He glanced at the title. “Cool. Haven’t seen this one yet,” he said with a wink. Then he strolled over to the DVD player, Hannah in tow.
Sandra turned and searched her refrigerator, pulling out her meat loaf and a package of premade mashed potatoes. She took a quick sniff at the meat, and it didn’t turn her stomach. Always a good sign. Actually, it smelled pretty darn good. Her dinner wasn’t gourmet, but she had warned him fair and square.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as she turned around and rammed into his chest. The man was almost catlike, the way he was always springing up on her. It was unnerving.
He took her by the elbows, steadying her. “Anything I can do to help?”
“N-no,” she stuttered, feeling flustered all over again by his touch. “It’s pretty much all taken care of already.” She quickly stepped away and placed everything on the counter. “Hannah’s been on a spinach kick lately, so I’m going to make that, too.”
“She likes spinach? Is your kid too good to be true or what?”
“No,” she said, smiling. “I just cook—or try to cook—a variety of meals. I serve vegetables at every dinner. Sometimes Hannah’s into them and sometimes she’s not. You know. I’m sure your mother did the same thing when you were growing up.”
“Nope. I can guarantee you she didn’t. She had to work a lot after my dad took off. So it was McDonald’s with a babysitter most nights. Then, eventually, no babysitter and I had to fend for myself to scrape up a meal. My agent’s all too aware of that, too. That’s why she kind of takes it upon herself to treat me to a home-cooked meal whenever I’m in town.” He shrugged. “It’s the mother in her, and why I’ll never get another agent.”
She felt unexpectedly moved by his frankness. Earlier today when he was in her office, he’d seemed so unwilling to answer anything personal about himself. She wondered if that was a self-preservation mechanism because he was famous and had a hard time trusting people or because he didn’t like sharing things about himself in general. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Don’t be. I was Hannah’s age, maybe younger, when he left. I don’t have any memories of him at all.”
As Sandra placed the mashed potatoes in the microwave, her thoughts traveled to Hannah. Would she not remember Steve, since he made no effort to be a part of her life? Would something like that affect her when she grew up? She had no idea. That’s why she always made excuses for his behavior, to make sure Hannah wouldn’t get hurt and always felt loved. Maybe she worried too much about stuff like that, but she was good at worrying—and had it been a major in college, she would have easily graduated summa cum laude in her class.
She turned back around and wondered if not having a father had any impact on Ben. “That must have been hard on your mom, too. You know, being the sole supporter for her family. I can relate to that. It’s why I opened up the preschool in the first place. It was the perfect solution to my problem.”
He leaned his back against the kitchen counter and raked her with his gaze. “What do you mean?”
“I really like having my own business and working with the kids, but it’s a special bonus I don’t have to put Hannah in day care. She’s with me all the time now. Since her father and I divorced, I feel better knowing she doesn’t have to be separated from both her parents.”
Ben looked hesitant. “Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that. So where is the…uh…ex?”
“New York. For now,” she added. “He’d been in Chicago for the past year.”
“I guess he visits Hannah pretty often, since he’s so close, then.”
“No—I mean sometimes. When he’s not working so late. He’d love—” She shook her head at herself. There was no reason to go through the effort of justifying her ex-husband’s behavior to Ben. “I mean, no. Steve hardly ever sees her. In fact, it’s like pulling teeth to get him to acknowledge she even exists.”
She heard Ben swear under his breath.
“I didn’t tell you this to get your sympathy.” She was surprised how cold she sounded, but the last thing she wanted was for him to feel sorry for Hannah. “Look, I’m sorry. The situation is a bit stressful for me. I just want so much for Steve to appreciate and love Hannah as much as I do, and when he makes up excuses not to see her, it breaks my heart.”
