Who Needs Cupid?

by Debra Salonen, Molly O’Keefe

  “As long as it’s not good for me, yes. The Potter Special should do the trick.”

  “I actually specialize in the not-good-for-you stuff.” She turned away to the old espresso machine on the counter behind her. She began turning knobs and making noise and he didn’t stop himself from studying her.

  She was tall. He liked that. She stood straight. Her back an unbending line under the burgundy shirt she wore. Her hips were round, her legs long.

  She was lovely to him in every possible way.

  “Here we go,” she said, a mug mounded with whipped cream in her hand. “Roughly all your daily calories in one mug.”

  Like a guilty fifteen-year-old, he accepted the mug and took a big sip. The tastes of caramel, cocoa, hot coffee and whipped cream exploded in his mouth.

  “Good God,” he said, looking down at the concoction. “That’s fantastic.”

  “Told you. I’m thinking of getting it patented.”

  “Let me know if you need testimonials—” He smiled but she seemed serious.

  “Actually, I could use a testimonial.” She cleared her throat. “I’m trying to write a press release to send to area papers about my class for at-risk kids—”

  “I’m glad to hear you’re finally doing it.”

  “Thanks.” Her smile was a flash of lightning in the darkened room. “Thanks for the encouragement. But I thought a quote from the county juvenile parole officer in my press release might make me sound official.”

  “It would be my pleasure. I had a meeting with Tony DeLona’s folks today and urged them to seek your help with Tony.”

  “I had a talk with him after school the other day and his mom called this afternoon. Tony will be my first student.”

  “And Penny. You’ve made such progress with her.”

  “You know, it’s so funny how simple it seems right now. You just listen to kids. You just let them talk or draw and you listen to what they need to say. It’s astounding how few people really do that.”

  “It’s not just kids.” He smiled. “Sometimes it feels like no one listens to anyone anymore. We’re all just waiting for our turn to talk.”

  “Not me,” Rebecca laughed. “I’d much rather listen to you talk than bore you with whatever I might have to say.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Rebecca. I bet you’ve got lots to say.”

  Their conversation ended in silence, and her gaze clung to his, and he, cowardly and dumb, looked away in order to break the intimacy.

  “You…ah…working on more valentines?” He gestured at the red and pink card stock on the counter.

  “Sort of.” She chewed on her lip. “They’re valentines for the other people in your life. You know? The people you forget to tell how you feel.”

  “Show me. I need something for Chief Brass.”

  She laughed and the heat of attraction between them dissipated, only to come back as her laugh ended in more silence.

  Jeez, it’s hot in here.

  He set the mug down and took the cards she handed him.

  “The first one is inspired by Penny,” she said, without any of the shyness he sort of expected from her.

  Will was speechless. She’d captured the spirit of his daughter in the sketch of a girl wearing a dance recital costume over blue jeans.

  “You are my wonder, kid,” he whispered the tag line, then swallowed the hard lump of emotion in his throat. His emotional reaction to the card, to the drawing and the sentiment caught him off guard.

  “That’s the best valentine I’ve ever seen,” he told her. “Can I buy it?”

  She shook her head. “I had intended to give it to you so you could give it to Penny. I sort of thought it was perfect for the two of you.”

  “It is,” he breathed. Before he could get any more emotional he flipped to the second card.

  The sketch was of a woman, who looked slightly like Rebecca. Like a quieter, rounded version of her and he wondered if that was how she saw herself, without the beauty of her smile, the sturdy grace of her shoulders. Without the sparkle he saw.

  He wanted to change that. Badly.

  In the drawing she was getting a kick in the butt.

  “Dear valentine, you make me a better person,” he read and smiled. “I’m quite familiar with the kick in the butt method of friendship.”

  “Most people are, that’s why I thought it would work.”

  “Hey.” He pointed at her tiny signature. “You signed it.”

  She nodded. “I thought it was time.”

