“Yes. Definitely tomorrow. But I can’t promise how long.”
“I’ll take what I can get.” Michael tissue-wrapped the Falstaff mug and folded the dress and the shawl. “Here. You deserve them. Call it a bonus. See you tomorrow, angel.”
“No angel. It’s just Jen.”
“You’re my angel. Goodnight.”
By the time she drove into the lot at the warehouse, she was reeling with tiredness. The door loomed out of the darkness, faintly illuminated by the yellow streetlight. “This place needs a better nightlight.” Jen felt for the lock and let herself in.
Jeremy was hunched over the working computer. Lance was on his knees with a soldering iron.
“Quitting time, gentlemen. Let’s go home.”
Lance looked up. “No. I haven’t figured out how to—”
“And you won’t tonight. Let’s go. We’ll get takeaway. I’m so tired, I’ll settle for Mickey D’s.”
Jeremy shook his head. “You two go on. I’ll stay here tonight.”
“We’re all going.” She slapped the keys into Jeremy’s hand. “I’m too tired to drive. I’ll give directions.”
Chapter 20
Lance awoke from a nightmare of chasing numbers through empty corridors, to the sound of Jen’s sobs. He reached for her automatically. “Shh, it’s all right.” Where were they? The digits on the clock glowed red. 5:00 a.m. He fumbled for the light switch. Jen’s sobs increased.
He blinked in the sudden glow of lamplight. Jen’s face was wet, tears streaming from her closed eyes. Her breath came in short moans. “No! Please. Please.”
“Jen, wake up. Come on, Guinevere.” He sat up and maneuvered her into his lap.
Jen struggled against his embrace. “No. I won’t. You can’t make me.”
He raised his voice to get through to her. “Jen!”
Her eyes snapped open. Terrified. Unseeing. He stroked her tangled hair. “You’re safe. You’re okay. You had a bad dream.”
Jen drew a shuddering breath. She focused on his face. “Where am I? Is this New York?”
Lance shook his head to clear away the remnants of his own dream. He hated nightmares. Hadn’t had one in years. “No. We're in—” Where were they? Last night came into focus. “In an apartment you found for us. Oak something.” He’d been too tired to pay proper attention.
They’d all been exhausted. When Jen showed them the apartment, the bed called to him like a siren. He crawled into it without even brushing his teeth. Lance ran his tongue around his dry mouth. “I’ll get you some water.”
The kitchen had a complete set of dishes. He found a glass and filled it at the tap. Filled another one and rinsed his mouth out. Jen sat on the bed, arms curled around her knees, whispering under her breath. “Breathe. Breathe.”
He wrapped her hands around the glass. “Drink. You’ll feel better.”
Brushing his teeth cleared his head, but his body was still exhausted. He needed to exercise. Or sleep, if he could. He sat next to Jen and pulled her into his arms. “Better now?”
She buried her face against his chest. “I don’t want to go.”
He knew what she meant. The vision of the towers and the dust cloud was imprinted in his cells. “Maybe we won’t have to.”
“Couldn’t we just stay here? I don’t mind missing a few years of life if we can have the rest of them together.”
Together. The word shot straight to his heart. If he could have his Guinevere . . . “Marry me.”
He felt her body tense, and loosened his arms. What kind of an idiot asked his love to marry him in the middle of . . .
“Say it again.”
“I love you, Guinevere. I want to spend the rest of our lives together.”
“I’m not a fantasy. Call me by my real name.”
He tipped her chin up, looking into her tear-wet eyes, and what he saw there was . . . his miracle. “Jennifer Elizabeth Smythe, you are the heart of my soul. However long we have. Whatever happens. Whenever it happens. I want to spend it with you.”
“Of all the daft ways to propose to a woman.” She put her arms around his neck and brought his lips to hers. He tasted the salt of tears mixed with the honey-warm sweetness of her lips. He closed his eyes, breathing in the fragrance of her hair.