Ben didn’t comment, so she felt the need to explain herself. Sighing, she tucked her hair behind her ears. “When we were married, Steve said he wanted to wait to have children because of his career. Now I realize he wasn’t being entirely truthful about that. He plain never wanted children. At the time, I had no problem with waiting to start a family, but Hannah just kind of…” She dropped her gaze to her hands. “I later found out he was cheating on me anyway. So the marriage evidently wasn’t working either way, and Hannah’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
She stopped and glanced at Ben to judge his reaction. Being the actor he was, his thoughts were well hidden. She really hadn’t meant to share so much. But he was a good audience. Even now he remained silent, intently waiting for more. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat. No man had ever been this curious about her before.
“So you opened the preschool for your daughter,” he pressed.
“And to make a living, of course,” she said with a small smile. “I didn’t realize start-up expenses with a new business would take forever to end. I almost thought we’d have to close. Missy’s been working nights as a waitress and some weekends to help out with that, though. That’s probably why she jumped at the chance to have you come here. She hoped the publicity and the check would ease some of the expenses we’ve had. I just hate to waste some of it on something as unexciting as a painter for the classrooms.” She sighed. “There are so many other plans I have for that money.”
“You know, I could help you with that.”
“Oh, no! No, that wasn’t what I was implying at all. I don’t want any more of your money. We’ll be fine. We’re perfectly capable of handling the expense. We’re—”
“Sandra, I meant I’d help you paint.”
“I beg your—” She stopped herself when she saw him grin from ear to ear. “Are you kidding with me again?”
“Not a chance. I’ve sworn off joking around with you, remember? I figured since I’m here and all, we could knock out the classrooms together this weekend, if you want to.”
She stepped closer and leaned her hand on the counter next to him. He smelled so nice. His cologne was subtle but just enough for her to catch its musky scent. “I do want some help painting. Very much. I’m just surprised that…you can paint?”
“I wasn’t always an actor.” He shrugged and shot her a crooked grin. “Remind me to tell you about the summer I spent as a golf ball marshal.”
“But why would you do that? I mean, help me. I haven’t exactly been the nicest person in the world to you,” she said, feeling suddenly ashamed of how she’d first treated him.
“This town doesn’t offer much. Maybe I’m so bored out of my skull I’d do anything for entertainment around here. And that includes painting.”
She gave him a long look, not believing his gruff answer for a second, but nodded, holding her gaze to his. “Thank you, Ben. I mean that.”
He didn’t reply with words but, in a heartening gesture, placed his hand on top of hers and smiled. For the first time, she noticed a small dimple in his chin. It made his good looks seem sort of boyish and innocent—like how she remembered him being this afternoon with Hannah, eating fudge and pretending to love the white horses on the merry-go-round just as much as she did. But Ben was hardly the innocent type, or even close to a domestic type. She wasn’t blind to all those magazine stories of him jet-setting around foreign countries with women years younger than herself. Yet, right then, in the confines of her house, with his face close to hers, he looked safe and approachable.
She smiled back and watched as his gaze fell to her lips. For a split second, she thought he’d kiss her again—and if he did, she would be prepared, mor
e than willing, even. But he jerked himself straight and, with a few quick pats on the back of her hand, mumbled something about keeping Hannah company. Her heart dropped, and, watching him disappear into the family room, she wondered if fate was playing some cruel trick on her.
Why hadn’t he kissed her?
It didn’t matter. She was sensible enough to know better, anyway. Seeing him with Hannah today only made her wistful for the family life she wanted to have. But she knew Ben Capshaw was not vying to become a surrogate father and husband, and she half blamed Missy and even Carol for planting such wild ideas in her head.
Brushing off her disappointment like the realist she was, she turned and resumed fixing dinner. Alone.
She was almost used to it.
Chapter Seven
“Knock, knock.”
Ben kept his eyes trained ahead and away from Hannah. He wasn’t in the mood for any of her knock-knock jokes. After ten rounds with a certain Jack Daniel yesterday, he was barely in the mood to breathe. He summoned up just enough energy to put his acting skills into overdrive and played deaf while he took his seat at the back of the class.
