Then Came You ; Written with Love

by Kianna Alexander

She narrowed her eyes but remained silent.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, crap. We were off to such a good start and now I’ve ruined it.” Damn it, Troy. Keep that up and you’ll screw up your second chance before it gets off the runway.

  “It’s all right, Troy.” She blew out a breath. “I’m not a virgin but that’s all I’m saying on that.”

  He felt a twinge inside but did his best to brush it off. They’d been young when they were together, and neither of them had been ready for sex back then. Still, knowing another man had been the one to introduce her to the pleasures of physical intimacy didn’t sit right with him. Had whoever it was been good to her? Did he take his time and make it as memorable as I would have? He knew better than to raise those questions aloud; she’d made it clear she’d cut him off at the knees if he delved too much into the topic.

  “That’s a fair answer, Robyn.” He removed his hands from his pockets, flexing his fingers. “And I’m willing to answer your questions, too. I’m not out to hide anything from you.”

  “Good to know.” Her gaze shifted then, as if she was looking past him.

  He turned to see what had her attention.

  There was an older lady approaching the counter, holding the hand of a small child. The little girl, wearing a pink dress and four pigtails festooned with a matching ribbon, had to be about two or three years old.

  “Look at her. She’s precious.” Robyn’s eyes sparkled as she spoke.

  “She is a little cutie.” He couldn’t help smiling as the older woman stooped down to hand the tot a sugar cookie, which she immediately bit into.

  Suddenly, the little girl noticed them. Tugging her hand away from her guardian, she ran over to their table and went right to Robyn.

  “Sophia, what are you doing? Don’t bother these nice people.” The older woman was close on her heels.

  He smiled. “It’s not a problem, ma’am.”

  “I’m Cora, by the way. My apologies—my granddaughter is quite the little social butterfly.”

  “She’s no bother.” Robyn held out her hand. “Hello, sweetheart.”

  The grinning little girl reached out to take Robyn’s hand, but in the process, dropped her sugar cookie. Tears welled in her eyes, and she opened her mouth to release a plaintive wail.

  The older woman frowned. “Oh, goodness.”

  Robyn stood. “I’ll get her another cookie.”

  The older woman started to protest, but Robyn insisted. Moments later, Troy watched as Robyn paid for the new cookie, handed it off to little Sophia, then bid the pair farewell as they left the coffee shop.

  She’s amazing. He didn’t know a lot about her life since he’d been away. But he could tell some things about her hadn’t changed. He’d known her since middle school. She’d been extraordinarily caring as a young girl, and now, she still cared about others just as much as she had then. Having grown up with a selfish mother, who thought only of herself and seemed to take pleasure in insulting him and his father, Troy admired the innate kindness Robyn possessed.

  Returning to her seat, she met his gaze. “What’s that look on your face?”

  “Amazement,” he admitted. “You’re just...such a good person.”

  Her expression changed then, and she looked away from him. “I’m glad you think so highly of me, Troy.”

  He frowned, wondering what she meant by that. It seemed he believed in her goodness more than she did. Why would she react that way? Curiosity rose up inside him, but he knew now wasn’t the time to ask.

  Breaking into his thoughts, she asked, “How is Mama Jeannie? Does she need anything?”

  “I don’t think so. She’s very well taken care of.”

  “I know. But what does she like to do with her spare time?”

  “She takes Spanish classes, goes to bible study.” He snapped his fingers, remembering something she’d said to him. “She does like those adult coloring books and the crossword puzzles.”

  “Then I’ll send her some.”

  The amazement grew. “You don’t have to—”

  “I know I don’t have to. I want to.” She offered him a smile. “Both my grannies are gone now, so consider Mama Jeannie adopted. She could use a granddaughter—right now it’s just you.”

  “And Rick. Don’t forget Rick. He’s her honorary grandson now.”

  She giggled. “Can’t leave her to that fate.”