He broke the kiss, needing to see her face. “So is that a yes?”
“Of course it’s a yes. “I will marry you as soon as—”
“No. Now. Today.”
Jen’s hands pushed against his chest. She looked at him as if he was demented. “We can’t. We need a license.”
“They must have some kind of special license in Los Angeles. I’ll find out.”
Jen’s eyes widened. Her voice uncertain. “We’re going to marry under a false name?”
What had he been thinking? Weddings were important to women. And what did he have to offer her? He tried to work up a smile. “Bad timing. Right?”
Jen ran her fingers through his hair, the way she used to. Her smile lit up his world. “No. It’s good. We’re good. As Shakespeare said, ‘What’s in a name?’”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” His kiss was slow, tender, seeking only her pleasure.
They lay back on the bed, their bodies facing each other, with nothing but a breath of air between them. He felt the movement of her breasts against his chest with a sense of wonder. This imperfect, perfect for him, beautiful creature, agreed to give him another chance. “We’ll do better this time. I promise.”
Her hand slipped between them. Her touch was exquisite agony.
“I don’t see how we can get any better.” Jen fluttered her eyelashes at him. “But you’re welcome to show me.”
He did.
~ ~ ~
Jen poked the lone paper bag in the fridge bearing the red McDonald’s logo. “Disgusting at any time, but especially cold for breakfast.”
Lance peered over her shoulder. “Agreed. Let’s go shopping. I’ll make you breakfast.”
He sounded energized. Confident. Ready to take on the world. But breakfast? “You really can cook?”
He struck a hero pose. “Lead me to your grocery store.”
“What about Jeremy?”
“I looked in. He’s dead out. Don’t know how he can sleep like that. We’ll leave him a note.”
Jen watched as Lance slung food things into their cart. She loved avocados but had never seen them in their natural state except in pictures. Of course, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the inside of a supermarket. “What are you going to do with the avocado? How do you know if it’s ripe?”
“You pinch it. And it’s part of your breakfast.” He chose tomatoes, onions, garlic, and some lovely-smelling oranges.”
“You make a splendid housewife, darling.”
“All the best chefs are men. Everyone knows that.”
She punched him lightly. “What about Mrs. Fields?”
“Right. I yield to her cookie-making prowess. But she can’t top my omelets a la évier.”
“What does a la évier translate to?”
“Kitchen sink.”
Jen was sorry she asked. “It sounds better in French.”
~ ~ ~
Jen opened the bag of coffee Lance had chosen. She breathed in the scent. “Heavenly. I do know how to make a pot of coffee. My one domestic virtue.”
Lance handed her a pack of filters from the cupboard. “All yours.”
She measured coffee into the machine. The air filled with the scent of frying bacon. Jen sat at the table, chin in hands. Lance did know his way around a chopping block. He diced tomatoes and onions with the speed of a sous chef.
“Bowl,” he ordered.
“Yes, doctor.” She opened the l
ower cupboard and found a mixing bowl.
He cracked several eggs into it. “Whip.”
“I don’t do that. But I’ll watch.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “It’s a kitchen instrument. Round handle. Steel wires coming out of it. Look in the drawers.”
“Kinky.” She found it and handed it to him.
Jeremy came in, hair wet from the shower, wearing a towel around his waist. His eyes were bloodshot. “Coffee. Please.”
“Perking away. Go get dressed.”
He grunted and left.
Lance added the cubed cheese and sour cream to the vegetable mixture. He opened the spices he’d bought and seasoned the eggs. He looked at her doubtfully. “Can you deal with the toast?”
She lifted her chin. “I do have a toaster at home.” In the face of his chef-like prowess, she wasn’t going to admit she rarely used it. How hard could it be?
The coffee maker beeped, announcing the end of the cycle. Jeremy came in, buttoning up his shirt. Jen poured them each a cup.
