Changing Her Plans (Santa Fe Bobcats)

by Jeanette Murray

  And a few minutes later, Clay chuckled while flipping through the five photos and one video his sister sent him of his nephew totally unconscious, covered in spaghetti sauce and noodles while still in his high chair. The kid even had a spaghetti strand draped around his ear.

  That…he wanted that. Craved it. And after today with Kristen, he felt like it might finally be his time.

  Chapter 4

  Kristen hesitated just a fraction before stepping out of the car and handing the valet her keys. This was a nice establishment. Thank God Clay told her where they were going via text before she got dressed, or she would have been screwed. As it was, she’d torn through her closet looking for an outfit that was dressy but didn’t scream I could wear this to work, no big deal. Professional was not the look she was going for.

  There wasn’t enough selection. Clearly, another trip to Cynthia’s, a high-end consignment store in the area, was in order. If she were going to be dating again, she needed to update the wardrobe.

  Dating. Oh God, was that what she was doing? And with a coworker? A coach? Her hands shook a little, and she grasped her clutch harder to hide it.

  Clay stood at the door to the restaurant, waiting for her. And wow, was he yummy to look at. She’d seen him dressed up before for team functions, but somehow it had slipped her notice how delicious the man looked in a sports coat and simple khaki slacks. And by the way he stared at her as she walked the few feet toward him, he wasn’t unaffected by the sight of her in nonoffice attire either.

  “Wow,” he said, reading her mind and holding out a hand. She placed hers in his grasp, thankful the shaking had subsided, and he pulled her gently to him before laying a sweet kiss on her cheek. “And again, wow.”

  “Your vocabulary will warm up over appetizers, I assume?” she teased, and he grinned and gave her an elbow.

  “Only if you stop looking so good. Maybe a drink will blur the edges a bit.” He gave the maître d’ a nod, who immediately guided them to a comfortable table by a window. Clay pulled out her chair, helping her scoot in after she was seated. Then he bent down so his mouth brushed her ear. “No, nothing’s going to blur this view.”

  Kristen shivered, then rubbed her arms to play it off like she’d gotten a chill. Turning to the wall of windows directly beside them, she pretended she didn’t catch the meaning. “I know, the view here is amazing. I’ve never been to this restaurant, but I’ve heard it’s fantastic.”

  He didn’t give her grief about misinterpreting his meaning. “Everything I’ve had here is great, but their real specialty is the desserts. Believe me, you want to save room.”

  “Can do. I’m a girl who loves her sweets.” Opening her menu, she caught his look over the top. “What?”

  “Nothing. I just appreciate that you’re not going to play that coy ‘Oh, I won’t eat a drop of sugar’ game. Sometimes you just wanna split a cheesecake, you know?”

  “No,” she said sadly, watching his eyes narrow. She leaned forward and whispered, “I never split when there’s cheesecake on the line. I want my own slice.”

  That made him laugh, loud enough that a few other patrons glanced over. Luckily, their server stopped by at that moment and took their drink order as well as appetizer. After perusing the menu another few moments, once the server returned with their drinks, she decided on a fish dish. When Clay ordered a steak, she smiled.

  “What?” he asked, handing the menus to the server.

  “I guessed you’d pick the steak.”

  “Well, the last time I was here, I had swordfish. It was good. Time to try something new.”

  “Sorry,” she said softly, pulling the cloth napkin into her lap and spreading it with great care. “I didn’t mean to offend. It just…it was funny to me. You know, seemed like a cliché. Meat-and-potatoes man dish. It was a bad joke.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  She looked up, surprised.

  “Don’t apologize. I want to hear it all. Everything. Even the bad jokes or the things you’ve thought about me in the past.”

  “Those…you probably don’t,” she said before she could catch herself, then she let her eyes close and she groaned. “I left my filter in the car.”

  He chuckled, then reached across the table to cover one of her hands with his. “Let’s try this. I’ll pick a different topic, and you can talk all you like.”

