I stare at these pages, and I am so tempted to toss them in the garbage. Will you read them as the desperate longings of a grieving and foolish man? Will I kill any chance of whatever it is we hope to accomplish by this amazing week we’ve had? Will you call me and tell me you’ve made a huge mistake and you never want to see me again?
Is it arrogant to admit that I can’t see you doing it? Is it proof of my infernal optimism (that Lily sometimes despised) that I have no doubt as to your mutual feelings? I haven’t doubted since that first afternoon, and yet I feel like I should. It seems unnatural to be so certain—so full of myself. But I am. I can see in your eyes, the way you reach for me, the way you flirt with me. We have something unique and, forgive the pathetic sappiness of the word, precious. I can’t risk losing it, and I can’t commit to keeping it. What will we do?
How can I ensure that you ARE Cara mia?
Jonafan
She dropped the pages in her lap, stunned. For a man who avoided vocal conversation, he sure could unburden his heart when he wanted to.
Chapter Eight
The doorbell was the last thing Cara expected the following morning. She wrapped her robe around her tighter, cinched the sash, and glanced in the fridge to make sure she had syrup in the house. Her nearest neighbor had a habit of running out mid waffle making. However, her neighbor wasn’t at the door. She opened it, prepared to force the impatience from her face with a smile, to find Jonathan standing there.
“What—”
Smiling, he held up a bakery box and a grocery sack. “I come bearing coffee, fruit, and muffins. I was up, the kids were off with Mom, so I thought; why not come now and take you to work?”
“Oh!” She didn’t know what to say. Feeling very disheveled with her hair wet and unbrushed, wearing a ratty old bathrobe, and bare toes, Cara welcomed him into the house, absently tugging her hair as she did.
He fixed them plates and carried them to the couch where she sat with her Bible open to the passage du jour. “Where are you today?” One glance and he grinned. “Still in Solomon, eh? That’s my favorite chapter.”
“Oh, be quiet. No one should be so chipper this early in the morning.” Her acceptance of his proffered coffee, though less than gracious, was more than comical. Cara curled up in the corner of her couch, clutching the cup as though her lifeline to reality. With a roll of her eyes that she knew many found charming on the rare times they saw it, she sighed. “I do not look adorable. My hair’s a drippy mess, I’m covered by the rattiest thing I own—”
“Which you love—”
“Which I love,” she agreed, continuing without a pause. “I have no idea what I’m wearing to work today, and you on the other hand…” The eyes rolled again, bringing another satisfied smile to Jonathan’s face. “Look too good for your, no my, own good.”
“Thank you.”
Jonathan passed a toothpick and pointed at the plate. “Eat.”
“You’re so eloquent when you want to be. From one word, I can deduce that you’re afraid I’ll try to subsist on Slim-Fast today, so you’re going to ensure I eat more. That’s really impressive.”
The smirk on Jonathan’s face couldn’t be interpreted as anything less than utter satisfaction. Frustrated, she stabbed honeydew melon, a red grape, and strawberry with her toothpick and ate them in one bite. Her attempt at mockery failed as the flavors tantalized her taste buds. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped as she stabbed the watermelon left on her plate.
“Good?”
“You know you are.” She winked at his laughter. There was something very comfortable about a quiet breakfast with Jonathan. “Do you know what I realized last night? I mean, I think I knew it but had never put it into words—even in thought.”
“What?”
“You’re not like most people who don’t talk. I mean, I’ve met people who took time to formulate their thoughts, spoke little but had a lot to say when they did. I’ve met people who didn’t like to talk and didn’t like to listen to others talk either, and of course I’ve met people whose mouths run like ticker tape during a bull market—kind of like me this morning. However, I’ve never met anyone who was all of those and more. You just let people know, by your demeanor, what you want. I know if you’re feeling like talking, if you want to listen, or, if it’s one of those times that you really just need to be with someone but aren’t up to hearing, much less listening.”