Lance’s omelet a la évier looked amazing. He’d garnished it with slices of avocado and fresh parsley, and placed a strip of bacon on either side. The toast she made was . . . toast. Very pedestrian looking. She forked up a bite of omelet and let the flavors run together on her tongue. “Fabulous.”
“Mmm.” Jeremy was halfway through his portion. “If I were into men, I’d marry you. Maybe I should rethink my tastes.”
Jen smiled sunnily at her brother. “Too late. He’s taken.”
Jeremy put down the slice of toast he’d methodically covered in raspberry jam. “Did I miss something?”
“Not yet.” Jen looked to Lance.
Lance cleared his throat. “We’re going to be married. Here. Now.”
Jeremy leaned back. His hands dropped into his lap. He frowned at Lance. “Not a good idea. When we get back, you have to deal with—”
“Jen knows all about Annabelle,” Lance said.
“Aileen,” Jeremy corrected. “We’ve already got a time glitch. I don’t think—”
“But I do. Look, Jer, we don’t even know if we’re going to come out of this alive. For right here. For whatever time is left? I want Jen.” He held out his hand to her. She grabbed it. A united front.
Jeremy’s face shuttered. He picked up his toast, put it down again. “Congratulations. What are you going to do? Fly to Las Vegas?”
“No,” Lance and Jen said simultaneously. Jen shuddered. The thought of a plane. Any plane. The plane, a sun ball of flame exploding into the black tower flashed behind her eyelids.
Lance’s face mirrored hers. “Here,” he said. “As soon as possible.”
“Any idea of how we get a license?” Jen asked.
Jeremy smiled nastily. “Google it. I’m sure you’ll find an answer. Lance and I have to get back to work.”
Jen itched to wipe the snarky smile off his face. “As it happens, I have a job myself. Why don’t I drop you? I need the car.”
Jeremy and Lance stared at her open-mouthed.
“You didn’t mention a job last night,” Jeremy said.
“We all fell asleep without eating dinner. Not a lot of chat between the car and the bed.”
“Jen, you can’t take an acting job here,” Jeremy protested. “Someone is bound to recognize you. We don’t want to set up any more anomalies.”
“Acting isn’t my only skill,” Jen said loftily. “I have a temporary job working as a fashion consultant at an exclusive shop.”
“That’s all right then. You’ll probably be good at it. Keep you out of trouble while—”
Jen rolled her eyes. “While the men do the real work.” Jeremy knew exactly how to work her last nerve.
Her brother actually looked contrite. “I’m sorry, Jen. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s . . . I hate not knowing what went wrong. It’s like a crossword puzzle with half the clues erased.”
Lance glanced up from his new Blackberry. “It appears one can apply online. They don’t even require a blood test. Better still, Los Angeles has what they call a confidential marriage license, which you can get from the officiant who marries you.”
“Let me see that.” Jeremy scanned the information and chuckled. “How very Hollywood. They’ve even got a list of officiants.”
Jen squinted at the list on the small screen. “Someone needs to invent a phone with a bigger viewing area. There’s an office in Van Nuys which opens at eight-thirty.” She picked up their plates and put them in the sink. “My shop doesn’t open till eleven.” She smiled into Lance’s hopeful eyes. She never thought she’d bind herself in marriage again. But this wasn’t a new bond. It was a revival of one which should never have been severed. “Shall we?”
Lance rose from the table and held out his hand to her. “We shall.”
Jeremy sighed. “Drop me at the lab and go get the license. I’ll ask my architect if he knows a nice place to do the deed.”
Chapter 21
The Van Nuys county clerk’s office looked to Lance more like a school building than a courthouse. One story brick, with a wing of windows framed in white siding.
Inside, the bored clerk gave them a form and a perfunctory smile. They moved aside to fill it out.
Jen took a pair of half-rim glasses out of her purse. “Look at this. It says we can use any last name we want. We just can’t change our first names. How utterly bizarre.”
