by Cheri Allan
“Um.” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to look at it first? It’s gotten good reviews. If you come over to my house, I’d be happy to show you—”
“Show me?”
He shifted his weight to his other boot. Cleared his throat again. “Ah, what are we talking about?”
Kate gulped, her gaze resting uneasily on his shirtfront. “Um... hooking up, er, dating?” she wheezed. “What are you talking about?”
He touched her chin, his long fingers urging her to meet his eyes. They were hazel. And incredibly sexy. The corners crinkled with humor.
“Toilets,” he said evenly.
“Toilets?”
“Yes.” He dropped his hand. “What made you think I was talking about… that other thing?”
“You’re kind of cute. I thought...”
A grin creased his features as he touched the brim of his faded baseball cap. His eyes went dark. “Thanks.”
She wanted to die, to dissolve into a puddle and seep through the floorboards.
As he watched her, he pulled off his cap and turned it in his hands. His hair was light brown, soft waves streaked with highlights from the sun. He tilted his head toward his pickup. “You still want to look at it, or should I just put it in?”
“Put it in?” Aargh! If she could stop ogling his hair, perhaps she could stop parroting him like some brainless twit! What was wrong with her?
“You’ve obviously just arrived, or you would have already seen there’s no—”
“Hey!” Liam cried from inside. “Somebody took the potty!”
“—toilet,” he finished. “Why don’t I bring it in?”
“Good idea,” she managed to croak around her mortification.
“I’m going to get my tools now,” he said, putting on his cap, “and by that, I mean... tools.”
She nodded. “Got it.”
He paused, and when he next spoke his voice had a low cadence that had Kate leaning toward him ever so slightly. “Just so we’re even,” he said, “I think you’re kinda cute, too.”
The breath stuck in her throat as she nodded. It had been so long since a man had flirted with her, she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right.
By the time she regained the ability to speak, he was halfway to his truck, his legs eating up the uneven ground in long, loping strides.
She hurried down the stairs to the car to get her other bags, the breeze doing nothing to cool her hot cheeks.
But she didn’t care.
She’d take Jim Pearson over a quiche any day.
KATE FOLDED THE LAST grocery bag and set it on the kitchen counter. Thankfully, Liam had played contentedly with the toys from the bin she’d hauled into the corner of the living room while she brought in the rest of their suitcases and unpacked.
The front door slammed.
“Liam? Are you still inside?” Okay, she was a little panicky, but at home, large bodies of water had fences around them.
“It’s just me!” Jim Pearson answered.
Kate stepped out of the little kitchen where, yes, she’d been hiding. “Oh. Thanks.”
Jim nodded and headed down the hallway again, a white toilet tank in his arms.
Kate sucked up her courage and followed. She waited until he’d set the tank on the bath mat then cleared her throat and reached out her hand.
“I’m Kate, by the way. Kate Mitchell. June Hastings’ granddaughter? She’s a friend of your grandmother.”
“Ah, right, one of ‘the ladies.’” They shook hands awkwardly over the toilet tank. “When does she get here?” he asked.
“Who?”
“Your grandmother.”
“Oh, Nana won’t be back for a few days. She went to Portland for a quilt festival.”
He nodded and turned to screw some things to the bottom of the tank.
Kate cleared her throat. “Um. About earlier...”
He glanced up.
She swallowed. “What I said… about being cute…” She mouthed the last word. “I didn’t mean it. I mean, not that you aren’t… but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. The truth is, I’m not in a place right now for, um, dating... and I just wanted to be clear I wasn’t hitting on you. Or anything.” She felt her face flame to her hairline and briefly considered high-tailing it back to Connecticut.
He set the tank on the back of the toilet. “That’s good.”
“Yes,” she agreed, taken aback.
“Nothing personal, but I’m not into married women.” He looked pointedly at her left hand.
“Oh, I’m not married. That is… not anymore.” Kate twirled with the gold band on her finger. She’d worn it ever since the night Randy had died.
