Only she hadn’t felt alone with Trey. She’d felt alive.
Problem was—she wasn’t sure what Trey was looking for. Okay, she knew what he was looking for, she just didn’t think it included working around the complications of a single mom. Or the timeline of a vulnerable woman who was easing her way into the shallow end of the dating pool.
Heather’s voice softened. “You deserve to be happy, Sara. Really happy. I’m talking about the part of you that being a mom doesn’t fulfill. Garrett would have wanted that for you. I want that for you.”
Sara’s hand went to her ring finger. It was still such a shock to find it naked. But the debilitating ache that usually followed hadn’t appeared for months. It had disappeared around the same time that Sara realized love didn’t have to hurt. That she could still love her husband, honor what they had shared, and find happiness.
“Trey’s a gypsy,” Sara said softly. She toed off her sneakers and pulled her ballet slippers out from under the desk. “From what I understand, he doesn’t even have a place in town. He lives at his brother’s hotel when he visits, which isn’t often.”
“So he’s not good with permanent. That doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Maybe he’ll be around long enough this visit for you to get your feet wet. Then poof, he’s gone and you’ve had your first fling.”
“Or my next heartbreak.” Wow, had she just said that?
“Not everything has to be considered in terms of forever.”
She laced up her shoes and stood. Heather was right.
For a girl who knew exactly what she wanted from the time she could walk, there hadn’t been room in Sara’s life for anything that didn’t have the potential of forever. There also hadn’t been room for a whole lot of fun. Something she needed right now.
Sara thought about how she felt those few times she’d seen Trey, and found herself wondering if she could go through with it. If she could get past the fear and forever-itis and just go for it.
She looked at her watch. “I gotta go start class, but congrats again, and thanks for being the best sister-in-law.”
“Right back at ya. Make sure to tell Cooper that I love him and I’ll be there for the race this weekend. And, Sara, I love you, so promise me that you’ll go for it.”
“Love you too.” Sara hung up and focused her attention on finding a sign-up sheet. If she couldn’t solve the chaos in her personal life, at least she could get a handle on her studio.
“Is it just me, or are you always wet when I’m around?” a man asked, and Sara froze as his voice, low and smooth, sent little tingles of awareness shooting through her entire body.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. Man indeed.
“I take that as a yes.”
She let out a deep breath, braced herself for impact, and looked up. And good Lord, Trey got better looking every time she saw him. Not only was he giving off enough testosterone to cancel out all of the estrogen in the room, he could fill out a suit like nobody’s business. A dark-gray suit that made his deep-brown eyes seem even more intense, if that were possible.
“Trey,” she said, noticing that he too was wet. As in his hair was spiky with rain and his lips looked moist and delicious.
“I figured that since the line to your studio is down the street, and it’s like a tutu convention in the waiting room, that you can’t get lost right now.” Setting two to-go cups on the counter, he flashed his perfect white teeth her way, which, with the whole suit-and-wet-hair thing, did crazy things to her heart. “So I thought I’d bring the lost to you.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of crazy.”
She looked around the studio, and crazy didn’t even begin to describe the situation. There wasn’t a spare inch of space on the benches, and even the standing-room-only area was packed.
“I can see that.” Although his eyes were too busy staring at her mouth to even notice the chaos behind him. “Is it always like this?”
She swallowed—hard. It had never been like this. Ever. Even with Garrett it had been a steady build. But with Trey, she felt like she was one wink away from going up in flames.
“No, um, the Snowflake Princess auditions are today. Only, today is Thursday, and I have a Tiny-Tappers class starting. Which is why I scheduled the auditions for next week. But I made a typo, and my assistant, as of five minutes ago, is moving to New York, so that means I have to teach a pole-dancing class that is in the middle of the only open private slot—”
She stopped because he was smiling. At her.
“That’s why you’re here, right? About the private?”
“Actually,” he reached out and touched her hand, “I’m more interested in the private pole-dancing lesson.”
So was she, which was the only excuse she had for not moving her hand. She was too busy noticing that his were huge and rugged and really warm. Suddenly her entire body was warm and all she could think about were his hands—on her. And just going for it.
He cleared his throat and she snatched her hand back.
“Your private would be for ballroom. The pole-dancing class is reserved for AARP cardholders only. So unless you want to watch saggy—”
He held a hand up. “I’ll take ballroom with a beautiful lady, thank you.” Then the easygoing playboy faded, leaving behind something more real. He slid a cup across the counter, the heavenly aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin filling the air.
Her stomach growled and her fingers actually twitched in anticipation. “What’s that?”
“Coffee,” he said with a smile. “Pumpkin-spice latte from the Sweet and Savory. I have it on good authority they are the best in town. Plus I get a family discount.”
“Thank you.” She took a sip and felt her face flush. Partly from the hot coffee, but mostly because he’d listened and the gesture was incredibly thoughtful.
“Now that we got the coffee portion of the relationship over with, let’s talk about that dream date? I’m leaning toward one that starts with a twirl around the dance floor and ends with you in my arms.”
