by Lea Nolan
Still, she felt the need to explain her actions. Pointing to her own lips, she sputtered, “You had a little smoosh. I never know whether to tell someone they’ve got food on their face, but then I think how much I’d want to know if it was me, and well, I always err on the side of telling the truth, even if it’s embarrassing. I hate it when people don’t tell you.”
Shrugging her off, he leaned back on the bench as his sculpted face flushed crimson. “Sure, thanks. It was obvious what you were trying to do.” His words were clipped. Evidently he hadn’t appreciated her gesture. Fine. Next time she’d let it sit there. If there was a next time.
“So,” he took another drink of soda. “How are you doing about the fire and all? I’d have thought you’d be broken up about it, but you seem to be handling it astonishingly well.” His gaze seemed to bore into her. Then he added, “But maybe you’re just good at hiding your feelings.”
On the surface it seemed like a genuine inquiry, but she couldn’t help wonder if he was trying to provoke her. Had he employed his security guys to investigate her past? Probably. If so, had he learned about her stint at the D.C. Home for Girls? Emotional detachment was common among former foster children. Was he looking for a way to dredge that up and use it against her?
Avoiding his gaze, she looked across the quad to the patients in wheelchairs who were enjoying the sun. “I know it sounds corny, but the only thing that matters is that nobody was hurt. Once I knew my landlady was going to be all right, I kind of let it go.”
“But you lost all your possessions. That must have been a terrible blow.”
To him, with his immense wealth and house full of stuff, maybe. But not to her. Even if he did know her secrets, he couldn’t begin to understand how inconsequential material things could be to someone who’d been through the system. Ever since she was five years old, Gwen had learned to pack light. There was no telling how quickly or how often she’d have to move from one family or group home to another.
More than her ascetic philosophy, the experience had also provided her stiff upper lip. There was no sense in crying over circumstances you couldn’t control, or lamenting things that didn’t go your way. Far better to weather the blow, swallow the pain, and move on. But it was impossible to spell all this out without delving into her past, which, if he didn’t already know about it, would only stoke his skepticism. So she simply said, “Things are just that…things. And to be honest, I didn’t have all that much to begin with. I can replace anything I really need.”
“I’m sure that’s true. Though the austerity must be blunted by the fact you’ve moved into River View. You certainly don’t want for any creature comforts there.”
Anger shot straight from her toes to her hair follicles. Is this what this lunch was about? To find another way to harp on her for accepting Judith’s invitation? If so, he could take his get-to-know-each-other “date” and shove his stupid Irish flowers where a leprechaun definitely wouldn’t find them. Sitting up straight, her jaw tensed. “You’re right. It’s nice. Opulent, even. But it’s temporary. I promise I’ll leave as soon as I have the money to get an apartment big enough for the baby and me.”
His eyes filled with alarm. “No, you misunderstand me—”
Having lost her appetite, she balled what was left of her sandwich in foil and stood up, leaving the bouquet on the bench. “No, I’m pretty sure I heard you loud and clear. Just like I did the other day. You didn’t want me to move in, and now you want me out.”
He rose to his feet, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant. I was only trying to make small talk.”
She planted her hand on her hip. “Uh huh. Tell me, how stupid do I look? You might be used to a bunch of vapid bimbos fawning all over you, putting up with your arrogance and condescension because you’re rich. But I’m not one of them. I don’t want or need anything from you, and I’m not going to sit here and be insulted.” She scooped up her purse and headed toward her building.
“Gwen, please.” His voice was tense as he raced after her. “Don’t leave. This isn’t how I wanted this to end.”
Halting, she spun around to face him. “What a coincidence. Because I was hoping that under that asshole exterior, you might actually be a decent guy and we could have a nice time. But I guess that was too much to ask.” Shaking her head, she turned and walked away.
