by Karen Rock
“Happy to hear it.” His eyes lingered on her before he tipped his head. “Good day to you, then, ladies.”
She watched his broad back disappear behind the swinging kitchen door. A lucky girl would have him someday, though it would never be her. She’d known him too long to see herself as anything more than a friend.
Gran waved her breadstick like a maestro. “I’d tell you to chat up Aiden now that he’s available, but it looks like you’ve already found a fellow. What’s his name?”
Christie squirmed in her high-backed chair. It figured. Gran would get right back to the point. Dating Aiden would be so much simpler than this complicating no-man’s-land she’d entered with Eli. But the heart wanted what it wanted, or so she’d once read in a book of inspirational quotes. Did that mean her heart wanted Eli? Or to help his family?
“His name’s Eli, and he’s just a client.” She shoved a large bite of tangy salad into her mouth before she gave away more than she intended. A crisp garlic crouton crunched between her teeth as she dodged her grandmother’s omniscient stare. If the Rockettes hadn’t worked out, she could have been an ace FBI agent, Christie mused.
“Just a client?” Gran smoothed a cloth napkin on her lap then cut the grilled chicken topping her bowl. “Since when do clients make you blush? You’re not fooling me, Christine Abaigeal Bates. Now tell me all about your Eli.”
Her heart sped as his warm smile came to mind, the caring way he treated his children, the firm feel of his arm around her. “He brought one of my cancer-support-group members to a meeting—you know, John Vaccaro? We’ve seen him here a few times.”
“Yes.” Gran shook some pepper on her meal. “Such a pleasant-looking man.”
Uh-uh. Not happening. Christie sent Gran a stern look. “And off-limits to you. I don’t mix my personal life with business.”
“That’s your rule, not mine.” A dark green leaf dangled from Gran’s fork. “Besides. Your whole life is business. When do you make time for the personal part? And don’t say spending time with your dear old gran counts.”
But it did, in her books. “I’m helping his family,” she blurted then clamped a hand over her mouth. Now she’d done it. Why hadn’t she muzzled herself with a mouthful of lettuce? Gran would pounce on this tidbit like Sweet Pea on a Greenies bone.
Gran pulled out a compact. “That’s what Maria said in The Sound of Music. Very clever, my dear...getting in with the kids first.”
Her fork clattered to the tabletop. “Gran! The children need me. It’s for their sake, not mine or his.”
Gran lowered her powder puff. Christie’s nose felt a bit shiny, too, as did her damp forehead. Had the temperature risen or was Gran’s interrogation getting to her? Hopefully there wasn’t a lie detector in her grandparent’s carry-on of a purse. She wasn’t altogether sure she’d pass.
“The Julie Andrews character said that, too...before she married the count.”
“He was a baron.” She dipped her napkin in her water glass and rubbed it across her heated face. “Can we talk about something else? How’s life at the seniors’ center?”
“Fine. We’ll drop it.” Her grandmother nodded to a couple of regulars entering the bar. “For now. But I’ll be wanting to meet your young man if this continues.”
Christie nodded, though she’d never let her worlds collide that way. Strange that Becca had asked to meet Gran, too. She shook off the feeling of inevitability and dug into her lunch, nodding and commenting as Gran updated her on the latest seniors’-center news.
For the next half hour, she lost herself in the familiar rhythms of the pub while Gran hit the highlights on the over-sixty-five community. Nancy had maxed out her credit cards buying outfits for a salsa-dancing class, Trish had discovered Jack was two-timing her with the bingo lady, and Mary Beth had gotten engaged after twisting her ankle on a hike in the Adirondacks then met her fiancé in the E.R. “Which goes to show you,” Gran concluded with a nod, “that life only happens when you live it.”
Christie’s empty glass paused in midair. Gran was right. She’d packed her world with so many obligations that she didn’t have an inch to live it. A familiar voice inside whispered that she didn’t deserve to. But it sounded fainter than usual. Could Eli be responsible for that?
