Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love)

by Agnes Canestri

  I meet her gaze. “Interesting observation. Do you have a deeper point?”

  “Well…” Ellie licks her lips and points at my foot, deepening the clutch. “You look like you’re in full alert. But physical tension is the first building block for anger.”

  “I keep the car in first so we can move as soon as it turns green,” I mutter. “I’m not tense.”

  My relaxed tone hides a tad of defensiveness as Ellie’s comment makes me mindful of my contracted posture. My stiff muscles have to do with her tanned shoulders, which attract my eyes like a bright flower, an insect. I know I’m not supposed to gawk at her but keeping my gaze away from her is pure torture.

  “If you put the gear in neutral, you could lift your foot and just lean back and enjoy a pause. I always sit on the bus when there’s a free seat. Anyone can profit from a break.” Ellie bends closer to me and lifts her brows. “Want to try it?”

  Without waiting for my answer, she puts her hand on mine and shifts the gearstick into neutral. “Okay, you can lift your foot now.”

  I obey her request, or at least I think that I do. I can’t be sure because my body has shut down all my other sensory receptors. I can’t feel my feet, my legs, my belly, or anything else. All my attention is focused on that marginal surface where my skin is melting with Ellie’s.

  I throw her a slanted glance.

  Based on her even breathing, she’s either forgotten that she’s holding my hand, or she considers her gesture as part of my therapy, a moment of zen for us.

  A shrill honk cuts through the air.

  “Shoot, the light,” I murmur.

  Ellie withdraws her hand, and I quickly push the stick into the right gear.

  She gives me a triumphant smile as we roll away. “So? Wasn’t that a better way to sit through a traffic light?”

  Yeah, minus the heart-pounding.

  “Sure, it was…pleasant.”

  “Not exactly the word I had in mind, but I’m happy you enjoyed it,” she answers with a smile.

  I itch to know what word she would have used.

  Had it anything to do with…sensual, exciting, thrilling?

  To prevent my mind from asking anything stupid, I say, “I could just buy an automatic car or a manual one with a stop-start system. That would take care of this issue.”

  Ellie rolls her eyes. “Devon would kill you. He looked around for over a month before he found you this model.”

  I snort. “Your brother did it as much for himself, and you know it.”

  Devon is obsessed with cars, so when I told him three years ago that I wanted a new ride, he offered to take over my search. Finally, he located a heretical four-door Corvette for me—a model that was allegedly one of six stretched Corvettes built years ago by California Custom Coach. He convinced me that the spicy price tag was nothing because I’d get to drive a historical gem every day.

  Ellie grins. “Yeah, Dev couldn’t resist the challenge of finding you your own KITT car.”

  “That’s not what I asked of him,” I reply with feigned innocence. “I wanted a vehicle with old-time charm and sporty character, but with the practicality of a four-door sedan.”

  Ellie narrows her eyes at me, and I laugh.

  “Okay, I may or may not have mentioned that if the car slightly resembled the Knight Industries Two Thousand, it’d be a plus.”

  “It figures. You used to watch the reruns of Knight Rider in our kitchen.” Her nose pulls into a mischievous grimace.

  “I won’t comment on that.” I chuckle, but without wanting, the same buzzing pervades my stomach as when Ellie admitted to having researched Joe. She cares enough to recall the old TV shows I used to watch.

  Is this a sign that I’m still more important to her than she lets on?

  With this thought, and the elation it elicits, brewing in my chest, I pull into the suburban street where Mom lives.

  “Two years ago, I came with Mom to visit your mother,” Ellie chirps. “She gave me the grand tour of her place. It’s got so much charm. You remodeled it for her, right?”

  “Yeah,” I nod, “but I can’t take credit for the look. Mom gave her own instructions to the architect and urged him to disregard all my requests. The only thing in which she humored me was the size of the surrounding gardens.”

  Indeed, our front and back yards are way larger than those of the surrounding homes. Thanks to Mom’s green thumb, they’re packed with plants that aren’t even supposed to survive in our region’s climate.

  “What did you have in mind for her?” Ellie asks.