  “I agree. These cards are amazing. Really, Rebecca. You’re amazing…”

  For a second his words hung in the air, and he realized he couldn’t cover them up. He couldn’t pretend to have meant something else. He was forced to be honest, by his own loose tongue.

  “You really are,” he finished in a low voice.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Her gaze met his and held. He couldn’t pretend this moment wasn’t happening. He wanted it to happen.

  “You’re giving me a vibe, right?” she asked. “I’m not making this up?”

  He smiled at her blunt honesty. It was so refreshing. “No,” he murmured. “This is real.”

  He wanted Rebecca to walk around the counter, and she did. He didn’t flinch when her warm hand touched his face, his cheek, his ear.

  “I’m stepping off a cliff,” she whispered.

  In the end he didn’t know who kissed whom. They both leaned through the sweet smelling air and came to rest against each other.

  Her lips were strong and sweet, like the rest of her and he turned his head, angling for more. Her fingers brushed his hair, his neck and the curve of his ear and he groaned.

  Will stood, sliding his hands up her rib cage to her breasts and she leaned against him, soft and warm in all the best places.

  While he’d certainly never forgotten how good it felt to make out with a woman, he’d never dreamed how wonderful it would be to make out with Rebecca.

  She tugged a little on his hair and pressed her hips harder against his. He wanted to lock the doors and spend the next several days kissing her.

  “Will,” she sighed.

  He kissed his way down the pure white column of her neck.

  “Will,” she moaned.

  His thumb grazed her breast and—

  “Will.” She pushed him away. Her eyes golden reflections of everything he felt. She laughed, nervously. “Someone could walk in…”

  “Right.” He swallowed, tried hard to catch his breath, but it was impossible with her so close and so suddenly irresistible. He reached for her and she for him, and they were kissing again, desperate this time for the touch of skin.

  “Will!”

  “I know…” He kissed her eyes. Her cheeks. “I know. We need to stop.”

  “Yes.” She slid her hands across his ribs.

  “We’re going to stop.”

  “One more…”

  “Yes…”

  He hadn’t felt this way since he was a teenager. He wanted to laugh and then suddenly he was. He practically giggled, madly into her hair. And so did she.

  “This is crazy.”

  “You make me feel crazy.” He pushed her away slightly. Removed his hand from under her shirt, from the soft, sweet skin he’d claimed as his own.

  “Crazy good?” she asked, shy in the candlelight.

  He blinked at her, unable to understand how she could turn him inside out.

  “Crazy confused,” he told her, sanity returning. What had he been thinking? Well, he hadn’t, but still. This was his daughter’s teacher, a woman he liked and respected. He had no business pulling her into his quicksand.

  He blinked the passion from his eyes and saw the giddy warmth drain from hers. Her face went still and the distance, the mere inches between them, grew cavernous.

  “Rebecca…”

  “The next words out of your mouth had better not be I’m sorry.” Her voice, while soft, was edged with steel.

 
; She’d read his mind so he remained silent.

  The rustle of her clothes as she stepped away from him seemed ominous.

  “What’s amazing here,” she said, “is that I’m surprised.” She walked back around the counter, as if the kissing hadn’t happened, like she was erasing it. “I should have known.”

  “I’m just not ready…”

  She shot him an acidic look that shut him right up.

  “Be a grown-up, Will. Be honest with yourself. If you are ready to put your hand up my shirt, you’re further along in the healing process than you want to admit.”

  Her words were a slap, and he could only step back and blink. He opened his mouth, unsure of what was going to come out, unsure of what lie or truth would reveal more of himself, but she held up her hand, stopping him.

  “For weeks I’ve been calling what I felt for you a crush.” She smiled tightly and his whole chest shrunk an inch. “I thought that by giving my feelings a cute little label, I could minimize them. Make them something sweet, almost laughable.” She shook her head. “But I think I knew the moment you came in that first day with the crayons for Penny that you would outgrow any label I might make for you. And—” she took a deep breath “—I think I knew that no matter what, I was going to get hurt.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” He nearly leaped over the counter.