She thought about what Heather had said, and considered just going for it. Then she saw Cooper over by the mirrors with his “carriage,” as the girls were calling it. The growing crowd of pink pushed forward, and she felt every bit the single mom. “Can I see how tonight goes and let you know later?”
“Later, as in you’ll call me?” Trey tsked as he leaned forward, leisurely resting his elbows on the counter, a tsunami of sexy-male swagger detonating with a single curve of his lips. “We tried that with the car and the coat, and I hate to say this, but I don’t think telecommunications are your strong suit.”
“How is the coat?”
“Ruined.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” he admitted. “It meant that I got to see you again. And if it takes me on a pole so that I can have my dance, then I guess I’d better get used to myself in a thong.”
Sara laughed. Was it really that easy? Just say yes and everything would feel like it did right then. Light, fun…alive?
“A pink thong?”
“Hell, no.” The second man in her life today to gag at the idea of pink. “I’d go for something more manly, black silk.”
He flashed his killer smile, but Sara had a hard time smiling back. “More manly?”
He didn’t answer; instead he reached across the counter and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’m only asking for one dance, Sara. Tell me how I can make that happen.”
The easy answer would be no. He’d leave, Sara could start her auditions, spend the night whittling a car out of wood, and go to bed early because the idea of one more night alone in that big house was more than she could handle.
Or, she thought, as she picked up his big, manly, made-for-sanding hands, she could live a little.
“How good are you with these?”
CHAPTER 7
Usually when a woman asked Trey if he was good with his hands, spending the night sanding and scraping a piece of wood wasn’t what she had in mind. Yet here he was, at happy hour, sitting cross-legged on the cold floor in the back room of a dance studio, hanging with a bite-size kid while a bunch of little girls squealed and twirled on the other side of the wall.
“Wow! You’re good at that,” the kid said just as Trey rounded off the bumper. His mom made it easy since, from the looks of it, Sara had bought out the entire hardware store down the street.
His mom.
Trey released a deep, painful breath which pissed off his chest because Sara hadn’t morphed into a pregnant woman in a wedding dress. No, she’d come stock-ready with a minivan future and an instant family. And she hadn’t said a goddamned word about it.
Now, he had a thing for a single mom. And kids meant a whole new set of rules—rules that revolved around long-term and commitment, two things that were normally his cue to invent some reasonable excuse and get the hell out of there. Only this time, he couldn’t think of what to say—or anywhere he’d rather be.
“Just make sure it’s five ounces. The commander says that’s the limit.” Cooper held up his hand, all five fingers spread wide to emphasize his point.
“Got it.” Trey kept sanding, forcing himself not to look at the mini-Chargers fan holding a screwdriver. He knew what he’d see—it would be the same look Trey had given his brothers when they would do something that was truly impressive. Which, if he were being honest, felt good.
Lately, Trey felt like the least impressive person on the planet, but hanging out in the back room of a dance studio, with another guy, building a car, was definitely the testosterone-infused environment he needed. So far, Cooper hadn’t brought up diapers, babies, or reproduction of any kind, which he was thankful for. It was all cars and football while tossing back a few juice boxes, polished off by some impressive burping and sound effects.
“Okay, Coop, how do you want this bad boy to look?” Trey asked.
“Not like a carriage or a bug, and not pink. I want it manly with muscles,” Coop said and Trey hid his grimace. He remembered Cooper from the other day when he’d picked up Holly from her Lady Bug meeting. Remembered telling him that pink was a wussy color. It was a joke. Obviously the kids took it seriously.
“Pink’s not so bad,” Trey said.
“For a girl.” Yup, he’d said that too. Crap. “Hunter said the only thing that should be pink is a ballerina dress.”
Trey agreed with this Hunter, but wisely kept his mouth shut.
“Then I told him I took ballet and I didn’t wear a dress, and he said I was a ballerina and then everyone laughed.” Trey bet by the wet eyes that Coop didn’t laugh. “I tried to tell him that boy ballerinas were different, but I couldn’t remember what they were called. Do you know?”
“Boy ballerinas, I mean, um…male ballet dancers are…” Hell, he didn’t know, and any word he’d used to describe guy dancers before would probably get him in deep shit with Sara. “Awesome. Male dancers are awesome.”
“You sure?” The kid was too polite to call him a liar, but the disbelief was thick in his voice.
“Damn straight,” Trey said, proud of himself, until Coop’s eyes lit with excitement over the bad word. “Do you know how strong they have to be to lift girls over their heads like that? In fact, someone needs to tell that Hunter kid that during college, some of my football buddies actually took ballet to increase their flexibility and balance. And strength. That sounds like awesome to me.”
The kid smiled like he’d just said the best possible thing. “Are you a professional dancer?”
“I can spin a lady around the dance floor all right.” Since that was not what the kid was asking, Trey picked up the sandpaper and mumbled, “Otherwise, no. Not really.”
“Oh,” Coop said, looking a little deflated. “A football player?”
“With my brothers on the weekend, but I was more of a baseball kind of kid growing up,” Trey said, wondering why he was explaining himself to a five-year-old with a grape mustache.
Coop studied Trey, taking in his suit and button-up. After looking around the room and checking under the desk, he leaned in and, as though he were divulging a national secret, whispered, “A secret agent?”