  “Deal.” The waited while a runner delivered their stuffed mushrooms. Kristen picked up one and nibbled. “So what’s the topic?”

  Clay took his time selecting a mushroom before he picked one up. “Will it throw you off your meal entirely if I inquire about Isaac’s dad?”

  “No.” Kristen smiled softly. “There’s a topic I’m fine with. His father lives in Arizona. He comes often enough, when it’s possible. Isaac used to go more regularly out there, but as he got older and sports became so important to him, weekend trips and summer vacations were a problem. So he’s seen less of his dad recently than he’d like.”

  “Any pushback there?”

  “Honestly, no. David is a great guy, and his wife’s a lovely woman. If I could have hand selected a stepmother for Isaac, she would have been it. David and I…hmm.” She gave herself a little breather by picking another mushroom to bite into. “We got pregnant in college, got married. I dropped out because, well…” She rounded her arms in front of her to mimic a pregnant belly. “I can genuinely say nothing major happened to break us apart. We just…weren’t meant to be. Isaac was a great bonus, but we managed to end things pretty simply. He paid alimony without a word while I got back on my feet, went back to finish my bachelor’s and found a job that would support us. David’s never been late on child support payments, his wife never treated our son any different than his half-siblings, and it’s a pretty boring version of the New Standard American Family.”

  “That might be the most mature explanation of a blended family I’ve ever heard.” Clay nudged the final mushroom toward her, and she gladly took it. “But it also explains why Isaac doesn’t have any weird tics to his personality. He’s a levelheaded teen.”

  “Still a bit of the old luck in there, but for the most part, David and I have no problems patting each other on the back with the whole co-parenting thing. We’re not writing How-To textbooks for divorced parents,” she added with a smile, “and there are still minor disagreements, but we’ve gotten through the experience without any scars. I think how it ended had a lot to do with it. Nobody cheated, nobody abused anyone, nobody spread lies to mutual friends in an effort to garner support. We simply didn’t work on a romantic level, and we each knew we deserved romance. The respect is still there for each other, as people. As parents. And that will cover a lot of ground in co-parenting.”

  Clay sat back as the server buzzed by to grab the empty platter and leave them. And watched her with those blue eyes that seemed to see more than what was on the surface.

  The woman was amazing. She made navigating the murky waters of divorce and co-parenting sound like a simple float down a lazy stream.

  “So you’ve heard my rough stuff.” Taking a sip of her wine, Kristen smiled over the rim. One of those secretive smiles that clenched his insides. “Your turn.”

  “Hmm, well…” Reaching for his beer, he fought for something. “Yeah, I’m coming up blank.”

  Kristen raised a brow at that. “No ex-wives? You already said no kids, but that doesn’t preclude marriage.”

  “No ex-wives. Engaged once, a million years ago. Or twenty,” he added, with a shudder at the reminder. “Senior in college, about to go into draft time, and she proposed to me.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah…wow turned to what the hell pretty fast, when it was clear she was hoping for a free ride instead of an eternity of married bliss.”

  She hissed in a breath in sympathy. “Ouch.”

  “It stung the ego but not much else. I’ve dated, come close a few times, but…” He shrugged. “Just never made the leap.”

  �
��Family?”

  “Parents are both gone.” She reached over to cover his forearm for a moment, and he wished he wasn’t wearing two layers of fabric to cover the sensation of her thumb gently brushing circles. “I have a younger sister, Amanda, and her son Stanley. Just had his first birthday.”

  “Stanley.” Kristen smiled and pulled back. He resisted the urge to reach for her hand to hold over the tabletop. “Serious name for a baby. Named after his father?”

  “I…have no clue. I mean, I do,” he added when she wrinkled her brow in confusion. “He’s not named after his father. It’s just a name Amanda liked. I’ve got no clue who the father is. Amanda…she’s a free spirit, but she’s not reckless to the point of problems. If she hasn’t involved the father, there’s probably a good reason.”

  Kristen nodded slowly but stayed silent.

