Still the One

by Robin Wells

  “Of course not. You’re your own person.”

  “I’m not like you in any way,” she carefully stated for emphasis, “and I refuse to pretend that we’re a family.”

  Katie lifted her shoulders. “No pretending required.”

  “Apparently there is, if you expect me to sit down at some kind of faux family dinner.”

  “It’s just a meal, Gracie. Nothing more.”

  Katie’s tone was soft, matter of fact, and nonconfrontational. Hell. How was Gracie supposed to stay mad at her? She wanted to stay mad at her. Needed to, actually. Anger was her one coping skill. She lifted her chin. “I refuse to go through some kind of grand inquisition.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it. I don’t want you asking me any questions.”

  “Okay. No questions.”

  “At all.”

  “Okay.” Katie smiled and rose from the bed. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.” She walked to the door and opened it. “In case you need it, the bathroom is down the hall and to the left.”

  The door closed softly behind her. Gracie sat up, sniffed and wiped her eyes, then pulled out her phone. She had a text from Megan, one of the few friends she’d made in Pittsburgh.

  Megan: Dying to know—how’re things? What’s your mom like?

  Gracie: She’s not my mom.

  Megan: OK

  Gracie: She weirded out when she met me—then got all over-eager and mushy.

  Megan: What does she look like?

  Gracie: Sorta like Reese Witherspoon with brownish hair and a less pointy chin.

  Megan: Sounds like U.

  Gracie rolled her eyes, then rolled off the bed, onto her feet, and into the bathroom.

  “If we can’t talk about her or ask her questions, I guess we’ll have to talk to each other,” Zack remarked.

  “Or about the weather or politics.”

  “I’d rather talk about you.”

  Her cheeks flamed. “Grab the colander from that cabinet, would you?” Katie waved an oven-mittened hand at Zack.

  “Sure.” Zack opened the indicated cabinet. He had to watch what he said with her. He found himself sliding into flirtation mode without thinking, and that was not his intention. And yet, the attraction was there—as strong and undeniable as it had been that summer.

  Especially when he touched her. When he’d put his finger on her birthmark, it was as if he’d pressed some kind of time-warp button. He’d felt seventeen again—overexcited, overeager, and overheated, with a hair-trigger erector set.

  “It’s on the bottom,” she said.

  What the hell was a colander? Zack peered at a mystifying assortment of cooking utensils. “What’s it look like?”

  “It’s stainless steel.”

  All of the pots and pans and cooking gizmos were stainless. “Any other clues?”

  “It’s the bowl with holes.”

  “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  “Because I didn’t know you were so domestically impaired.”

  He saw a stainless-steel contraption that fit the bill and pulled it out. “I don’t do a lot of cooking.”

  “Apparently.” She lifted the pot of boiling water from the stove. He stood there, the stupid thing in his hands. “Would you please put it in the sink?”

  “Sure.” He did as she asked, then stepped out of her way. He didn’t think she’d deliberately pour boiling water on him, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. Steam curled around her as she dumped the potful of spaghetti and hot water into the colander.

  “If you don’t cook, what do you do for meals?” she asked.

  “Eat out or order in.”

  “Sounds expensive.” She put the pot in the other side of the stainless-steel sink. “But then, I guess that’s not an issue for you.”

  It wasn’t. “Do you like to cook?”

  “I used to.”

  When her husband was alive. The unsaid words hung between them. She turned from the sink back to the sauce on the stove. “I eat a lot of Lean Cuisine these days.”

  His gaze ran over her figure. “You sure don’t need to.”

  He wasn’t sure if it was the steam or the compliment, but her face reddened. “Pull the garlic bread out of the oven, would you?”

  She pulled off her red pepper–printed oven mitt and handed it to him. He pulled it on, wondering how much of the warmth was from her body heat and how much was from the spaghetti.

  Gracie moped into the kitchen, looking uncomfortable.

  “Hey, Gracie,” Katie called. “Would you please get the Parmesan cheese out of the refrigerator?”

  It was smart of Katie to give her something to do. Gracie crossed the room and opened the fridge.