“Divorced?”
She dropped her hand. “That was the plan.”
“Ah. Separated.” His lips twisted humorlessly, and he shook his head. “Definitely not interested.”
He bent over and fiddled with something inside the toilet.
Kate frowned. She didn’t know why she didn’t correct him and tell him she was a widow. Maybe it was because she didn’t want his pity. Maybe it was because dating right now would be like inviting a guy to hop onto the sinking Titanic for a pleasure cruise. Or, maybe, it was because he was already rejecting her as if she’d offered herself on a silver platter. Which, for the record, she most certainly had not.
“Great,” she said, forcing a smile—not that he was looking or anything. “We’re on the same page, then.” She picked up a little seashell from a shelf by the sink and set it down again. Damn, it was hard to make a grand exit when the offending party wasn’t even looking at you. “Well, I guess I’ll go, um, take care of some things.”
“Sure,” he grunted, folding himself into the space between the wall and the toilet.
Kate retreated to the barren living room. Liam ran over her toes with his toy car. “I’m going to start putting some things away upstairs,” she announced. “You stay here, all right?”
“’kay.”
But when Kate returned a few minutes later, Liam was gone.
“Liam? Liam!” Kate skidded to a halt outside the bathroom. “I thought I told you Mr. Pearson was working. Come on. Let’s get your sunscreen on. I’m done unpacking.”
Ruth’s grandson searched in his toolbox and pulled something out. “It’s Jim,” he corrected. “And he’s not bothering me. We were just getting acquainted. Weren’t we, Bud?” Jim reached behind the tank to attach a thin hose.
Liam nodded earnestly.
“Well, I’ll get him out of your hair so you can finish.”
She made a grab for Liam, but he scooted over to the far side of Jim’s legs, which were, at the moment, splayed across the bathroom floor. She tried not to stare as she pondered how to extricate her uncooperative son.
“I’m nearly finished. Don’t worry about the sunscreen, by the way.” Jim stood and fiddled with the floatie thing in the tank before setting the cover on. “This time of day, you need bug repellent more than sunscreen.”
Kate turned toward the tiny window at the far end of the room. Crap. Now that he mentioned it, the sun wasn’t as brilliant as it had been when they’d first arrived. “I’m sorry, Liam. I guess it took me longer to get organized than I thought it would. Maybe we can swim tomorrow.”
“But you promised!”
“Why don’t we have a special dinner instead? We can have pizza!” She turned to Jim. “I’m assuming there’s a place nearby?”
“Right in town.” He began collecting his tools. “All set.”
“Great.”
They stared at one another a moment before she briskly patted Liam on the shoulder. “Well, Pumpkin, we should go get that pizza, don’t you think?”
“Can he eat with us?” Liam asked.
Jim tossed a wrench into his toolbox and avoided Kate’s eyes. “Thanks for the invite, Buddy, but it’s been a long day. Maybe another time.”
“You’re more than welcome to join us,” Kate lied, stuffing a wa
d of unruly hair behind her ear. It slid out again, undeterred. “But we’d understand if you’re too busy.”
“I’m not busy,” he assured Liam before looking up at Kate. “But I’ll bet your mom is tired after her long drive.”
“Not tired at all.” Kate assured them. She eyed Jim again. “But maybe Mr. Pearson isn’t hungry.”
“I skipped lunch,” he said.
“Really?” she challenged.
“Really.”
She swallowed, the air inexplicably charged. She had no idea what was going on between them, but it didn’t feel like disinterest.
“Well,” she finally said, breaking eye contact, “I’ll need to place our order and get directions. Things have changed so much since I was here ten years ago, I don’t recognize—”
“I’ll pick it up.”
“You will?”
“Sure.” A ghost of a smile played at his lips as he stepped abreast of her in the doorway. He ducked his head and whispered in her ear, “But it doesn’t mean I want any.”
