“I’m just laying down some bricks in the foundation, Emily, so that he has this data when he learns that I’m his father. His mind isn’t going off on a wild tangent of wondering why there are so many similarities between us. He believes that you and I were just friends in high school, nothing more.”
Emily nodded.
“Trevor did spend quite a bit of time singing your praises, however,” Mark went on. “I’m not entirely certain, but I think our son just might be attempting to do a bit of matchmaking.”
“You’re kidding,” Emily said, her eyes widening. “Trevor is matchmaking, trying to get you and me… Oh, my stars!”
“Hey,” Mark said, raising both hands, “I’m not sure about that, but pay attention to what he says and see if you agree with me.”
“Trevor really does want a father, doesn’t he? I obviously believed what was the most comfortable for me, buried my head in the sand. It’s perfectly natural that a boy would want a dad.
“I can remember you telling me how you wished your father didn’t drink all the time, would come to your swim meets, be a real dad for you instead of…. Oh, here I go again, traipsing down memory lane. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to do that, Mark, I really don’t.”
“There’s no harm in it,” Mark said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.
“Yes, there is. Everything is confusing and unsettling enough right now without—” Emily cleared her throat. “Yes. Well. I don’t mean to be rude, but I really do need to finish this project so I can get it to the client. I appreciate you stopping by and letting me know how things went at the pool. I was certainly thinking about you. What I mean is, I was thinking about you and Trevor being together at the pool and wondering how it was going and… Thank you. Goodbye.”
Mark chuckled and Emily narrowed her eyes, deciding it was his fault that a frisson of heat had slithered down her spine when he made that sexy sound, which he probably had been told by a multitude of women was a sexy sound, so he made that sexy sound on purpose, and—
“I’m getting a headache,” she said, pressing one hand on her forehead.
“The remedy for that is spaghetti.”
“Pardon me?”
“We’re all going out for Italian food tonight. I told Trevor to pick the restaurant for dinner as a reward for following every directive I gave him as his pseudo coach and he chose Little Italy. Do they still make those terrific bread sticks?”
“Yes,” Emily said, smiling, “and they still have the policy of all the bread sticks you can eat with your meal, even though you ate thirteen of them that night when we went there and… Oh, Emily, shut up.”
Mark leaned over and dropped a quick kiss on Emily’s lips.
“I do recall, Ms. MacAllister,” he said, close to her lips, “that you ate your fair share of bread sticks that night, too. I’ll pick you and Trevor up at six. See you later.”
“Later,” Emily said, then drew a quick breath as Mark straightened and strode toward the door.
As silence fell over the office once again, Emily placed the fingertips of one hand on lips that held the lingering taste of Mark’s quick kiss.
Why had he done that? she thought wearily. Mark had kissed her goodbye as though it was the most expected and natural thing to do. It didn’t make one bit of sense, darn him.
Why had he done that? Mark thought, as he drove away from the strip mall. He hadn’t made a conscious decision to do it, he’d just up and kissed Emily goodbye because he’d been leaving and wouldn’t dream of doing that without…well, kissing her goodbye. It must have been a leftover habit, plus the fact that they’d been reminiscing about eating a ridiculous number of bread sticks that night when they were teenagers.
“That explains it,” Mark said nodding, as he maneuvered through the heavy traffic.
Except…
The bread sticks were then. That kiss had been now.
He’d been very aware of how lovely Emily had looked in the pretty summer blouse she’d been wearing. He’d also registered a rush of pride that she had her own business in a unique and challenging field. He’d kissed Emily goodbye because, damn it, he’d wanted to. Pure and simple. No, it was complicated as hell.
There he’d stood, telling Emily that they were going out to dinner to reward their son for his tireless efforts at the pool, and it had felt so right, so real, so warm. The Maxwell family was going out to eat.
But they weren’t the Maxwell family. Trevor and Emily were MacAllisters and he was the lone Maxwell. He was the lonely Maxwell.
Mark parked in the lot of the hotel where he was staying, then folded his arms on top of the steering wheel and stared into space.