“Nope,” Trey said, grabbing another juice box. Then to end what would otherwise turn into an endless game of Twenty Questions That Confirm You’re a Loser, he added, “I’m a salesman.” Coop looked as confused as Trey felt. “I sell wine. All around the world.”
“Really?” Coop’s eyes went wide with awe and Trey felt some of his swagger return. But the ego stroke was short-lived. “I sell lemonade. To all the people on my block. Last summer I made enough money to buy my own Tonka tank. It’s camo and shoots lasers from the cannon and it’s just like the kind my dad drives.”
Of course his dad drove tanks. He was probably Special Forces too. Here Trey was, a wine salesman, trying to impress some kid with his mad sanding skills when his dad made weapons from sand and earwax.
“Your dad’s a military man.”
“Marine.”
Explained why Trey was here and his dad wasn’t. He didn’t see a ring on Sara’s finger and judging by Coop’s good manners and impeccable hygiene, he’d bet that Sara had primary custody. “Is he stationed overseas?”
“Nope. He’s with Grandma and Grandpa Reed.”
“Where’s that? San Diego?” Trey had learned that Sara had moved here from San Diego last summer.
“Nope, in heaven.”
The last word hit Trey like a fist to the gut. His guess was divorce, not—“My dad was a soldier who fought bravely and died for his country.”
And there it was. Coop’s statement sounded more like something an adult would say, granted; it was likely what he had been told to say over and over again. Just like Trey had been told that his parents’ death wasn’t his fault. But no matter how many times something got pounded into his brain, it didn’t make the reality any less…real.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” Trey said, rubbing another long swipe along the car, breaking his earlier rule of not looking him in the eye. “That must have been hard on you and your mom.”
Now it was Coop’s turn to avoid eye contact. Searching through the bag, he pulled out a squeeze tube of army-green paint and paused right out of Trey’s grasp. “Just cuz it’s green doesn’t mean it tastes like watermelon, so don’t eat it. Mom will get mad. Oh, and don’t lick the glue stick, it will make your belly hurt.”
Trey stared. The kid was serious. “No licking or drinking toxic supplies. Got it. How about grabbing us another couple of juice boxes so we can get this thing ready for a paint job?”
“Thanks for the ride,” Sara said as Trey pulled onto her street. He was not in the minivan. In fact, she learned that he didn’t even own the minivan—the one she hit or otherwise. He owned a very non-kid-friendly sports car with bucket seats, a spoiler, and a backseat fit for a Chihuahua. But it had muscle.
“No problem,” Trey said quietly, since Cooper was snoring away in the back, his legs pulled to his chest, his head lolled to the side on the leather armrest.
By the time her pole-dancing class had started, the rain had turned to a light drizzle, but it was dark and cold, and the streets were still slick from the storm. So while the first coat of paint was drying on the derby car—army green apparently fell into the manly category—Trey picked up a large chili from Stan’s Soup and Service Station, with two spoons, and he and Cooper hung out and ate while Sara finished up so he could drive them home.
She hadn’t had the heart to tell Trey that for her son, chili’s ick-factor ranked right above cabbage and below squash of any kind, but it hadn’t mattered. Cooper’s need for guy time overruled his absolute conviction that things with beans could sprout in his stomach, and he sucked down t
wo helpings. Just like the way Trey patiently guided Cooper through making his car, never once taking over when paint spilled or a corner got too sanded, overruled that little voice in Sara’s mind, reminding her that sweet didn’t translate into long-term.
Not for a guy like Trey.
“How did the Snowflake Princess auditions go?” he asked, sending her a sidelong glance.
“Crowded, chaotic, and totally amazing.” Sara leaned back against the headrest and smiled. Her feet were sore, her head pounded from all of the giggling kids and chattering moms, but it couldn’t have gone more perfectly. “I can’t believe how many people your grandmother got to show up. I don’t know if she was threatening or bribing.”
“Probably a little of both.”
“Well, I now have three classes completely booked and I haven’t even had the middle-schoolers audition yet. If Monday is anything like today, I will have enough kids to have classes every afternoon, with younger siblings filling out my morning schedule, which means I can hire a full-time teacher and stay home nights with Cooper.”
“It sounds like today was a complete success,” Trey said, pulling into her driveway.
Sara waited until he put the car in park and looked over at her. “I have you partly to thank for that. I know that I kind of sprung Cooper on you.” He raised a brow. “Okay, I totally blindsided you, but you deserved it. Manly color.”
“Regan asked me to pick up Holly from Lady Bugs, and one of the kids asked why I was wearing my sister’s coat. Since I’d just gone a round with my brothers over the sparkly accents—thanks for that, by the way—I might have said something stupid to defend my masculinity. I never meant for Coop to hear it. Plus, you have to admit, that car was…” he looked over his shoulder at Cooper, who let out a sleepy Darth Vader breath-snort combo, but he lowered his voice anyway, “pretty tragic.”
“I worked hard on that. It took us all week to get it done.” She shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge, except to trap her hand beneath his, making her next words come out breathy. “And I think it looked like a superhero’s car.”
Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) Page 10