by Carol Grace
She snorted. “Oh, sure. That’s why you have those signs up all over your house. That’s why you’ve done your utmost to get rid of me. That’s why you have a watchdog.”
“Some watchdog,” he muttered. “Okay, if you don’t believe me, why don’t you discourage her?”
“I’ve tried. I told her I was almost engaged.”
“What does that mean?”
“That’s what she said. I don’t know.” She sighed. Maybe she thought she owed him a better explanation, because she finally continued. “It means he’s asked me but I haven’t given him an answer.”
“Why not?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You started this conversation, not me.” He tapped again, to break up the paint around the window, and the noise precluded her from coming up with any more answers—or any more questions, for that matter. When he jerked the window up, a breath of fresh air came into the room.
“That’s great,” she said. “Thank you.”
“I’ll get the other ones now.”
“I’m not really helping, am I?”
“Not unless you consider those ridiculous suggestions being helpful.”
“I’m just trying to save everyone a lot of trouble. Trying to keep Granny from getting her hopes up. She’s an incurable romantic.”
“I’ve noticed. But she’s also a realist. You don’t really think that she imagines you and I… No, she couldn’t.” He hit the knife with a little more force than was absolutely necessary.
“Why not? You’re available. You’re decent. She thinks you’re reasonably attractive.”
“Why, thank you, Ms. Amelia,” he drawled.
“Don’t thank me.” she said huffily. “I’m just telling you what she thinks.”
“Still, you have to watch out, or you might inflate my ego.”
“And you’re handy around the house.”
“So what more do you want?” he asked from over his shoulder.
“I want someone with a job, for one thing,” she said pointedly.
“Why, so you can stay home with the redheaded children?”
“I’m not planning on any redheads. They say it skips a generation.”
“Does that mean you’re planning on nonredheads?”
She straightened her shoulders. “The only plans I’m making are to brew some coffee in my espresso machine and serve pie outside in the garden. If you’d care to join me and Granny…”
“Count me in.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t been much help.”
“You’ve stroked my ego. I can’t ask for more than that.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she said, but he noticed her lips curved in a reluctant grin anyway.
“You know what she says about you, don’t you?” he asked.
“That I’m perfect?”
“And beautiful.”
She blushed again. She wasn’t beautiful, he thought, not in the usual sense. But there was something about her that made her easy to look at. It was the hair, of course, but something else, too. Before he could pinpoint what it was, she turned and went down the stairs. That blush, and the grin, along with her knotted shirt and shorts and lack of makeup, made her look not so much beautiful, but young and flirtatious. It made him feel young, younger than he had felt in years. Why was that? Was it her? Was it him? Was it them together? Could Helen be on to something? Of course not. That was ridiculous. Then why didn’t he tell Helen he wasn’t interested? Why didn’t he make up an excuse, as Amelia had suggested?
He tapped a few more windows and thought about what she’d said. He wondered if she really wanted kids. He wondered if he should tell her what he did for a living, or rather, what he’d done and why he didn’t do it anymore. She was curious about him. She thought he didn’t work. She was right.
He had to admit he was curious about her. Curious about who the man was who’d proposed to her and why she hadn’t said yes. About what kind of work she did. But he didn’t want to ask her. That would send a message he didn’t want to send. It would make her think he was interested in her. He wasn’t. Not that way. He’d sworn off women. With good reason. He glanced at her computer and very casually hit the Enter button.
There in front of him was the Web page of his former company, with a list of the toys he’d invented and a description of each one. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the screen, feeling guilty, as if he were spying on her, when in reality she’d been spying on him. Well, maybe spying was too strong a word. The information was there for anyone to look at. What was not there was why he’d stopped and why he hadn’t done anything new for the past year. That much she didn’t, and wouldn’t, know. It was none of anyone’s business. Of course, Helen knew, but he was confident she would keep his secrets. He put Amelia’s computer to sleep and went downstairs.
The three of them ate pie together outside in the garden at the rough-edged redwood table that had seen its share of weather. Amelia had thrown a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth over it, and with the sunlight filtered through the trees and the taste of warm cinnamon and apples in his mouth, he felt strangely peaceful. He certainly didn’t feel as if he wanted to bring up his past or let on that he knew she’d been looking him up. What did it matter?
When he finished his pie, he leaned back in his chair and gazed up at the sky.
“I must say, Amelia,” Helen said, “you’ve outdone yourself. Don’t you think so, Brian? Isn’t this about the best apple pie you’ve ever had?”
“Granny…” Amelia said.
“Well, it is,” Helen insisted.
“You’re right,” Brian said solemnly. “It is the best. No question.”
“And now, if you two will excuse me… It’s time for my nap.” She braced her hands on the table.
“I’ll help you.” Brian jumped up. So did Amelia. With Amelia on one side and him on the other, they guided Helen up the steps into the living room and back onto the couch.
Helen closed her eyes and waved them away. “Go on, go have another cup of coffee. I’m tired. Let me be.”