…
That didn’t go as planned. Carter watched as she marched across the square between the buildings. Her stride was strong and determined, undaunted. Damn, she had a self-righteous streak a mile wide. No one ever talked to him like that, ever. It was exasperating, but also impressive. And maybe a little bit sexy. Not that it mattered. She was his mark, and though she might require extra effort, he wouldn’t back down from the challenge. He’d dig in, focus harder to contain his own feelings. That’s where he’d gone wrong. Cocky, he’d been so sure his charm was working, but then she caught him by surprise with the napkin and sauce, taking him aback. Not to mention her crack about him being wound too tight. Defensive and a little embarrassed, he’d lashed out, unnecessarily needling her and doing exactly the opposite of what he’d planned. But he couldn’t let that stop him. He had to follow through on his scheme. The fate of Work It Gear was too important.
…
The following weekend, he decided to try again. Gwen was in the dining room on Saturday morning, just finishing her breakfast.
“Good morning,” he said, prying his lips into a grin as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the sideboard.
“Good morning,” she responded, deadpan, as she popped the last piece of bacon into her mouth.
Grabbing one of Loretta’s famous blueberry walnut muffins, he eased into the seat across from her and stripped away the paper wrapper.
Gwen swallowed the last gulp of orange juice then pushed out her own chair and stood up.
Dropping his eyes, he worked to make his voice tender. “Please don’t go,” he said quietly. If she didn’t like arrogant, self-assured Carter, maybe she could be swayed by his softer side. The one he’d have to manufacture because it no longer existed. He glanced in her direction.
She was frozen, her brow crinkled in confusion. It was exactly what he was hoping for. “But I’ve finished eating.”
He turned his gaze toward her, employing the saddest puppy dog face he could muster. “Sit and talk with me. I’d like to start over. One more time.” Carter tilted his head and eyed her chair.
Gwen gripped the edge of the table. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea. We’re just going to end up in an argument.”
“No, we won’t. I promise to be on my best behavior.” He smiled, piling on the charm.
Sighing, she plopped down on her seat. “Okay, I’m all ears. What do you want to talk about?” She propped her elbow and leaned toward him.
He cleared his throat. “First, my behavior was egregious,” he said, exaggerating his sins to assuage her fiery temper.
She nodded. “It was.”
“I’m sorry. I really did want us to get to know each other and to get along. We’re going to be family, of sorts. We ought to at least be civil to one another. Would you be willing to try again?”
Narrowing her eyes, she assessed him, hard, then finally cracked a smile. “Okay, why not?”
“Great.” He heaved a sigh of relief. This might just work after all. “Do you have any plans today?”
An hour later, Carter parked his Jag along the service road between the Smithsonian museums and the National Mall. After today, she’d see how wrong she was about him being rigid. He was just as spontaneous as the next guy.
“Are we going to the Air and Space?” Gwen asked, her voice giddy. “I haven’t been there in years. I hear they’ve got some great new artifacts from the Space Shuttle Discovery.”
“No. We’re going someplace even better,” he said as he opened her door.
They walked through the Hirshhorn Museum and outdoor sculpture garden in silence. Gia
nt bronze sculptures graced the finely manicured lawn while smaller works of art filled the gravel-lined courtyard surrounded by expertly pruned privet bushes. Occasionally, Carter tried to impress her by pointing out something about a particular piece and Gwen would nod politely. He wasn’t sure whether she was awed by the astounding beauty of the modern art installations, or if she was bored to tears.
After they’d seen nearly the entire collection, he turned to her. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”
Gwen shook her head. “No, this is great. It’s very…educational.”
“You say that like it’s medicine.”
Wincing she answered, “No, not medicine, exactly. I’m just a little overwhelmed. That one piece, the one that looked like it was forged in hell?”
Carter nodded. “The one in the first room.” Her description was so apt he immediately knew which one she meant.
“Yeah, I don’t think I can ever unsee that. Which is unfortunate, because I’m pretty sure it’s going to haunt my dreams.”
He chuckled. “That’s the whole point. It’s an allegory for war. It’s supposed to be unsettling.”