  “All right. I don’t think she’ll turn down your generous offer.” He pushed aside the mug that held the remains of his tepid cocoa. “Listen, I know I just asked you to meet me here for coffee. I don’t want to monopolize your time, but I also don’t want to let you go just yet.”

  Her eyes glittered. “I...I’m enjoying your company as well.”

  “What do you have planned after work?”

  “Not much.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Then what do you say to doing something fun?”

  She cut her eyes at him.

  He chuckled. “Not that. I was thinking we could play some games.”

  “Oh. I was about to say.” Her expression softened. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I know just the place.”

  Chapter 8

  Robyn couldn’t help smiling as she stepped into Way Back When Gaming Center. “This was a really cool idea. There isn’t anything else like this in Grandeza, or anywhere nearby, honestly.”

  Troy grinned. “Rick told me about it, and I knew I had to come here. I’m just glad you agreed to come with me.”

  Moving farther into the brightly colored space, she turned slowly to get a full view of the interior. The walls, painted a lemon yellow, were covered with full-color images of beloved video-game characters. To the left, there was a whole wall full of cabinet-style arcade games. The rear wall featured a basketball-shooter game, Whac-A-Mole and a target-practice game, and along the right wall there were tables stocked with oversize decks of playing cards, as well as chess, checkers and other classic board games. In the center of the space there were an assortment of gaming tables, including foosball, air hockey, pool and table tennis. In an alcove behind the Whac-a-Mole game, there was a service window that sold food and beverages.

  “Somehow, they still managed to give this place a really adult vibe.” She moved toward the wall of arcade games.

  “Well, according to the guy at the door, you have to be twenty-one to get in. But they don’t have many teenagers showing up, anyway. Too retro for them.” Troy walked up beside her and draped his arm over her shoulder. “What do you want to play first?”

  She set her gaze on the stand-up zombie shooter game. “Care to take on a horde of the undead with me?”

  He laughed. “Sure. Show me what you’ve got.”

  They took up positions in front of the game. She took the red plastic shotgun in hand while he grabbed the blue one.

  She fed tokens into the game with her free hand, then stepped on the start button on the mat. “Let’s do this.”

  Seven hundred and fifty-six zombie kills later, Robyn danced around a flabbergasted Troy.

  “Wow! I never would have thought you had the killer instinct. At least not on that level.” He returned his plastic weapon to its holder and stepped back from the machine. “Obviously it was a mistake to let you pick the first game.”

  Laughing, she gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. “Okay, champ. You pick the next game.”

  “Let’s try foosball. You any good at that?”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t played in years.”

  “Let’s give it a go then.”

  At the table, they manned the handles for their respective teams, and he dropped the white ball onto the playing field. And when the game ended, her kickers were still spinning on their shiny silver axis when she sank the winning shot.

  H
e smacked a hand against his forehead. “Savage, Robyn. You’re truly savage.”

  Unable to hold back her chuckles, she asked, “Have you been letting me win?”

  He gestured to the room, teeming with other people. “Look at all these folks in here. You think I’m gonna let you embarrass me like that, in front of half of Grandeza’s population? Nah.”

  That only made her laugh harder. When she finally recovered, she wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes. “I haven’t laughed like this in a while. Thanks, Troy.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Sorry, sorry.” She sobered up. “Listen. You can pick something else. How’s that?”

  He took a deep breath. “Table tennis.”

  Her brow hitched. “You wanna play Ping-Pong?”

  “Yes, I want to play table tennis.”

  “Okay. I’m down.”

  They walked the short distance to the vibrant green tables, then took sides at the last available one. She grabbed the paddle, which was affixed to the side of the table with a hook and loop strip.

  He took a ball from the bucket, grabbed his paddle and stood poised to serve. “You ready, Robyn?”

  She raised her paddle, giving him a nod.

  Half a second later, she heard a crack at the same time the little white ball whizzed past her right ear.

  She jerked her head around to look for it and spotted it on the floor near the Whac-A-Mole game. Turning back to Troy with wide eyes, she found him smiling.