  “You can pour yourself some milk while you’re at it,” Katie said. “The glasses are on the top shelf.”

  Gracie pulled the half-gallon out of the fridge. “Too bad expectant mothers can’t drink wine.”

  “Too bad seventeen-year-olds can’t, either,” Zack said.

  “Lots of seventeen-year-olds drink.” Gracie dumped some milk into a glass.

  Jeez. The girl just never let up. “Not in front of me, they don’t.”

  “You are such a hypocrite. Your bio says you started playing poker in bars when you were sixteen.”

  It was actually fifteen. “That doesn’t mean it was a good thing to do.”

  “You turned out okay.”

  “Not everyone would agree with that.”

  “You’re rich and famous and get to hang with movie stars.”

  “That’s not all it’s cracked up to be. And for the record, I haven’t done the Hollywood scene in several years.”

  “Why not?”

  He lifted his shoulders. “It’s all phony.”

  “Yeah, well, life is phony,” Gracie said.

  “What do you mean?” Katie asked.

  Gracie glared at Katie. “You’re not allowed to ask questions.”

  Annoyance flared through Zack. “And you’re not allowed to be rude.”

  “Fine. I’ll just sit in silence.”

  That would be a first.

  Gracie carried her milk to the table and plopped down. Zack turned to Katie. “Anything I can help you with?”

  “Bring the spaghetti to the table, and then we’re all set.”

  Zack moved to the table, waited to see which chair Katie headed for, then pulled it out for her. Gracie reached for the bowl of spaghetti.

  “Hold on, there, buckeroo.” Zack said. “Mind your manners.”

  Gracie glared at him. “You don’t get to do the parent thing.”

  “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t doing the teenager-with-attitude thing.”

  Katie kicked him under the table. “Have some salad,” she said, handing him the bowl with a warning look.

  Fine. He’d turn the conversation to her. “So, Kate—when did you move back to Chartreuse?”

  “Ten years ago, when my mother got sick.”

  “Your mother the lush?” Gracie said.

  Zack raised his eyebrows. Must have been some talk they’d had in Gracie’s bedroom.

  “Yes,” Katie said, with admirable composure.

  “What did she have? Cirrhosis?”

  “Terminal cancer. But she did have liver problems, and that made things worse.” Katie passed the garlic bread to Gracie.

  “You moved back to take care of her?” Zack asked.

  Katie nodded.

  “I thought she never took care of you,” Gracie said.

  “She did the best she could. Besides, life isn’t a tit-for-tat proposition.”

  Katie had always covered for her mother. She was too forgiving for her own good.

  “Tit proposition. Sounds dirty.” Gracie scooped up a forkful of spaghetti.

  Zack chose to ignore her and looked back at Katie. “How did you get into the beauty business?”

  “The adoption center helped me get into a local beauty college after I
finished my GED. Once I started working, I went to night school and earned an associate degree in business.”

  “Good for you,” Zack said.

  “You’re in an awfully shallow profession,” Gracie offered. “All about external appearances.”

  “When people feel good about how they look, they’re more confident,” Katie said calmly. “And confident people are more successful and outgoing and happy.”

  “Whatever.” Gracie shoved a meatball into her mouth and chewed. “So, Katie—are you dating any hot guys?”

  Katie fixed her gaze on the plate. Gracie didn’t give her a chance to reply before she chattered on. “Zack dates some real hotties. Victoria’s Secret models and Sports Illustrated swimsuit models and actresses. When I met him, he was with a Playboy playmate.”

  Nice, Gracie. Katie’s eyebrows quirked up. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. She was hanging all over him. She had these enormous fake boobs, and she kept trying to rest them on his shoulder.”

  “She was a blind date, and she was really annoying,” Zack explained.

  Katie lifted an eyebrow. “Is that a fact.”

  “You weren’t acting too annoyed,” Gracie said. “She was wearing a blue sparkly gown cut down to her navel, and you kept looking down her dress.” She speared a leaf of lettuce and looked at Katie. “You should have seen them.”