Lance agreed. “Shall we use our real surnames then?” He pulled out his license and squinted at it. “Wouldn’t you rather be Mrs. Davies than Mrs. Korpchek?”
“Absolutely. I’m not marrying some stranger called Korpchek. Jeremy has terrible taste in surnames.”
“I imagine he took what he could get.” Lance filled in ‘Davies’ as the last name.
Jen’s signature was copperplate perfection.
“That doesn’t look anything like your normal scrawl,” he joked. “Are you planning on denying the marriage?”
“It’s not an autograph, darling. I have beautiful writing when it comes to contracts. I don’t want any mistakes.” She handed him the form. “Are you ready?”
He started to laugh.
She touched her finger to his lips. “No, really. Let’s do it. I want to go to work a married lady.”
His throat swelled. She meant it. “I thought we’d find a minister and a nice chapel. I want to buy you flowers.”
“Lance, last time we got married at St Paul’s Cathedral. The archbishop presided. I had a dozen bridesmaids and the dress of my dreams. We had four hundred people at the wedding and reception. And the marriage didn’t work. We don’t need a big to-do. All we need is us.”
He could never find the words to tell her everything he needed to say. “Right.” He offered her his arm. “You have made me the happiest of . . . I don’t deserve you.”
“Nonsense. Everyone deserves a second chance.” Her smile was a shaky promise. “We will do better this time.”
The clerk barely glanced at their proffered IDs. He stamped the license. “Congratulations. Next.”
The judge had a bald head fringed with white hair, and was shorter than Jen. He smiled up at them. “Well, you both look old enough to know what you’re doing. Do you want the civil ceremony or your own vows?”
Jen curled her cold fingers around his hand and smiled at the judge. “Our own, please.”
Lance’s mind blanked. He wrote equations. Not vows. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I do. Follow me.” Jen took both his hands. Her voice sounded strong and sure. “I, Jennifer Elizabeth, take you, Arthur Lancelot, for the second time. To love, honor, and cherish. I love you for who you are right now. In this time and for all our time.”
Of course, she knew the right words. He cover
ed her hands with his. “I, Arthur Lancelot, take you, Jennifer Elizabeth, for the second time. To love, honor, and cherish. I love you for who you are right now. In this time and for all our time.” He squeezed her hands.
She flinched. “Not so hard,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“The ring?” the judge prompted.
He felt in his pockets. Nothing. Not even a bottle cap. “I don’t have one.”
“Here.” Jennifer took the apartment key off the key ring and handed him the double ringed band.
Cursing his lack of forethought, he slipped it on her finger.
“By the authority vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” He turned to Lance. “Son, you better get that fixed. It’s a tad loose for eternity.”
Jen twisted her hand, admiring the key ring. “It’s got style.”
“My wife is not going to wear a key ring.”
Jen patted his cheek. “There you go, getting all lordly on me. There’s a pawnshop across the street. I bet they have something.”
He didn’t want her wearing a symbol of someone’s broken vows. “No!”
Her arms circled his neck, drawing him down to whisper in his ear. “It’s all right. I don’t want a ring. I want you. And now I’ve got you. Arabel, or whatever her name is, can go take a flying leap in the —”
He silenced her with a kiss.
~ ~ ~
Traffic made her ten minutes late for work. Michael greeted her with a relieved smile. “I was afraid I dreamed you.”
“Sorry about that. Where do you want me to start?”
“A truck delivered two wardrobe boxes of clothes Mom bought last week. They need to be sorted and dated.” He handed her a box of tags and pins. “Tag them with a general description of what era they are from. More specific, if you can. Customers always love details. Give me a holler if you need me.”
“Right. Can I ask a favor? I have a new phone and no idea how to work it.” She fished out the sleek, black phone Lance had given her. “Could you put the store number in here for me? Next time, I’ll call if I need to be late.”
Maybe This Time (A Second Chance Romance) Page 10