Family in Progress

by Brenda Harlen

  She smiled. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “We’ll pick you up at six.”

  Steven did want his children to meet Samara and he was hopeful that, given an opportunity to know her, they would like her as much as he was starting to. He just didn’t know how to introduce a new woman into their lives, even if she was only a friend.

  A friend whose kiss continued to haunt his dreams.

  A friend who made him want to share a lot more than kisses.

  A friend who tempted him to open up his heart again.

  He tried to get the kids to do their homework at the beginning of the weekend in order to avoid the Sunday-night last-minute panic. They were at the breakfast bar working when he finally said, “I’ve invited someone to come out with us tonight.”

  Caitlin looked up from her algebra. “Who?” she demanded.

  “Samara,” Steven said, as if he’d mentioned her name a thousand times before.

  His daughter scowled. “Sounds like a girl’s name.”

  “She’s a friend of mine from work,” he said. “She’s also a friend of your Aunt Jenny’s.”

  “It’s still my night to pick the movie, though, isn’t it, Dad?” Tyler asked, unconcerned about any other details.

  He ruffled his son’s hair. “Yes, you still get to pick the movie.”

  “Cool,” he said, and turned his attention back to his book report.

  Steven’s gaze moved to his daughter, who was staring mutinously at the math text on the table, though he suspected her suddenly dark mood had little to do with the contents of the book.

  “What’s wrong, Cait?”

  “What’s wrong is that you think I’m an idiot.” She looked up at him through eyes that seemed a lot older than her twelve years. “Like I’m not supposed to know this is a date.”

  “It’s not a date,” he insisted.

  “Tammi’s mom introduced Mario as a friend,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Six months later, she was pregnant and planning another wedding.”

  “Is Tammi a new friend from school?”

  She glared at him. “Tammi was my best friend until you made us leave North Carolina.”

  He hadn’t really known any of the girls she hung out with before they’d moved, which had probably been a big part of the problem. “Was she the one with the purple hair and the pierced tongue or the one who was expelled for being stoned at school?”

  “She wasn’t stoned,” Caitlin said. Then, in an abrupt change of topic, “So how long have you been seeing her?”

  This time he didn’t manage to hold back the weary sigh. “I’m not ‘seeing her.’”

  “Then why is she coming with us tonight?”

  “Because she’s new in town, she didn’t have any other plans and I mistakenly believed you could be open-minded about this and might even like her.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going.”

  “It’s not open for negotiation.” He headed up to the bedroom to change. He was frustrated with Caitlin’s attitude, annoyed with himself for not having anticipated exactly this kind of confrontation with his daughter, and feeling more than a little guilty because he hadn’t been totally honest with either Samara or Caitlin.

  Despite his assurances to Samara that he didn’t want to get involved, he was undeniably attracted to her. And while he’d told Caitlin the truth when he’d said he wasn’t seeing Samara, he was beginning to accept that he wanted to.

  He sank onto the edge of his mattress and stared at the phone beside the bed. Maybe it wasn’t fair to bring someone new into his kids’ lives when they were just starting to feel settled. Maybe it would be better for all of them if he called Samara and rescinded his invitation.

  He was reaching for the receiver when he heard the echo of his mother’s voice in the back of his head.

  This isn’t about the kids. It’s about you.

  But what did he want?

  He wasn’t in any position to consider answering that question with respect to the long-term. But for now, for tonight, he wanted to spend some time with Samara.

  He dropped the receiver back in the cradle.

  Samara was ready promptly at six o’clock. Steven didn’t arrive until quarter after, and even then, he seemed uncharacteristically harried.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “I wasn’t going anywhere without you,” she said lightly.

  “Well, you might not want to go anywhere with me, either,” he warned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My daughter is in a mood,” he told her. “And Caitlin’s moods are spectacular, so if you want to beg off, I will completely understand.”

  Samara jingled the keys in her hand. “Do you want me to beg off?”

  “No,” he replied without hesitation. “I want you to come with us, but I wanted to be sure you know what you’re getting into.”

  “I’ll consider myself forewarned,” she assured him.

  Still, it was with more than a little apprehension that she followed him to his car.

  Caitlin’s mood was as impressive as he’d promised. She was barely civil and, despite Samara’s best efforts, answered her questions with only monosyllabic responses. So Samara focused her attention on Steven’s son. Tyler was as happy as his sister was angry, with a big smile and natural charm that immediately enchanted her, and they chatted easily throughout the drive.

  They went to Cheezy Pete’s for dinner. It was a combination pizza parlor/video arcade, and the air was rich with the scents of oregano and parmesan and the beeping and chirping of various machines.

  Samara could tell that Steven was frustrated by his daughter’s sullen and taciturn attitude, because as soon as they were seated in the restaurant, he said, “Cait—don’t you want to play video games with your brother?”

  “No.”

  Tyler, who was already digging into his pocket for the change he’d likely pilfered from his piggy bank for just this occasion, looked up and frowned.