  “I wanted a lavish villa with way more luxurious appeal than her current place.”

  “Really?” Ellie’s brows arch. “But weren’t you the one advocating the advantages of cookie-cutter neighborhoods and simple houses?”

  “For me, yes. I’m not much of a spender, despite the money I earn. But for Mom, I wished for the kind of home we could never afford when I was a child. And not only because my dad drank away most of our household money.”

  Ellie’s eyes fly to me.

  I expect to receive a pitiful glance, but her green irises shine with unusual warmth. “I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to add this last part out loud,” she says.

  I give her a small smile. “Me too.”

  And to my surprise, I mean it.

  We drive in silence until Mom’s dark green shades come into sight. My glance moves to the empty driveway.

  “What’s wrong?” Ellie asks. “You’re frowning.”

  “Nothing. Only Mom told me she wasn’t going to the doctor until the afternoon, so I expected her to be home.”

  “Perhaps she’s got her appointment rescheduled?” Ellie offers.

  “Yeah, maybe…” I steer my Corvette to the spot where Mom’s blue Volvo should be. “Let’s get out, and I’ll call her.”

  We walk up to the spacious terrace laden with ivies and figs in colorful ceramic pots. Once in the shade, Ellie strolls to the wooden bench and lifts a hand-embroidered cushion with a quote from the Bible. “Isn’t this too precious to be outside?” Ellie asks.

  I shrug. “Mom prepares at least two of these each month, so she has enough pieces to replace one if it gets ruined. I’m sure she gifted a few to your mother, as well.”

  Ellie pats the pillow and places it on the bench again. “She sure loves to embroider, then.”

  I suddenly remember that it was Dad who launched Mom into her obsession with needlework. One day, he came home with presents for both of us—I received a pair of sports shoes, and Mom got a beautiful sewing kit.

  “Everything okay?” Ellie asks.

  “I just had my first positive memory about my father in…a while.” Or, more likely, ever.

  Ellie’s eyes widen then she smiles. “That’s terrific. It’s a sign that your mind is ready to heal.”

  Just as I’m about to ask her what exactly she means by this, the house door creaks.

  Is Mom home, then? I turn, expecting to see her signature, simple chignon bun. My mother claims that the less time she spends gussying up, the more time she can spend honoring the Lord and enjoying life.

  However, it isn’t Mom who steps out. It’s Martha, my mother’s neighbor, avid book club buddy, and the street’s unofficial pet feeder.

  It’s been over three years since I saw Martha, but she’s changed little. Her face is just as round as I remember—or perhaps even chubbier—and her odd preference for sleeveless, dog pawprint shirts is apparently still a thing. I bet she still makes her husband prune their backyard shrubs into puppy shapes.

  Martha freezes when she notices me. Her cheeks pale, despite the thick layer of pink blush smeared on them.

  “Wyatt? My dear boy! What are you—” She pauses and clears her throat. “I mean, what a delightful surprise to see you here!”

  She opens her arms, and though I’m not big on embraces, I accept her hug and squeeze her soft body to me.

  I like Martha. She and Ellie’s mother kept Mom comp
any after my father disappeared.

  Martha pulls back, and her glance wanders to Ellie. “And you? I thought you weren’t coming home until the end of the month. That’s what your mom said.”

  Ellie’s face pulls into a startled grimace. It’s almost as if she didn’t know what to do if someone else besides my mother spotted us together.

  She shifts her weight from one leg to the other, wringing her hands. “I…well…Wyatt wanted to visit his mom, so I took advantage and tagged along. To see my folks.”

  Martha’s brows furrow. “But your parents are on Cape Cod. They left Saturday afternoon. Didn’t they tell you?”

  Ellie taps her forehead and laughs nervously. “Ah, shoot. I totally forgot. Well, no biggie. We’ll just visit Cristina then.” She points at our house door. “Where is she?”

  Now it’s Martha’s turn to fiddle.

  She smooths her shirt collar, rakes through her impossibly yellow curls, and adjusts her poodle-shaped earring. “Cristina went out.”

  “Out where?” I ask.

