by Unknown
She shrugged, jumping into the passenger seat and putting her seat belt on. “You know, the kind who want to settle down, have kids, a mortgage.”
“Whoever said I want that kind of woman?”
He caught her wincing out of the corner of his eye. “Did I over-step?”
“If I told you yes, would it make a shit’s worth of difference?”
“Not a lot. I’m always going to want you to have—”
“What you want,” he fi nished for her.
She shot him a deadpan look. “I don’t want a wife and a mortgage.”
“Me neither,” he confessed.
“So no Gwen?”
He heard the hope in her tone, and the last thing he wanted to do was trash her efforts. Clearly, she’d talked him up to Gwen, who’d fairly waited with bated breath for Mel to bring the idea of lunch up.
“Fine. Gwen. When I get back from L. A. Maybe next week, okay?”
“Sweet. I knew you couldn’t resist her. She’s too adorable.”
His cell phone rang, cutting off any further discussion of Gwen and lollipops and rainbows for now. He noted it was Theresa again.
“Hey, T. Flight change?”
As Neil listened, he kept glancing in the rearview mirror to be sure his expression remained unmarred by the words he was hearing about Stan.
That sonofabitch.
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C H A P T E R E L E V E N
Dear Divorce Journal,
Dating a man who has a child should be a challenge, right? There’s always the issue of acceptance, and usually, that involves a long road of defiance on the child’s behalf before the light at the end of a tunnel. At least that’s what I’ve read. But I have to say, hands down, ex-wives are a much bigger challenge, and shall, hereafter, be dubbed major craptacularness.
Drew knocked on Mel’s father’s door at exactly six sharp, dressed casually in black jeans and a heavy brown and beige sweater, his dark goodness never failed to make her insides feel like the consistency of a slushy.
Joe had insisted he answer the door, partly because Drew was Myriam’s nephew, and that had struck fear in his heart for her safety, but mostly because he’d told her there’d be no repeat of Twinkle Toes, if he had anything to say about it.
“Mr. Hodge?” Drew stuck out his hand with a smile. “Good to meet you, sir.”
Joe accepted it, but didn’t return Drew’s smile. Instead, he used his scowl from the rare date she’d had in high school. “That’s me. Did you bring your tutu?”
Drew chuckled, obviously not at all offended by her father’s sense of humor. “I left it in the car. It’s just so big and fl uffy.”
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Joe obviously warred with a smile, then beat it down for a stern expression. “So you’re that crazy Myriam’s nephew.”
“Her reputation precedes her, I see. Has she been responsible for any untoward acts on your person?”
“She’s responsible for so many untoward acts, I lost count. So what are your intentions with my Pop- Tart?”
Drew’s eyes danced with amusement. This was a test to see if not only Joe could hack Drew’s sense of humor, but if Drew could hack Joe’s. “Well, fi rst I thought we’d rent a hotel room. You know, like over at Larry’s? They have an incredible hourly rate. I bought in bulk, just to be safe. Then, you know, after we wear out the quarter massage machine, I fi gured we’d have a pretty hearty appetite. So I thought we’d check out the gas station to see if they still have that
‘buy one microwave sandwich, get the second free’ deal. I don’t just dole out a fancy Happy Meal on the fi rst date. It takes time to earn those kind of reward points in a relationship.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t believe you didn’t consider the moonlight miniature golf. It’s only a buck a game on Saturday nights and if you bring a guest, it’s free. Whole lot cheaper than Larry’s quarter massage machines.” Joe made a face of disappointment. “I’ve lost all respect for you, son.”
Their unifi ed cackling followed by chummy slaps on the back made Weezer bark. He pushed between the two men at the front door and knocked his hip against Drew’s thighs, showing him who was the alpha male. Mel grabbed him by the collar, but Drew stopped her with a hand to her arm.
He knelt down and sat at eye level with Weez, rubbing his ears.
“You think I should have done the miniature golf, too, don’t you?”
Weezer licked his face, making both of the men cackle louder.
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shoulder. “All right. It’s clear my well- being is a total joke to the two of you heathens. Let’s get out of here before my father talks you into double coupon days at the Stop & Shop. I can’t believe I shaved for this.”
Drew turned to Joe and stuck his hand out again. “Pleasure to have met you, sir. I promise not to let Mel spend too much time with the massage machine.”
Joe slapped him on the back with a grin. “You two have a good time.”
Drew took her hand, enveloping it in his, and pulled her out the door into the cold night air. Leaves in orange and brown scattered the ground, crunching beneath their feet.
