Second Time's the Charm

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  He picked up his cell phone. No missed calls or new messages.

  Lillie hadn’t called and it depressed him.

  What the hell? He was a grown man, not a young kid with unrealistic dreams about a pretty girl.

  Scoffing at himself, Jon pushed the speed-dial button temporarily assigned to Lillie.

  “Hello, Jon.” She picked up on the first ring, as though she’d been waiting for his call.

  “I hope it’s not too late.” If she’d been working, it shouldn’t be. He figured her for a night person.

  “No, it’s fine. I got your note but didn’t want to call and risk waking Abe. I know he goes down at eight.”

  “He’d sleep through a hurricane,” he told her, not quite buying her excuse.

  She didn’t say how long she’d been home. Or where she’d been.

  “So you saw my estimate for the tiles?”

  “Yes, it’s lower than I expected. You’re sure you figured in the cost of the grout and everything else you’ll need?”

  “I’ve got the tools and the grout,” he told her, wishing he didn’t even have to charge for the tile.

  “Well, if you’re sure you want to take this on, then yes, I say let’s do it. I’ll leave a check for you in an envelope at the day care,” she told him.

  “As long as you’re sure you want to continue helping me with Abe.”

  “Of course I’m sure.” Her voice took on a tone of urgency.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You sound...off.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He was a business acquaintance. He didn’t have the right to push any further into her life.

  “I put a second safety catch on your back door,” he told her. “It’s a blocker in the track itself. You’ll need to lower it to open the door.”

  “I’ve already checked it out. Thanks.”

  She’d been checking out her doors? “Are you nervous, staying there alone?”

  “A little uneasy, I guess. Just the idea that there’s some creep slinking around at night...”

  “Do you have someplace else you can stay?”

  From what he’d seen and heard, she seemed to know every person in town.

  Chuckling, Lillie said, “Lots of places. But I’m where I want to be.”

  The chuckle, the confidence, had him guessing just where in her house she might be. Which led to wondering about her state of dress. Or undress...

  Pushing the covers into a ball at the end of the mattress, Jon focused on his computer screen for a couple of seconds. Got himself under control. The hard-on her words had triggered was going to take a bit longer to subside, but he could ignore it. Move on.

  “I have a suggestion,” he said, thinking of his paper. And of the time the week before when she’d used the very same words to suggest that he and Abe go to the zoo with her. “I think you should let me replace your sliding glass door with French doors.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Yeah. And I really think that it would be a good idea,” he continued. “Not only would it increase the resale value of your home, but they’d be a hell of a lot safer. We could install a dead bolt just like we did on your front door.”

  “I love French doors,” Lillie said, her voice growing in energy again. “And at this point, I’d just as soon never have sliding glass doors in my home again. But wouldn’t the transition take a lot of work?”

  “It’d be a breeze,” he said. “I could have it done in one evening. The big deal is the cost. French doors don’t come cheap. We’re talking anywhere from $350 to $4,000, depending on your taste.”

  “My safety is worth the cost.” Her answer was immediate. Which it had been every time he’d discussed costs with her. She was obviously well compensated for what she did. And the piddly few hours he was putting in for improvements around her house couldn’t possibly be paying for the time she was spending with his son.

  They were supposed to be going on another outing on Sunday. Unless something had changed with her plans.

  “Are your friends keeping Abe again tomorrow night?”

  “Yes.” He had some research to do for the chemistry experiment he and Mark were planning for the following week. A chapter to get through in Trig. And a shitload of paintings to memorize for a quiz in Art History.

  “Do you have plans?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Maybe we could shop for doors together,” she said. “I’ll need you to show me what my choices are. Will we have to order them?”

  “Not if you like something they have in stock.”

  “How soon can they have them delivered?”

  He had a hunch she was more than a little uneasy about the break-ins. And admired the hell out of her. The woman had strength. And grit.

  “If you buy something in stock, I can load it up in the back of the truck,” he told her. “And if you’re quick about making up your mind, we might even have time left for me to install them before I have to pick up Abe tomorrow night.”

  He’d give up a little extra sleep that week to get his schoolwork done.

  Abe came first.

  And Lillie was his best hope for helping Abe with his anxiety.

  “It won’t take me long,” Lillie assured him. “I know what I like.”

  Was she talking about him?

  “You’re sounding better.” He hadn’t really meant to say that out loud, but it was better than telling her that his body was seriously feeling her. Which was the thought at the forefront of his mind at the moment.

  Get control of yourself, man.

  “I am feeling better. Thank you.”

  Loosening the drawstring at the waist of his thin cotton pajama bottoms, Jon looked at the garish cartoon faces splashed in all directions across his legs. Abe had grabbed at the tacky pajamas with chocolate-smeared hands when they’d been at the big-box store, and Jon had felt he had to buy them.