  “To…uhm…to Prescott. I just came over to water her garden.” She rattles our house keys in her hand. “With this heat, you need to give the flowers some moisture three times a day. At least.”

  Martha, like most elderly women in sleepy Kingman, is a gardening fanatic, but I’m not interested in her lecture on how to keep plants alive in the arid Arizona summer. I want to know what Mom’s doing in another city when her leg’s injured.

  “What about the strain?” I ask.

  “Strain?” Martha’s eyes widen.

  “Didn’t Cristina fall down?” Ellie chimes in.

  Martha’s glance darts to her, then she bobs her head. “Ah, yes, the strain, of course. Cristina’s fine now. All healed.”

  Ellie smiles at me. “That’s good news, right?” Then as if she’s just remembered why we drove to Kingman, her forehead creases. She turns back to Martha. “Did she say when she’d be back?”

  “Or why she even went to Prescott in the first place?” I ask.

  Martha picks at her nails, avoiding my gaze. “The Heaven Valley Lavender Farm moved its products to their farmers’ market. Your mom must have run out of her favorite bath oil.”

  I narrow my eyes at our neighbor. “Did she go alone?”

  Martha brushes a hand on her prominent belly, almost as if caressing a poodle on her shirt. “She…she went with Wendy.”

  “Do you know what time they’ll return?” I repeat Ellie’s question.

  “Probably late.” Martha’s voice is a bit shaky, and beads are collecting on her forehead.

  Ellie blinks at me. “We should’ve called her before we left Phoenix.”

  “Yeah, we should’ve,” I reply and am stunned by my sharp tone.

  It’s not like Mom needs to render me a full account of what she does. I shouldn’t be irritated that she’s out.

  But I am.

  And not just that. The pit of my stomach is woozy, and I don’t really know why, which bothers me even more.

  Martha eyes us then glances at her watch. She gives out a theatrical sigh. “Oh dearie, look at that. It’s late. I really oughta go. My husband will be back from his golfing soon, and I still gotta iron our shirts for tonight.”

  “Are you going out?” Ellie gives her a questioning look. “Somewhere special?”

  Martha’s posture relaxes as if she’s glad we skipped to a different topic. “To the Boot Scootin’ Bash. Where else? The Mayor postponed the celebration from Saturday to tonight because the weather channel predicted a dust storm.” She rolls her eyes. “Of course, we had no more sand than on any usual weekend.”

  My eyebrows jump to my hairline. “There’s a dance tonight?”

  “Didn’t you see the giant posters when you drove into town?” Martha asks.

  No. I probably missed them because of the aftermath of my Zen break with Ellie. But in that case, it’s even weirder that Mom went to Prescott exactly today.

  “Do you know which band is playing?” Ellie squeaks, and her excited voice reminds me that she used to be part of our high school’s line dancing team.

  “Charlie’s Country Heart. My hubby secured them.” Martha grins at us.

  I’ve never heard of this group, but the utter pride on Martha’s face tells me these musicians must be at the top of their game—at least as far as small-town, western musical entertainment goes.

  Ellie’s eyes flick to me. “Doesn’t your mom love hoedowns?”

  “Yeah, she does,” I murmur, “but maybe because of her ankle, she decided to sit this one out.”

  Martha stares at me and, for a second, I feel that she wants to tell me something. But she gives her curls an imperceptible shake and holds out the keys to me. “Want to hold on to these?”

  “I have my own set, but thanks,” I say.

  “Okay, then. I turned the AC down so the house will be nice ’n’ cool when Cristina is back.” Martha gives me a hasty smile that doesn’t wrinkle her cheeks, then whips around and hurries down from the porch.

  As soon as she’s out of earshot, Ellie peers up at me. “I didn’t remember Martha being this…fidgety.”

  “Yeah. She wasn’t really herself,” I say.

  Ellie opens her arms. “Perhaps it’s just the weather getting to her. It’s a dry heat today.”

  I shrug. “Could be.”

