Angel of the Morning

by Judith Arnold

  Sure, she had a boyfriend. Yeah, he’d barged into her life and messed it up. So what? He was Captain Steele. He was one of the good guys. He could make this right.

  “Get the paperwork started,” he told Andrea. “I’ll bring my checkbook.”

  ***

  He stopped in at the Attic after spending an hour with Andrea at her real estate office, reviewing the sales agreement, signing papers, and writing a big, fat check. The house wasn’t his yet. It had to undergo inspection, a deed search, a tax appraisal, and assorted other bureaucratic things. Still, Dylan could scarcely contain his euphoria when he bounded into the Attic a little before noon in search of Gwen.

  As soon as he stepped inside the store, he spotted her ringing up a purchase at the counter near the entrance. She flicked a glance his way and her lips tightened slightly. He refused to let her obvious apprehension spoil his mood. Instead, he unzipped his jacket and waited patiently while she and the customer chatted about some issue concerning the cod population off Cape Ann. If Dylan made Brogan’s Point his home, he supposed he’d have to pay attention to issues like the cod population, too. This was a fishing town. He figured he could learn to discuss cod knowledgeably, the way he used to be able to discuss corn-based ethanol while he was growing up in Nebraska.

  Gwen’s eyes were stunning, he realized as he observed her and the customer conversing. She wore no make-up, which somehow made her gaze appear more focused, more intense. Even from a distance, he could see the vivid silver-gray of her irises, the delicate strands of her lashes. Her hands moved constantly as she spoke, inserting the woman’s credit card in the chip scanner, wrapping her purchase in tissue paper and sliding it into a bag imprinted with “The Attic” and the image of a peaked roof, or simply fluttering in the air, her fingers dancing as she described something. He recalled the way her hands had felt on his body all those years ago. Amazing how keen that memory was.

  Of course, that long-ago memory had been revived by last night’s kiss. Which had been a mistake, a breach of boundaries, but he didn’t care. He wanted her.

  Finally, the woman took her bag and departed, and Dylan hustled over to the counter. “Good morning,” he said, hoping to thaw her with a smile his manager assured him could melt female hearts from a mile away.

  Maybe it wasn’t so effective close up. Gwen’s gorgeous eyes narrowed and her graceful hands got busy buttoning her sweater, as if she needed extra protection from him. “It’s almost afternoon,” she pointed out.

  “Then it must be lunchtime. Can I take you to lunch? I drove past a diner this morning. Bailey’s, I think.”

  “Riley’s,” she corrected him. “I can’t leave the store. The lunch hour is a busy time for us.”

  “You’ve got other clerks,” he said, pointing to two women standing in front of a framed oval full-length mirror, one draping a shawl over the other’s shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” Gwen said, the ice in her tone melting the slightest bit. “I really can’t leave for lunch.”

  “Maybe I could bring something in for you,” he offered. “There’s that cookie store down the street.”

  She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Cookie’s. It’s going to be my downfall. I gain ten pounds every time I enter that store.”

  He eyed her up and down. She didn’t look ten pounds too heavy. She looked perfect. “It’s just that I’ve got some news I need to share with you, and I don’t want to do it on the fly. Are you free for dinner?”

  “No.”

  Her abrupt answer caused a picture to flash across his mind—not Annie, but that guy. Her boyfriend. What the hell was his name?

  Shit. Dylan wasn’t a poacher. He didn’t make a habit of cutting in on couples who were dancing happily. If Gwen and her boyfriend had a good thing going, Dylan was going to have to back off.

  But he was Annie’s father. No matter if Gwen wanted to stay with the boyfriend, marry him, pop out a few more adorable children with him—Annie was still Dylan’s daughter. Nothing Gwen did would change that.

  He’d learn how to talk to Annie. He’d learn how to ask her about animated movie characters. He’d build spaceships out of Legos with her. He’d bring her to the set when he started filming the next Galaxy Force movie, and introduce her to the other actors, and he’d show her how the CGI wizards created the special effects that made it look as if Dylan was wrestling with a six-armed alien when, in fact, he was simply performing a choreographed solo in front of a green screen.