  “I didn’t do anything,” he told her. And if she knew what he wanted to do, she’d probably be calling her sheriff friend instead of thanking Jon.

  “Yeah, you did. I can’t really explain it, but...I’m in a better mood now than before you called.”

  The damned waistband across his hips got tighter.

  “I’m sorry.” Lillie’s voice faded a bit. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He couldn’t go backward. He should. But he couldn’t.

  “I’m not sorry,” he said, giving up on pretending that Lillie Henderson only mattered because of Abe. “It’s the same way with me. Pretty much every time we talk.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what does this mean?”

  “That we’re friends,” he said. And then added, “I hope.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  “Good.” Closing his laptop he settled back into his pillows and grinned at the ceiling. “So, now that we’re officially friends, can you tell me what had you so down earlier?”

  Her silence stretched long enough to risk ruining the moment.

  “I’m not asking you to compromise client privilege or anything,” he assured her. “I just...care...if you’ve had a bad day.”

  “I’m mostly just tired,” she said. “And tonight I found myself dealing with a situation that took me back down memory lane.”

  “A good lane or a bad one?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, sounding far away. “Maybe both. Crazy, huh?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You ever feel that way? Like you miss what once was, but don’t ever want to go back? And then you find yourself wondering if this or that had been different, if you’d feel differently about going back?”

&
nbsp; “It’s natural to feel nostalgic about things.” There wasn’t much about his past that he missed. But she was obviously feeling nostalgic and this wasn’t about him. “Tell me one thing you’d go back to if something had been different.”

  The request met with total silence.

  Because he was beginning to suspect that, with Lillie, reticence didn’t necessarily mean that her reply was none of his business, Jon said, “Okay, tell me something you miss.”

  “Spending time with my parents.” Her response was immediate. And reality bore down on him again.

  Lillie wasn’t like him—or the kids he’d grown up with. She had family. People who’d ask questions about her choices. Give opinions on decisions.

  Judge him.

  People who, like Kate’s family, found his “kind” something to avoid. At least in the close relationship sense. He was considered good enough to work for them, though.

  And that was what he was doing for Lillie....

  His mind spun with thoughts, taking him down and then back up.

  Her end of the line was still silent.

  “You said you went to college in Shelter Valley,” he said, having himself firmly in check again. “Did you grow up here?”

  “No.” She sighed as if she was settling back—against a chair? In bed? “I’m a California girl. Inland, though, not a beach baby. My father was an engineer. He worked for the government doing different testing things in the desert. I was never really sure what it was all about.”

  His chest tightened. A guy with government clearance. A man like that would never accept a man like Jon in his daughter’s life.

  “What about your mother?”

  “She taught school when I was little and was an elementary school principal by the time I was in junior high. It was nice because she always had the summers off.”

  “What about siblings?”

  “Nope. My folks talked about having another baby sometimes, but they never did have one. We were good together, just the three of us. Happy.”

  Reveling for the moment in the picture she painted, Jon laid back in his bed, and shut off the light, figuring there was no harm in living vicariously for the duration of the conversation.

  “What about grandparents?”

  “My father’s folks were in Florida. We saw them several times a year. They were both older, though. Had him when they were in their forties. They passed away when I was still a kid.”

  He had no idea if he’d had living grandparents. “And your mother’s parents?”

  “My grandfather died of a heart attack my first year of high school. Gram didn’t last long after that. Mom said Gram died of a broken heart. They were fairly young, both in their seventies.”

  “That must have been rough.”

  “Yeah, they lived down the road from us. I used to stop in at Gram’s after school, to wait for Mom to get home, and she always had a snack waiting for me. More often than not, it was homemade cookies.”

  It was his dream. The “real family” dream. He could almost taste the cookies and smiled. It was good to know that the ideals he’d conjured in his head really did exist.

  Sliding his heels along cool sheets, Jon asked, “So where are your folks, now? Still in California?” With the lights off he could see it all so clearly: the home she’d grown up in, with an afghan her mother had made on the back of the family room couch. A nice sofa in the formal living room. A cherrywood dining table with matching chairs. Hardwood floors and plenty of windows letting in light.

  Flowers everywhere. He could almost smell them....

  Lillie’s thick silence imposed itself over the image. Something had gone wrong with his picture.

  He heard her sniffle and sat straight up. “Lillie?”

  “I’m sorry...” She was crying. And he couldn’t do a damned thing about it. Why in the hell had he started in on the questions? He had no business.

  “Don’t be,” he said. “I’m sorry for prying. I―”

  “No. It’s not you, Jon. I just...it’s been a long day and...I don’t know, I guess I needed a good cry.”

  Was this a female thing, then? For a second he hoped it might be, but he didn’t really think it was.

  “I’m... It... I actually feel better talking to you. Really.”

  He had to believe her. Wanted to believe her. And he wasn’t going to ask any more questions.