Kate lifted an eyebrow, heat sizzling to her toes. “Who said I was offering?”
“A SALAD. I SHOULD MAKE A SALAD.” Kate stared at the contents of the small refrigerator as if she hadn’t just put away the groceries an hour earlier. As soon as Jim had driven away for the pizza, she’d dashed upstairs to change out of her sweaty travel clothes. “A salad doesn’t make it a date or anything,” she told herself. “It just makes it a well-rounded meal.”
Retrieving assorted produce from the crisper, Kate set it on the counter. “Liam? Are you being good?” He’d walked by moments earlier with another box of construction vehicles.
“Liam?”
“Yup.”
Kate smiled at the distinctive sound of make-believe engines. “Stay in the house, please.”
“’kay.”
Kate pulled a wooden cutting board from beside the sink and ran her hand over its rough surface. Marked and stained from years of use, it would have disgusted Randy, but to Kate it felt good, like countless meals prepared and enjoyed.
It was something Randy had never understood, her love of old things. She’d always been drawn to objects which held the mark of use, purpose, the patina of age. They told stories to her. Held secrets.
To Randy they were in need of replacement.
“That’s how you and I differed,” she mumbled. As if a love or disdain of antiques had been the ruin of their marriage.
She rummaged for a knife and began washing and chopping vegetables. Anyway, it seemed unfair to point out petty differences to a dead man. They’d had things in common, too. Hadn’t they both liked the house just so?
Then she paused, the bright red pepper glossy under the cold water, remembering Randy’s crushing words as if he’d said them yesterday.
“...you’ve let the house go, Kate. Hell, you’ve let yourself go. Who would have thought becoming a mother would make you less of a woman?”
Liam had been two months old then. He’d just begun to smile.
Kate stared at the red pepper in her hand, her fingers numb in the running water.
She pulled the seeds out in one hard yank and began to chop.
She’d been mistaken about Randy. While she embraced the natural order of things, Randy had striven to impose his own order on his surroundings. It took six months of therapy to learn that when he couldn’t control his own weakness, he’d tried to control everything else.
Including her.
As if she’d been a thing to boss around.
Kate hurriedly tossed salad into bowls as she heard the sound of a man’s footsteps on the front porch.
“I was never a thing,” she murmured as she adjusted one of the placemats she’d found in a drawer, “I was your wife. And I was always,” she put a hand over the fluttery hunger pangs in her stomach and turned toward the deep voice in the front hall, “a woman.”
KATE STOOD JUST OUT OF SIGHT as she heard Jim thank Liam.
A moment later, the screen door banged shut and Liam ran through the house yelling, “Dinner!”
Jim rounded the corner to the kitchen and held up the pizza boxes. “I’m back.”
Kate made a pretense of wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Not that they were wet or anything. But she felt the need to think, and cleaning always helped her think. “That was fast.” Long enough to make a tossed salad, change into fresh clothes, put in her favorite pink cubic zirconia studs, and mop her face with a cool washcloth but not long enough to shower. Or brush teeth. Don’t ask her how she knew.
“It’s not far.” He tilted his chin toward the boxes in his hands. “Hope you don’t mind, but I got one cheese and one everything.”
“Anything’s fine,” she said. She bit her lip and attempted to relax. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Iced tea?”
“Iced tea would be great.”
She poured two glasses, acutely aware of Jim moving around as he set the pizza boxes on the short peninsula between the kitchen and dining area. She turned and handed him his tea. “So, would you like some pizza to go with this or were you just delivering?”
His lips tilted with humor. “Hmm. By pizza, I’m assuming you mean…”
“Pizza.” She said, the breath light in her chest.
She swallowed, the words ‘hooking up’ floating across her consciousness, and for the first time ever she understood the power of the phrase. Its impact was more than a moment’s shock value. Once spoken, the words couldn’t be taken back. They were out there. Hovering between them. Coloring the most innocuous comments with sexual awareness.
Or maybe that was just her.
