Chapter 15
Inching her pie plate away, Megan relaxed against the hard vinyl upholstery of their booth. Even though it was almost ten o’clock at night, she’d taken one look at the diner’s menu and had to order breakfast. And after she’d eaten all her scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, she’d ordered a piece of pie.
Definitely too much food.
“I think if I had to choose, I’d pick pie over cake,” she said, looking over at James, who was trying to hide his smile behind a chipped coffee mug.
“I’d definitely pick cake.”
“You don’t like pie?”
He shrugged. “I like some pie, but I love cake.”
She thought about all the birthday cakes her mom had made when Megan was younger. She hadn’t cared for the icing so she always scraped it off. It always tasted like fluffy butter, and the thought of eating butter made her want to gag.
“What’s your favorite pie?” James asked her.
“Anything sour. Like key lime or rhubarb.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had rhubarb. They sell it in the grocery store next to the vegetables, and I don’t like the idea of eating vegetables in a pie.”
“It’s sweet and tart like a fruit though,” she insisted.
He smiled and took a sip of coffee. They’d been sitting at the tiny diner for the last hour, and it seemed like all they were doing was making small talk.
Megan was okay with that though. She liked to watch James talk. The way his lips moved and his easy smile made her insides melt like warm honey.
“Do you have any exciting plans for Thanksgiving?” she asked.
“We’re heading down to Indianapolis to my sister’s place. Cade can’t shut up about it. Spending time with his cousins is one of the highlights of his year.” His eyes brightened from dark brown to a milk chocolate when he talked about his son. “Are you going to Boston?”
She shook her head and frowned. “No, not this year. I guess you could say I’m hiding here in Chicago. I haven’t told my family about my divorce yet.”
He raised his eye brows, creases forming across his forehead. “Why?”
She picked up her fork and drug it through the remaining cherry pie filling on her plate. “At first, I didn’t want to deal with their reaction. I was already having a hard enough time dealing with it on my own, and the thought of hearing their disappointment would have driven the dagger in a little further.”
He frowned. “Is your family really that judgmental? They’d give you shit for your divorce?”
Nibbling on her lower lip, she thought about what he’d asked. Her parents were sweet, albeit nosy. Her brother wasn’t a saint, and Lord knew he’d given them enough practice learning to bite their tongues. But she still wasn’t sure what their reaction would be to her failure.
“I’ve never disappointed them before so I don’t really know.”
James gave a disbelieving chuckle. “You’ve never disappointed your parents? What, were you like the perfect child?”
She just blinked at him and tried to think of something to say. “They probably weren’t too happy that I decided to go to Northwestern instead of a university in Boston.” She paused to think some more. “I didn’t make the varsity basketball team my freshman year in high school.”
“Did your parents really like basketball or something?”
She shook her head. “No, they couldn’t care less about basketball.”
“Damn.” He shook his head. “They must have been crushed then.”
Laughing, she kicked his foot under the table. “You see! They haven’t really been disappointed in me before. That’s why it seemed so impossible to tell them initially. And in the last few months, I’ve thought of telling them dozens of times but…I just haven’t.”
“You say it like getting a divorce is a huge failure.”
She shrugged. “Isn’t it?”
“No,” he replied immediately. “Not always. Not in your case. Your ex fucked up, not you.”
“You don’t know that,” she whispered.
All of a sudden, she felt tired, like she hadn’t slept in days. Why did talking about her divorce feel like the equivalent of carrying a hundred grocery bags up five flights of stairs?
“In my opinion, divorce is one of those things that takes a decent amount of time to process properly. Take mine, for example…” He shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. “It was like one day I woke up, and the woman I married was a completely different person. For a long time, I blamed myself. I must have done something wrong to make her turn away from us. I didn’t do enough to help her. But after a while, I realized all the blame didn’t fall on me. Holly could have made a thousand different choices in the course of those last few months. And her decisions were her own. We didn’t talk them out together as a couple. She decided to make other things a priority over our family.”
There was no malice or sorrow in his expression as he spoke. Only truth.
“How long did it take you to draw that conclusion? To find peace with it?”
Lowering his eyes to his coffee cup for a half a second, he looked back up and gave her a reluctant smile. “A while.”
Her heart broke for him at the same time she felt pride in his strength. A pride she really had no business feeling because he wasn’t her anything. But she felt it all the same.
“I guess after my divorce I learned the importance of honesty. That’s a big sticking point with me now.” James shrugged. “Someone who is dishonest is someone I don’t need in my life.”
She sighed. “I know, you’re right. I plan to tell them.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, letting the clanging of dishes and pans from the line cooks in the kitchen and the low murmur of nearby conversations settle around them.
“Let’s make a deal to only talk about our divorces if it’s absolutely necessary,” she suggested. “Otherwise, they’re off-limits.”
One side of his mouth curled into a sexy smile. “Deal. Do you want anything else? If not, let’s get out of here.”
“Ugh,” she moaned. “I’m stuffed.”