“Oh, hell, I’m in deep trouble,” he muttered.
Ten minutes later he was stretched out on his bed in his hotel suite, hands beneath his head on the pillow, a deep frown on his face.
Emily, his mind echoed. Why couldn’t he just focus on the incredible pain she had caused him years ago, hang onto the anger, the hurt, the betrayal that had nearly destroyed him?
Because that was then and this was now, and the Emily of today was so beautiful in her maturity. He couldn’t help but be in awe of what she had done with her life in spite of being a single mother. She’d raised a terrific boy, had a dynamite career with endless potential, had worked so hard in the many roles she had. He respected her beyond measure for what she had done.
“Hey, Maxwell,” he said aloud, “go with that one…what she had done.”
She had kept the existence of his son from him, for God’s sake. That was rotten to the core, really cold. If he hadn’t come to Ventura he would never have known that Trevor was a living, breathing entity, which was more than Mark Maxwell was because Emily had killed him off and made him an angel in heaven, for cripe sake.
But…
Ah, hell, what choice had she had at the time but to do what she had done? She was expecting a baby. She’d realized that she was no longer in love with that baby’s father. Did she hit on him to marry her, or go for beaucoup bucks for child support?
No.
And now that he knew of his son’s existence? Emily was dealing with it with class.
Oh, yeah, Emily MacAllister was really something. Something rare, wonderful and special.
Mark smiled up at the ceiling. “I am woman, hear me roar.”
She’d whipped that one on him, then laughed that sunshine laughter of hers, making her brown eyes sparkle with merriment. Emily was fun and funny, intelligent and beautiful.
She was obviously self-conscious about her weight, but to him it held no importance. So she was heavier than she’d been at eighteen. People change. Heaven knew he had.
Emily had loved him when he was a weird, geeky kid. He’d doubted that for a while, but he now knew in his heart that she had truly loved him. She never would have made love with him if she hadn’t.
But Emily MacAllister had stopped loving Mark Maxwell.
And Mark Maxwell had never stopped loving Emily MacAllister.
Emily managed to finish the drawing, then called the client and made an appointment to deliver the report the next morning. She was straightening the supplies on the drafting table, preparing to head for home when Margaret MacAllister entered the office.
“Hi, Grandma,” Emily said, smiling. “You almost missed me. My boss, me, said I’m finished for the day.” She closed the distance between them and hugged her grandmother. “It’s good to see you, as always.”
“Hello, dear,” Margaret said. “I was hoping you’d still be here. I’ve been…well, worried about you.”
“Because of Mark Maxwell arriving in Ventura unannounced,” Emily said, nodding. “Let’s sit down in the comfortable chairs. I’ve been leaning over a drafting table all day.”
The pair settled onto the chairs, then Margaret frowned as she met Emily’s gaze.
“Emily, I won’t deny that your grandfather and I always believed that Mark should have been told that he had a son.”
&nbs
p; “I know. The entire family felt that way, but everyone respected my wishes.”
“Yes, we did. We were all so stunned by your announcement. Well, there’s no sense in rehashing all of that. It was a long time ago. It was very apparent that Mark realized that Trevor is his son the moment he saw him in my living room,” Margaret went on. “I was glad, felt that Mark knowing about Trevor was long overdue, but since then I’ve been concerned about the entire situation.”
“I’m worried, too, Grandma. I’m terrified about how Trevor will react when he finds out the truth. Everything is so confusing and complicated. There’s only one rather humorous thing in this whole crummy mess.”
“Which is?”
“The role reversal, of sorts. When Mark and I were in high school I was trim and slim, one of the pretty MacAllister triplets, and Mark was gangly and geeky. But now? Mark is drop-dead gorgeous, built like a dream, so confident and successful and I look like one of those Before pictures they use to advertise diet programs.” She sighed. “No, forget humorous. It’s not funny at all, is it?”
“You stop that right now, Emily,” Margaret said sternly. “You’re a very attractive woman. I don’t want to hear you putting yourself down like that.” She paused. “Now then, tell me how Mark and Trevor are getting along.”