He scanned her white crepe fi tted shirt with the pleats on it and her plum skirt with a fl are just above her knee all the way down to her low- heeled black pumps with a strap, and gave a smile of appreciation. “I like your hair down.” He reached up and grabbed a curl, twisting it between his fi ngertips and giving it a light tug to straighten it. “I didn’t realize it was so long.”
She brushed at the strands that fell to the middle of her back with her hand. “It’s unruly, hard to control, and impossible to manage.”
But she’d fought with it like it was a saber- toothed tiger for almost two hours in preparation for this date.
“It says something that you went to all this trouble for me.”
Mel fought a blush. “It says I couldn’t fi nd a scrunchie.”
“Is that what the purple eye shadow and pink lip gloss were about, too?”
“No. That was to impress your family. You don’t want them thinking you date bag ladies, do you?”
He chuckled. “You look pretty hot, Mel. So you ready?”
Drew opened her door for her, and she hopped up into the truck, giving him a questioning gaze. “For?”
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“For the onslaught of people. There’s a lot of us.”
“If they’re like your mother and father, I’m in. Give me names to work with.”
As they pulled from the curb, he ran off a list of his sister’s names, their husband’s names, and various nieces and nephews while Mel quietly listened.
“You’re really quiet. Did I overwhelm you in sheer people alone?”
Mel grinned. “Don’t be silly. I’m just paying attention. You know, listening. Key to our dating, as I recall.”
Drew winked. “Right.” He fl ipped the satellite radio in his truck to an Elvis station. Okay, so they had one thing in com
mon aside from their incredible chemistry. She loved Elvis.
They drove out of the Village while Mel stole glances of him from the corner of her eye, relishing his strong jaw and the light stubble littering it in the fading sunlight.
“So I’ve been meaning to ask you …”
The look she gave him was wry. “If you ask how I got into that position where I do that thing with my leg— you can turn right around.” She made a circle with her fi nger.
Drew’s laughter fi lled the car, husky and low. “I wasn’t going there. Just remember who tapped that fi rst. I was going to ask if you give private lessons.”
She shifted in the seat, turning to face him, enjoying their easy banter. “In how to get your leg to do that thing?”
“Later. For now I was wondering if you give private ballroom lessons.”
“I knew it! I knew it wouldn’t be long before you came begging me to teach you how to tango.” She clapped her hands.
“Still as funny as ever. I mean for Nate.”
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he had to do in class. Though, he did it beautifully and he executed everything like some sort of learning machine, she didn’t get the impression he liked doing it. Who was she kidding? None of the boys liked her class— they endured it until they could get their hands on a dead frog.
“Seems the kid likes to dance. He asked me if he could take lessons aside from your class.”
“Did you talk him into this as a way to worm your way back into my heart? Because if you’re using your son to woo me— wow, what a way to make a move.”
Drew held up his long- fi ngered hands when they hit a stoplight, releasing them from the wheel. “Swear it was all his idea. He asked me before we— you know— tried that thing with your leg.”
“I think I’m fl attered.”
“I think I still wish you taught baseball or something.”
Her defenses went up. “Is this going to be a problem? Is this going to make you miserable because he’s not learning how to score a touchdown? Because I charge a lot of money per hour to teach privately. I don’t want you grumbling while you write the check.”
“How much is a lot?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said it was a lot of money.”
“I was basing that on what I’ve heard the going rate is for private lessons. I’ve never actually taught them.”
“I thought you had some fancy studio in L. A.?”
Mel shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek to quell the ache missing her kids brought. “I taught a lot of mostly underprivileged kids. Some couldn’t pay at all. They just loved to dance, and I was somewhere safe they could come and let loose with. I guess that’s why Stan shut the studio down, because it wasn’t like I was making 9780425245507_WaltzThisWay_TX_p1-344.indd 177
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money. In fact, Stan probably put out more money than he gained from it. I just loved the kids, and they loved to dance.”
His expression changed as the lights from the cars passed by. “I had no idea.”
“You thought I was shallow and only taught the cream of the crop, didn’t you?”
“I think I did.”
That was the impression most everyone had about her it seemed.
Except some of the seniors in the Village. If Maxine had done anything, she’d paved the way for understanding not all ex-trophy wives missed being rich. “Here’s a thought. Just because Stan’s rich and I was married to him doesn’t mean I was a snob. Despite our cache of houses and cars, or the number of staff we had, I lived rather modestly. I spent most of my time at the studio. I wasn’t interested in movie premieres or award ceremonies, so I didn’t need designer dresses or makeup artists. I didn’t need much but some leotards and a fresh batch of dance shoes.”
“I’m sorry I unfairly judged you.” His tone was somber and quiet without a hint of sarcasm in it.