  He would be the coolest daddy in the world. Gwen could have her boyfriend. Dylan would win the heart of at least one Parker female.

  He gazed at Gwen across the counter. Her mouth was set in a prim line, her complexion creamy, her brow smooth. But her eyes looked troubled, turbulent. “You kissed me back,” he reminded her. “Last night. It wasn’t a one-sided thing.”

  “It should never have happened,” she argued, her voice hushed, her gaze darting around the store to see if anyone was eavesdropping. “I hardly know you.”

  He almost laughed. She’d hardly known him six years ago, and she’d gleefully redefined X-rated with him.

  But she hadn’t been a mother then.

  And she hadn’t had a boyfriend, at least as far as Dylan knew.

  “All right.” He sighed, forcing contrition into his tone. “I overstepped last night. I’m sorry. I like you, Gwen. Maybe we hardly know each other, but that can change.”

  “It can’t change right now,” she said, peering past him and nodding. He turned to see the customer with the shawl approaching the counter.

  She was doing everything in her power to push him away. Ordinarily, he’d respect that. But he was the father of her daughter. They were family.

  Dylan had learned a long time ago not to let rejection discourage him. If he could be defeated that easily, he would never have become Captain Steele. You couldn’t succeed in show business if you accepted no for an answer every time.

  Besides... She’d kissed him. She’d been into it as much as he had, at least for a magic moment.

  “Okay. Look. Tell me when you can fit me in,” he said, even as Gwen smiled at the customer and folded the shawl neatly. “It’s really important.”

  She held up her index finger, which he took to mean he should wait, and then immersed herself in a conversation with the customer, complimenting her on her taste in choosing the shawl, discussing retro styles, agreeing that the garment would look really cool with a long-sleeved T-shirt, skinny jeans, and boots. Dylan pictured Gwen in just such a get-up. He pictured himself easing the shawl off her shoulders, then sliding his hands under the shirt...

  He shook off the image and waited, thinking someone ought to point out to Gwen that engaging every customer in a lengthy chat at the check-out counter was hardly efficient. Yet her customers seemed to appreciate her friendliness. Hell, what did he know about retail? Gwen was probably winning their loyalty for life, simply by being herself.

  A few more customers entered as he stood idly beside a shelf of snow globes. He wondered where she would display the ketchup and mustard sets her friend had brought her yesterday. There seemed to be no underlying theme to what she sold, other than that everything might be found in someone’s cluttered attic. Maybe that was all the theme she needed.

  He watched the customers wander deeper into the store—the start of the noontime rush, perhaps—and hoped they wouldn’t race to the counter with their purchases before he had a chance to speak once more with Gwen. He wasn’t sure why she was slamming the door on him, other than her boyfriend situation. And his forwardness last night. And possibly the fact that, as far as she knew, he was merely passing through town. He had to cross that notion off her list and tell her about the house purchase. But not in a rush, between customers.

  At last the shawl purchaser departed. He stepped to the counter. “It’s important,” he repeated. “Let me give you my private number.” Before she could argue, he plucked a pen from a decorative cup beside the register, and one of t
he store bags. He jotted his cell number on the bag and nudged it across the counter to her. “I’m trusting you not to pass that along to anyone else,” he said. “Call me when you have a minute. It’s really important.”

  She took the bag, folded it, slid it beneath the counter. Someplace safe, he hoped. Her eyes remained on him, glimmering with questions and confusion, misgivings and yearning. At least he hoped it was yearning he was seeing in those cool silver depths. It definitely wasn’t hatred.

  He smiled, resisted the urge to lean over the counter and touch his lips to hers, and strode out of the store.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After Dylan left, Gwen cut out the section of the shopping bag on which he had printed his number, using the scissors she kept behind the counter. She tossed the rest of the bag into the trash and tucked his number into her pocket. She wasn’t sure she was ready to enter it in her phone.

