by Irene Hannon
Her eyes began to shimmer again. “Trite sentiments help when they’re sincere. Thanks for listening.”
“Thank you for sharing.”
“It felt like the right thing to do.” She played with a button on her sweater. Smoothed a hand down her skirt. “It’s kind of strange. We haven’t known each other long, but I feel a strong connection between us.”
“I do too.” He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. “Charley told me once that while he was growing up in Mexico, his grandmother called immediate connections like this heaven-sent links.”
“You think God had a hand in our meeting?” Her fingers stilled.
“I don’t know—but I do view it as a blessing . . . for however long it lasts.” No sense hiding his head in the sand about this idyllic interlude.
She blinked. “What does that mean?”
“Like I said earlier, we don’t have a lot in common. One of these days, some man from your world will come along and . . .” His voice scraped, and he swallowed. “You have a lot to offer.”
“So do you.”
“Lexie—I’m a convicted felon. I spent five years in prison. I have a GED, not a college degree. I’m a carpenter with very little money in the bank and few tangible assets. I have nothing to offer someone like you.”
“That’s not true! You have great instincts, superb people skills, a steady job, and an extraordinary gift with woodworking. You’re also kind and generous and a wonderful listener. Those are huge assets.”
The conviction in her voice was gratifying . . . but it didn’t change the reality.
“What would people say if we—as you suggested earlier—began dating? A police chief and an ex-con. Not the best combination.”
Her chin firmed. “My mother always told me you should never worry about what other people think as long as you know what you’re doing is right. I’ve lived by that rule my whole life. Have I thought about the challenges that might come up if people see us together? Yes. I’m a realist. But with every day that passes, I’m caring less about possible complications and more about you.” She squeezed his fingers. “I don’t know where this might lead—but I’m willing to test the waters.”
She wanted to go out with him?
In public?
“You mean . . . you actually want to go on a real date?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t been transported to some alternate universe, have I?”
The corners of her mouth rose. “If you have, I’m along for the ride—but I think we should take it slow and easy. I’m rusty at this game.”
“Not as rusty as I am.”
“Maybe we can relearn it together.” Her smile broadened.
His gaze dropped to it—and got stuck there. She had beautiful lips. Generous. Soft-looking. Kissable.
Very kissable.
He leaned closer.
She’d said slow and easy—and this wasn’t even an official first date—but surely it would be acceptable to—
“Mommy?”
He jerked back.
“Mommy . . . I throwed up again.”
At the tear-laced announcement, she shifted around.
Scratch romance for tonight.
Over her shoulder, Matt was framed in the doorway, a tattered blanket trailing from one hand, pajamas reeking with a distinctive, vile smell.
As Lexie rose and crossed to the little boy, he stood too.
“What do you mean, again?” She dropped to one knee in front of her son.
“I throwed up in the bathroom at the party too. Mamaw helped me there. But she’s snoring real loud now, so I went to your room. Then I saw the light in here. My pajamas stink!”
“No kidding. Let’s get you cleaned up and back in the sack.” She took Matt’s hand. “I’m sorry, Adam. This isn’t the best end to our evening. Can you let yourself out?”
“I’d rather stay and help you deal with the mess.”
“This kind of stuff isn’t fun.”
“I’ve dealt with worse. Let’s see what needs to be done.”
After a nanosecond hesitation, she led the way through the kitchen, down the hall, and into a bedroom lined with shelves filled with picture books and toys and stuffed animals.
The stench was stronger in here.
“I need to change the bedding.” As she did a fast assessment, Lexie pulled a new pair of pajamas out of the dresser. “Do you think you could clean Matt up while I do that? The bath is next door, and there are towels on the rack.”
“I can handle that.” Adam held out his hand. “Come on, buddy. We’ll get you into some fresh pjs.”
Lexie was already stripping the bed as they left the room, her practiced efficiency suggesting she’d mastered this drill long ago.
Once in the bathroom, Adam went to work on the stink bomb. Disposing of the clothes helped, and a few scrubs with a washcloth took care of the smell clinging to the youngster’s skin.
As he redressed the boy, Matt gave a sleepy yawn. “I guess I ate too much cake.”
“I guess you did.”
“It tasted real good going down.”
“It always does.”
“Do you like cake?”
“Yep.”
“Did you ever eat too much and get sick?”
“No—but it’s easy to eat too much of something tasty.”
“Could you tell my mom that? She’s gonna be mad at me tomorrow. I wasn’t ’sposed to eat extra cake.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks! Are you staying all night?”
“No.” He took the boy’s hand. Better be crystal clear on that point. “I drove your mom home from the party. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“Oh. Are you gonna be at church tomorrow?”
“That’s the plan. You want me to bring Clyde again?”
“Yeah!”
“I’ll wait for you after the service.”
He retraced their steps down the hall. Lexie was folding back the new bedding when they entered.
“All set, young man. Climb in.” She motioned her son over.
Adam released him and he trotted to the bed, the ratty blanket clutched in one hand.
“Do I need to throw that in the wash?” Lexie tweaked the worn square of cloth.