Last night had been rough. His own little personal hell. He was lucky to have gotten maybe three hours of sleep, which was surprising, since under sober circumstances he could give any coma victim a good run for his money. But every time he even attempted to close his eyes, he’d pictured a delectable blonde whose eyes reminded him of blue skies during the long, hot summers of the South of France.
Even all the alcohol he’d consumed couldn’t wipe out that vision.
It was his own fault, having both lunch and dinner with Sandra yesterday. But he had to make sure her view of him wasn’t distorted beyond recognition. Ever since he’d met her, he’d done nothing but fumble every single interaction with her. The damage had to be repaired. His agent reminded him he couldn’t afford any bad publicity now. Therefore, it was important to get on her good side—be extra likable, if you will—which was no real hardship, since Sandra proved to be likable herself.
Really likable. Too damn likable.
She was smart and hardworking, which was one of the reasons he was so attracted to her in the first place, but she was also one funny lady. She was easy to talk to, too. Easy to trust. Maybe because she was one of the rare women who didn’t want a damn thing from him. And man, the way she looked after her daughter, you’d think she was vying for mother of the year. The woman had it all, wrapped up in one beautiful, tight package. And worse—she didn’t even know it! As a result of that striking combination, he had a hard time resisting the need to touch her again and almost went against his agent’s wishes. Almost.
Thank God he had some sense in that pea brain of his. Oh, really? You just told me your husband was cheating on you? Well, as riveting as your story was, I’m having a hard time thinking about anything else besides thrusting my tongue in your mouth. So how about it?
Yeah, she might have gone for that. Talk about your poor timing.
It was just as well. His agent was pretty adamant, and that movie deal Denise was working on could be a big break for him. He wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardize that. He had worked too hard to get where he was. Nothing was as important. Growing up, he’d learned that playing make-believe could solve any problem, entertain any mood, and—when his mom was gone for long hours at a time—combat all loneliness. Acting became his life, which was why he was so damn good at it.
He squeezed his eyes closed. What he needed to do was block Sandra from his mind—or at least picture her with a mustache and an extra two hundred pounds—then he could pull himself together, concentrate, and start creating some character traits for his role. Most of all, if he was going to be ready for this part, he needed to focus on the task at hand and start acting like a father.
“Um, ’cuse me, I said knock, knock,” Hannah repeated.
He needed to start acting like a father—just not this soon.
Ben’s fingers dug into his jeans. His mouth felt as if he’d been gargling with sawdust, and he wanted his head to get its own zip code. Couldn’t Hannah see the Do Not Disturb sign emanating from his aura? Besides, the last thing he needed this morning was to gaze into her sky-blue eyes and think of Sandra all over again.
Seeing no other choice aside from spontaneous combustion, he opened his eyes and looked down. “Who’s there?” he said with a sigh.
“Choo-choo.”
“Choo-choo who?”
“Train,” Hannah said, beaming up at him with tiny white teeth.
“Train? That’s it? That’s the punch line?” He shook his head, causing his headache to worsen. “You need to work on your delivery, kid, because as it stands, that joke is not funny.”
She giggled. “Yes, it is.”
“Trust me, it’s not.”
“My mommy laughed,” she protested.
He gave in to a grin on that one. Of course Sandra laughed at it. She was a good mom who encouraged her child—bad joke and all. “Yeah, well, then I’m wrong. It must be funny. Mommies always know best.”
Hannah nodded, looking pleased, then skipped back to her desk.
Despite how sick he felt, his grin lingered. That kid was all right. Special. Anyone with two eyes and half a brain could see that. So what kind of a jerk-face father did she have, anyway? Ben was hardly the parental authority to be pointing fingers, but what kind of guy wouldn’t want a little girl like that and be proud she was his? Obviously, the same kind of jerk face who didn’t want Sandra as a wife—not that Ben was in the market for one of those, either. He was well aware of his limitations. Acting like a husband and father was one thing, but being one for real required different groundwork altogether. Remaining true and faithful to one woman and being a role model for a little human being were not his fortes. Acting was. It’s what he knew best. And once his career was back on track and he had an Oscar in his hand, it’s what would make him happy.