  She would have to eventually, of course. Whether or not he walked away this time, he knew about Annie now, and Gwen might have to contact him—for child support, or to ask about his medical history, or something.

  As if the only subject she’d ever want to contact him about was Annie.

  She’d made a plan with Mike to meet for dinner tonight. He’d phoned her that morning, apologized for their telephone spat yesterday, and asked her to find a sitter. He had suggested that she come to his house for dinner, but that seemed risky to her. She wasn’t sure yet what she was going to say to him, but whatever it was, she’d rather say it in a public place. And if she went to his apartment, he might expect her to jump into bed with him. They hadn’t made love in days. She wished she’d missed having sex with him, but she didn’t.

  As anxious as she felt about what was going on in her life, and as contrite as she felt about the impact it would have on Mike, she wasn’t going to go to bed with him just to smooth things out between them, to make him feel better or atone for the sins she felt accumulating in her soul. She had plenty to atone for: Not having told him who Annie’s father was right from the start. Not having told him after he’d met Dylan on her front porch. Not making love with him. Not minding that they hadn’t made love.

  Kissing Dylan. Thinking about him all night. Thinking about kissing him again. Thinking about what making love with him had been like all those years ago. Missing that. Wishing she could relive that long-ago night, experience that steamy splendor one more time before she settled for Mike.

  Realizing that if she married Mike, she would be settling.

  At one time, settling had seemed like her most reasonable option. Her daughter needed a father. Gwen wanted stability in her life, and a partner by her side to help her face the inevitable challenges and crises that loomed in her future, and in Annie’s. Mike was a decent guy. He had his faults—who didn’t?—but he’d accepted Gwen. Most men, she’d learned, wanted nothing to do with a woman whose life revolved around a demanding young daughter.

  She had no idea what Dylan wanted. She knew, though, that he wasn’t like most men.

  She had told Mike she would meet him at the Lobster Shack at six-thirty. They would be able to feast on fresh seafood there, at cheap prices. She would treat. It was the least she could do.

  The afternoon passed in a blur. A satisfying number of customers entered the Attic. Most of them bought something. Gwen chatted with every patron, and no one she talked to could have guessed how distracted she was. Schmoozing with customers was one of the things she did well, and one of the main reasons the Attic remained profitable.

  At around three, Diana Simms dropped by to deliver the cartons of Squeeze-Pleeze ketchup and mustard bottles. Gwen ushered her to the office in back so she could write up a purchase order and cut a check. As soon as they were shut inside the room, Diana sprang like a hungry leopard on its prey. “Tell me all about Dylan Scott,” she demanded, her eyes bright with curiosity. “How could you not tell me you were friends with Captain Steele?”

  “We’re not friends, exactly,” Gwen hedged as she helped Diana stack the cartons atop Annie’s coloring table in one corner of the room. She was glad to have the boxes to focus on. If she looked directly at Diana, Diana would surely be able to read in her face that there was a hell of a lot more going on than friendship, or not-friendship, between Gwen and Dylan. “We knew each other a long time ago.”

  “How? Do you have a show-biz history I know nothing about?”

  “He was here in Brogan’s Point making a movie. This was years ago, before he was famous. It was a little low-budget film called Sea Glass. Nothing like the Galaxy Force movies.”

  “And you got to know him? Gwen!” Diana poked Gwen in the shoulder. “That’s so exciting! Does he invite you to movie premieres? Could you be his date for the Oscars?”

  “Oh, please.” Gwen forced a laugh. “When he was here making Sea Glass, the movie’s art director bought some stuff at the Attic, and Dylan came with her. We talked a few times. That’s all.”

  “That’s not all. An A-list movie star doesn’t just turn up in your kitchen because you talked to him a few times before he was famous.”

  “He was passing through town. We ran into each other. I invited him back for pizza.”