“Well then, mission accomplished.” Gwen gave a thumbs-up.
His shoulders slumped. “What am I doing wrong? I thought this would be fun.” It had been for him. This was one of his favorite places in the city.
“It is. Sort of.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“They’re not hurt. Obviously this isn’t your thing. We can go.” He headed for the door, wondering what exactly could please her.
This was harder then he’d expected. What was wrong with her? Ever since his divorce, women threw themselves at him, clambering to accompany him to one of the hundred dismal society dinners or political functions he attended each year. Those were torture, eased only by the after-party festivities he’d enjoy with his beautiful companion. But here, he’d actually tried to show her something that was special to him, and she couldn’t care less. Sure, she was respectful and even deferential to his knowledge, but it was clear she’d have rather watched paint dry. If he couldn’t lure her with flowers, fancy lunches, or fine art, how the hell would he do it?
“Hey, wait a second.” She caught up and grabbed his wrist. The warmth of her hand on his bare skin was electric. “It’s still early. Why don’t we do something else? Something really fun.”
Chapter Ten
Carter put the Jag in park and stared at the weathered building before them. The neon sign was broken. Only a few of the letters in D.C. Duckpin Alley were still lit. “Duckpin bowling?” he asked as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Really?”
Gwen was having a hard time not drooling at his Saturday casual appearance. There were no words to describe how amazing he appeared in dark blue jeans, a crisp, buttoned-down shirt, and soft brown cashmere pullover. Not to mention the hint of scruff below his etched cheekbones and along his sharp jaw line. Throughout their time at the museum, she found herself staring as he pointed out the various sculptures, describing their history and virtues. Though he had plenty to say, she’d barely registered a word.
It suddenly dawned that he’d asked a question. One she should probably answer. “Yeah. It’s great. My…grandfather introduced me to it.” Technically, Stan had been her foster father, but with his bushy white hair and long, untrimmed eyebrows, the former national duckpin champion and alley owner looked too ancient to be anything but a grandpa. He was a legend in the sport that featured a tiny three-and-a-half pound ball and miniature pins. She’d only lived with Stan during her last year of high school before she aged out of the system and headed to college. Back then, she spent more time in his alley than in school. It was, at long last, a safe harbor in her tumultuous upbringing. It was a shame she found it so late.
Scanning the pocked parking lot, Carter asked. “Is this the only place we can play?”
“No, but it’s the best. And one of the oldest.” The aging facility opposite the Maryland state line had seen better days. Though it wasn’t much to look at, the exterior wasn’t important. It was what happened on the inside that counted.
Carter’s lip curled. “I can believe that.”
“Look, I know it looks a little…”
“Run down?” he asked.
“Neglected. But that’s because the sport is dwindling. Duckpin’s a dying sport. Half the lanes in D.C. have closed in the last few years. Stan hasn’t had enough money to keep up the alleys like he used to. I’m afraid he might have to shut down. It’ll kill him.”
“Stan? You’re on a first name basis with the owner?”
“Well, yeah. He’s my…grandpa.”
Carter winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your grandfather’s business.” Drawing a deep breath, he said, “Okay, let’s go bowling.” Flicking a switch on the dash, the convertible’s roof raised, then locked into place. He stepped out of the car and made his way to her side, but she opened her door before he got there.
Once inside, the familiar scents of floor polish and machine oil meshed with stale popcorn and hot dogs cooked on a roller grill at the small concession stand. It smelled like home. Or the closest thing she’d ever had to one.
Carter sniffed at the air. “It’s musty.”
“A little. Come on.” Gripping his arm, she steered him toward the shoe rental stand.
His eyes popped from their sockets. “What are those?”
She glanced at the cubbies filled with red-white-and-blue striped footwear. “Shoes.”
“Yes, I can see that. But surely you don’t expect me to wear them.”
“Of course I do. You can’t wear regular shoes on the hardwoods. You’ll scuff them up.”