“Oh, famously,” Emily said and proceeded to update her grandmother. “I can’t even imagine what Mark felt when he discovered he had a twelve-year-old son. Almost thirteen, as Trevor is quick to point out.”
Margaret frowned. “The past has a way of catching up to us, doesn’t it?”
So do lies, Emily thought miserably. “Oh, brother,” she said, “wait until Mom and Dad get back from their trip up the coast and find out that Mark is here, knows about Trevor. My father is going to go ballistic, wondering if I’m all right, hovering around making sure that Mark isn’t yelling his head off at one of Forrest MacAllister’s baby girls. The MacAllister triplets have a very protective daddy.”
Margaret laughed. “That is certainly true, but it’s because he loves you very much. We all do. By the way, I planted those flowers you brought to the house. They’re absolutely lovely in that spot we prepared for them in my garden.”
“Oh, gracious, I forgot all about them. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t give it another thought. You’ve had a great deal on your mind.” Margaret got to her feet. “Well, I suppose the situation could be worse. What I mean is you and Mark don’t have any…well, romantic feelings for each other, haven’t had for over a dozen years, so you can both focus entirely on Trevor and what is best for your son.”
Margaret looked at Emily intently.
“You don’t, do you?” Margaret asked, raising her eyebrows. “Have any lingering feelings for Mark? It wouldn’t be the first time that absence has made the heart grow fonder, or some such cliché.”
“Grandma, Grandma,” Emily said, getting up and hugging her. “You’ve been reading too many of those romance novels again.”
“Mmm,” Margaret said. “Well, I’m off. Do keep me posted, dear.”
“Yes, of course, I will. I know you’re worried about Trevor, just as I am. Give Grandpa a hug from me.”
“I will,” Margaret said, then crossed the room and left the office.
Emily sighed wearily and wrapped her hands around her elbows.
“I never stopped loving Mark Maxwell, Grandma,” she whispered, tears echoing in her voice. “But I can’t, won’t, dwell on any feelings I might be having about him now, because he’s so far out of my reach. My chubby little fingers’ reach.”
Six
The moment that Mark stepped into the restaurant with Emily and Trevor, memories swept over him like a nearly tangible warm and comforting cloak.
He smiled as he swept his gaze over the large room, remembering the night he’d brought Emily here to celebrate their being together for one year.
“Oh, hey,” he said, tilting his head for a better look, “they’ve added a dance floor over there. Do they have live music? Do they play only Italian songs?”
“I forgot that you hadn’t seen the addition to this place,” Emily said. “They built it on a couple of years after you left Ventura. They have a combo that plays all kinds of music.”
“Dorky stuff,” Trevor said.
The hostess returned from seating a couple, then showed Emily, Mark and Trevor to a table set for four.
“You sit on that side with Mark,” Trevor said to his mother. “I need lots of elbow room when I dive into spaghetti.”
Mark assisted Emily with her chair, then bent over to speak close to her ear.
“Told you so,” he whispered. “Matchmaking.”
“Oh, good grief,” Emily said.
“Good grief…what?” Trevor said.
“Good grief it smells heavenly in here,” Emily said. “Spices, fresh bread… I’m gaining weight just sniffing the aromas floating through the air.” She pushed her menu to one side and pointed a finger in the air. “But since I weighed myself after my shower and discovered I’ve lost another two pounds I’ll hold myself back. A dinner salad and one bread stick. That’s it for me.”
“But this is a special event, Emily,” Mark said. “We’re celebrating the possibility that Trevor might be the next Olympic gold medalist. Can’t you go off your diet tonight for this occasion?”
“Nope,” Trevor said. “See, Mark, it’s like this. My mom explained it to me. When you care about someone who’s on a diet you don’t do anything to sabotage their program. Know what I mean?” He leaned forward. “You do care about my mom, don’t you, Mark?”
I’m in love with your mom, Trevor, Mark thought, meeting his son’s gaze. She’s the only woman I have ever, or will ever, love.
