A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET

by Lewis, Laurie

  Gabriel Carson watched her fumble with her hands and nodded his understanding. As he surveyed the furnishings, Avery became wistful. She took a deep breath and slowed her rambling speech. “I wanted this place to feel like home when we visited, so I chose cozy furniture—overstuffed sofas with plump pillows. I never realized how ratty the coffee table has become.” She chuckled. “I just loved it because it was scarred by the happy feet of people I loved.”

  Mr. Carson’s face tensed. “No need to apologize, Mrs. Thompson. I raised children as well.”

  Avery released a relieved sigh, and her hands swung forward nervously. “Great. Let me give you a tour of the place.” She chuckled, realizing that the “tour” would require only a few dozen steps. Nevertheless, she headed down the hall, opening doors as she went. “It’s a four-bedroom, three-bath condo.” She opened a door on the left that revealed a green room with two double beds. “We bunked the two boys together in here, and our daughter slept across the hall.” Avery opened a door to reveal a pale blue room with coral-colored vertical stripes. “The boys shared a full bath, and our daughter used the main bath near the living room. I always felt it was safer having her bathroom be the one company used rather than the one the boys shared.” She laughed again, aware that she was still rambling.

  “No, no. I understand completely. The smell of bubble bath and perfume is far preferable to the smell of boys.”

  Avery smiled appreciatively and breathed. “We used the fourth bedroom as an office. My husband occasionally had clients come by. I’m leaving the computer here, if it can be of any help to you.” She knew she was rambling again. “It’s old, but it still works.”

  “Thank you. That’s very considerate, but I have a laptop with me.”

  Avery nodded and smiled politely, then headed down the hall to the master bedroom.

  “I assume this is the master bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t need to show it to me. I would be quite comfortable in one of the double beds in the boys’ room.”

  “But this room has double the closet space and a jetted tub.”

  Gabriel Carson raised his hand and smiled. “I’m sure it’s very lovely. It’s just that, if we reach an agreement, I would ask that my room back in Florida be unoccupied as well. It’s my primary residence you see—has been for nearly twenty years. I didn’t want to box up all my things and then move them all back in just for a six- or nine-month absence. There are four other available bedrooms and a loft in my house, on the third floor. I used it as my office for years and fitted it out nicely with a full bath, a mini-fridge, and a daybed that opens into a full-size bed. On top of that there’s a sleeper sofa in the family room and two loungers that open into singles. The place is 6,400 square feet. Plenty of room to toss some air mattresses down if company comes. As for me, the boys’ room will give me plenty of space. Everything I’m bringing along was on the plane. One dresser and a few feet of closet space will comfortably handle it. Can you accept those terms?”

  Avery was still thinking about the loft. It’s a loft with two French doors that open onto a widow’s walk. Yes, I’ve seen you standing there. I’ve seen you there when I was walking arm in arm with Paul, with my children running along beside me in the tide. I was sad for you. And now . . .

  She forced herself back to the present. She understood the stipulations regarding the master bedrooms. She only wished she had known sooner; it would have made her day far more pleasant. “Fine. Actually, I feel the same way.”

  “Good.” He blew out an exaggerated rush of air. “I worried that you’d think I was nutty or something.”

  Avery chuckled. “No. Your place is worth a fortune compared to my little condo. Whatever terms you set will be fine by me.”

  “My home is very dear to me. I can see that yours is to you as well. That tells me you’ll care for mine, and that’s my primary concern. But I would like to see your sailboat.”

  Avery felt a momentary thrill rush through her. The deal was as good as made, and she would have her healing place in Florida, though the very fact that she needed a healing place still took her breath away. “Do you want to see the view from the veranda. There’s a grill and wrought-iron table and chair set. You might want to check them out.”

  “I’m sure both are fine.”

  Avery was a bit surprised but went on, “Okay, then I’ll take you down to see the boat. Our slip is on the first pier—number fourteen. The boat’s been in dry dock for two summers, but we held on to the slip. They’re hard to come by once you let them go. Chuck is the boatman. He’ll put her in the water for you when you’re ready.”