  “Why not?” Both father and son asked the question at the same time.

  “I don’t feel like it.”

  Tyler’s face fell.

  Steven sighed.

  “I’ll play with you, bud,” he offered.

  The child didn’t look appeased. “No offense, Dad, but you’re not very good.”

  His father’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I know.”

  “I am,” Samara said, pushing her chair away from the table.

  Tyler’s eyes widened. “You wanna play?”

  “You bet I wanna play,” she told him.

  Tyler’s smile was wide and warm, and when he reached for her hand, she felt as if his fingers had wrapped right around her heart.

  “Half an hour,” Steven called after them as they moved away from the table. “Or I can’t guarantee there will be any pizza left.”

  Samara glanced at her watch. “Half an hour,” she confirmed.

  “What’s your favorite game?” Tyler asked her. “They’ve got Jungle Hunt here. And Robotron, Ninja Kids, Centipede, Space Invaders.”

  “Do they have Demon King?”

  He stared at her, awe and skepticism battling in his expression. “You play Demon King?”

  “I rule Demon King.”

  “How many quarters do you got?”

  She held up four. “All I’m gonna need.”

  They found the Demon King machine and Samara let Tyler start while she tried not to worry about the mutinous glances his sister had been shooting in her direction from the minute she’d slipped into the front seat of the car. Well, she couldn’t say Steven hadn’t warned her, though the depth of the girl’s hostility still surprised her.

  She’d done nothing to warrant such a response, and yet, she thought she understood some of what was behind Caitlin’s attitude. She remembered what it was like, all those preteen hormones and insecurities running rampant through the system. For a twelve-year-old girl still struggling to accept the loss of everyth
ing she’d ever known, she imagined the angst was multiplied a hundredfold.

  Tyler smacked the side of the machine as his character lost a life, drawing her attention back to the moment and her focus to the game he was playing. He was a decent player for a kid, but she was better. And when he finally turned control of the machine over to her, she proved it.

  “How did you get to be so good?”

  “Years of practice.”

  “How old are you?” he asked suspiciously.

  She laughed. “A lot older than you.”

  He fell silent then, watching spellbound as her character dominated the action on the screen.

  “We’re gonna miss out on pizza,” Tyler warned after several more minutes had passed.

  “You can go back to the table,” she said. “I’m going to beat the high score.”

  “I’ve gotta see that.”

  “No, you’ve got to go have your dinner,” Steven said.

  Samara had been unaware of his presence until he spoke. Then she was suddenly all too aware of his nearness as he leaned close to watch the action on the screen. She caught a whiff of his aftershave, something subtle but spicy, and she felt a little quiver deep in her belly. It was an effort to focus her attention back on the game.

  “You really do kick butt, don’t you?” he asked from over her shoulder.

  Her eyes didn’t leave the screen. “You sound surprised.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of experience with these kinds of games.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re really old, Dad.”

  Steven ruffled his son’s hair. “Thanks, Ty.”

  Samara bit back a smile.

  “Go get some pizza while you can,” he suggested.

  Tyler raced off.

  “Are you going to come and eat?” Steven asked her.

  “In a minute,” she said. “I only need another twenty thousand points to beat the high score.”

  “How long does it take to get twenty thousand points?”

  “Depends on who’s playing.”

  “How long does it take you to rack up twenty thousand points?” he clarified.

  She felled her computerized opponent with a well-placed drop kick and watched her score rocket past the previous record.

  “About that long,” she told him, and turned away from the game.

  Steven’s gaze moved from the screen to the woman who was already heading back to the table.

  There were a lot more layers to Samara Kenzo than he’d imagined—and he was more intrigued than ever to peel them all away to get to the heart of the woman beneath.

  Chapter Seven

  By the time the final credits rolled onto the screen at the end of the movie, Steven only wanted the night to be over. He wanted to go home and pretend the disastrous evening had never happened.

  Better yet, he wanted to take Caitlin home and lock her in her room until she was twenty-five or until she managed to lose the attitude, whichever came first. He couldn’t believe the way she had behaved. What had happened to the happy, friendly child who used to climb into his lap for cuddles and bedtime stories?

  Puberty was the obvious answer but not, he knew, the only one.

  The loss of her mother was another factor, though he was beginning to see that Liz’s death might have become an excuse rather than an explanation.

  He pulled into the driveway in front of Samara’s apartment.

  “You can just drop me at the front door,” she said, obviously as anxious as he was for this disastrous evening to end.

  He was tempted to do just that. But though they’d both agreed it wasn’t a date, courtesy and chivalry were too deeply ingrained to ignore.

  He pulled into a parking slot. “I’ll walk you up.”

  She shrugged and reached for the handle of her door.

  He glanced into the backseat, where Tyler had already fallen asleep and Caitlin was sitting with her arms folded over her chest.

  “Don’t move,” was all he said to her.

  She didn’t respond.

  “You really don’t need to do this,” Samara said again as they entered the building. “After all, tonight wasn’t a date.”