James turned around to wave down their waitress for their check. Megan opened up her clutch and pulled out some cash.
“I’d really like to pay for dinner.”
“Nice of you to offer, sweetheart, but I’ll politely refuse. From the way I was raised, the man always pays.”
“What are you, like, ninety? This is the twenty-first century. Women can pay now.”
He smiled. “Fair enough. I apologize if I insinuated that women couldn’t pay for dinner. What I should have said is that, personally, I get great pleasure in knowing that I was able to take a beautiful woman out to a five-star dinner,” he explained, flicking his hand out to reference the little diner they were in, “and know that at the end of the date she went home satisfied.”
Suppressing her giggle, she batted her eyes. “But I’m not sure I’ve been satisfied.”
He threw some twenty-dollar bills down on the check before stuffing the wallet in his back pocket. “Our date isn’t over yet.”
###
After paying their bill, James held the door open for Megan. A blast of air blew into them, causing her to hiss at the stinging cold.
The weather had gone from Indian summer to bitter cold in the span of a week. The meteorologists were calling it an arctic blast, and a system was coming across the Midwest that was supposed to dump three to six inches of snow starting around midnight.
James zipped up his thermal fleece all the way to his chin. He’d pressed the automatic start on his car when they were still in the diner. Even though it wouldn’t be toasty warm inside the car, it’d be a hell of a lot warmer than outside. And with the shoes Megan was wearing, he was sure she’d appreciate that. Seriously, they were sexy as hell, but who wore open-toed shoes in November in Chicago?
Huddled into their coats, they quickly got in the car. “This weather!” she complained. “Looks like
I’m going to have to pull out my winter stuff already.”
“I think that would be wise.” He revved the engine a few times and turned the heater on full blast. “So…” he let the statement hang.
He was eager to take her someplace so he could make her warm. And wet.
“My roommate is working late tonight,” she said. “Would you like to come to my place?”
He grinned and put the car into gear. Shit, he felt like a teenager again. His body hummed with adrenaline. He was about to get lucky. It was such an appropriate and telling statement. Luck usually implied success attributed to chance. Being in the right place at the right time. That pretty much summed up everything about why he was driving Megan home.
He was lucky he’d been the only mechanic she knew to take her car to. He was lucky she just so happened to be his son’s grade school teacher. And he was lucky her ex-husband was a complete douchebag and thought fucking around on her was a good idea.
That last reason was selfish, of course. But in the long run, maybe it would be lucky for Megan too. She was sure to find someone else who would treat her a hell of a lot better than that cheating asshole.
And when it was time for James to let her go so she could find what she needed and where she needed to be, he would. But for the moment, he planned to make her feel so good she might just forget about her big-picture plans for a little while.
They were halfway back to her apartment when his phone rang. Shifting in his seat, he pulled it from his back pocket. When he saw it was from his landline, unease spread through his chest. His father would never call him this late if it weren’t important.
“I need to take this,” he muttered to Megan. He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye as he hit the talk button. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey there, son. Sorry to call you, but Cade’s sick. He’s been throwing up for the last half hour and his temp is up to 104 degrees.”
His dad’s voice was smooth and calm, but James knew from the way his dad rushed the information out that he didn’t know what to do. Abel had raised two young kids by himself after his wife had passed away from skin cancer. If Abel was calling, Cade had to be pretty sick.
James glanced over at Megan, who was looking at him with concern. “All right. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Did you give him ibuprofen?”
“I tried, but it came right back up.”
“Okay. Put a cold compress on the back of his neck and see if he’ll sip on some Gatorade. I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”
When his dad cut the line, James dropped his phone into one of the cup holders. “Megan, I’m sorry, but I—”
“Is Cade okay?” The concern in her voice made the panic in his body elevate.
“He’s got a high fever, and he’s sick to his stomach. I’m gonna need to cut our evening short.”
She reached over and squeezed his leg reassuringly. “Of course. Don’t even think twice about it.”
He hated when Cade was sick. He felt so helpless watching his son fight off a fever or puking his guts out. It was worse than when he himself was sick. He’d gladly take on whatever flu or stomach bug his kid had.
Often, he wondered if every father felt like he did—helpless and ignorant—or if it was just him. Half the time he didn’t know what the hell he was doing being a dad. Did mothers feel this way? If he and Holly were still together, would they be better equipped to handle shit like this together?
You’ll never know, so why are you fucking thinking about it?
Sometimes he thought he was missing out by not trying harder to find a good woman. Someone who’d be his partner. Someone he could trust completely. But that was a thought for another time.
Grinding his back teeth together, he made the final turn and parked right in front of Megan’s door. “Sorry, again. I’ll get in touch with you sometime next week.”
Nodding, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “No need to apologize.”
Her feather-soft kiss sent tingles down his spine. She smelled like warm vanilla. When she pushed her door open, the cold crept in, cooling the heat left behind from her lips. He couldn’t wait to get her in bed since he’d never had her there before, but that would have to wait.