  “Very good,” Gabriel said, sounding a bit bored. “I just have one other request. It may sound silly, but it’s essential to me if we reach an agreement.”

  Avery tilted her head. “What is it?”

  “My daughters may come by the house while you’re there, to pick up a forgotten item or to say hello. I won’t encourage it, of course, but my leaving and renting the house out has been, well, quite difficult for them. They won’t cause you any problems, but I’d appreciate it if you made sure not to discuss any of the details of our arrangement.” He swallowed and shifted positions. “As I said, I know it sounds silly, but for personal reasons, I must insist.”

  “Absolutely.” Avery knew her worried eyes betrayed her agreeable smile and pleasant reply. She wondered what new whirlwind she was about to be swept into, and what troubles this man was running from. She didn’t want the former euphoria of their agreement to be completely diluted, but as she reached for her jacket and headed for the door she was reminded of her own complicated situation. She stopped to close one of the two open boxes filled with soon-to-be discarded reminders of her past, then stalled before finally deciding to pick it up. She noticed Mr. Carson staring at her, his discomfort apparent. She then hefted one of the boxes into her arms and faced the man. “I’m killing two birds with one stone,” she explained as she headed out the door.

  “Do you want this other box carried down as well?” he asked, pointing to the box filled with the collection of books.

  Avery nodded, smiling weakly to hide the melancholy the chore brought back. Mr. Carson lifted the other box and followed her to the elevator. An awkward silence accompanied them on the ride down the six floors. When they reached the lobby, Avery strode to a corner and dropped her box, signaling for Gabriel Carson to follow suit.

  “Don’t you want these carried to your car?”

  “No,” she replied with a shake of her head. “Here is fine.”

  Looking puzzled, he did as he was told. They headed outdoors to the nearby dry dock area, where a handsome, tanned man in his mid-twenties stood. His long, brown hair was secured with a bandana tied in the back, and “Chuck” was embroidered on his overalls.

  “Mrs. T!” he called out as he jogged over and hugged Avery. “It’s great to see you!”

  “It’s great to see you too, Chuck,” Avery said as she wrapped her arms around him.

  “I was so sorry to hear about Mr. Thompson’s passing. He was one of the good ones. I always liked shooting the breeze with him. Such a really cool guy.”

  “Thank you.” Avery quickly shifted gears. “Chuck”—she pointed to Gabriel—“this is Mr. . . .” Her mind suddenly went blank.

  “Carson. Gabriel Carson,” he filled in, extending his hand and smiling.

  Avery shrunk in embarrassment and continued in a meek tone. “He may be subletting my condo for the next few months. He’d like to see our sailboat. Could you please show it to him? And would you mind showing him the slip and working out the arrangements to get the boat launched? I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Anything for you, Mrs. T. So, you’re not going to be staying around for the summer?”

  Avery shook her head and smiled, but there was no cheer in it.

  “I understand. I finally finished my boat. She’s a dream. I wish Mr. T could have had a sail in her.”

 
“He would have liked that, Chuck. He really would have.” Avery’s voice broke as she touched Chuck’s arm affectionately.

  She turned to face Gabriel Carson again, barely meeting his eyes. “I’ve got a personal matter I need to attend to. It’ll only take a few minutes. Why don’t you and Chuck talk about the boat, and I’ll meet you back in the lobby. If everything’s agreeable we can sign papers or exchange keys or whatever, okay?” Her voice was flat as she caught his nod and moved away.

  So she’s a recent widow, Gabriel thought. As he watched Avery walk away, his first instinct was to reach out to the woman, to offer her a willing ear and be chivalrous in her hour of need. But his survival instincts pushed those desires away. He was a man mired deeply enough in his own troubles. Surely she has friends, real friends, or family to turn to.

  “Mr. Carson, was it?” Chuck posed to the preoccupied man standing in front of him. “The Thompsons’ sailboat is right over here.” He pointed to a canvas-wrapped vessel with a small portion of its white stern visible. Blue letters spelled the vessel’s name—TIME OUT.