  “I suppose I should be grateful for that, because if it was, it would have been the worst date in history.”

  “Not even close,” she told him.

  “You’ve had worse dates?” he asked skeptically.

  “Much worse.”

  “I didn’t have more than a handful of dates before I met Liz,” he admitted, following her up the stairs.

  “Then you were lucky,” Samara said.

  He knew it was true, even if he’d lost sight of that fact over the past few years.

  “You’ve dated a lot,” he guessed.

  “Not recently,” she said. “But I’m twenty-eight years old and never married, so yeah, I guess you could say I’ve dated a lot.”

  “And you’ve honestly had worse dates than tonight?”

  “If tonight was a date,” she allowed, stopping outside her door. “Which it wasn’t.”

  “Maybe I’m reconsidering that.”

  Her smile was wry. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Because I suddenly find myself wanting to kiss you again.”

  Her smile faded, her gaze turned wary. “You want to kiss me?”

  He stroked his fingers down her cheek. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Your kids are…uh…in the car.”

  It was surprisingly satisfying to see the wariness in her eyes and hear her stammer, reassuring to know he wasn’t the only one tied up in knots over what was happening between them.

  “They can’t get into too much trouble,” he assured her. “I took the keys.”

  “I only meant that they’re waiting for you.”

  “Because I didn’t think it was appropriate, at this stage, to kiss you in front of them.”

  Her tongue swept over her lips so that they glistened with moisture. “What is ‘this stage’?”

  “The pre-dating stage,” he decided.

  “And there’s kissing in that stage?”

  He lowered his head, pausing with his lips only a whisper from her own. “Definitely.”

  She laid her hands on his chest. “You might want to reconsider this pre-dating thing,” she said. “You seemed a little…unnerved…after our last kiss.”

  “I wasn’t looking to get involved with anyone right now,” he said. “And I certainly wasn’t looking to get involved with you.”

  Her dark eyes narrowed. “Why ‘certainly’ not me?”

  “Our work relationship, for one.” He touched his lips to hers, lightly, fleetingly. “The family connection, for another.”

  “Those are valid reasons,” she agreed.

  “And yet—” he kissed her softly again “—here we are.”

  “Here we are,” she echoed, and slid her hands over his shoulders to link behind his neck when he settled his mouth over hers.

  Her eyelids fluttered, her breath sighed, her body yielded.

  She was so tiny. Even in the chunky-heeled boots that added a good couple of inches to her height, the top of her head barely came up to his shoulder, but somehow she seemed to fit. Her soft curves were pressed against him, her warm lips clung to his, and the sexy sounds she made as his hands moved over her almost made him forget about everything except the woman in his arms.

  It was just like the last time—and somehow different.

  He thought he was prepared for this, that he knew what to expect now, but the intensity of his own feelings surprised him. He wanted her—that was a simple and undeniable fact. But the depth of his desire shook him to the core.

  A simple kiss?

  There was nothing simple about what was happening between them, and the realization was both enticing and terrifying.

  When he finally eased his lips from hers, she looked as shaken as he felt. And so adorably flustered and unmistakably aroused that he wanted to haul her back into his arms an
d devour that delectable mouth all over again.

  As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Samara took a step back, out of reach.

  “You should go,” she said. “Before we both forget that your kids are waiting.”

  As Steven headed back to his car, he realized that he had been waiting, too. Without even realizing it, he’d been waiting for someone to make him not only feel alive but feel grateful that he was.

  Someone exactly like Samara.

  Samara went shopping with Jenny on Saturday. They started out early and by three o’clock, she could have sworn they’d hit every baby store in the entire city and had the bags and boxes to prove it. When the trunk of Jenny’s car couldn’t possibly hold any more and their purchases had started to fill the backseat as well, Samara insisted on calling it a day so that she could get her very pregnant friend back to her apartment and make her put her feet up.

  While Jenny settled on the couch, Samara put a pot of coffee on.

  “Did you notice—” Jenny called to her “—that while my belly was growing, other parts seemed to disappear?”

  Samara peeked around the corner at her friend. “What other parts?”

  “My waist was the first to go. Now it’s my ankles.”

  Samara shrugged philosophically. “But you got a nice set of boobs out of the deal.”

  Jenny grinned. “Richard certainly likes them. But apparently they’re only on loan until the baby stops nursing.”

  “You planning on nursing until he goes to college?”

  “The thought did cross my mind. But the truth is, there are days I’d happily give up my new breasts if I could have the rest of my old body back.”

  Samara opened a box of pastries she’d picked up from the bakery down the street—the one where she’d done her very short stint as a waitress before she’d started work at Classic—and set them out on a plate.

  “It won’t be that much longer,” she soothed her friend.

  “Another day seems like forever,” Jenny admitted.

  Samara set the offering by Jenny’s elbow along with a cup of freshly brewed decaf.

  Her friend eyed the assortment of sweets longingly. “Did I tell you I’ve already gained thirty-seven pounds? And I’m still three weeks away from my due date.”