that might make her look like a slacker. "But thank you for lunch. I had a good time." The best time she'd had in…
Yikes, that long?
She couldn't even recall the last occasion she'd had to sit and talk—maybe even flirt a little—with an attractive man. She assumed it must have been with Christian before their breakup, but their relationship had melded into a blur of familiarity. The single memory that stood out the most was of him holding her hand at Zachary's funeral, hardly a warm and fuzzy moment.
"Anyway, thank you. You're a good listener," she told him.
It boggled the mind—why on earth had Brooke walked away from a man who was smart, funny, good-looking, successful and compassionate? Giff was the perfect man! For someone else, she immediately cautioned herself.
For someone whose plate wasn't already full with work and family. Even worse than the potential disaster of dating a colleague would be for Tanner to get attached to another adult who eventually disappeared from his life. So where Addie was concerned, Giff was as out of reach as one of the millionaire mansions in the elite River Oaks neighborhood. Why tempt herself by standing at the edge of the property and ogling what she'd never have?
Chapter Seven
Seeing Brooke at lunch had deepened Giff's guilt that he'd been avoiding Jake, but shame wasn't the only reason he called the other man's cell phone as soon as he returned to the office. Every time he'd heard himself mention Jake to Addie, it had been a reminder of the long friendship they'd shared. The endless football practices that had paid off when their team won the state championship, the way they'd met and how Jake had always had his back. Knowing how hard Addie was trying to be there now for her niece and nephew made Giff think about his freshman year of college, when he'd found out his own father had died and how Jake, his roommate at the time, had tried so hard to be there for him.
Jake answered his phone, "McBride."
"Hey, you have any spare time tomorrow afternoon?" Giff said by way of greeting. "Been a long time since I kicked your ass in racquetball."
There was only the briefest of pauses before Jake snorted. His tone was every bit as flippant as Giff's had been. "Since never, you mean. Squeaking ahead at the last minute for a one point victory is hardly an ass kicking. But I could meet you any time after four if I need to refresh your memory."
A knot of tension that Giff hadn't even realized was in his chest eased slowly. He smiled into the phone. "I'll reserve the court and text you the time. I'd say bring your A-game, but we both know you don't have one."
"Who needs one when the opponent is you?" Jake returned cheerfully. "See you tomorrow, Baker."
* * *
GIFF WAS ALREADY ON THE COURT, practicing ceiling shots, when Jake arrived.
The dark-haired man looked paradoxically more tense and more relaxed than Giff was used to seeing him. The slight wariness in Jake's gaze and hesitation to his smile had never been there before when greeting his lifelong friend. But Jake's rigid, military bearing had eased and Giff didn't think it was only because time had passed since Jake's days in the Army. No, Giff would bet that the newfound calm in Jake's manner was due to marrying the woman he loved and the joy of having rediscovered his family now that his alcoholic father had finally quit drinking. Even as a wisecracking teen who'd been quick to help a buddy or charm a co-ed, there'd been an underlying anger to Jake. It was gone now.
"Good to see you," Giff said sincerely.
"Yeah?" Jake arched a brow. "I was relieved you called yesterday. It's the first time we've talked since I told you about the elopement. I thought maybe…"
Giff shook his head. "Brooke ended up with the right man for her. I couldn't be mad at you for that."
"Says the guy who decked me," Jake drawled.
"I meant, I couldn't stay mad at you," Giff corrected, choosing to gloss over the night, weeks ago, when he'd lost his temper for perhaps the first time in his life. Definitely the last time. That aberrant loss of control had been disconcerting. "Didn't you guys get the card I sent?"
"We did, and your congratulations meant a lot to Brooke. She would be devastated if she thought she'd disrupted our friendship."
"Yeah, well, tell her no worries on that score." Giff swallowed, embarrassed by the unspoken sentiment of how important they were to each other. "Look, if you're done sharing your feelings, I came to play."
"Good by me. Best two out of three?" When Giff nodded, Jake asked, "Evens or odds?"
"Evens." They counted off and Giff displayed three fingers.
At the same time, Jake held up two. "My serve."
They were matched in skill level, neither having a clear advantage. Both of them hit the ball several times before the rally ended in a side-out.
"So Brooke said you were having lunch with a woman yesterday," Jake said, interrupting Giff's serve. Either his curiosity couldn't be contained or he was playing dirty, trying to distract his opponent. The former seemed more in keeping with his character. For all his trash talk, Jake had a strong sense of fairness. "A coworker." One I'm investigating. He smashed the ball harder than necessary, with no finesse at all. What would it have been like to meet her under other circumstances? Pointless. They had very different personalities and lifestyles. "I'm doing a short-term job for Bill Daughtrie—you remember him from college? Addie works for him. End of story."