  Zack wasn’t sure if Gracie was referring to the woman’s boobs or to him and the woman.

  Katie shot him an arch smile. “Sorry I missed it.”

  “If you google Zack, you can see all kinds of photos of him with lots of different women.”

  “Is that so.”

  “Yeah. Have you ever googled him?”

  Katie moved a piece of lettuce around her plate. “I don’t spend a lot of time online.”

  She had! Otherwise she wouldn’t have deliberately avoided the question. Gracie smirked through her spaghetti.

  “There’s not a lot on Google about you, but I read some stuff about your husband.”

  Katie’s hand stilled.

  “Bummer he got killed.”

  “Yes.” Kate ducked her head and picked up her glass of wine. “Thank you.”

  Gracie forked in another huge mouthful of spaghetti and Zack relaxed, thinking the topic had been exhausted. But Gracie wasn’t through. “Why didn’t you two have any kids?”

  “It just never happened.”

  “So… did you have any other illegitimate kids besides me?”

  A wounded look passed over Kate’s face. Her spine straightened, as if she were bracing herself against another jab of pain. “No. No, I didn’t.”

  “Zack says he didn’t, either. Not that he knows of, anyway.”

  If deliberately getting on their nerves were an Olympic sport, Gracie would get a gold medal. “Since you’re so interested in love lives, Gracie, why don’t you tell us about yours.”

  She stiffened, her posture an uncanny duplication of Katie’s. “Nothing to tell.”

  “Apparently there was something.”

  “Nothing that’s any of your…”

  A knock sounded at the door. Katie rose, crossed to the foyer, and opened the door to reveal the round-eyed redheaded woman who’d been in Katie’s chair at the salon that afternoon.

  “Hello, Katie,” she said breathlessly. “I dropped by to see if you needed anything or wanted to talk or needed moral support or anything. Is it true? Do you really have a daughter? And is that hunk who came by the salon really the…” Her bug eyes bugged out further as she stepped into the foyer and saw Zack and Gracie seated in the dining room. “Oh, my!” she gasped.

  Zack rose to his feet. “Hello, Lulu.”

  The redhead put her hand on her chest. “You remembered my name!”

  Amazing, the effect that always had on people. It was a skill he’d learned from an old blackjack player—associate each person’s name with their features. In this case, it was easy; Lulu looked loony.

  Katie closed the door and moved into the dining room. “Lulu, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Gracie.”

  Gracie looked up. “I’m not really her daughter. She just squeezed me out and then gave me away.”

  “Oh!” Lulu blinked, looked at Katie, then looked back at Gracie. Her baffled expression settled into a befuddled smile. “Well, you look just like Katie anyway. My, oh, my. How do you do?”

  Gracie shrugged. “Pretty crappy, but thanks for asking.” She shoveled another forkful of spaghetti into her mouth.

  “Would you like to join us, Lulu?” Katie offered. “We have plenty.”

  “Oh, no.” Lulu’s red curls bobbed as she shook her head. “I don’t want to interrupt. I didn’t know you had company. I’d just heard the news, and I thought I’d drop by and…” Her gaze rested on Zack. She swallowed hard and seemed to lose her train of thought. “I—I better be going.”

  “Thanks for stopping by.” Katie moved back to the foyer and opened the door. “Give me a call tomorrow and we’ll reschedule your haircut.”

  Lulu nodded and glanced back at Zack. “Nice to see you again.” She waggled her fingers at Gracie. “Good to meet you, honey.”

  Gracie lifted her fork in acknowledgment.

  Katie closed the door and returned to the table.

  “Guess your secret’s out of the bag,” Gracie said. “Hope I haven’t made things too awkward for you.” The little smirk on her face said she really hoped otherwise.

  “Not at all, Gracie.” Katie sat back down, replaced her napkin in her lap, and smiled at her. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Yeah, right.” Gracie rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet.”

  The funny thing was, Zack was a betting man, and he bet she really was.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next morning, Katie got up early and made blueberry muffins. Zack had told her that left to her own devices, Gracie would sleep till noon, but Katie wanted to leave her breakfast in case she woke up while Katie was gone.