  “I’m here for you anytime,” he said. “You can talk to me day or night. That’s what friends are for, right?”

  She chuckled. Sniffed. “Yeah.”

  He tried to think of something to say to change the subject, to ease the tension.

  “They’re dead, Jon.”

  Her words cut through the silence with the sharpness of a blade.

  Dead? “Both of them?” Lillie was twenty-eight. Her parents should still be young, living life.

  “Yes.” She was crying again. “They were killed in a car accident when I was a junior in college.”

  Swallowing, Jon stared into the darkness. Not sure which was worse, to have had the dream and had it snatched so cruelly away. Or to have never had it at all.

  “God, Lillie. I’m so sorry.”

  “Me, too. I don’t dwell on it much. I miss them every single day, but I have a good life and I’m happy. It’s just today, I don’t know...anyway, thanks for asking. It means a lot.”

  If she didn’t stop, he was going to do something stupid, like cry with her. “It means a lot to me, too.”

  He took a deep breath. The emotion pushing up inside his chest subsided. He was fine. Chances were, after about two decades without shedding a tear, his tear ducts were dried up, anyway.

  But the close call was a warning. Lillie Henderson meant more to him than anyone else he’d known in his adult life.

  Other than Abe, of course.

  He just wasn’t sure if his meeting Lillie was going to be the best thing that ever happened to him, or the worst.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LILLIE HAD HERSELF firmly in check by the time she climbed into Jon’s truck the following afternoon, a comment about Abe ready and waiting on her tongue.

  “Abe didn’t cry this morning,” he said before she could speak.

  Nodding, she noticed the chest hair visible in the V at the top of the oxford shirt he’d tucked into formfitting blue jeans. And looked away.

  “I know,” she said. “I talked to Bonnie about him when I stopped in this afternoon. She’s been trying to provide some one-on-one companionship to him while integrating him into bigger playgroups. With some success, I might add.”

  “She told me.” Jon’s voice wasn’t warm and intimate like it had been the night before on the phone. He was Abe’s father again. Still nice, but more like a stranger than a friend. And Lillie, glad for the distance, relaxed back into her seat and thought about French doors.

  * * *

  HER HOME WASN’T overly large, but it had never seemed small, either. Until that Friday night, standing in her kitchen while Jon expertly and seemingly easily removed her sliding glass door from its track with big suction cups, unscrewed the metal frame that had been holding the panels in place and carried the entire fixture out to his truck.

  “Do you want to try to sell these doors?” he asked her as he wrapped the glass in furniture-moving pads that he’d carried in from the back of his truck. “You could probably get seventy-five dollars.”

  Immediately seeing a way she could pay him the money he needed without damaging his pride, she said, “No, if you wouldn’t mind disposing of them, I’d appreciate it. If you can make any money doing it, it’s yours.”

  Without saying another word on the subject, Jon carried them out, one at a time, coming back a couple of minutes later with the wooden frame they�
��d just purchased balanced on a homemade dolly.

  It wasn’t yet seven o’clock. He didn’t pick up Abe until ten. Wiping her sweaty palms on the sides of the jeans she’d pulled on during the ten minutes she’d had between arriving home from work and Jon’s arrival earlier that afternoon, Lillie couldn’t calm the sexual jitters gathering force inside her. She was a healthy woman. She got urges.

  But never like what she was feeling every time Jon Swartz was around. Maybe it was his cologne messing with her pheromones. A scientific explanation.

  Except he didn’t seem to be wearing any cologne.

  Holding the door frame with both arms spread wide, he braced the wood with his head and one thigh and reached for the tape measure clipped to the front pocket of his jeans.

  Reached, and missed.

  “Let me get that.” Lillie jumped forward, before the precariously balanced frame could come down on him, and removed the heavy aluminum tape measure from its resting place.

  It came loose easily. And she refused to acknowledge where the backs of her fingers had brushed. Stepping through the wooden frame, she opened the tape and, facing Jon, held it up. “It’s seventy-two inches.”

  “I know.” His face was inches away. His gaze directly on her. Intense. “They come in standard sizes.” He licked his lips. Swallowed.

  “Oh.” She meant to move. His big brown eyes compelled her to stay, to come closer, as though the door frame were some kind of bizarre magnetic field. “I thought you were reaching for the tape measure,” she said.

  “I was,” he said, still staring straight at her. “I have to square it up.” He was still holding the door frame balanced with his hands and one thigh.

  “I have no idea how to do that.”

  He said something about measuring from the corners.

  “Give me the edge of the tape.” Jon’s voice sounded dry. Maybe holding the frame so long was hurting him. Maybe she’d imagined the whole episode between them. “I can hold it up here while you take it down to the bottom left.” Placing the bent metal edge of the measuring tape in his fingers, Lillie pulled the tape with her toward the bottom left corner of the frame.