“Sure I do,” Mark said, nodding. “I won’t say another word about your mother ordering more food. Okay?”
“Good,” Trevor said, then smiled. “I figured you cared about her because you’ve been friends since you were young, and now you’re old and you’re still friends. That’s terrific.”
“That’s also enough, Trevor,” Emily said. “Change the subject. Tell me about what you did at the pool today. Are you tired?”
“Wiped out,” Trevor said, then yawned dramatically. “I’ll need to hit the sack the minute we get home. You and Mark could rent a romantic Mom-and-Dad-type movie to watch—”
“You folks ready to order?” a waitress said, appearing at the table.
“We most certainly are,” Emily said, glaring at Trevor, who produced a smile of pure innocence.
The orders were placed, then Emily urged Trevor once again to tell her about what he had done at the pool with Mark. Trevor launched into a report, hardly stopping to take a breath.
Mark was definitely right, Emily thought, only half listening to Trevor. Their son had begun a full-blown matchmaking campaign. Her baby boy had definitely missed not having a father all these years. It was so sad it made her heart ache.
Well, Trevor was going to get that father in the form of Mark Maxwell, but the end result would not be what Trevor was trying to make happen. His matchmaking number was a waste of time. There would be no happy little family of Mom, Dad and kiddo. Emily, Mark and Trevor. That wasn’t going to happen.
“And, therefore,” Trevor said, “I’m totaled. Might have trouble finding the energy to eat my dinner, which is headed this way even as I speak.”
Before Emily could reply, the waitress served their orders and placed a basket of hot, fragrant bread sticks in front of Emily’s placemat.
She and Mark had been celebrating their one-year anniversary when they’d eaten here, Emily suddenly remembered, staring at the bread sticks. That was the reason they’d gone out to dinner.
She’d worn a soft, fuzzy pink sweater over winter-white, form-fitting slacks. Mark had ironed, actually ironed, his best pair of jeans and added a pale-blue dress shirt.
His freshly shampooed hair had caused his cowlick to curl even more than usual, he’d knocked
over a water glass and his napkin had slid off his lap three times during the delicious meal.
They’d felt so grown up that night, celebrating an anniversary the way mature, adult couples did. They’d talked about the children they’d create with exquisitely beautiful lovemaking. They’d even gone so far as to decide that they’d get a kitten and a puppy for the babies to play with.
So many dreams, Emily mused, her gaze still riveted on the bread basket.
Trevor’s hand suddenly came into her view, his fingers wrapping around a bread stick, then removing it from the basket.
And one of those dreams had come true, Emily thought, shifting her gaze to her son. There was the miracle, the child created by the beautiful lovemaking shared with Mark. But the remainder of the hopes and dreams had been blown away like sand from the palm of an outstretched hand. Gone forever.
“Emily?” Mark said. “Is something wrong? You look rather unhappy.”
“What?” she said, shaking her head slightly as she returned to the present. “Oh. No, I’m not… Well, yes, I’m pining away here, wishing I could grab a bread stick in each hand and gobble them up.”
“Can’t have that,” Trevor said, reaching for the basket. He placed one bread stick on Emily’s side plate, then set the basket at the other end of the table. “There you go, Mom. Out of sight, out of mind.”
“That’s an old saying, Trevor,” Mark said, “but there are a great many things it doesn’t apply to.” Like Emily MacAllister. “Your spaghetti looks terrific there, kid. My lasagna is superb, too. How’s your salad, Emily?”
Emily took a bite of the salad and nodded as she chewed and swallowed.
“Delicious. So. Mark. Tell us about your research work.”
Mark laughed. “Bottom line? I’m out of a job. I’m among the unemployed at the moment. Oh, they’d find a spot for me in Boston as I was on a leave of absence when I went to Paris. But my place on my team had to be filled and there’s nothing that interests me right now. Will you throw me a bread stick when I get to the point where I’m homeless and hungry?”
Plain Jane MacAllister Page 6