  “I know.” Her laugh was rusty. “It’s why I like you. But I can’t be your rebound. I can’t be your first step back into the world, if you’re going to try to minimize what you feel for me.”

  “I’m not—” He started to deny it, but her eyebrows shot up, and he shut up. He’d been about to apologize for the kiss, when his mouth was still damp from hers. If that wasn’t minimizing what had occurred he didn’t know what was.

  “I’m not saying I love you. I don’t know you well enough for that, but I do want to know you better. And that can’t happen if you’re too scared to try love again. If every kiss is going to be a mistake. Something to apologize for.”

  She’d reduced him to a puddle, a spineless glop of human fear and insecurity. Worse, one with nothing to say.

  “Let me go see if Penny’s bag is upstairs,” she whispered. “You better get home before the storm gets any worse.”

  She walked away and left Will wondering how things could get any worse.

  REBECCA STEPPED into her dark classroom, shut the door behind her and pressed the back of her head to the wood. She pressed harder. A solid reality at her back in what seemed like a world turned upside down.

  Will was everything she thought she wanted and she’d turned him away.

  “I’m a lunatic,” she whispered into her silent studio. “Totally nuts.” She laughed just to prove it.

  But he doesn’t deserve me.

  She repeated the words to herself just to make sure they sunk in.

  He doesn’t deserve me. Not like that. Bumbling and sorry.

  It never would have occurred to her a few weeks ago. She would have let him apologize after kissing her and the next time she’d seen him she would have died a thousand deaths wondering what he thought of her. And maybe in a few weeks when they’d be alone again she’d let him kiss her in some quiet moment when Penny wasn’t watching and it would happen all over again.

  But she was a grown-up. And so was he.

  And she deserved better.

  “Growing up sucks!” she muttered and grabbed the pink Barbie book bag in Penny’s cubby.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  February 7—Wednesday

  “I’M INTRIGUED,” Lucky said, pushing open the door to the studio. Elle was behind her, drying her hands on a rag slung over her shoulder. Rebecca was so glad to see them, glad and nervous. “The unveiling of your new cards. I can only hope they’re better than the last ones.”

  “They’d better be—people are getting antsy for some cards. You’re going to miss your opportunity to make money if you wait any longer to restock us,” Elle said, clearly a little piqued by the situation. “Valentine’s Day is a week away.”

  “Well, the wait is over.” Rebecca handed them each twenty cards she’d slaved over the past five days. She had another ten waiting in case they really liked what they saw.

  “These are…different.” Lucky looked up from the cards.

  “Okay, so far I’ve got different and…” She waited for Elle, who was still paging through the pile Rebecca had given her.

  She paged past Daughter, you make my heart sing, with the picture of the Opera Heart. And Son, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me, with the picture of the man in a diamond mine.

  “They’re good,” Elle finally said.

  “Good, how? Good okay? Good like the best thing ever?” Rebecca chewed her lip. These women were supposed to be her friends. Where were the backflips, the hugs, the…

  “They’re different brilliant,” Elle said, her smile huge. “They are different amazing.”

  “Are you lying?” Rebecca asked, skeptical of her aunt who, while a classy woman, was known to fudge the truth to suit the occasion. “Is she lying?” Rebecca asked Lucky.

  “Nope.” Lucky tucked the cards into her bag. “They are valentines for the other loves in your life. They’ll be huge. You better start working on some more, I’m going to sell out of these in about four minutes.”

  Rebecca flung her arms out and laughed. “Wonderful. Great.” She took a deep breath and finally, once and for all, finished the metamorphosis she’d started a week ago. In seven short days she’d shed all of the old Rebecca Potter. And now she was going to prove it.