Suddenly she wanted to shake things up in a dance class, too. Stand on top of a mountain and holler loud enough for everyone to hear. Zip-line over a rain forest, high-fiving monkeys as she zoomed by. With Eli—and his children, of course.
She drained her glass and signaled the bartender for the check.
Perhaps it was time to live her life after all.
* * *
CHRISTIE LOWERED HER head at the meditative close of her support group and contemplated her clasped hands. They looked pale against the black pencil skirt she’d borrowed from Laura. One of the perks of having a roommate her size—double the wardrobe. Such a bonus considering their practically nonexistent closet space.
Not that is was a fair exchange. Laura’s fashion vocabulary included words like Thakoon, Prada and Alexander Wang whereas hers was comprised of the Gap, vintage and Home Shopping Network. But her tees and jeans were too comfy to exchange for designer duds that made her want to lose ten pounds. At least she wouldn’t trade them for more than a few hours.
She smoothed her hand over the cloth-covered buttons of her—Laura’s—silk lilac top. Vertical ruffles were falling like a waterfall across her fingers when she glanced up and caught Eli’s eye again. She bit back a smile, her cheeks heating for the gazillionth time tonight. Even Elizabeth had asked her if she was getting a fever. Sheesh. Maybe the fitted look was a keeper after all.
She stood as best she could in her shrink-wrap of a skirt. “Thank you, everyone.” She strode to the table in her borrowed heels and held up plastic bags. “Who’d like some dessert to take home?”
After handing out the last of her oatmeal bars, she hugged the departing bunch and turned Eli’s way, heart in her mouth. He’d been quiet tonight with only a muffled snort when she’d read her daily quote: the more difficulties one encounters, the higher in inspiration life will be.
All things considered, it showed progress. He’d even shared that he and John were chemo-buddies. The last two survivors in their group. It was great that he’d spoken up. If only he hadn’t quieted the group and made Elizabeth’s tracheotomy hum. She could almost see her members looking around and wondering who would be the last one standing in their group. To smooth over the tense silence, Christie had offered to freshen up drinks and changed the topic.
The thought of losing any of these people, of losing Eli...
She watched him help John into his suit jacket and push the wheelchair her way. Her heartbeat sounded in her ears as they approached. She needed to get a grip. And hold on to her faith.
“You’re quite the heartbreaker in that suit tonight, John.” She leaned down to kiss his weathered cheek. What a relief to see him looking so well. After receiving a pacemaker to regulate his heartbeat, he was on the mend. Better yet, further tests confirmed his tumor shrinkage.
She closed her eyes to blot out the image of his limp, gray form on the floor just two weeks earlier. It’d been such a close call. She slipped a hand into her purse and ran her thumb over the soft down of her rabbit’s foot. How lucky that Eli had been here to help.
As if reading her mind, his warm eyes met hers. John craned his neck, looking in Eli’s direction then hers, noting their silent exchange.
He cleared his throat and rearranged a navy polka-dotted handkerchief in his left pocket. “Wish I could say I got dressed up for you, Christie. If I was forty years younger...well, now that’d be another story.” John winked. “But I’ve got a date tonight.”
“What?” she and Eli asked at once.
John’s white dentures flashed. “So, you don’t think the
old man’s still got it?” He lifted his lined, but firm chin.
Oh, he had it in spades, Christie thought, taking in the devilish twinkle in his brown eyes and inhaling his Old Spice cologne. Vinegar and spice made everything naughtily nice, her gran would say. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
“And when is this date?” Eli added, the expression he sent her apologetic as he pivoted John’s chair toward the meeting-room door, pushed him through the threshold, then down the hallway. Did this mean they wouldn’t have a chance to set a time for their next get-together? Her pulse sped as she walked beside them. No. She’d been nervous for days. The thought of delaying their plans filled her with anguish. And didn’t that just pull her up short? She was kidding herself if she thought she didn’t have feelings for Eli.
John held up a hand when they got to the front door of the YMCA. “Got to get this.” Her mouth dropped as he pulled a smartphone from his pocket, yanked out his hearing aid and put it to his ear.