“And you’re one of the very few people who know the difference between hearing and listening. You also,” he added with a hint of wonder in his voice, “know how to read people better than most. It isn’t that I do better at communicating my preferences—it’s that you are especially in tune to them.”
“But, then why don’t I notice when other people do or don’t want me to talk? It’s not me, it’s you.”
After his ears turned bright red, he sipped a bit of coffee, and took a bite of his own muffin; Jonathan glanced at her once more. “If it’s me, it’s because you are somehow in tune with me, not because I do a better job of projecting my preferences.”
“For example,” she continued, trying to prove her point, “right now, you don’t want to talk, but you do have something to say so you’re saying it. You’d rather not listen to me prattle on about my observations, and you don’t want to correct or agree with me. You just want a quiet breakfast enjoying my company, which,” she added with a smile, “I find highly flattering.”
“Why couldn’t I have met you about thirty years ago?”
“Because I wasn’t born yet and if I remember ages correctly, you weren’t either.”
“You’re wrong,” he protested. “I was old enough to have another sibling thirty years ago.”
She glanced at him curiously. “I thought you were twenty-nine.”
“Almost thirty-one. Mom always mixes Russ and my birth years.”
“No wonder, I thought you were older but she said you were younger.” Another bite of muffin disappeared while she worked to formulate her thoughts perfectly. “As much as I would love to have known you that long, I couldn’t have stood to see you marry Lily, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way, so I think…” she insisted, smiling, “I’m quite happy things have worked out the way they are.”
“Why wouldn’t you change it?” He thought he knew the answer, but Jonathan wanted to hear it anyway.
“Because then there’d be no intuitive Bryson or precocious Riley. I love those kids already.” She shook her head at the question he didn’t ask. “Don’t ask me that. I can’t handle sharing that part of me yet.”
“So, can I ask if you read a letter last night?”
“I did.”
“Is it shredded?”
“It is tied in a blue ribbon and kept in my treasures drawer,” she said with deliberate dreamy affectation.
She stood, taking a final swig of coffee, and hurried into the kitchen. She’d never get ready fast enough with Jonathan sitting on her couch waiting. Usually she spent her mornings reading the Word, praying, and then leisurely fixing her hair and applying her cosmetics while she considered what she felt like wearing. Today she wanted to rush and finish so she could have the extra half hour with Jonathan.
“You look agitated.”
“I don’t know what I’m wearing, I still have to get ready, and I’d rather sit here and carry on one of our silent conversations rather than go up those stairs right now.”
“How difficult is it to grab something—oh, wait,” Jonathan grinned like the Cheshire cat. “You’re a woman. Go fiddle with your hair and do whatever it is you do to show it off to best advantage. I’ll go dig through that closet of yours and find something to keep you from getting fired for indecent exposure.”
He started to follow her to the back bedroom, but she turned and pushed him back with her hand on his chest. “Nuh uh. Upstairs. That room is my ‘dress up’ closet. Upstairs holds my casual and work clothes. Just make sure it’s not too hot.”
“Which kind?”
“The one that’ll make me turn red before you whistle,” she retorted, pointing at the stairs once more.
“Too late,” he muttered in a stage whisper. “I’d whistle at that robe if I wasn’t afraid of the repercussions.”
“As well you should be,” she countered. “Re-concussions too.”
Smiling at her sharp repartee, Jonathan climbed the stairs two at a time, trying to remember what women in finance at his company generally wore. He wasn’t prepared for the sight of her closet. Winter clothes hung covered in plastic to protect from dust, but a wide variety of outfits hung on hangers and lay folded on shelves while on the other side, jeans, t-shirts, casual skirts, and sundresses made a much more colorful and eclectic looking mixture. For the first time in his life, he understood having a closet full of clothes and nothing to wear. If all women stared at their options uncertain what to pair together, it was no wonder they came up empty handed.
