Moonlight Over Seattle

by Callie Endicott

  “That would be nice, but I’m busy, too.”

  Great. He was supposedly a carefree bachelor with an active social life, yet he was the one without any plans that evening.

  “In that case,” he said, “have a good time.”

  “Thank you.” Her expression seemed strained, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t admit anything was wrong.

  He watched her drive away before starting his car. Nothing about the day had been good. He felt like going home, putting on a hockey game and opening a bottle of beer. And why shouldn’t he? Well, maybe not the beer since he avoided drinking alone, but the game might be a way to finish the day on a more neutral note.

  It would be nice to watch something for which he had no responsibility. A small break would be even better than having a beer. And perhaps he could briefly forget the way he kept thinking about Nicole. At the oddest times he found himself remembering things she’d said, her smile, her intelligence and gentle humor. He didn’t feel the way he was supposed to feel about the subject of an article. That might explain his complete incompetence in dealing with her.

  Chapter Twelve

  NICOLE HAD DECIDED to join a planned video conference with her partners from home, rather than going back to the agency.

  When the conference ended, Nicole sat back in her easy chair. At some point she’d have to create a home office, but right now she kept the computer in the den. It was the only furnished room in the house aside from her bedroom.

  Toby scrambled up onto her lap and she sat petting him, thinking over what had happened that day.

  She’d probably been reckless. After all, she had invited Jordan to say what she already knew, that he didn’t trust her. So why be offended or hurt when he obliged? It was illogical, especially when he clearly questioned everything and everyone.

  Most of her anger had passed by the time she’d come out to the parking lot on the way to the career fair. Noticing Jordan’s car, she had walked over, intending to mend fences by inviting him to drive with her, since he’d obviously stuck around for that reason. But he’d been deeply asleep.

  Unlike some folks who looked slack-jawed while napping upright, Jordan had simply appeared relaxed—in some ways the happiest she’d ever seen him. It had to be her imagination. She’d hate to think any person was at their happiest while unconscious.

  Deciding not to awaken him, Nicole had left a note as a way of ribbing him over their earlier clash. So far, she hadn’t seen many signs he had a sense of humor, but she didn’t think it was totally absent. And if he was tired enough to fall asleep in his car, that could account for some of his stiff-necked attitude.

  Her phone rang. “Hello?”

  Jordan’s deep voice came over the line. “Nicole, I’m glad I caught you. I apologize for missing this afternoon’s event.”

  “It was mostly teenage girls hoping for their big break. You probably would have been bored.”

  “Yeah, well, I also called because I wasn’t at my best earlier and I’m sorry.”

  “That’s water under the bridge,” she said lightly.

  “Can we discuss it?”

  “Is there any point? Jordan, you don’t seem to like or believe in anyone or anything. Trying to convince you that I’m an exception is a waste of energy. Besides, I’m not an exception. I’ve traveled all over the world and worked with good and bad and found that most people tend to be decent. I’m sure that doesn’t suit your skeptical outlook.” Nicole intentionally didn’t use the word cynical since he’d objected to the description.

  Silence.

  “There’s nothing wrong with skepticism,” he finally said. “It keeps you from being disappointed.”

  “When it’s your ironclad fallback position, it also keeps you from getting close to anybody because you’re always looking for their faults instead of being with them. I’m guessing that also has something to do with why you decided to stay single.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Toby had been looking up at her and seemed distressed at the tone in her voice. He snuggled closer and sighed as she rubbed his neck.

  “Perhaps,” she acknowledged, “and for your sake I hope I’m wrong because nobody is perfect and control is an illusion. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? After the articles are written, you’ll go your way and I’ll go mine. We won’t see each other again unless we happen to pass each other on the running trail or you come to visit Chelsea.”

  Another silence, longer this time, before he answered. “Right. I’ll get off now so you can get ready for your date.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t think that Chelsea was speaking out of turn. I asked her if you were returning to the agency and she explained you had other plans.”

  Nicole’s eyebrows rose. Jordan assumed that “plans” meant a date? Perhaps that was best.

  “Fine. Have a nice evening, Jordan,” she said.

  “Thanks. I’ll call or come by in the morning to arrange another time for us to get together.”

  “Okay. Good night.”

  “’Night.”

  Nicole smiled wryly as she hit the off button on her phone handset. For a moment she stepped into the downstairs powder room and looked in the mirror; her hair was mussed and her lip gloss had worn off hours earlier. Hardly the image of a supermodel. One thing was certain: she was even more convinced that Jordan was the last man to develop romantic ideas about. He would want the fantasy, the perfection that only existed in a photograph. Someone who was flawless in every way.

  Maybe he knew it wasn’t possible for any woman to be like that, or any relationship to be without its difficulties. So he’d decided to go it alone, to be content with being single and able to do as he liked.

  She wrinkled her nose at her reflection, then went to fetch Toby’s leash.

  Now that the Skype conference was done, her plans for the evening were simple—take Toby for a walk, eat leftovers from the fridge, read more of her book, go to bed early...

  And try not to think about Jordan Masters.