He pointed to his dark brown leather loafers. “Do you have any idea where these came from? What they’re made of? They don’t scuff anything. Ever.”
Crossing her arms, she looked at him. “I thought you wanted to have fun.”
“I do. I just don’t want to look like a clown.”
She sighed. “Haven’t you ever gone bowling before? You have to wear special shoes. Look, everyone’s wearing them.” Gwen gestured toward the few lanes in operation.
His leveled his gaze at her. “I’m well aware of the rules. And if I’d known we were coming, I’d have brought my own personal pair.” Turning his attention to the well-stocked cubbies, he asked, “It doesn’t bother you that other people have worn them?”
She snorted. “No. They use an anti-fungal spray after each use.”
His lips screwed up as if he’d smelled rotting clam shells. “That is disgusting.”
Laughing, she stepped behind the counter and selected two pairs of shoes. “I’m guessing you’re a twelve?” As his jaw dropped in amazement, she chuckled and handed over the pair. “I used to work this counter. After a while you develop a sense for these things.”
Just then, Stan walked out of the small office in the corner of the building. “Gwen!” He gave her a big bear hug. When he pulled away, she caught him glance, just for a moment, at her midsection. A quizzical expression crossed his face, but then he immediately seemed to recover. Had he felt the hardened mass in her belly when they embraced? It was hard to tell, but this wasn’t the time to get into it. Better to change the subject.
“Hey, Stan. How’ve you been?” she asked, scanning for signs that he wasn’t taking care of himself. He had a tendency to stock up on hot dogs and forsake anything that was green or grew out of the ground.
“I’m great. Just like always.” He patted his beer belly.
“You taking your blood pressure medicine?”
He smiled. “Yes, Mom. And in case you’re wondering, I’ve also scheduled my colonoscopy.”
Placing her fingers in her ears, she winced. “Okay, that’s enough information.” She chuckled, knowing how much he liked to rib her for taking care of him, but she didn’t care. He didn’t have anyone else. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Carter
.”
Stan peered at him, giving him a thorough once-over. “Nice to meet you. You must be someone special for Gwen to bring you around here.”
Damn. He knew. And unfortunately he assumed Carter was the father. She had a lot of explaining to do. But that was a conversation for another day. In private.
Carter smiled. “No. I think she just wants to beat me at duckpin to prove how ordinary I am.”
Stan bellowed as he slapped Carter’s shoulder. “Then prepare to be humbled. She’s got a pretty decent throwing arm. For a girl.” He winked at Gwen.
She crossed her arms. “Ha ha. No one’s playing anything until he puts on his shoes.” She pointed to the size twelves still sitting on the counter.
Narrowing his eyes, Carter slipped out of his Italian loafers and exchanged them for the red-white-and-blue lace-ups. She had to give him credit. As much as he looked like he might vomit, he forced his feet into the pre-worn and deodorized rentals.
They chose a lane on the end of the alley, far from Stan’s office and the other players. Gwen explained the simple rules to Carter, showing him how to release the smaller ball. At first, he had trouble knocking down the diminutive pins, but with a few practice tries he became good. Very good. As in, this was either an exceptional case of beginner’s luck, or this wasn’t his first time playing duckpin.
Crossing her arms, her gaze bored into his navy blue eyes. “Are you hustling me?”
“Huh? What are you talking about?” He threw the ball remarkably straight down the alley, knocking down nine of the ten mini pins.
Anchoring her hands on her hips, Gwen pointed at the one remaining pin. “That. That’s what I’m talking about. Do you know how difficult it is to throw a spare on your first frame? That’s why you get three chances instead of two like in regular ten pin. It’s really hard. Like, so hard, no one’s ever thrown a perfect game of duckpin. It’s like the Holy Grail.”
Grinning, he shrugged. “What can I say? I guess I’m a natural.” His ball shot out of the slot on the retrieval machine. Carter grabbed it, walked to the lane and threw it again, this time taking out the one remaining pin. “Yes!” he shouted, clenching his fist, then winked at her.