A buttery chiffon skirt that looked like the foxglove flowers in his mother’s “English cottage” flower garden caught his attention. Immediately, he grabbed it. She’d knock ‘em dead. He nearly laughed aloud. Who was he kidding? She’d knock him dead. Before he could change his mind, he grabbed a blouse and a short-sleeved blazer, and hurried downstairs. What was he thinking, volunteering to shuffle through her closets like this? Was he out of his mind? That question he could answer. He’d lost it somewhere between a dance at the wedding and a walk in the park. He knew that if he found it, he’d find his heart there with it.
“Okay, here you go. I’m hanging them on the door knob and off to clean up our mess.”
A few minutes later, as Jonathan put a hard-boiled egg, a few cubes of cheese, and a few grapes in a small plastic container, Cara hurried from the bathroom, dug through the shoe closet for a moment, and hopped into the kitchen on one foot as she slipped the other into her shoe. “What—what are you doing?”
“Snack. You had a lot of carbohydrates. I thought you could use some protein.”
“You would think of that.” Cara shook her head as she leaned against the counter to steady herself while sliding her foot into the other shoe. “I always think I’ll bring something but I don’t. Better skip the egg. I’ll make a mess peeling it.”
“Already peeled and ready to go. There’s a zip lock baggie with ice in it to keep everything cool.” He checked his watch. “Time to get you to the office before they take away your lunch break for tardiness.”
As the car pulled onto the loop, Jonathan gave Cara a sideways glance. “So…you going to tell me what you really did with that letter?”
“You want to know; you go home and find it. Dare you to find it before you have to leave to pick me up.”
Several miles passed before he exited the freeway and crawled through the business district with the rest of Rockland’s workforce. During those minutes, they each challenged the other, sometimes accepting, others rejecting. He pulled up to the curb in front of the double doors and laid his hand on her arm as she reached for the handle.
“But—”
He jumped from the car. Half the office walked through the doors in the twenty seconds it took him to open her door, offer his hand, and then stand there; gazing into her eyes before he gave her the slow smile he knew sent her heart racing. Leaning close, he whispered into her ear. “One o’clock. I’ll be waiting.”
“You do know everyone will assume you’re kissing me.” Her words were meant to rebuke, but her smile, the gleam in her eyes, and the light pressure of her palm against his chest did anything but reproach.
“As I would be if I thought I could get away with it.”
“Who says you wouldn’t?”
Jonathan’s eyes bored into hers. “I say. I know my limits, and I think we both know I had to bar that door day one and for good reason.”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“I’d be sorry if you didn’t. Have a good morning.”
~*~*~*~
Carly waited for her in her office. “Okay, girl, I want to hear every word—that is one killer skirt. Where’d you get it?”
“Skirt, Mom, word… get me a dictionary and pull up a chair. This is going to be one very long, boring bedtime story.”
Cara gave her friend and coworker a quick smile as she set her laptop bag onto her desk, stowed way her purse, and raced to Tina’s desk for the list of morning calls and appointments. Carly didn’t leave. Instead, she sank into the chair usually reserved for Derek, crossed her legs, leaned back, and drummed her fingers on the arm.
“I’m waiting.”
“For what?” Why Cara bothered stalling, she didn’t know; it wouldn’t work. She hadn’t come prepared to discuss her relationship with Jonathan—such as it was. She needed time to determine how much information she cared to share and what wasn’t up for discussion.
“Half the office is buzzing. First the lunch dates, then the rose, now he’s practically seducing you in the parking lot…”
“Oh, give me a break, he was just telling me he’d see me later. You guys turn everything into such a huge—”
“It looked like some serious kissing to me.”
“That’s exactly what I told him,” Cara retorted smugly. “I can’t wait to tell him I was right.”
“I’ll bet you can’t. Who is he, where’d you meet, how often have you seen him, and when’s the wedding?”