He exchanged a brief look with Amelia. She nodded and they went back outside. For a long moment, they stood on Helen’s front porch.
“No more coffee for me,” he said.
She nodded vigorously, as if she were more than anxious to get rid of him. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I’m going up to do some work. I have to thank you for making the room workable.”
“No problem. Call me anytime.”
“I didn’t call you the first time, and I can’t guarantee that Granny won’t call you again. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that she will call you. Unless you do something about it.”
“What, and spoil her fun? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She shrugged. “Very well.” She turned to go inside.
“Wait.” He reached for her arm and turned her toward him. The thought of returning to his empty house or of taking a solitary walk through the woods didn’t seem appealing. He wanted to sit under the trees and talk. She was so close, he could see a few freckles across her nose. Were those there before, or a result of the summer sunshine?
He brushed his fingers across her nose.
Her eyes widened. “What?” she asked, her voice just a little shaky. “More flour?”
“Freckles. You ought to stay out of the sun. With your fair skin—”
“Thanks for the warning,” she said.
He dropped his hand. “I, uh, I owe you some kind of explanation.”
“For what?”
“Being secretive. I don’t know, maybe you’re not interested in what I do, but—”
“I am. Of course I am. Sit down.” She motioned toward the picnic table under the tree. “How about a glass of white wine? I brought some along in case Granny’s cupboard was bare.”
Before he could protest or change his mind, she’d gone back inside, and when she reappeared, she brought two wineglasses and a bottle of what he recognized as a very nice
Chablis.
Amelia realized that what Brian was doing was out of character, and that if she didn’t listen now she might never hear his story. For some reason, it was important to her. She’d read just enough on the Internet to pique her curiosity, and now she wanted to hear the whole story. But it was more than curiosity. How much more, she didn’t know. Of course, he might not be willing to go that far and tell her everything, but maybe the wine would loosen his tongue.
Also, she’d noticed that he’d said “what I do,” and not “what I used to do,” which she took as a good sign. If Granny was right, it was time for him to get back to work.
If she, Amelia, the quintessential workaholic, could help him do that, she’d be remiss in not at least trying. That’s what she told herself. But deep down, she could think of nothing she’d rather do on this warm summer afternoon, with the breeze brushing the leaves of the apple tree and the sunlight making patterns on the tablecloth, than sit across the table from this maddening, interesting, admittedly great-looking man, and talk.
“Who was it,” Amelia said, pouring chilled wine into their glasses, “who said that summer afternoon were the two loveliest words in the English language?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I have to agree.”
Amelia couldn’t help but notice that the deep horizontal lines in Brian’s forehead were gone. Maybe it was the shadow across his face, or the way the sun shone on his head, or maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to relax around her. Maybe he no longer considered her a nosy, predatory female with an agenda of her own. Or maybe it was just the day, the sun, the pie and this particular confluence of events would never happen again. All the more reason to sit down and see what happened.
It took a long time before he began talking. So long, in fact, she was afraid he had lost his nerve or his interest in talking about himself. At that point, she almost didn’t care. It was so peaceful just sitting there, sipping wine, smelling the piney mountain air, with the sun on her shoulders. The silence that stretched between them wasn’t awkward; it was downright comfortable.
“You saw the toys,” he said at last.
“Well, yes,” she said. “I saw them through the dusty window, but I didn’t get a very good look. Really, this is none of my business….”
“I think you also got a look at them on the toy manufacturer’s Web site.”
“You didn’t! You woke up my computer. So you saw that I’d looked you up. I make no apologies. I saw that you’re famous. So that’s the reason for the security and the dog and the signs?”
“Actually, hardly anyone comes looking for me anymore, so maybe I can take down the signs.”
“That must be a relief.”
“Yes…and no. Lately I’ve been wondering if I’ve done the right thing. Lately I’ve been, I don’t know…” He ran his hand through his hair until it stood on end. “Bored.”
“Tell me about the toys,” she said eagerly, leaning across the table. “Why toys? Why not invent kitchen appliances? What made you invent toys?”
“Toys are fun. Toys are for kids. And kids… I thought by now I’d have kids, and when I did, I’d have someone to test them on. Someone to inspire me. What were your favorite toys?”
“I didn’t have any.”
“Toys or favorites? You must have had toys. Every kid has toys.”
She shook her head. “Not me. My parents didn’t believe in them. Oh, I had books and games. But they all had a point. They were all educational. But that’s just me. Go on. I thought I saw a bicycle in the barn. What else?”
“What else? It would be easier to show you than describe them. The next time you come by…”
Amelia frowned. She had a sinking feeling he’d changed his mind and wasn’t going to confide in her, after all. The next time she came by, he might have another excuse. If she wanted to know more about him and his toys, she had to make a move, and make it now. She didn’t want to beg him. She didn’t want to annoy him. But she wanted to know more and she’d do whatever it took to find out.
Chapter Five
But before she could do or say anything, she heard her cell phone ring. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Brian, and dashed into the house. It was Serena, her assistant.