  * * *

  BARTON WALKED ACROSS the driveway and waved at Nicole as she came down her front walk. Toby yipped and tugged the leash in Barton’s direction.

  “Hello, pal.” He crouched to greet the friendly animal. “You’d never guess that someone abandoned the little guy,” he said, standing upright again.

  “Toby was young when it happened, so I keep hoping he doesn’t remember what it meant to be set adrift. But he gets anxious sometimes about being left behind.”

  “Hard to believe anyone could be that uncaring.”

  “Yeah, but all you have to do is spend a few minutes online and you see one story after another about abandoned animals. I know the system tracks what you’ve looked at and feeds you similar stories, but it’s depressing to see how many animals are neglected or abandoned.”

  “You sound like an activist.”

  “No, though it’s something to think about. One of my partners at Moonlight Ventures is involved in environmental causes and wildlife conservation. And I’ve been looking for a hobby.”

  Nicole had an odd twist to her lips, but Barton decided it might be intrusive to ask why.

  “Have a good time on your walk,” he urged instead.

  “Thanks. See you,” she said with another odd smile. He wondered if she was upset about something. If so, it was a shame. Nicole George had turned out to be a nice person.

  Turning, he trotted up the stairs to Chelsea’s apartment. She was fixing him dinner as a thank-you for taking her to the Mariners game. It wasn’t necessary, but he would enjoy spending more time with her. Since he’d initiated contact the last two times, he hoped the invitation was more than mere courtesy.

  “Hi, Barton!” She greeted him in a friendly way, though she was pale and looked nervous.

 
“Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, of course.” Her answer came too quickly to be reassuring. “Would you like something to drink? Since I’m just living here temporarily, there isn’t much on hand, but I’ve got soda water and regular soda. Also there’s a bottle of wine and some juice.”

  “A soda sounds good.”

  “Help yourself. It’s in the fridge.”

  She was setting a small table, so he went into the kitchen and got a cola from the refrigerator. After doing so much work on his house, he couldn’t help evaluating the apartment. It had plenty of light from the windows and seemed very pleasant.

  He was interested to see a utility cupboard; the door stood open and contained a garbage can, broom and similar items, which was a nice way to keep things out of sight in the limited space.

  Then he saw an express mailing box on a shelf, with bold letters saying: RETURN TO SENDER! The name on the return address was Ron Swanson. The former boyfriend? He wanted to ask about it, since sending the box back unopened was a definite sign that something was wrong, but he wasn’t much more than an acquaintance at this point. And the fact that Chelsea might want to keep it private was highlighted by her hurriedly closing the utility door when she came into the kitchen.

  “This is a well-designed space,” he said as she checked a pan on the stove.

  “I like it.”

  “I’ve thought of expanding over my garage to create a guesthouse. Either that or a genuine master bedroom suite.”

  “Both would be nice.”

  “If you were buying a house, which would you think was most important?”

  “A master suite, maybe. Especially if I had a family. It would be nice to have private space.”

  He chuckled. “Good point. Hey, is there something I can do to help? I’m handy around the kitchen.”

  “Everything is ready. If you don’t mind, let’s serve from the stove. The table is too small for family-style meals.”

  “No problem.” He got a serving of pilaf and vegetables and looked into another pot. “What’s that?”

  “You said you liked chicken, so I made it with lemon and garlic. I... I hope it’s all right.”

  He spooned the fragrant mixture over his pilaf. “It sure smells tasty.” When they were both seated he tasted the chicken first. “Wow, that’s terrific.”

  “I took a chance.”

  “You’re a good cook.”

  “No, I’m not. I mean...it’s nice of you to say that.”

  Whatever had happened, he had a feeling she’d been spooked, or reminded of something unpleasant.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked finally. “You seem edgy, as if something upsetting happened.”

  Chelsea stared at her plate, moving the food around, separating the rice and veggies, then moving it back again. “It’s just something I’d rather forget,” she said at length. “Sorry if I’m bad company.”

  He laid his hand over hers. “I think you’re fine company.”

  The corners of her lips curved upward. Lord, she was pretty. For a man who knew it was best to move slowly, he was experiencing the temptation to make a headlong rush. Caution, he reminded himself. Caution. Besides, Chelsea didn’t need some guy bearing down on her.

  He drew a deep breath. “If you ever just need to talk, remember you’ve got a friend next door.”

  Her beautiful dark eyes rose toward his and she seemed to relax. “Thanks, Barton.”

  Forcing himself to focus on his plate, he continued eating. It was one of the best meals he’d had in a long time.

  * * *

  CHELSEA’S SPIRITS ROSE as she and Barton began discussing cooking. Her lemon chicken recipe had come from a Spanish woman she’d known in college and they debated whether it was Spanish food, or simply a dish someone from Spain happened to make.

  “She could have gotten the recipe from someone in the United States,” Chelsea pointed out.

  “True. Or France, or the Middle East or Canada. Good food comes from all over.”

  He truly seemed to enjoy the chicken, going back for seconds and eating every bite. Ron had been so critical of her culinary skills that she hadn’t known how to respond when Barton had complimented her.