  “Anyway, she was floundering a bit after Stan the Man was born, living in our parents’ old house in Denver. So I asked if she’d consider moving here. She did. She lives about thirty minutes away, which is nice since I get to see Stan a lot more now.”

  “Stan the Man,” she said quietly, grinning. “Cute. I bet you’re a great uncle.”

  “Stan hasn’t had any complaints yet,” he said, matching her grin. “He’s just this great sort of kid. It’s amazing, watching his personality evolve, you know?”

  “I do.” Her eyes took on a bit of a misty light, as if she were remembering some fond moments in Isaac’s childhood.

  “Makes me really look forward to being a dad someday. Getting to experience that with my own kids, watching little bits of me show up and then either being thrilled or terrified, depending on which personality trait they end up with.” He laughed, and the server showed up at that moment with their dinners.

  Kristen smiled and looked up to claim her sea bass from the server.

  Shit.

  The man wanted children.

  Well, of course he did. He was damn near perfect. Steady job, decent sense of humor, loved his sister and nephew, thought her own son was great, sexy to look at…

  Naturally, he would say the one thing designed to make her run for the hills.

  There was no gentle way of saying, Sorry, I just immediately discovered we’re incompatible based on your need to procreate and my desire to avoid it. Especially when things were going so beautifully.

  She waited while the server arranged their plates, artistically displaying the dishes and refilling their water before disappearing.

  “So tell me how you ended up in Santa Fe,” she said, hoping that wasn’t too abrupt a conversation change.

  She knew parts of the story but listened while Clay talked about where he went after the draft and his path from player to coach. All the while, the back of her mind was furiously creating a plan.

  Finish dinner…because there was no sense in leaving this delicious meal.

  Exit the restaurant…because that would be more private.

  Explain in rational tones why this wouldn’t work…because being irrational never helped.

  Don’t let this go badly…of which she had no control over.

  Luckily, the meal actually was delicious, and talking became less of a priority than tasting. He declined a second beer, and Kristen didn’t quite finish her second glass of wine, ensuring she could drive home safely.

  But then he got her talking again, and the need to plot the end of the date drifted away. She mentioned her reading, the book she was currently on, a few funny stories about Isaac and traveling and dealing with parents from other baseball teams. They spoke of work, but only briefly, as if they had silently agreed to leave the Bobcats out of the date entirely. They each ordered their own slice of cheesecake—hers with a chocolate sauce, his with raspberry—and tried to one-up each other on making comments about the dessert that sounded naughty but weren’t.

  And by the end, as she laughed at a dry joke he made while signing the check, she realized she wasn’t ready to leave.

  He offered her his arm again to walk out of the restaurant, and it was a test of her strength to not lean into his warm support.

  “I wish we’d come to the restaurant together,” he said in a low voice.

  “Strict policy of mine…always drive myself to the first date no matter what.” And suddenly she was regretting it too. But the rule had saved her from many a bad first date before. Having an emergency escape plan was just good single-girl sense.

  Clay handed her ticket and his to the valet at the stand, then walked them over to a safe distance for some privacy while they waited.

  Suddenly she had no clue how to end this whole thing. This wouldn’t be a situation where she could say she had fun, kiss him on the cheek, and then break the news over the phone later that she didn’t feel the spark and never see the man again. She’d see him at work, if not tomorrow, then sometime soon. There was no way to avoid this man’s presence.

  And the worst part—that made Kristen feel a little nauseous—was that there was a spark. The man was amazingly funny, and his love for his sister and nephew was heart melting. He enjoyed Isaac’s company and had no problem giving her full props for being a single mother all these years.

  So now, not only would she be dancing on the knife-edge of handling the delicate situation…she knew what she was missing out on. An amazing man.

  Extremely unladylike words were floating through her brain.

  She nearly yelped when something brushed her cheek.

  “Sorry, you had an eyelash.” Clay smiled gently. “You sort of zoned out there a bit. Problem?”

