In Other Words, Love
Page 7
“How so?”
“I’m global retail. They’re small-town sales.” Those two sentences didn’t begin to cover the gap between his vision and his parents’. They loved that tiny nursery and couldn’t understand Trent’s ambition. Or at least his father couldn’t. Mom didn’t care, as long as her kids were happy.
Kate’s gaze met his. “But in the end, isn’t it all the same thing? You’re helping customers find what they need, and then providing that. That’s what your parents do, only with plants instead of gear.”
“I disagree.” His parents had never thought, or even wanted to think, beyond Hudson Falls. Their customer base extended a few miles in either direction, and they were fine with that. It was only in the last year or so that Mac’s Nursery had added a website and social media component, mainly because Marla had insisted. She’d ended up with a degree in landscape design and was the one who’d come home to help out and take the business into the twenty-first century.
Trent had given up on trying to help his parents think bigger. His father didn’t like change, and Trent didn’t like butting his head against a stubborn wall. “I utilize multiple channels to reach customers all over the world. Part of our strategy in smaller, struggling countries is to source materials and labor locally. The customers in countries like Sri Lanka, for instance, take pride in knowing what they bought directly supports their friends and neighbors. As opposed to my parents, what I’m doing is targeted—”
“When did you become so boring, Trent?”
He sat back in the seat. “Me? I’m not boring.”
“We have sat here for ten minutes straight—not eating dessert, which in itself is a capital crime—discussing global sourcing and selling.” Kate shook her head. “The Trent I knew could barely sit still to discuss a chapter of Anna Karenina.”
“Those chapters were huge. And that book was the epitome of boring.”
She laughed. “You have a point there. But still…aren’t you tired of being the businessman all the time? That’s not who you were in college. It’s like it’s not even the real you when you’re talking like that.”
And this was the problem with working with a ghostwriter who knew his history—she could see through the charade, the marketing spin, and bring him back to reality. She’d nailed a part of himself that even Trent hadn’t recognized until now.
Somewhere along the way, Trent had shifted from being active and engaged to being the one behind the desk ten hours a day. She was right—that wasn’t the man he’d been in college, and it wasn’t the man he wanted to be. The only one who could change that, though, was Trent himself.
The waiter came by and bussed their table, boxing up the Tres Leches cake and handing the cardboard container to Kate. Trent paid the bill, and as he did, he glanced out the window of the restaurant at the bright lights across the street. A flashing neon sign beckoned, the letters dancing in the window.
Maybe it was time he stopped being the corporate man and went back to the person he used to be. “Let me show you just how boring I can be.” Then he threw some bills on the table for a tip, grabbed her hand, and they dashed out into the rain.
“I look like a clown.” Kate tied the last shoelace and tucked her own shoes under the plastic bench. Around her, there were rumbles and crashes, like being in the center of a storm. “I swear my feet aren’t this big in real life.”
Trent shot her a grin. “I think you look adorable.”
She parked her fists on her hips and shot him a glare. Why had she let him talk her into this crazy idea, anyway? “You might want to reread Wooing Women 101, because ‘adorable’ is the last thing any woman wants to hear. It makes me sound like a six-year-old.”
He shifted closer. Around them, a steady hum of activity, punctuated by thuds and crashes, and an undertow of top-forty music on the sound system. It was loud and bright and busy, but it didn’t matter. The rest of the world disappeared until all Kate heard and saw was Trent, and the hurried pace of her own heart. “Am I supposed to be wooing you right now?”
“Well, no…but…” She tipped her foot to the side, if only to look away from those hypnotic blue eyes that still had the power to trip her pulse, even after all these years. “I’d like to know you think I look like a grownup.”
“Even with the clown shoes?”
“Especially with these shoes.” She frowned at the clunky leather bowling shoes, half white and half red, with bright white laces and rubber soles. If she was trying to look pretty for Trent, bowling shoes was the last place to start.
Except she wasn’t trying. Exactly. Okay, maybe she was. A little.
Trent put a finger under her chin and tipped her attention toward him. His dark blue eyes were a stormy ocean of questions and messages she couldn’t read. A soft shadow of stubble gave him a rough-and-tumble edge, like some kind of bad boy in a romance novel. Her breath caught in her throat. “You’re the kind of woman who can make those shoes look gorgeous.”
The sentence melted all of Kate’s resolve to stay far, far away from a mistake she’d thought she’d left in the past. “Thank…thank you.”
He held her gaze a second longer, then a grin tipped one side of his mouth. “Now, let’s make it interesting.”
Was he talking about kissing her? Or was she simply hoping he was? “Uh, not sure what you mean by that.”
“I meant with a wager. If I remember right, KitKat, you are a tiny bit competitive.”
Her face heated. She’d completely misinterpreted him. All she wanted to do was back up, put distance between them, and forget she’d gotten wrapped up in Trent MacMillan’s words. Again. “Oh, yeah. A competition. That’ll make the game more fun.”
This was bowling, not a romance. He wasn’t interested in her that way anymore, and she wasn’t interested in him, either. Not one bit.