"You sure?"
There was something in Jake's tone that made Giff turn and look…and miss the ball, which bounced a second time. "Are you deliberately cheating?"
"Of course not! I wouldn't expect a little small talk to throw you off so badly. You play while chatting with clients all the time." Jake smirked. "Unless it's the girl we're discussing who's throwing you off. Brooke said it
seemed like there might be a spark."
Giff rolled his eyes. "Then she either has an over-active imagination—not uncommon among writers, I hear—or she's suffering from a guilty conscience and wants to see me with someone." This time last year, Brooke had been a reporter for a small newspaper in Katy; being with Jake seemed to have inspired her creative side. Giff knew she'd been branching out into other writing endeavors.
"Okay, no more questions about the coworker." Jake bounced the ball a couple of times. "But you know you're welcome to bring a date to our reception." Since the two of them had eloped, they were planning a large party so that all their friends and family members could celebrate the marriage.
It was alarmingly easy for Giff to picture himself there with Addie on his arm, easy to imagine her in an evening dress instead of her office attire. He'd noticed, despite himself, that she had fantastic legs. And a smile that could light up a room. Of course, she'd have to find a sitter for the night and—
He frowned when he realized he was actually entertaining Jake's suggestion.
"I can't date someone from the office," Giff said, surprising himself with the statement. Jake had already agreed to drop the subject. So, was the additional protest for his friend's sake or for his own?
"You're a consultant, you work in a different office every month," Jake said. "If you won't date anyone you've ever worked with, doesn't that rule out like a thousand women?"
"Stop worrying about my love life and serve the damn ball," Giff said.
They began playing with renewed zeal. Giff pulled ahead by a couple of points, the second one courtesy of an impressive splat shot. But Jake was quick to catch up. At first, Giff was able to lose himself in the game, but his undisciplined thoughts returned to Addie and the temptation to tell Jake about her. After all, Giff and Jake had been discussing girls since they'd first strategized the best way to get dates for the sixth grade Valentine's Day dance.
In meetings, Giff encouraged people to think out loud; brainstorming often led to solutions that had subconsciously been there all along. Would it dispel the conflicting feelings he'd been having since asking her to lunch yesterday if he explained to Jake why Addie wasn't his type? Maybe, but he shied away from making the argument since Giff had been so sure Brooke was—and look how that had turned out.
Most of the women Giff had dated had reinforced his self-image. When Giff was with Addie, it was as if she created a distorted reflection. The stoicism that made him reliable and efficient seemed like a liability when he found himself unsure how to comfort a teary woman. His habitual drive for success, as he'd explained it to her, had sounded like colossal arrogance, closer to a flaw than an attribute. The fact that he'd once had childhood nightmares about a talking car had always made him feel stupid and he'd never shared that with anyone. But with Addie listening, it had been an endearing, if silly, anecdote.
"Dude, are you even playing?" Jake's exasperated tone was laced with amusement. "You do realize you've given away the last three points and that I'm about to win?"
"What?" Giff pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "I guess I'm not one-hundred percent on top of my game."
"No kidding."
"This job Daughtrie hired me for is…slightly different than my usual. And, to tell you the truth, he can be obnoxious. I half wish I hadn't taken the contract."
"He can't be the only obnoxious businessman you've ever worked with," Jake reasoned. "But I've never heard you complain about a job before."
"Sorry to whine. Serve the ball."
"No, I didn't mean it like that. You never complain about anything. It's refreshing." Jake grinned. "Makes you one of us mere mortals."
Even though Giff knew his friend was exaggerating for comic effect, Jake's words struck a chord. Giff had been thinking that Addie made him see himself differently. But recalling his restlessness over the summer and recent unexpected moments like letting himself snap at an employer or asking Addie to lunch on a whim, he wondered if it was more than that. Was he changing into someone different?
The thought was strangely exhilarating.
Chapter Eight
Though her memory was blurred by a lack of sleep, Addie seemed to recall that there had been a time when she could arrive at a destination and simply get out of her car. Maybe she'd had to carry a laptop case or the occasionally heavy purse, but that was nothing compared to today's trek from the parking garage to the stadium. The diaper bag alone was stuffed with dozens of items—teething rings, toys, bottles of premade formula, infant-appropriate sunscreen, an emergency change of clothes, medicine to soothe the baby's sensitive stomach, gel to soothe the baby's sensitive gums, not to mention the wipes, disposable changing table covers, ointment for baby's sensitive tush, and the diapers for which the bag had been named in the first place. People climbed Mount Kilimanjaro with less gear than this.