  “Well, isn’t that special.” Gwen could hear the sarcasm in her friend’s voice. Reluctantly, she turned to face Diana, who stood near the desk, her hands on her hips and her brow creased in a frown. “Tell me the truth, or you can’t be a bridesmaid,” she threatened. Her wedding to Nick Fiore, who coordinated youth programs at the community center, was just a couple of months away.

  Gwen refused to take the threat seriously. She laughed, and Diana joined her. “The truth? Dylan is Annie’s father.”

  Diana stopped laughing. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. And please don’t tell anyone.”

  “Sworn to secrecy.” Diana traced an X on her chest with her finger, crossing her heart. “You slept with him? Really?”

  “Really. One night of craziness. These things happen.”

  “Not with gorgeous movie stars.”

  “Especially with them,” Gwen said.

  Diana conceded with a smile and a nod. “So...he was in your kitchen to visit his daughter?”

  “He didn’t even know he had a daughter until just now,” Gwen explained. “When I found out I was pregnant, I tried to reach him, but his manager ran interference and I was never able to get through to him. Now he knows, and he wants to be a part of her life.” She sighed. “It’s messy.”

  “Do you want him in her life?”

  “Well... He’s her father.” And if he was in Annie’s life, he’d be in Gwen’s life, too. But not in her life the way she wanted a man to be in her life. He was a movie star, after all. He’d be jetting to locations and reported on in gossip magazines and on show-biz websites. He’d be photographed at the Oscars with gorgeous young women, not with Gwen.

  She recalled all the reasons she’d considered accepting Mike’s proposal. Dylan promised none of them. No stability. No reliable presence in Annie’s life. No partner to stand by Gwen and help her face whatever life threw at her.

  “I’ve got to run,” Diana said, accepting the check and receipt Gwen handed her. “I still have a ton of pieces to inventory from the estate sale. It wasn’t all condiment bottles. The guy liked kitsch, but he also had some remarkable items. His granddaughter gave me some paperwork claiming a sculpture he had was a genuine Henry Moore, but I need to set up an appraisal.” She gave Gwen a quick hug. “If you want to bring Captain Steele to the wedding as your plus-one, let me know before we lock in the catering order.”

  Gwen laughed away her offer. The way things were going, Mike might not be her plus-one, either. Maybe she’d bring Annie along as her date.

  ***

  At five o’clock, she left the store in the capable hands of her assistant manager and raced off to pick up Annie at her after-school program. The rain had ebbed into a light, raw mist, and her car’s head
lights glared against the wet roadways. She tried to plan what she would say to Mike, but her brain was too muddled. The only thing she could focus on was getting to the after-school program before five-fifteen. If she showed up late, she would get charged a penalty.

  She made it to the parking lot with a minute to spare. Annie greeted her with a hug and a monologue about the paper skeleton she and the other students were constructing. “We used oak tag for the bones, and butterfly clips, so their joints move. My bones don’t look so good, but the teacher said they were fine. The skull is really important. I’ll work on that tomorrow. It’s for Halloween,” she added unnecessarily. “We can hang it on the door. When are we going to buy a pumpkin, Mommy? Can we make a jackie-lantern?”

  “Maybe we’ll go to the farm stand this weekend,” Gwen offered.

  “Can I pick my own pumpkin? I want a really big one.”

  “It has to be small enough for you to carry,” Gwen warned her. Left to her own devices, Annie would choose a pumpkin twice her own size.

  “Can I cut the jackie-lantern?”

  “No. You can draw the face, and I’ll do the cutting.”

  “I’m big enough. I won’t cut myself.”

  “I’ll do the cutting,” Gwen repeated in a firm tone. She knew Annie would pester her again in a couple of days about carving her own jack-o-lantern—and maybe in a couple of days, Gwen would have the strength to explain to her once more why she was too young to hack through the pumpkin’s tough exterior with a sharp knife. But now, she just wanted the debate to end.

  “What are we having for dinner?”

  “I’m meeting Mike for dinner tonight,” Gwen told Annie. “I’m sorry, but we need to discuss some grown-up things. Hayley from down the street is going to babysit for you.”