The real world came crashing into their space when a stray bowling ball rolled past the bench and came to a stop against Kate’s foot. A little girl dashed over and grabbed the bright pink ball. “Sawwy,” she said.
“It’s okay.” Kate smiled at her. “Are you having fun bowling?”
The little girl nodded. She was maybe five or six, and kept standing there, staring at Trent and Kate with the ball clutched against her stomach. Long blond ringlets framed her face and dusted her black and pink T-shirt, decorated with tiaras and princesses. “I’m bowling with my grandma. She says Imma gonna beat her.”
Kate bent down until she was eye to eye with the girl. A few feet away, the girl’s grandma watched them talk, a little cautious, but also amused. “Do you like bowling?”
The little girl nodded. “I gotta use two hands. ‘Cuz I’m little. But Grandma says that isn’t cheating.”
Kate laughed. “Not at all. I use two hands too, because I’m really bad at bowling. But don’t tell him—” she thumbed over shoulder in Trent’s direction, “—because I’m going to try to beat him.”
“Grandma says use the dots.” The little girl nodded in the direction of the black circles painted on the start of the alley. “‘Cuz they help you go the right way.”
“Good tip, thank you.” She stuck out a hand. “I’m Kate. What’s your name?”
“‘Lizabeth.” The little girl spared two fingers for the handshake, then hefted the heavy ball in her arms. “I gotta go. It’s my turn.”
“Nice to meet you, Elizabeth. Good luck with your game.”
“T’ank you!” She spun away and joined her grandmother in the next lane. Kate could hear her telling her grandmother all about the nice lady she’d met. Kate gave them a friendly wave, then slipped behind the small desk and started typing in hers and Trent’s names on the game sheet.
“You’re good with kids. I’m impressed. Every time I have to talk to a kid, like at an event or something, I always end up running out of things to say. Maybe I’m just not parental material.”
“What do you mean?”
She turned on the stool and faced him. Trent made those silly bowling shoes look good, with his dark jeans and soft T-shirt. Of course, Trent also made paddle boards and scuba gear and anything he wore look good. He’d asked her a question. It took a second for her brain to refocus. “My grandmother and I volunteer at a co-op garden every spring. There are lots of families that come and plant, and we all take turns weeding and tending the seedlings. In the summer and fall, we work together to do the harvest, and then we all share the bounty. When Nana and I realized most kids had no idea how seeding and growing worked, we started a little class just for them. They pay attention if you don’t dumb it down and give them some responsibility.”
Trent sat on the bright orange bench and draped his arm over the plastic seat. Respect and admiration shone in his eyes. “Wow. You surprise me.”
“Because I can garden?” Kate chuckled. “I’ve always liked doing that. Didn’t I tell you how much I loved gardening when we were dating?”
“You did. But I meant about the kids and the community. That’s…really great, Kate.”
The compliments warmed her. In their college days, the roles had been reversed. Trent, the dashing, exciting outdoorsman who’d impressed everyone with his reckless adventures and crazy stories. Now, he was looking at her the way she had once looked at him. It was…nice. Very nice. Even if it did embarrass her a little to be under that laser focus of his gaze. “I’m not creating world peace here. Just teaching some kids how to grow tomatoes.”
“In the end, isn’t it all the same thing?” he pointed out, echoing her words from earlier. “You teach kids to work together in a community garden, where everyone benefits from the hard work, and you teach them to get along. To tend and nurture each other.”
She rolled her eyes. “Who’s the writer now? It’s a garden, Trent. Nothing more.” She jumped to her feet, grabbed a nine-pound ball and balanced it on one palm. Far easier to do that than to take his compliments to heart, because then she’d have to do something with them. In her head, she had Trent firmly slotted into the “Client” category. Listening to his kind and poetic words would nudge him into some other category she was sure would end badly. “Now, what’s our wager?”
He thought a minute. Amusement danced in his eyes, toyed with the edges of his smile. This was the Trent she remembered—spontaneous and clever and tempting—the one who had seemed to disappear in the busy-ness of his business. “If I win, you tell me as much about you as I tell you about me.”
“You tried that once back in the restaurant, and I didn’t fall for it then.” In fact, she’d hoped he would forget all about that silly quid pro quo. Opening up, even if it was only about her life since college, would invite Trent back into her world, and maybe even her heart. Kate had no intentions of doing that again. “I’m here for a job, Trent, not…whatever that would be.”
“And this—” he waved toward the bowling alley, “—is this part of your job?”
Coming to the bowling alley had been a crazy, impromptu idea. One that was far afield of how Kate usually lived her life. She liked her world to be predictable, comfortable. The clown shoes and the way Trent was looking at her were the exact opposite of comfortable. “A, it was your idea, and B, as a ghostwriter, I have learned that the best way to get the client’s story is to be on his or her turf and ease into the conversation.” She shrugged. “I’ve met clients on the golf course and at wine bars, and once, in a cigar bar.”
“That I’d have to see.” He laughed. “Did you partake of the cigars?”
“No, but I did have to get my dress dry-cleaned and wash my hair twice to get the smell out. Either way, I got the story, and finished the book.”