Mel guessed, when Drew said he was sorry, he meant it. “Apology accepted. I can tell you this: it defi nitely made the transition from mansion to retirement village a whole lot easier. Though, I really do miss my bed. It was Swedish and big. Weezer and I together in my father’s second bedroom in a single bed just doesn’t allow for as much breathing room.”
She didn’t realize it, but they’d turned onto a tree-lined street, brilliant in fall color, even in the fading light. Drew turned a sharp right and pulled up to a big white ranch with red shutters and pumpkins and mums lining the cracked walkway. A house well loved, she noted. Just like the one she’d grown up in.
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her chin, making her heart thump. “I meant it. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to assume you were spoiled and pampered.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. There were lots of luxuries. Like I can’t remember the last time I was in a grocery store. Stan had everything delivered. All I had to do was write a list.”
“Do you miss them? The fi ner things in life?”
Her voice threatened to hitch, but she took a deep breath. “Not as much as I miss the kids and my friend Jackie. Okay, sometimes I miss the workout room we had in our basement. It had a pretty rad dance fl oor and ballet barre.” She forced a smile.
But Drew didn’t appear to fall for her bravado, and it made her uncomfortable enough to squirm under his scrutiny. “You miss those kids.”
His reiteration almost made her falter. “I do. How about we don’t talk about this anymore? I have new kids now. I need to focus on them.”
Pulling her chin toward him, he dropped a light kiss on her lips, delicious and as though he’d always kissed her. “I like you, Mel.”
Oh, everything about me likes you, too. “That’s good to hear. I’d hate to have to go in there and make your family love me more than they love you. It’s good to know you have my back.”
Without another word, Drew got out of the car and came around to her side to help her out. Music seeped from the front window and more lights than a Christmas tree lit the house. The smell of something wonderful hit her nose the moment Drew opened the front door.
Selena saw her fi rst, pushing her way through the throng of children on the fl oor playing a board game. She wore an apron that read,
“Emeril Is My Homeboy” on it, her salt- and- pepper hair caught up in a clip on the top of her head.
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with something spicy that mingled with her jasmine musk perfume.
“I’m so glad you came, Mel! I told Bill he cinched the deal by buying you that cheesecake, but he was convinced Myriam had run you off for good.”
Mel returned her hug with a smile. “I’m not afraid of Myriam,”
she teased, catching sight of her stepping over children.
“I can’t fi gure why that is either. I’m pretty scary,” Myriam joked on a snort, giving Mel a quick kiss on the cheek. “You ready to get your hands dirty?”
Mel gave Myriam and Selena a suspicious eyeballing, planting her hands on her hips. “No one said anything about getting my hands dirty. I’m a dancer, not a cook. I think I’ve been bamboozle
d.”
Drew put his hand at her waist, steering her around his mother and aunt. “You didn’t think this was a free ride, did you? Get in there and stir something, woman.”
Her head tipped back when she laughed, making it bump into his chin. Nate waved from the huge, round kitchen table, his laptop open. “Hey, Ms. Cherkasov,” he mumbled without lifting his eyes from the screen.
William tugged a piece of Nate’s hair. “Is that any way to greet your teacher, Nathaniel?”
Nate leveled his eyes with hers. “Sorry. Hi, Ms. Cherkasov.”
She smiled at his reluctance to tear himself away from whatever he was so intent on. “Hey, Nate. So your dad tells me you want to take private ballroom lessons. Is that true?”
There was a fl icker of something on his face Mel didn’t quite catch, but then Myriam was right behind him, giving his shoulder a nudge. “Tell her, Nate. You wanna dance like your Auntie Myriam.”
Nate nodded, securing his gaze with Mel’s. “Big time.”
Mel’s head cocked to the left, not entirely convinced. “Really?”
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He nodded his dark head. “Really.”
“Well, okay then. I’ll talk to your father about setting something up.”
“Cool.”
Myriam held out her hand to Mel. “C’mere. I’ll introduce you to Drew’s sisters while we make fl an.”
Mel headed into the fray, losing track of Drew while she narrowly avoided the chaos of careening children who ranged in age from in -
fancy to fi fteen or so and met Drew’s sisters, Maura, Kathleen, and Delia.
Corned beef simmered in a huge pot on the stove, full of cabbage and potatoes, and in another, red beans and rice. Enchiladas by the dozen lined baking trays on the counter, plump with melted cheese right alongside Irish soda bread.
Someone handed Mel an apron, and it was like she’d always belonged to the clan known as McPhee. She cradled babies with varying shades of dark auburn to blond hair, stirred corned beef, wiped runny noses, washed toddlers’ hands, fi lled sippy cups, and laughed when Drew’s sisters told her stories about him being the only boy in a houseful of women.