  Chuck followed the man’s gaze and broke in. “Good name, right? Paul—Mr. Thompson—picked it out. When he came down alone he’d always pretend he was in the doghouse and had been sent for a time out, but usually he came down with someone in his family, and then he’d say they were going to enjoy some time out. Either way, he loved that boat. It broke my heart that he wasn’t able to use it those last few seasons.”

  Gabriel winced as the all-too-familiar image of a loving and beloved parent and spouse, stricken with some infirmity, came to his mind. He pushed the image away. “Tell me about the boat.”

  Chuck seemed startled by the man’s abruptness. “Do you know anything about boats?”

  “I know a thing or two.”

  Chuck dipped his head slightly and looked dubiously at Carson. “She’s a twenty-foot Ultimate 27, with a sail that’s just a little under five hundred square feet. Her keel will retract to three feet four inches for shallow water. One man can handle her, but she’ll hold five.”

  When the man finished speaking, Gabriel pressed his chin between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and nodded. “When can you have her in the water?”

  Chuck shifted his position and challenged the man. “The TIME OUT is special to me. She was Mr. T’s baby, mister. Maybe you should take a refresher course before taking her out.”

  The last thing Gabriel wanted was to be tutored on sailing by a Gen-X surfer. “I’m from Florida. I’ve been around boats all my life. I assure you, I’m fully capable.”

  Chuck stepped back and spread his arms in mock concession. “Well, fine then. But the best I can do is a couple of days. Several other clients are ahead of you.”

  “That’ll be fine.” He offered his hand to Chuck, and the young boatman shook it limply and then moved away. Gabriel didn’t care if Chuck liked him or not. He wasn’t happy about being here either, and with any luck he’d never be back again. They’d all simply deal with one another as little as possible and get on with it.

  When Gabriel returned to the lobby of the building, Mrs. Thompson was nowhere in sight. One box was missing but one still remained. He told himself it had been only a few minutes since they parted, but he strolled outside anyway to look for her, anxious to settle the details and be done with the arrangements. He scanned the parking garage with no luck, but on the way back he saw the woman huddled on the asphalt by a large, green recycling bin, rubbing her shin and crying.

  This time he overruled the selfish inner voice that told him not to get involved and hurried to where she was crumpled. Avery heard his approach and lifted her head. As she saw him, she seemed to shrink farther inside herself and sob that much louder.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She raised a hand to symbolically push him away as she leaned across the crushed cardboard box she had carried there.

  “What happened?” he asked as he knelt beside her, touching the tear in the leg of her pants and then glancing at his hand. “You’re bleeding.”

  Avery Thompson drew her hand across her eyes, smearing her mascara. “I haven’t always been this way,” she said with flailing hands as she struggled to a stand and wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. “I’m a successful professional woman, an author, well respected in my genre. The truth is, Mr. Carson, my husband died recently, just a few months ago, and I’m still a little shaken by it all, you know?”

  Gabriel admired her emerging pluck, and from the look on her face, her show of fortitude had surprised her as well. “I do understand, Mrs. Thompson. What can I do to help?”

  Avery bit her lip and sniffed loudly before grabbing hold of the bin for support to stand. “I was trying to toss this box in, but I was too short to lift the lid. I climbed on top of the box to reach the lid, and it collapsed under me. I must have scraped my leg against the metal bar.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve had a tetanus shot?” He pointed to the protruding bar the garbage trucks hooked on to for dumping. “That’s a pretty dirty piece of metal.”

  Avery tensed, looking thoughtful. “I’m current.” She slumped against the dumpster, and the pitiful voice returned again. “This shouldn’t have happened, you know.”

  “It could have happened to anyone.”

  “No.” She groaned the word more than spoke it. Her body shuddered for a moment and then her heartbroken eyes met Gabriel’s. “I don’t just mean the fall. I mean all of it. I’m not supposed to be here in the first place. Taking out the garbage was always his job, but even if it weren’t, I am certainly not supposed to be here, anguishing over the chore of tossing the memories out of my condo, because my husband is not supposed to be dead. Do you understand?”