  Should she explain? Or would discussing it fall into the category of “she won’t shut up about her ex?” Some guys hated hearing about a former boyfriend. Barton had offered to listen, but she didn’t think she could face telling him what had happened.

  The truth was, she felt horribly embarrassed about letting Ron manipulate her for so long. Each day that passed made her more aware that she should have walked out on him a long time ago. It wasn’t as if she’d still loved him; that had been over longer than she could remember.

  Then a package had arrived late that afternoon at the agency. The postman, a genial middle-aged man who came by the agency each day, had grinned as he’d made a special stop to give it to her, joking that it must be from an admirer.

  Hardly.

  She didn’t know what was inside and had decided to return it unopened. That would send a clear message to Ron that she wasn’t interested in anything he did or had to say. If they’d been sharing an apartment she might have opened the box, in case it was something of hers. But she had resisted his attempts to move in and hadn’t even given him a key. Luckily her lease was up at the end of next month and Terri was putting everything in storage.

  Chelsea knew she’d have to move the rest of her things up to Seattle once she had her own place. After all, she couldn’t stay in Nicole’s guesthouse forever.

  Yet a different kind of anxiety nibbled at her when she thought of finding a new apartment. She liked living next door to Barton.

  * * *

  JORDAN FOUND HE couldn’t concentrate on the hockey game. He couldn’t even sit back and simply let it be a background to the evening. Instead he kept wondering where Nicole was having dinner and whether she’d invite her date back to spend the night at her house.

  It was as if he’d regressed to being a jealous teenager.

  And who wouldn’t be jealous? What red-blooded man wouldn’t appreciate the thought of spending the night with Nicole George?

  Grunting, Jordan switched off the TV and lunged to his feet. There was no way he was going to reason his way out of the mental quagmire. So either he needed to take a cold shower, or to run until he was too exhausted to allow his imagination take over.

  Thirty minutes later he found himself turning up Nicole’s street, having driven toward the running trail near her house without thinking.

  What was it that someone had said? There aren’t any accidents?

  That was almost a comforting thought, to think there was a plan or purpose in everything. Maybe he should kick it around in a column. It wasn’t a place to wax philosophical too often, but his readers liked being surprised.

  He ran for an hour, finally slowing and heading by the baseball field so he could get a drink at the water fountain. Besides, it could be fun to stop and watch the kids at their game for a while.

  His hair was dripping and his T-shirt stuck to his skin. The endorphins coursed through his veins and he felt much better than when he’d started...until he saw Nicole crouching in front of the backstop in the place where an umpire was usually situated.

  She wore a protective mask so he couldn’t actually see her face. But gold hair rippled in a light breeze, and those long, shapely legs couldn’t belong to anyone else.

  Swallowing, he moved closer, hoping he was wrong. But there was Toby sitting in the dugout as if waiting his turn in the batting lineup, his tail wagging as he watched the game.

  “Strike,” the woman called.

  “Aw, Nicole, not really.”

  “Yeah, really, Danny. I calls ’em like I sees ’em.”

  The boy giggled and, even when he finally struck out, di
dn’t seem too upset. Jordan wondered if he was old enough to be wowed by a beautiful woman, or if he just liked her. There were a few men in the bleachers and they were clearly enjoying the sight of Nicole’s sexy figure shifting side to side as she sought a good view of the ball. Could one of them be her date for the evening? Or had the guy been crazy enough to stand her up? If so, she seemed to be taking it well.

  Fascinated, Jordan kept enough distance that Nicole was unlikely to notice him, but close enough to see and hear what was happening.

  “Which one is yours?” a voice inquired.

  He turned and saw a burly man with a military-style haircut standing nearby.

  “I don’t have kids,” Jordan said. “I just stopped to watch the game for a while. My name’s Jordan.”

  “Rick. The girl at second base is my daughter.”

  “I know your umpire,” Jordan said. No doubt the man had a legitimate concern about a strange guy lurking around a group of children, so while Jordan would have preferred complete anonymity, it seemed best to indicate where his interest lay.

  “Nicole?”

  “Right. I didn’t expect to see her here tonight, though. How did that happen?” he asked, wondering whether umpiring a baseball game might be the plans Nicole had made. It would be the last thing he’d expect, but he was getting the feeling his expectations were screwed up when it came to her.

  “The kids wanted someone neutral to call the game,” the man said. “It blew my mind when she accepted, but she’s good and exceptionally nice. You know her long?”

  “Back when we were kids. We recently reconnected.”

  “Brilliant, as my kid—the Harry Potter fan—would say.” A jingle sounded through the air and he pulled out his cell phone. “Hey, hon, everything is fine...no, we got a game going, and you know who’s umpiring it? Nicole George...yeah, the model...no, I’m not ogling her...it may be a while before we get home... Jess is doing great, hit a homer in the second. She’s a chip off the old block...yeah, I’m talking about you, not me.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket and nodded at Jordan. “Have a nice evening.”

  Rick strolled back to talk with the rest of the parents in the bleachers. Several of them glanced at Jordan before focusing on the playing field again. Rick had probably been deputized to make sure the stranger watching their kids was on the level. Smart parents.