Jim sipped from his glass.
She sipped from hers.
A moment later Liam slammed into her legs with the full force of a three year-old. “Momma! Let’s eat!”
“Okay. Okay. Go sit down.” Iced tea splashed onto her arm and the floor, effectively putting an end to further flirtatious banter as Liam darted away again. It was just as well. She felt like the dorky kid at the school dance who’d just sloshed punch down her sleeve. Who knows what sort of things she’d be tempted to blurt out to the hunky guy standing way too near?
Besides, he was out of her league, totally gorgeous and so not what she needed to focus on right now.
Kate blotted up the spill on the floor and carried the salad and silverware to the table. She carefully set one knife, one fork and a folded napkin at each place setting. “Do we need spoons?”
“Spoons? It’s pizza. I usually eat it right out of the box.”
“What? Oh.” Heat warmed her cheeks. “I guess I’m not feeling prepared to entertain yet.”
“You’re in luck. Pizza is the perfect dinner for the unprepared. It even comes on a convenient, disposable serving platter.” He slid two slices of everything pizza onto a plate.
Kate cut a small slice of plain pizza for Liam. “Sorry. It’s just that Randy—my husband—always insisted things be... just so.”
“Even for pizza?”
“You have no idea.”
Jim walked past her toward one of the mismatched barstools but then stopped. “Oh, almost forgot. Found this at the pizza place. Thought it might help you orient yourself in town.” He pulled a rumpled map out of his back pocket and smoothed it on his thigh before handing it over. “It doesn’t show everything, but it’s got most of the local highlights including the new ice cream place. You should check it out. You won’t regret it.”
“Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”
“And there goes my reputation.” He grinned, a flash of dimples causing Kate’s breath to catch.
She took the map. It was still warm from being in his pocket. A part of her wondered if it was wrong to notice that, to admire his dimples, to keep thinking about the phrase ‘hooking up’ or to feel strangely hopeful when he was near.
He’s not interested, she reminded herself. He’s just being friendly.
She set the map aside, put a slice of pizza onto a plat
e, and sat down. She busied herself picking carrots out of her salad for Liam who was idly rocking in the ugly gold rocker, his pizza sliding back and forth alarmingly.
“Oh, by the way, I should warn you the shower knob leaks a little.” Jim took a bite of pizza. Kate watched his throat as he swallowed. She tried to think practical, hope-squelching thoughts. “I’ve got a new knob and head on order, but it’s okay to use in the meantime. Should be able to switch them out in a couple days.” He served up some salad. “So how long are you here for? Grams didn’t say.”
“Me? A couple months.”
He gave a low whistle. “That’s quite a vacation. What do you do you can take that much time off?”
“I’m a Headmaster’s assistant at a small, private school.”
“Must be nice to have your summers free. When do you start again? September?”
“End of August, actually. If I go back, I’d need to help prepare for the new term.”
His eyes widened ever so slightly. “If?”
“It may not be practical to go back.”
She concentrated on wiping a smear of pizza sauce off Liam’s cheek then leapt to her feet. “Sorry. I forgot the salad dressing. Do you like Ranch or Italian?”
“Italian would be great.”
“I’ll be right back.” Kate scurried to the kitchen, ineffectually tucking her hair behind her ear again—she so needed to get it cut!—before finding the dressing and setting it in front of Jim. She frowned at her son. “Liam, how many pieces does that make?”
“Two,” Jim offered.
“Eat some carrots, young man.”
“’kay.”
“Speaking of eating,” Jim said as he dug into his salad, “if you don’t sit down, we’ll be half-done before you even touch your food.”
She perched on the edge of her barstool and stared at the slice of pizza on her plate. “It’s all right. My appetite has been kind of sketchy lately.”
“Stress?”
“You could say that.”
“A nice cold beer usually cures that for me.” He looked at her, his fork hovering over his food. “Did I say something wrong?”
“I don’t drink.”
“I see.”
“I mean—”