Juggling Nicole's diaper bag with her own purse and pushing the collapsible stroller barely left Addie a free hand to hold on to Tanner and protect him from oncoming traffic. This was the first time she'd taken the kids into such a crowd by herself, and it was a bit overwhelming.
"Stay close to me," she reminded him. "Don't walk away from me, even once we're inside the park. Especially once we're in the park."
"'Kay," he said, his voice subdued from beneath the brim of his father's old Astros cap. Already adjusted to its smallest setting, the adult-sized hat still fell practically past his eyes, but Tanner had begged to wear it. She'd figured it would help protect him from the sun. Out of deference to the heat, she'd worn a brick-red tank top with sand-colored shorts, but she'd started second-guessing her choice on the drive. She was unused to her IT colleagues seeing her so…exposed.
Oh, well. At least she looked loyal in the team colors. Though Addie and her brother had grown up outside of Houston, they'd been raised die-hard Astros fan. Their dad had driven them to the city once a season for a home game at the Astrodome. Nostalgically, she missed the old stadium but Minute Maid Park was impressive, combining modern technology with an old-fashioned feel. She looked forward to showing Tanner the train, which ran whenever the Astros scored a home run. She only hoped Tanner was awake to see it. After last night, it was possible he'd nod off to sleep as soon as they found their seats.
His 3 a.m. shriek, splitting the silence of her dark apartment, had given her chills. "Mama! The water's in my room!" Addie had bolted out of bed and rushed to him, expecting to find him thrashing around in his sheets. Instead, he'd been standing in the middle of the floor, eyes wide-open, flailing at a rising tide only he could see. The heartbreaking image had kept her from falling back asleep for hours afterward. It had been difficult enough to pull him free from the nightmare; it had been downright excruciating—when he finally realized where he was and began crying for his mother—to remind him that his parents were gone.
No sooner had they cleared the ticketing turnstiles and the security check (Addie resisted the urge to tell the guard searching the bags that Nicole's diapers were only dangerous after they'd been used) than Tanner declared himself to be "starving."
"You said we could get a snack," he said. He slid his cap back on his head and accompanied his reminder with the pitiful look of an underfed waif.
"I didn't mean in the first three minutes," she objected. She'd thought that in the event of a slow inning, she could help break up the time by taking him to one of the many concessions vendors. But if she started buying him drinks and food now, she'd be broke by the time the game ended. "You just finished lunch!"
En route to the game, she'd gone through the drive-through lane of a hamburger joint and let him eat in the car.
"I'm hungry again," he insisted, sounding so much like a stereotypically whiny small child that she almost grinned. She much preferred dealing with this than trying to explain to a confused child in the dead of the night why his mother and father weren't answering his cries.
"In a little while," she said firmly. "Not yet. Let's find our seat
s first, okay? And I should take your sister into the restroom."
The baby had obligingly slept for much of the ride, and now that she was awake, Addie had no doubt she needed to be changed. Unfortunately, the line at the "family" restroom was already pretty long.
"Why don't you just come with me into the ladies' room?" Addie said, turning toward the Women sign.
Tanner's bottom lip thrust out. "I'm too big to go in there. It's for girls."
The charm of his "normal child" crankiness was wearing off fast. "Tanner, there are way too many strangers here for me to let you out of my sight. This bag is heavy, and I'd appreciate it if you could get a move on."
Now that protruding lip was trembling and his brown eyes glistened with the warning of tears. "Daddy always took me in there." He was trying to pull her toward the men's room. "I'm a big boy now!"
Because this might actually be about missing his father and not just a tantrum over which bathroom to use, she kept her voice gentle. "You are a big boy, and I know your dad was proud of you. But he'd want you to listen and to be a big helper."
"Trouble?" asked a rich masculine voice from behind her.
Giff! She supposed that encountering him while she looked like a pack mule was no worse than how she'd first met him. "Hi," she said, looking over her shoulder. The bags and stroller prevented her from completely turning around. Though she wouldn't have believed it possible, Giff Baker looked even better in a T-shirt—those arms!—than in well-tailored dress shirts.
He smiled warmly at her. "Need a hand?"
"I can go with him!" Tanner announced. "He's not a stranger. I met him. Remember me?" he demanded plaintively.
Giff looked perplexed but didn't lose his smile. "Sure I do, sport."
Addie sighed. "Tanner and I were having a difference of opinion over splitting up. I wanted him to come with me and Nic into the ladies' room, but he—"
"Ah," Giff broke in. "I understand. Want us to meet you right back here?"
She bit her lip, trying not to hear Jonna's voice in her head telling her how wonderful Giff Baker was. "You sure you don't mind?"
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