“No. It escaped the eruption.”
“Good. We have a hard time falling asleep without it.” She gave Matt a boost onto the mattress, tucked him in, and leaned down for a kiss. “You feeling better now?”
“Uh-huh. Mr. Stone is going to bring Clyde to church again tomorrow. I guess it was kinda lucky I threw up, or he might not have thought about doing that, huh?” He gave her a hopeful look.
“Throwing up is never lucky.”
His face fell.
Lexie retreated to the door, and as she reached for the light switch, Adam gave the kid a thumbs-up behind her back. Matt rewarded him with a wide grin.
“Good night, sweetie.” She flipped off the light.
“’Night.”
Putting her fingers to her lips as they exited, Lexie gestured to a room across the dim hall, where the cracked door couldn’t muffle the loud snores.
He remained silent as he followed her to the front door. She pulled it open and stepped outside, closing it again after he crossed the threshold.
“Sorry for the inauspicious end to our evening.” She stifled a yawn. “Sorry for that too.”
“Don’t be sorry—for either. It’s late. And try not to be too hard on Matt about the cake. At his age, those kinds of temptations are hard to resist.”
“He put you up to that plea for mercy, didn’t he?” She folded her arms and arched an eyebrow.
“I don’t know if I should answer that.”
“You don’t have to. I know my son. He tries to enlist allies whenever he’s in trouble. However, in light of the source of this request, I’ll let him off with a stern warning. Besides . . . between you and me, I pulled the same stunt once as a kid.
Being sick was punishment enough—and taught me a lesson without the need for any further penalty from my parents.”
“I think Matt learned his lesson too. So . . . can I call you this week to set up a date for next weekend?”
“I’d like that.”
“No second thoughts?”
“None.” Another yawn snuck up on her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry again! It’s not the company.”
“No offense taken.”
Say good night, Stone. She’s tired, and there’s no reason to linger.
True—yet just walking away after all that had happened tonight didn’t feel right.
The romantic moment on the screened porch was gone, diminishing the temptation to attempt a real kiss . . . but he could do the next best thing.
Without giving himself a chance to weigh the pros and cons, he rested his hands on her shoulders, leaned down, and brushed his lips over her forehead. “Sleep well.”
“You t-too.”
He released her, turned, and forced his legs to carry him to his car.
From behind the wheel, he glanced back. Lexie was still on the porch, bathed in the warm glow of the porch light, holding on to the railing. As if she needed the support.
He could relate. Tonight had sent a shock wave through him too. Opened a door he’d never allowed himself to believe existed. Filled his world with sweet possibilities that only yesterday had been no more than the stuff of dreams.
And as he drove back to the isolated cove he called home, a tiny ember of hope for a future that included more than a loyal, lovable dog for a companion began to glow in a long-dark corner of his heart.
15
“My. You’re up early. I thought you’d sleep in today after all that dancing. What time did you get home, anyway?” Annette paused in the doorway to the kitchen, fussing with the button on the side of her skirt. “I’ve either been indulging in too many cinnamon rolls from Sweet Dreams Bakery or this shrank in the last washing.”
Lexie stirred Matt’s oatmeal, lowered the heat on the burner, and tried to tamp down her jitters. If she ignored the first question, perhaps her mom would forget about it.
“You’ve weighed the same for the past twenty years.”
“I don’t know. This feels snug.” She moved to the cabinet and pulled out a mug. “So . . . when did you get home?”
There was no escaping that topic, it seemed.
“A little before midnight.”
“You must have stayed until the end.” Her mother sounded altogether too pleased.
“The band was great.”
“The company wasn’t too shabby, either. Who knew a hunk was hidden under that scruffy veneer?”
“Mom!”
“What? I can’t notice a handsome man? You did, or you wouldn’t have stayed so late.”
“We had a very enjoyable evening. In fact . . .” Her voice faltered.
Oh, for pity’s sake.
Spit it out, Lexie. Matt will tell her Adam was here last night if you don’t.
She took a deep breath and tried again. “In fact, after he brought me home, we—”
“Is breakfast ready?” Matt bounded into the room. “I’m hungry.”
“Well. You’re much more chipper today.” Her mom tousled his hair.
“I felt a lot better after I threw up again.”
“Again?”
“Yeah. In the middle of the night.” Matt climbed onto his chair. “But Mom and Mr. Stone cleaned me all up. I’m real sorry about eating all that cake, Mom.” He gave her a contrite look.
“Are you ever going to do it again?” She could feel her mother watching her.
“No. Throwing up is yucky.”
“I hope you remember that.”
“I will. I promise. Can I have some cinnamon toast?”
“We’ll see after you finish your oatmeal.”
“Hold on. Back up a minute.” Her mother propped her hands on her hips. “Stone helped you clean up Matt?”
Of course her mom would home in on that piece of news.
“Yes—but it wasn’t the middle of the night.” Better clarify that pronto. She turned off the stove and spooned the oatmeal into a bowl. “We were both hungry, and I made us omelets after we got back here.”
“You cooked for him?”