“I’m coming out right now. Sit tight, doll face.”
Doll face? Eli sent her a sideways smile that made her clamp a hand over her mouth. She would not laugh at John. But what was up with the geriatric dating pool? They didn’t let arthritis, wheelchairs, even cancer stop them. So what was stopping her?
“Sorry to leave you kids, but my lady’s outside. At my age, there’s no time to waste.” John chuckled and pushed the door open. He waved over his shoulder and wheeled himself down the ramp toward an idling cab before Eli could react. She caught a flash of a shapely leg in the dim interior as the driver opened the door and helped John inside. The old man definitely still had it.
“You’ll catch flies that way,” Eli observed, his breath whispering across her temple as he came to stand beside her.
Her nerves tingled to life. She snapped her mouth shut and tracked John’s cab as it wove into the bustling evening traffic. Well, good for him. Why let a chronic illness and a brush with death slow him down? If anything, it had sped him up.
“Christie!” Tommy’s high-pitched voice sounded behind her. His damp head burrowed into her waist as he wrapped cold arms around her.
“Did you have a good swim lesson?” She patted his back and glanced up to see Becca and Mary approaching.
The gap in his teeth appeared in an impish grin. “We got to dive for pennies at the bottom of the pool and I found all these.” He held out a fistful. “You can have them for cancer.”
Touched by the gesture, she nodded solemnly and took the twenty cents. “This will be of great help. Thank you, Tommy.” She smoothed the boy’s cowlick.
“Hey, Christie,” called Becca. She hiked up the strap of her dance bag. “Our dance recital’s next week and—”
“Becca, have you finished your living-science make-up lab for tomorrow?” cut in Eli. Christie glanced from his stern face to his daughter’s surprised expression.
“Most of it. But Mary said she’ll work with me when we get home.”
Mary smiled and waved hello to Christie. “Science was my favorite subject. Would have been a nurse if I hadn’t met my Patrick.”
Tommy raised his hand as if he was in school. “There’s a Patrick on SpongeBob. Can we go home? It’s on TV now.”
“Will you be riding home with Mr. Vaccaro?” Mary glanced around. “Where did he go?”
“Apparently on a date.” Eli’s mouth lifted slightly. “But I need to speak with Christie for a moment, so I’ll catch a separate ride in a couple of minutes, okay?”
Mary’s eyebrows rose as she glanced at them, the assessing look making Christie blush. “Take all the time you need, Mr. Roberts. Patrick is working the night shift, so I’m happy to stay.” She hustled the children outside and joined in their chorus of goodbyes.
The aroma of freshly baked pizza drifted from a small restaurant across the street. Christie’s stomach grumbled, reminding her that she’d been too anxious about tonight to eat the couscous Laura had offered. She pressed a hand to her gut. Did Eli hear that?
“Looks like it’s just you and me, then.” He cleared his throat. “Are you hungry?” He’d jammed his hands in his pockets and nodded toward the pizzeria.
He had heard her traitorous intestines. Not the most attractive quality in a date with— She chopped her thought in half and bit her lip, tasting the strawberry lip gloss she’d bought. No. This was absolutely not a date. She glanced down at her fancy outfit. So, then, why had she dressed up for one?
“I’ll get my purse.” She walked carefully across the wax floor, wishing she’d worn her Keds instead of these mile-high heels. Good thing she wasn’t afraid of heights. One of the few phobias she’d managed to avoid.
When she emerged from the meeting room, her heart skipped a beat at Eli’s sudden, rapt attention. He looked so handsome standing against the open door, the city backlighting him like a holiday tree, his smile a present she’d saved for last. Only she couldn’t open it. He was Pandora’s box. She could look but not touch, no matter how much she longed to press her finger to the cleft in his square chin, feel the hard planes of his rugged face, run her hands over his dark hair.
“Good night, Anne!” she called as she ducked under his arm and into the clamoring night, electric with illuminated signs, packed sidewalks and ribbons of lit traffic.