Ticking off each item on her fingers like a reminder list, Cara answered quickly. “Jonathan Lyman, at Julia’s wedding, every day for lunch and dinner since Sunday, and he’s going back to Atlanta on Monday, so I think you can scratch maid of honor off your to-do list for this year.”
“Atlanta?” Cara almost felt sorry for her friend. Carly looked crushed. “But you guys look so cute together.”
“It’s not going anywhere, Carly. It can’t. We’re just enjoying this week while we have it before we both return to our normal and very distant busy lives.”
“Maybe you guys could fly back and forth on weekends—meet in Chicago or Pittsburg for dates. New York even.”
“He has two children, Carly. He can’t go rushing off to places unknown for the adventure of it, even if I could afford it. We’re just becoming friends, and I’m pretty sure he wants to keep it that way.” She had a stroke of genius as she spoke. “When I told him everyone would think we were kissing, he told me he decided the first day we wouldn’t have that kind of relationship.”
So the truth of his words didn’t match the meaning of them in this particular context. Cara was desperate to appease her friend and stop the grilling before Carly forced her to confess her feelings or lie. She settled for honest words without revealing the why. Surely, the deception was understandable in the circumstances. She could tell Carly about it later when it wouldn’t hurt so much.
“No weekend visits?”
“Nope.” She tried to keep her disappointment from showing.
“No long chats on the phone at night after work?”
“Nope.” Cara almost laughed at the idea of long chats with Jonathan over anything.
“No romantic dates, chocolate, flowers, or expensive jewelry ‘just because?’”
“Nope.”
Before Carly could ask another question, Tina knocked on Cara’s door, opening it as she did. “Sorry, but these just came and I don’t have room for them on my desk until you’re done…” An enormous bouquet of lavender roses filled the doorway.
“No flowers, huh…” Carly reached for the card, snatched it, and put it behind her back. “You tell me the truth, girl, or I’m going to read this before you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“No, but I want you to pretend I would and spill it.”
Tina took her cue and slipped from the room, closing the door behind her. Cara held out her hand with the bossy air that she exuded when people in the office didn’t do their jobs to Cara’s satisfaction. “Give. Me. The card.”
“Not until you tell me the truth.”
“Carly, every word I’ve told you is absolute truth. I’ve not told you everything, no, but everything I have told you is one hundred percent true.”
“Even the bit about not having a romantic relationship with you?”
“He specifically said this morning that he decided he wasn’t going to let himself go there.”
“He’s already there, Cara. Look at those roses. I bet this card—”
Resigned, Carly passed the card to her, and Cara absorbed every word before rolling her eyes and passing it back. “Read it.” Cara knew Carly would never rest until she knew everything, and when Jonathan left, she’d need someone who understood.
“‘Did you know flowers have their own language?’ What’s that about?”
Without a word, Cara pulled her laptop from the case, flipped open the lid and plugged it in as it booted. “It’s, well, it’s Jonathan. He doesn’t talk much, so it’s kind of a private joke and a puzzle all in one.” She called up Google as she spoke muttering, “Language, flowers, Victorian…that should do it…come on…there. Rose…rose…”
Carly hurried to hover behind Cara’s chair, trying to see the screen. “There. Rose.”
“Red… true love. Yellow… dying love or platonic love…”
“Glad he didn’t give you those—”
“There. Lavender. Oh!” Cara’s face flushed. She shouldn’t have told Carly what Jonathan meant.
“Well, I was bummed about the no red thing, but now I’m thinking lavender is better. Love at first sight! What’s this ‘not that kind of relationship’ business!”
“Will you keep it down?” Cara glanced at the door. She slowly closed her laptop and sank back into the chair. “Okay, so I wasn’t honest about the context of what he said.”
“I knew it. He was kissing you.”
“No, and he won’t kiss me, Carly, but only because both of us know it’s a bomb waiting to blow up on us.”
“I so don’t get it. What are you talking about? Bomb?”
Speak Now Page 9