“So you’re saying…” He pushed off from the bench and closed the gap between them. Her heart stuttered when Trent leaned in—what is happening here? Why can’t I think straight?—then moved past her to grab a bowling ball. Disappointment sunk in Kate’s stomach. “That whatever the client wants to do, whatever helps him open up, is part of the job?”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, I’m telling you I’m a relationship guy,” Trent said. He shifted the heavy ball between his palms, making it look like it weighed no more than a feather. “I like to know my customers, my employees, my vendors. And now, my ghostwriter.”
She scoffed. “You. A relationship guy? You weren’t in college.”
“Back then, I was young and dumb. Now I’m older and, presumably, wiser.” He turned, took three steps, then sent the ball flying down the waxed lane. It collided with the pins, knocking eight to the ground before disappearing into the catcher at the back. “So, if I win, I get to learn as much as I want to about you.”
She bit her lower lip and thought about his deal. Would it be such a bad thing to give Trent a peek—a tiny peek—inside her own life? If it got him to open up and meant she could make the deadline, then how was it a bad idea? “Okay, but I have a condition of my own.”
He shifted a couple of inches to the right, lined up for a curve ball, and released the heavy black bowling ball again. It whistled down the alley, hitting one pin, then the other, giving Trent a spare. “Considering I’m already winning, I don’t know if I have to accept your condition.”
“I haven’t even taken my turn yet. You have no idea how good of a bowler I am.”
“You just told our new friend there—” he nodded toward Elizabeth, who was giving her pink ball a push toward the pins, “—that you were really bad at bowling.”
That’s right. She had said that. As he approached, noted his score, then stood beside her, she feigned indifference. She had control of this situation. Yep, she did. “Well, either way, don’t be too confident in your victory. Because if I win, I want your undivided attention all day Saturday.”
A slow smile spread across Trent’s face. “You already have that now, Kate.”
The room felt a hundred degrees warmer. She opened her mouth to speak and couldn’t think of a single word to say.
It had been over fifteen years since she and Trent had been a couple. Plenty of time to get over him, move on, have closure, whatever it was in the magic formula that ended a relationship in a woman’s mind and heart. But right now, staring into a face as familiar as her own and hearing his deep voice utter things she had wished for in those long, lonely months after graduation…
She was torn between wanting to run far, far away, and wanting to never move from this spot. Instead, she opted for a distance-increasing middle ground.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” She spun on her rented shoes, then stepped up to the desk and pushed a button. There was a whirring and clanking.
Trent burst out laughing. “Bumpers? Isn’t that cheating?”
“Should have set the rules before you made the bet.” She tossed him a grin, then sent the ball sailing down the maple alley. It careened off the right bumper, then the left, before finding the center. The dark green ball sailed down the middle, slammed into the pins, and all ten tumbled down. “Well, well. That would be a strike, wouldn’t it?”
“I would have to agree,” Trent said with a little laugh. “You are creative, Kate, very creative.”
“Yay!” In the next lane, Elizabeth jumped up and down, cheering as if she was the one who had gotten a strike. “Good job!”
“I had some help.” Kate shot her enthusiastic cheerleader a big smile. “You’re doing pretty good too, Elizabeth.”
“Watch me!” The little girl hefted another bowling ball into her arms, teetered to the line, then gave the heavy ball a hard shove. Her grandmother stood close by, watching with amusement and pride. The ball did a turtle-slow roll down the alley and hit three pins.
Kate cheered. “Great job!”
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nbsp; Elizabeth grinned. “T’ank you!” Then she ran up to her grandmother and recounted every move she’d seen Kate make, bragging about her as if Kate was Elizabeth’s new best friend. The whole moment was adorable and sweet. Maybe someday Kate would have a little girl like that.
Someday. In college, she had hoped the man standing beside her would be the one she’d marry, the one she’d raise a family with. Then their paths had diverged, and Kate put that future on hold.
“She could be me,” Kate whispered to Trent as she watched Elizabeth’s grandmother fold the little girl into a hug and saw an echo of the afternoon at Grandma Wanda’s, with the soup and the plant and the wisdom. “My grandma has always been the one who was there for me. She taught me pretty much everything I know.”
“I always liked your grandma. She’d send cookies back to school with you for me.” Trent chuckled. “Everybody needs a grandma like that. How is she?”
It had taken a couple of years after the breakup for Grandma to stop asking about Trent. She’d always called him “that nice young man.” When Grandma had put her stamp of approval on Trent, Kate had taken it as a sign they were meant to be together. In the end, she’d been wrong, and grateful her grandmother had been there to help her through those first few devastating weeks.
“She’s getting older,” Kate said. “But she still lives on her own and still gardens. Her house needs some repairs she can’t afford, so I’ve been helping her.” She shrugged, the gesture belying the worry that undercut every word.
“Kate to the rescue again.” He chuckled.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not. Not at all. I wish…” He shook his head. “I wish I had some of that spirit in me. That generosity, and that attention to the people around you. You’ve always been so good at that, Kate.”
She wrote down her score, then stepped back, giving him room to grab the next ball. “You have to stay in one place long enough to find a way to give back and to give attention to people, Trent.”