  “No, no problem.” Lie. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

  “The meal was pretty good. The company, better.” He showed off that dimple with a smile, and she fought to smile back. Wow, this hurt.

  “Okay,” he said after another moment, his smile fading. “I’ll gonna call it… Did I say the wrong thing? The awkwardness just hit an all-time high, and we were doing really well before. Was it something—”

  “No, definitely not.” Sort of, but not in the way you mean. “No, I’m just…” She shook her head. How to get this out?

  She thought she heard Clay mutter something to the effect of, “Screw it,” but she wasn’t sure, because the next thing she knew, there was no way to focus on anything but his lips on hers.

  And oh lord, could the man kiss. He cupped her head gently to anchor her, protecting her from the rough brick of the building pillar behind her. His other hand pulled her in ever so slightly. Almost a silent invitation to join the party.

  When the party kissed like this, she was RSVP’ing yes. She leaned up on her toes to more firmly connect their mouths, and he slanted his for better access.

  Her lips opened on a gasp, and he took full advantage, tongue sweeping in and making her moan in pleasure.

  But then he pulled away, slowly, almost regretfully. “Your car’s here.”

  “Huh?” she asked, blinking slowly. She was in the Kiss Fog…that sort of dizzy space where your head never felt quite connected to your body after a kiss to end all kisses. Only twice before had she experienced the Kiss Fog. Well, three now. And this one was by far the thickest.

  “Your car.” He chuckled and pulled her over a little. “Maybe that one-and-a-half glasses of wine did more than I thought. You okay to drive home?”

  “Oh, car. Right. Yes. Drive.” Complete sentences, Kristen. “Thank you for dinner.”

  He laughed at that, walking with her to the driver’s side door. “We aren’t going to do that whole ‘thank you’ shtick again, are we?”

  “I guess so.” Her face flamed, embarrassed. “Why am I never able to say good-bye to you without embarrassing myself?”

  “You haven’t embarrassed yourself. Consider this the end of a really good date.” He leaned down to kiss her once more. “And you’ve left me wanting more. I’ll see you at work.” He tipped the valet before she even thought to reach in her purse, then walked to the car pulling up behind her, likely h
is.

  “See you,” she said faintly, slipping into the seat.

  She was ten minutes away from home before she realized she’d never told him they couldn’t do it again.

  Clay lay in bed that night, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Satan curled up beside him, occasionally stretching out a paw to rake his claws over Clay’s calf, which was covered by pajama pants. Clay hated pajamas…but they were the lesser of two evils. Man and animal had a deal between them. Clay didn’t kick Satan in the gut for the intentional scratches, and Satan didn’t scratch anything more important.

  It was an important, if not bloodless, truce.

  “Went on a date tonight,” he finally said into the dark, when sleep proved completely out of range. “Kristen Keplar. Assistant at work.”

  Satan blinked at him with eyes that caught the moonlight in an eerie show.

  “Yeah, well, you’re without balls, so I don’t expect you to be impressed. It was good. Great, actually. She’s sexy and smart, and she’s together, you know? She’s not one of those single moms who’s constantly one step away from disaster. She’s solid. She’s like what Amanda will be in ten years.”

  Satan, sensing his sleep would be interrupted, reached out and raked his claws over Clay’s shin, biting through the light material to scrape down his skin.

  “Ow,” Clay grumbled, shaking his leg a little. That made Satan hiss, which only made Clay roll his eyes. “Yeah, tough guy. I should put you in the back yard. See how long you last hunting for your food.”

  Ungrateful asshole that he was, Satan used both front paws this time to scratch.

  “Okay, truce is over.” Grabbing the cat by the scruff before he could make a break for it, Clay tossed him into the hall and shut the door. It was a pointless exercise, which they both knew. The minute Satan wanted back in the bed, he would begin yowling loudly enough the neighbors would begin knocking on his door. Which was impressive, given he lived in a planned neighborhood and not an apartment or condo.

  But at least he had a few minutes alone before Satan decided to start singing the song of his people.