  Katie had agreed to meet Zack at his house at eight-thirty to call Gracie’s aunt. She dressed in a floaty navy-and-white top, navy capris, and flat navy sandals, and took more time than usual with her hair and makeup. Not because she cared what Zack thought about her, she told herself as she changed her lip-gloss shade for the third time. It was normal for someone in the beauty business to want to look her best. Zack had absolutely nothing to do with the fact she’d curled, then straightened her hair before deciding to pull it back in a low ponytail.

  But she wasn’t very good at lying to herself. The truth was, she hadn’t been so physically aware of a man since Paul, and the awareness left her feeling unsettled and uneasy and more than a little guilty.

  “Well, you need to get over it,” she told her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she set the peach gloss back in her makeup bag, then set the bag in the drawer. It was nothing but an old habit. Her memories were stirring up old emotions, that was all. The physical attraction she felt for Zack wasn’t anything like the deep, honest emotions she’d felt for Paul. It couldn’t be, because her feelings for Paul, right from the beginning, had been based on the mutual desire for love and commitment.

  Zack was not relationship material. He was the antithesis of it, in fact. She’d stayed up late googling him last night, and she’d run across several different interviews where his thoughts had been presented in black and white:

  “Of course I believe in monogamy—serial monogamy,” he’d said in a Playboy article about self-made millionaires.

  “Maybe some people are cut out for marriage,” he’d told a Cosmo reporter when he’d been declared one of America’s Most Eligible Bachelors, “but I’m not one of them.”

  “I value my freedom,” he told a BusinessWeek reporter who’d asked why he was single. “I don’t want to have to compromise, and long-term relationships always require compromise.”

  “Do you ever see yourself settling down and having a family?” an Entertainment Weekly reporter had asked
him when he was dating Scarlett Johansonn.

  “Family isn’t a warm and fuzzy concept to everyone,” Zack had replied. “To some people, it’s something that was survived. Escapees of a prison have no desire to go knock on the door of another prison and say, ‘Hey, I’d like to sign up for more time.’ ”

  Katie understood why he felt that way. He’d told her about his melodrama of a home life—how his parents had put on smiling faces to the world, complete with public I-love-yous and kisses, then fought like cats and dogs at home, calling each other horrible names and cheating behind each other’s backs. They’d completely ignored Zack unless they needed to use him as a piece of rope in their angry tug-of-war. Whenever one parent would threaten to leave, the other would mount a big, tearful scene and insist they had to stay together for Zack’s sake. They’d been obsessed with keeping up with the Joneses, preserving appearances, and worrying what everyone thought about them—everyone, that was, except their own son.

  She understood why Zack had an aversion to commitment; his parents had made it look like a trap. They’d been emotionally unavailable to him, so he’d grown up being emotionally unavailable to others. At seventeen, she’d been too young to understand that; she’d thought he could genuinely return her feelings.

  Well, she knew better now. Besides, they had nothing in common, except for two generations of offspring—how ironic was that?—and the memory of a torrid, teenage summer, when they’d been the same age their daughter was now.

  It was weird how clear her memories were of Zack at seventeen. In a lot of ways, he hadn’t changed. He’d been tall and tan and sure of himself, so loaded with high-test testosterone that he practically gave off sparks, an indisputable alpha male capable of running off two men twice his age with nothing more than a glower.

  He’d tried to warn her off that first night. He’d told her that he had a girlfriend back home and that he wouldn’t be dating anyone while he was in Chartreuse. He’d made it clear that he’d be playing poker at night, working at his uncle’s marine repair shop during the day, and chauffeuring around his stoner cousin whenever he needed a ride, so he wouldn’t have time to hang out.

  And yet, he’d somehow managed to find time. Every day, while she was working he’d come by the bait shop for a Coke and linger a couple of hours. He’d stop by after her shift and give her a ride home. On her days off, he’d show up at her trailer in the morning, tell her to grab a swimsuit, and take her out on the lake in one of his uncle’s boats. One of those outings had crystallized in her mind in vivid detail.