He was almost sure of it.
“Oh my goodness!”
Ben’s head snapped up at Missy’s strangled cry. Stars flashed across his eyes, and he bit down on his lip from the shooting pain. As his hands swung up to keep his brain together, he wondered why he hadn’t stayed in bed. He cursed his own stupid stubbornness—and that contract.
As the nausea settled, he slowly opened his eyes and focused his vision with all his might on Missy. The effects of last night must have still showed. She looked at him—gawked at him—without uttering a word.
“What?” he finally croaked. “What’s the matter?”
She approached him but still kept a good two-foot distance. “Uh, is everything all right?” she asked, handling him as if he were a grenade whose pin could be pulled at any second. “You look a little…”
“What?” Her normally perky face looked so distressed, he wondered if last night’s drinking binge could’ve shaved ten years off his life. He knew he didn’t look his best, but jeez, he was still among the living.
She licked her lips. “You look… Maybe you should see Sandra.”
Not. A. Chance. Seeing Sandra again so soon was the dead-last thing on this earth he needed at the moment. He was trying to get Sandra out of his system, not in it further. “I’m fine. Just had a bit of a…sleep disturbance. So, maybe we could whisper in circle time, or better yet, have some sort of quiet festival today. How does that—”
“Sweet Moses!”
Carol’s outburst had them turn in the direction of the door, and lo and behold, she now gawked at him, too. Oh, come on. What was this, kick-Ben-when-he’s-down day?
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“He had a sleep dust dance,” Hannah told her.
Carol looked back at Ben with a grin. “If that’s the case, maybe you should hire a housekeeper.”
He would have given her one fine, evil glare if it didn’t hurt so much to squint his eyes—or to see in general. “Sleep disturbance. I had a bit of a problem last night.”
Ca
rol snorted. “I’ll say. Looks more like a catastrophe than a problem, though. Maybe you should see Sandra. She’ll know what to do.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Missy said, bobbing her head up and down.
Ben rubbed his head, wishing for spontaneous combustion again. “No,” he growled. “No Sandra. Look, I’m fine. I don’t need to see San—”
“Oh, Ben!”
Just when things couldn’t get worse, Sandra came into the room and was at his side in seconds. She laid her soft, cool hand on his forehead, then moved her fingers through his hair and down the sides of his face. At any other time in his life, he would have enjoyed this kind of attention from her. Heck, he would’ve done a hallelujah dance and some touching of his own. Only now, for reasons she was oblivious to, her contact was excruciating.
“What happened?” she asked him. “You didn’t get sick from my meat loaf, did you?”
Missy perked up. “Meat loaf?”
Sandra paused, realizing her slip, and then glanced at Ben before she answered. “Uh, Ben was over at the house to…discuss business, so I invited him to stay for dinner.”
As partially blind as he was, Ben didn’t miss the exchange of looks between Missy and Carol. Man, even when he wasn’t trying to be a playboy, he was labeled a playboy. This situation wasn’t helping his reputation any.
Pressing his fingertips into his eye sockets, he let out a sigh. “It wasn’t your meat loaf, Sandra. Dinner was delicious.”
“I’m glad,” she said, sounding relieved. “But if you’re not feeling well, maybe you should leave. We don’t want the children to get sick.”
“It’ll pass.” He hoped. And he hoped it passed right on out the door with the weird feeling he had from seeing the look of true concern in Sandra’s eyes. He didn’t need her getting attached to him right now—or him getting attached to her.
“Don’t you worry,” she said, stroking his shoulders. “I’ll go get you some water.” Sandra turned and hurried out, Carol quickly following behind.
From Fake to Forever Page 9