“Night, you two!” Anne yelled as Eli shut the door after a polite wave. “Have fun!”
She cringed. Anne couldn’t possibly think this was a date, could she? She looked up at Eli.
Did he?
CHAPTER EIGHT
ELI AND CHRISTIE strolled to the crosswalk in silence, their brushing hands making her unsteady ankles wobble. When the Walk sign flashed, she stepped off the curb and stumbled. The street was dotted with pools of water left over from an earlier rain, but his lightning reflexes saved her from a puddle dive.
Her heart pounded like a trip-hammer when he pulled her against his side, his arm encircling her waist. Neither of them made a move to separate until they arrived at the restaurant. When he released her and held the steam-covered glass door open, she let out a pent-up breath. A bell jingled as they crossed the threshold into the narrow, muggy space.
She inhaled the basil-and-tomato-scented air, her noisy stomach announcing itself again. Eli’s mouth quirked, but who didn’t love pizza? Her feet skidded across slippery, black-and-white diamond-shaped tiles to the counter. She pressed her hands against its warm glass and peered at the thin-crusted pizzas. How to choose? She wanted them all.
She fished out some cash, but Eli had already slid two twenties toward the gum-snapping cashier whose false eyelashes batted his way. Leaning forward to take the money, her low-cut tank gave quite a show. Christie frowned. Service came with more than a smile here, apparently.
Without a second glance, Eli turned from the now-pouting clerk. His eyes lit on Christie. “What would you like? It’s my treat.”
His treat? The evening felt more like a date, and as much as the notion of romance with him appealed, she couldn’t think of him that way. He was the father of the children she’d agreed to help...and that was that. Curse his blue eyes.
“Thank you. But I’m happy to pay my share.” She pointed to three slices and slid her money across the scratched, stainless-steel counter. “A Sprite, as well, please.” The worker blew a large bubble then popped it. She inhaled the pink ooze, her expression speculative as she gave Christie a curt nod.
In the background a whistling man tossed dough into the air, catching it with his fingertips before giving it another swirl. The heavy clang of industrial-sized oven doors overpowered an a cappella version of “O Sole Mio” piped in from wall-mounted speakers.
“And a Coke with two cheese slices for me, thanks,” added Eli. The worker’s curls swung as she sprang to attention and sashayed to the soda machine. Eli shrugged and handed back Christie’s money. “
Can’t teach an old dog new tricks—guess I’m old-fashioned.”
And sweet. His chagrined expression disarmed her. She didn’t protest when he insisted on settling her in a high-backed wooden booth before making a couple of trips to grab their warmed slices and cold drinks. Her eyes tracked his broad back as he waded through a crowd of teenagers swarming the front.
When he returned, his head brushed hers as he leaned over to place their paper plates on the table. She smelled cologne—lemongrass and musk—and the scent of his clean skin underneath. Her mouth watered, though from the pizza or the delicious man she couldn’t tell.
Folding a slice in half, she bit off the end. Her eyes lowered in appreciation of the spice, cheese, tomato and onion flavors washing over her tongue. If there was a pizzeria heaven, this was it. Why hadn’t she tried this place before?
Sweet Pea.
Her eyes flew open. She always went straight home after meetings to let her dog out. How had she forgotten? Feeling like a bad pet mom and an even worse roommate, she pulled out her iPhone.
“Sorry about this,” she said. “I have to text Laura to ask her to take out Sweet Pea.”
Looking as guilty as she, Eli punched some numbers on his cell. She heard him talking urgently to Mary as she tapped on her keyboard. He must be asking for a time extension. Funny that, even as adults, they still needed permission to stay out late.
She glanced down at her black screen. If Laura didn’t text back within a minute, she’d leave, no matter how much she was enjoying the food and the company.
But her cell buzzed as Eli pocketed his phone, the line between his brows smoothed, his face relaxed once more. She forced herself to look at the green talk bubble.
Enjoy your hot date! Sweet Pea’s covered.
She whipped the phone beneath the table, her thumbs firing back a response.