  Today turned out to be rather hot even for Kingman’s standards—almost as torrid as if we were still in Phoenix. But a tiny voice reminds me of how Martha’s embarrassment started when I’d questioned her about Mom’s whereabouts.

  That isn’t a good sign.

  Before I can ponder more about this, Ellie touches my elbow, and an electric current jolts me out of my thoughts. “What shall we do now?” she asks.

  “Let me call Mom to see when she’s coming back,” I murmur.

  I try three times, but I can’t get through to her.

  “Mom’s phone is disconnected,” I say.

  “Maybe it overheated and died,” Ellie says. “Mine does it all the time.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I murmur.

  “Want to head back home?” Ellie asks.

  “Out of the question.” I can’t shake the feeling that something was off in Martha’s explanation. I’d love to look into Mom’s eyes and hear her tell me about her day. “We came here so I could speak to Mom about my childhood. Didn’t you say it was important for my therapy?”

  “It is.” Ellie nods, but her forehead is pulled into a concerned expression. “But it would mean that we have to—”

  “Spend the night here, I know.” Yeah, another good reason for staying is my wish to extend this private time with Ellie.

  “I’m not sure,” Ellie rubs her chin. “I told Cora I’d be back tonight. Of course, I could call her, but it still would mean that…”

  “Worried we’ll bump into other people we know?” I recall how Ellie hoped our trip would keep us under everyone’s radar.

  Ellie rolls her eyes and cocks her head toward Martha’s house. “I don’t think anyone else counts at this point.”

  She’s probably right. Martha’s a chatterbox. It’s only a matter of time before the entire town will know we drove to Kingman together.

  “At least your parents are on vacation,” I offer her. “Nobody else is aware that we had a fallout in the past, right? So they won’t wonder why we’re on speaking terms again.”

  She nods. “Yep.”

  She looks as if she’s considering my suggestion for real, so I’m bold enough to push my luck even further. “We could even check out the town dance and meet any gossip Martha comes up with head on.”

  I don’t know why my voice sounds so husky suddenly. Perhaps because the image of Ellie in a checkered flannel shirt tied above her hips and knee-high boots creates an odd buzz in my chest.

  Ellie’s lips curl up. “I haven’t been to a town dance for ages.” She pauses, then shakes her head. “But we don’t have any of our stuff with us.”
>
  I shrug. “We can buy toothbrushes at the supermarket. As for clothes, I’m sure your mother kept many of your old outfits. If I recall well, she’s as much of a hoarder as Mom.”

  “And you?”

  Her question sounds more as if she’s looking for excuses. I can hear in her eager undertone that the mention of the dance is weakening her mental defenses.

  It was sneaky of me to propose the dance. First, because Ellie’s got a passion for country music. Second, if I take her there, it would be almost as if we were on a date…

  A date with Ellie? Do I really want this?

  Since I’m not ready to face the answer to my own question, I point at the house door. “Mom stores all my college clothes and some of my father’s old things in the basement. I’ll surely come up with some cowboy accessories.”

  I grin at her, and she smiles back.

  The sizzles passing between us raise the temperature on the porch to an unbearable sultriness.

  Since Ellie doesn’t withdraw her gaze like she did in the past days when our gazes locked, I speak up about the crazy idea that pops into my mind. “Would you mind if I slept in your parents’ house, too?”

  Ellie’s jaw drops. “Why?”

  Because I hope we might pick it up where we left off when Laia interrupted us?

  “Because…well, I don’t want to scare Mom when she comes home. She doesn’t know we’re here. Suppose she arrives late and hears me snoring. She might call the police without checking who I am.”

  Ellie studies me.

  Does she see through me?

  If we go to the dance, there’s little chance that we’ll go to bed before Mom and Wendy get back from Prescott.

  She chews on her lower lip, then nods. “Fine. We can both stay at my parents’. You can take Devon’s old room. Now let’s find you some fine clothes for tonight.” She pats her stomach. “It’s already lunchtime, and I’m getting hungry.”

  I want to pump my fist into the air, but instead, I restrain myself and say, “Sure. After that, I’ll drive you to Burney’s, and we can share a large Banana Munchkin as a dessert.”