“Sorry to bother you on your vacation, Amelia, but we’ve got an emergency.”
“That’s okay. It’s not really a vacation. What’s up?”
“One of our clients, Frantz and Fotre, is threatening to leave and use another company. I tried to call you yesterday but I couldn’t get through.”
“I know. My battery was dead.” Amelia ran upstairs to her bedroom and sat on the edge of her bed. She flipped open her briefcase and tried to find the files Serena was talking about. Then she turned to her computer. When she had the information in front of her, she still had a hard time deciding on the right strategy. And she’d only been gone for a day! She forced herself to think, and she told her assistant she’d call the CEO of F and F on Monday. “Don’t worry, I know what to say,” she said. But did she? If she didn’t, she would know by Monday. It served her right for drinking wine in the sun in the middle of the afternoon. She hoped she sounded reassuring, at least.
“Thanks for letting me know, Serena. Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”
She hung up, made a few notes, changed into a cool tank top and went back downstairs. Granny was sound asleep and Brian was in the same chair under the apple tree, his head tilted back, his eyes closed. She stood on the front step looking at him, noticing the way his dark hair angled across his forehead, just begging her to rearrange it back the way he usually wore it. She was amazed at how different he looked without the usual frown lines between his eyebrows. Maybe Granny was right, and she was crazy to dismiss him so easily. She shook her head. No, she wasn’t. He had problems, even Granny admitted that. Amelia was no psychoanalyst. She couldn’t force anyone back to work if they didn’t want to go. She had a life, a job and a potential fiancé, if she wanted him. But in this setting, on this week, those things were just a blip on the computer screen of her life.
She cleared her throat. Brian opened his eyes suddenly and looked at her as if she’d appeared from nowhere.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” he said. “I never sleep during the day.”
“Or at night, either, according to you. So it must be the sun and the wine,” she suggested. “Granny’s asleep, too.”
“But she’s just had surgery. I have no good excuse.”
“Only that, besides the wine and the sun, you were up burning the midnight oil. What did you say you were doing?”
“I didn’t.” The frown lines were back. She’d pushed too hard. But that didn’t stop her from pursuing her goal.
“About those toys… You said something about showing them to me.”
“I did?”
“Never mind.” She felt a surge of disappointment. If she didn’t get to see them now, she might never have another chance. Not that it mattered. It was his life, his career, his toys. But it did matter. It mattered to her and it mattered to him. Or it should. He must have sensed her disappointment, because he gave her another chance.
“If you really want to see them…” he said, getting out of his chair.
“Yes, I do,” she said quickly, before he could take off without her. “I’ll leave Granny a note, and she can call me on my cell phone if she needs me.”
Before he could change his mind, or tell her they’d do it another day or she wouldn’t be interested in his toys, she ran into the house, wrote the note and stuffed her phone into her back pocket.
They walked side by side down the narrow trail, their steps matching each other’s. When his arm brushed hers, her skin radiated heat. With every touch, she felt her temperature rise. She felt as if every nerve ending was on alert, more sensitive than she believed possible. They didn’t speak until Brian broke the silence.
“Who was that on the phone?”
What? Was the man really asking h
er a personal question? “It was my office with an emergency.”
“On Saturday?”
“Some people work on Saturday,” she said. “I used to.” Had she really said she used to work on Saturday? As if she no longer worked on weekends? As if she wasn’t going back to her real life in a matter of days, weeks at the most?
“So did I,” he said. “But that’s because it wasn’t work. It was my life. I miss it,” he added. She slanted a look in his direction. She couldn’t believe he’d actually confided in her.
Brian changed the subject, as if he was embarrassed to have spoken from his heart. “Have you discovered the berry patch?” he asked.
“Blackberries? No. Where is it?”
“This way.” He took her hand and pulled her through a thicket and out into a meadow edged by a giant mass of brambles.
“Wow, what a crop,” she said, conscious of the warmth of his hand and strangely let down when he let go. “I think I used to come here as a kid. I’d forgotten about it.” She reached between the thorny branches for a dark, juicy berry and popped it into her mouth. The sweet flavor exploded on her tongue, and she reached for another and another until her hands were stained.
His gaze shifted over her face, her shirt and her legs, and then back to her purple-stained lips.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“You’ve got juice everywhere,” he said.
She licked her lips. He leaned forward. If she didn’t know better, if she didn’t know he avoided contact with everyone, she would have thought he was going to kiss her. Even stranger, she wanted him to.
“Do you come here often?” she asked, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless.
“Not often enough,” he said, and he kissed her. She rocked back on her heels, shocked and surprised by the effect his kiss had. She’d kissed more than a few men in her time, but she’d never felt like this—light-headed, shaky and yet strangely energized. From just one kiss. It must be the wine, the sun and the berries. It couldn’t be this stranger, the one who avoided people like the plague. He was standing there, looking at her as if he was just as surprised as she was.
She felt so giddy, she laughed out loud. “Sorry, but you looked so surprised.”