At her mother’s reverent tone, she rolled her eyes. “Don’t get carried away. An omelet isn’t a gourmet meal.”
“The menu doesn’t matter. It’s the principle.”
O-kay. Time to drop her second bombshell. It might divert attention from her impromptu late-night meal with Adam—and it was easier to talk about than her feelings for a man whose simple kiss on the forehead had kept her tossing half the night.
“What time are you leaving for services?”
“Nine thirty, like always. Why?”
“I think I’ll join you today.”
Her mother choked on her coffee.
“Are you okay, Mamaw?” Matt half rose from his chair.
“Fine.” The assurance was more wheeze than word, but at least there weren’t any life-threatening issues with her windpipe.
“Are you really going to church with us, Mom?” Matt sank back into his seat and swirled his spoon through the oatmeal she set in front of him.
“Yes. I didn’t schedule myself at work today. I thought I might be tired after the wedding, but I woke up early. Do you want milk or orange juice?”
“Juice.”
“Lexie.”
Bracing, she retrieved the juice from the fridge and swiveled toward her mother, trying for a don’t-mess-with-me expression. “Yes?”
After an assessing sweep, her mother stuck a bagel in the toaster oven. “I’m glad you’re joining us.”
Mission accomplished. Her mom had concluded it was better to be glad her wayward daughter was returning to the fold than ask questions that might drive her away again.
“Mr. Stone said he’d bring Clyde today.” Matt began shoveling in his oatmeal.
“Speaking of Stone . . . what did the two of you talk about while you ate?” The casual, conversational tone didn’t jibe with the avid interest in her mom’s eyes.
“Lots of things. Unfortunately, our meal was cut short by my puking son.”
“Oh. Right.” Her mother grimaced. “I suppose that would put a damper on . . . conversation. You can always get together again and pick up where you left off.”
“Maybe.”
More like definitely . . . and in the not-too-distant future.
That, however, was a bombshell for another day.
But before she dropped it, she needed to figure out a way to downplay their date so her mom wouldn’t jump to all sorts of fanciful, romantic conclusions.
Because foolish though it might be, she was already doing that—and one starry-eyed conclusion-jumper in the family was more than enough.
Adam swung onto Dockside Drive and checked on his passenger.
Brian was staring straight ahead, silent as a clam—same as he’d been for the entire eight-minute drive.
No surprise, given his round-eyed double take once he’d gotten an eyeful of his mentor.
The kid was thrown by the new look. Perhaps even feeling blindsided. Yesterday, he’d started to open up to one Adam Stone, and today a different one had picked him up.
They were going to be back to square one unless he did some fast damage control.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I changed my image.” He pulled into a parking spot near Sweet Dreams, shut off the engine, and faced the kid. No sense beating around the bush. “For the record, inside I’m the same guy I was yesterday.”
Darting him a quick peek, Brian fiddled with his seat belt. “Then why did you get rid of the hair and bandana and . . . stuff?”
“The look I used to have belonged to someone who doesn’t exist anymore. The town thinks I’m a biker dude—despite the fact that I don’t have a motorcycle. That’s not me anymore, but I never bothered to
change the image. Now the outside matches the inside.”
“So what’s your new image supposed to be?”
Excellent question—and one he needed to answer for himself as well.
“I want to be seen as a responsible, law-abiding citizen.” He spoke slowly, carefully composing his reply. “Someone whose appearance doesn’t send people running the other way. I want everyone in Hope Harbor to think of me as an ordinary, hard-working guy who does his best and is willing to lend a hand when it’s needed. I want to be someone others would like to have for a friend.”
A few beats ticked by while Brian mulled that over. “I guess that makes sense.” He shrugged, and faint pink spots appeared on his cheeks. “I thought you might be trying to impress a girl or something.”
That too.
But the whole concept of dating Lexie was too new . . . and too tenuous . . . to discuss with his fifteen-year-old protégé.
“I’d like to impress everyone in town—so they want to get to know me better. My life’s been pretty lonely for a long time.”
“Yeah.” The boy’s shoulders slumped. “I know how that feels.”
Right. Lexie had said the friend issue was a big deal for Brian. It had come up during her first visit with the mother and son. Being dropped into a new school midyear was tough, and it was easy to see how a lonely teen, desperate to fit in, might hook up with the wrong kid if there was a chance it would give him entrée to a group of friends.
“You know, school isn’t the only place to find friends. We have a teen group at church that has activities every week.”
“What kind of activities?” Brian didn’t attempt to hide his skepticism.
He tried to recall some of the events that had been mentioned in the bulletin. “Pizza nights, road trip to a Ducks game, crabbing, camping, some charitable community outreach—that’s all I can remember off the top of my head.”
“Some of those sound okay.”
“I’d be happy to find out more about the group for you, if you’re interested. Did you talk to your mom about coming to services some week?”
“Yeah. She said we’ve been away too long, and that God might be mad at her for not standing up to Dad instead of caving after he told us to stay home on Sunday.”
“God doesn’t work that way.”
“Maybe you could tell her that. She might listen to you.”