  Gabriel offered her a hand to raise her from her resting place against the dumpster. “Yes, I do. Better than you could know.” He stared into her eyes, trying to summon the brave portion of her to the forefront again. “I know what it’s like to have to decide what to do with the clothes they didn’t like in the first place or bottles of cologne that make you cry when you smell them and cry when their scent fades from the house. And then there are the trivial dilemmas like deciding what to do with the tins of buttons they collected off every article of clothing before it was tossed out, and what to do with the cards you sent them.” His eyes seemed weary and older somehow. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Thompson, I most certainly know.”

  Gabriel offered the woman a steady arm and urged her forward, supporting her as she hobbled into the lobby. Soon two more heroes rushed through the door and to her aid.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. T?” Chuck exclaimed, dragging a chair to her position and hovering nearby.

  “I’ve got her. I’ve got her!” said Gabriel as he boxed Chuck out and gently lowered Avery into the seat. “She scraped her leg on the dumpster. She needs to get it cleaned and bandaged.”

  As if by magic, a first-aid kit was delivered by a short, fiftyish, African-American man with Robert Mason, aka “Super-man” embroidered on the front of his overalls. Gabriel scowled at the apparent lunatic until Avery’s and Chuck’s welcome reception assured him that this pseudo-hero was indeed a friend. Gabriel took a step back and marveled at the odd assembly—the surfer dude and Super-man tending to their friend, the brokenhearted, widowed author, making small talk that calmed her and even brought an occasional smile to her mascara-and tear-streaked face. Feeling somewhat like an outsider again, Gabriel caught Chuck grinning at him, thumbs-up, in apparent approval over his chivalry, and he was drawn back into the sweet, albeit curious group.

  “Don’t you worry, Mr. Carson. I’ll get the TIME OUT in the water for you right away,” Chuck promised as he patted Gabriel’s shoulder on his way out of the building.

  “Nice to meet you,” Super-man said. “Can you take it from here? I’ve got a plumbing problem on three—a real crisis. A woman was in the middle of a home hair-dye when her hot water gave out. She needs to rinse soon or she’ll look like Elvira!”

&nbs
p; “Sure, sure,” Gabriel replied with a chuckle. “Nice to meet you too.”

  “You’ve got to love Chuck and Clark.” A more composed Avery Thompson smiled. “They’re a riot, but they’re as loyal as labs and excellent at what they do.”

  “Chuck and Clark? The name Robert Mason is printed on his overalls.”

  “It’s for Clark Kent. You know, Superman? Someone around here started that, years before we moved in. The kids got a real kick out of it. His real name is Robert Mason, but I he’d be slow to answer to that after all these years.”

  Gabriel raised his eyebrows in wonder. “There surely are some colorful characters around here, Mrs. Thompson, and it’s clear they love you.”

  Avery cocked her head. “Yes, they’re my heroes, but colorful characters? Hmm. You know, after all these years I’ve just taken them for granted.” It sounded like an apology. “And please call me Avery. If we’re going to be traipsing through one another’s homes we ought to be on a first-name basis, don’t you agree? We are still swapping, aren’t we? I hope my hysteria hasn’t made you change your mind.”

  Gabriel’s eyes closed as he smiled thoughtfully. “No, not at all. But before I help you upstairs let me tend to this other box.” He looked at the stacks of hardback novels and then back at Avery. “Surely you don’t intend to get rid of these.”

  Avery bit her lip again. “I did.”

  He lifted a few books from the box. “But they’re all by the same author. It looks like an entire collection.”

  “It is,” Avery confessed. “All eight books.”

  “Axel Hunter,” Gabriel read. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “I’m not surprised. The publisher was local, and the books had a limited following.”

  Gabriel leafed through one of the novels. “What’s the genre?”

  “That was the problem. The author could never stick to a specific genre and had a hard time nailing down an audience. Critics declared the third book, the mystery, more strange than baffling. They lampooned the other books, calling them too spiritual to qualify as nonfiction. And my favorite review? They ramble on like the journals of a damned soul.”