Before she shut the door, she bent down and said, “Good luck.”
He nodded once, and as soon as he saw her safely inside her apartment building, he put the car into drive. It didn’t take him long to reach his house. He hurried upstairs, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it over the back of a dining room chair. The TV in the living room was paused, and as James made his way up the stairs, the only light on was the one in the hall bathroom.
Abel stepped out of Cade’s room. “We’re in here. I just got him to take a couple sips of water.”
“Thanks, Dad,” James replied as he entered his son’s room.
Cade was curled up in a tight ball on his bed, hugging Red Dog. It was his oldest and shabbiest stuffed animal, but when he was scared or wasn’t feeling well, the floppy dog was always with him.
James sat down on the side of the bed and lightly touched his son’s back. He could feel the heat coming off his little boy’s body through the glow-in-the-dark shark pajamas.
He ached at seeing his son suffer. Slowly, he rubbed his palm up and down Cade’s back. His boy’s eyelids fluttered and then opened. “Dad?”
“Hey, bud.” He was glad his voice didn’t quake as much as he expected it to.
Cade pushed up and curled into James’s side, wrapping his little arms around his waist. “I don’t feel good, Dad,” his son whispered, followed by little whimpers that broke James’s heart.
“Shhhhh,” James said, rubbing his son’s back. It felt like he was holding on to a fireball. “We’re gonna get you better.”
“I threw up on the bathroom rug,” Cade cried.
“It’s okay. We can clean that up.”
The little boy sniffed and stuck his nose into the side of James’s chest. It took a few minutes for the tears to subside while James sat in the dark in Cade’s room, gently stroking his back. Sometimes James forgot his son was only seven years old. But times like this, when Cade was sick and needed his help, it was easier to see him for the little boy that he was.
“He had a dose of ibuprofen about an hour ago. Not sure how much of it stayed down,” Abel said from the doorway.
“We’ll wait a few hours and give him some Tylenol,” James replied, hoping that some of the medicine remained in his son’s system. He didn’t want to run the risk of giving Cade too much medicine, even if it’d possibly come back up the last time he’d been sick.
“Can I get you to eat a popsicle, bud?” James asked.
He felt a nod against his side. He stood after disentangling the little boy’s arms from around his waist. He rushed downstairs to the kitchen and returned a moment later with one of those special popsicles made with electrolyte formula. “Here you go.”
The little boy stuck the grape popsicle in his mouth, then returned his head to James’s chest. As his son slurped on his icy treat, James leaned back against the headboard of Cade’s bed.
James rubbed his son’s shoulder in the dark as Cade ate his popsicle. He knew he’d be throwing his shirt in the wash later that night because there would be sticky grape juice all over his shoulder.
Long after his popsicle was gone, Cade fell asleep, but James didn’t move. He just sat there, feeling the way his little boy’s chest pressed against his side with every even breath he took.
His phone lit up beside him on the bed. Thank goodness he’d turned off the ringer when he first sat down.
Megan: Sorry, I know it’s late. How is Cade doing?
As well as he could manage with one hand, he texted back.
James: Better. He’s sleeping now.
A second passed before his phone indicated she was responding.
Megan: I’m glad to hear that. I forgot to thank you for dinner. So, thanks.
James: You’re welcome.
> Megan: Good night, James.
James: G’nite.
He stared across the room, looking at the light that came through the blinds from the streetlamps below. This dating thing—or whatever he and Megan were doing—wasn’t going to be easy. Between their work and his son, they might have to get creative to find ways to spend time together.
Not for the first time, he wondered if all the trouble was even worth it. Then he thought about what had happened last Friday in his garage and knew he’d be an idiot not to try.
Chapter 16
After paying the cab driver, Megan stopped on the sidewalk outside the hotel to double-check the text she’d received from James on Wednesday.
James: Meet me on Friday at the Langham. Check in any time after three. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Dinner at seven-thirty.
A swirl of nerves, from both anticipation and uncertainty, bounced around in the pit of her stomach. She’d been giddy when she first got his message. Thank goodness he’d texted her in the middle of the week because she’d had ample time to deliberate what to pack in her overnight bag. She’d overpacked, no doubt. But at least she knew she would be ready for whatever James had in store for her.
The reception area was fairly empty for four o’clock in the evening on a Friday. A few people sat in the seating areas and there was one other person at the desk. The sun had dipped down behind the buildings. The lights in the high ceiling and the lamps placed throughout the lobby bathed the hotel’s modern décor in a warm glow.
She’d been to this hotel several times—a couple of weddings, a few fundraising events, a business party or two. But she’d never spent the night.
Niall had never cared for the contemporary furnishings or the black-and-white interior design. He said it was too clinical. Megan, on the other hand, didn’t mind it at all. In fact, she thought the hotel’s clean symmetry was lovely.
“Good evening,” she said to a man behind the front desk. “I’m checking in.”
“Of course. May I have your name, please?” he asked.
“I believe the reservation is under Foley.”
Where I Need To Be Page 13