  It was painful, especially when the memories of Will’s kisses came over her like a wave. Late at night she relived every touch, every sigh and heartbeat and wondered if someone else would ever make her feel so alive. So cherished and wanted.

  She didn’t know, but she owed it to herself to find out.

  “Elle—” she braced herself “—sign me up for the dateathon.”

  February 8—Thursday

  AFTER ART CLASS, while Dad was paying for their soups and sandwiches to take home, Elle pulled Penny into the storage room.

  “I’m just borrowing your daughter for a second,” Elle told Dad with a wave.

  “Don’t break her,” he said, which would have been funny if Penny wasn’t totally mad at him right now.

  The storeroom door shut behind them.

  “It didn’t work!” they both said at the same time.

  “What happened?” Elle asked.

  “I don’t know,” Penny muttered. “He came here on Saturday night and got my bag but now…”

  “Now things are worse!” Elle crossed her arms over her chest and sat down on a green crate. “Becca signed up for the dateathon.”

  Penny gasped. Becca was going to date someone else?

  “Do you think they got in a fight?” Penny asked, remembering the fights Mom and Dad used to have. When things would break and Mom would leave for a day. She couldn’t imagine Becca acting like that, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was wrong about the whole thing.

  “No.” Elle shook her head. “Becca’s not much of a fighter. But I think something must have happened between them. It’s like the arctic every time they’re in the same room.”

  “So what should we do?”

  Elle tapped her finger against her lips for a long minute. Penny got bored waiting and counted all the bottles of chocolate syrup on the shelf behind Elle’s head. Ten bottles. That was a lot of chocolate syrup.

  “I think it’s time for us to step back,” Elle said. “Let them figure things out for themselves.”

  “But Valentine’s Day is only a week away!” Penny cried. “Dad hates Valentine’s Day. He gets so sad. I want him to be happy this year.”

  Elle pulled her close for a hug. “How can he not be happy? He’s got the sweetest daughter ever.”

  She rolled her eyes like Alyssa. “But I wanted him to have a girlfriend this year. I wanted him to be in love with Ms. Potter
.”

  “Well, they’re just going to have to do it themselves.” Elle opened the door, ending their little talk, but Penny knew better. Leaving things up to Dad was a bad idea.

  Penny waited until they were in the car heading home before she said anything. She’d learned something watching Mom and Dad fight for so long. You had to be careful not just of what you said, but when you said it. So she waited until Dad was humming along with the radio and his fingers were tapping against the steering wheel.

  “Ms. Potter signed up for the dateathon,” she said, pretending to play with the vent, but really she watched her dad from the corner of her eye.

  “What?” Dad asked. They swerved a little, like he was trying not to hit something in the road.

  “Elle told me Ms. Potter signed up for the dateathon and she’s already really popular. Her Web site has gotten tons of hits.”

  “Tons?”

  “Cool, huh?” Penny said, finally looking at her dad. “She should have a boyfriend.”

  He nodded. “Sure,” he said and fiddled with the radio.

  Penny turned her head to the window so he wouldn’t see her smile.

  February 9—Friday

  “THANK YOU, WILL,” Rebecca said, reading the quote he’d given her for her press release. He held his breath like some kind of lovelorn suitor. Which was ridiculous considering he’d smashed that option to pieces on Saturday. But when his daughter had told him about Becca joining the dateathon… Well, he hadn’t slept at all last night. He’d written a quote for her, something he could have called her with, but no. He’d dropped his daughter off at his folks’ house and now, here he was sweating through his shirt just to drop off a piece of paper.

  “That’s an incredibly generous quote.” She swallowed, and he watched the smooth motion. Why have I turned her away? Why am I such a coward?

  He’d spent the better part of last night trying to imagine asking her out on a date. And that was fine. Imaginary dates always went well. It was what would happen after six months of dating, when she’d get tired of his late hours. When he’d be the only one making the effort to keep them together. What would happen when he realized again that he had no idea how to keep a woman happy?