  She jogged over to get the ball, then tossed it to him.

  He caught it in midair.

  “Okay, now. Don’t take my head off with this serve.” She returned to her place and lifted her paddle again.

  He bounced the ball on the table and launched it toward her.

  She swiped at it a moment before it would have hit her in the chest.

  He returned it.

  She swiped again but missed. This time the ball sailed by her on the left side.

  He grinned at her while she went, again, to fetch the ball.

  Well, he looks mighty pleased with himself.

  The rest of the game continued much the same way, with the tiny white sphere sailing past her like a comet, and her swatting at it uselessly, then fetching it.

  When it was over, she returned the paddle. “Looks like we should have started with table tennis, Troy.”

  He laughed. “Nah. The despair of those earlier defeats only helped my game.”

  She shook her head. “I’m never playing you in this game again.”

  “Sure, you will, when the sting of losing wears off.” He winked.

  Later, they sat at a table outside the arcade, sharing an enormous plate of nachos.

  Sipping from her lemon-lime soda, she asked, “When and how did you get so good at table tennis? What, did you train for the Olympic team or something?”

  He released a deep, rumbling laugh. “Nah, I played a lot with Dad.”

  “Do tell.” She settled into the padded seat, eager to hear the tale.

  “Back in the day, after I graduated high school, Dad got a gig to go on tour with Zell’s Midnight Preachers. I didn’t have any plans for the summer before college, so I went with him.”

  She leaned forward in her seat. “What was that like? The Preachers seem like a pretty wild bunch, based off their music.” The funk-soul band was known for elaborate stage costumes and racy lyrics.

  He scoffed. “It’s not an image, trust me. They really are like that. Anyway, I rode the tour bus that whole summer with Dad, the band and Zell himself. They kept a folding tennis table in the back of the bus. Whenever the band had a stopover, and Dad wasn’t in rehearsals or on stage, we’d pull it out and play.”

  She smiled, imagining a teenaged Troy playing Ping-Pong with Mr. Monroe. “I bet you saw a lot of things that year.”

  “I did. But Dad was serious about shielding me from the band members’ lifestyle. I wasn’t in school, and I was technically an adult, but he made it clear that I wasn’t to indulge in any of their vices.” He leaned back, looking up at the darkened sky. “We set that table up in parking lots, hotel suites, dressing rooms—wherever we could find space. Zell saw how much we loved the game, so he gave the folding table set to my dad after the tour.”

  “It seems you’ve kept your skills sharp since then.”

  He nodded. “I’d play with Dad whenever we were together. After he passed, I started playing racquetball—the skill set is pretty much the same. Every now and again, when I was in town, I’d play with Rick.”

  She reached out to him, grabbing his hand. “You’re a very complex man, Troy.”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  “I’m learning a lot about you.”

  A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “And do you like what you’ve learned so far?”

  She nodded, meeting his smile with one of her own. “Yes, I do.”

  Maybe even a little more than I should.

  After leaving the arcade, Troy drove Robyn home. Her modest cottage sat on a half acre of land just outside the ranch’s borders. The parcel had been a gift from her parents on her twenty-first birthday.

  Standing on her front porch, she looked up at Troy. His hat was in his hands again, and the soft yellow glow of the porchlight illuminated his rugged handsomeness.

  “I had a great time tonight, Troy.”

  “Really? I’m glad to hear that.” He grabbed her hand, held it gently within his own.

  “I really enjoyed myself. So much so, I’m half-tempted to let you inside.”

  His dark eyes flickered with interest.

  She swallowed, feeling the heat rise to her face as she realized the double meaning in her words. “Inside...the house, I mean.”

  “Whatever you meant, I’m sure you know I would accept your invite.”

  She cleared her throat, trying to shake off the tightness gathering there. Why did he have to come back into my life now? I finally landed my dream job, and a shot at getting out of this little town, and along comes my first love to screw up the plan. “I think we both know that’s a step we’re not ready to take yet.”

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.” He tugged her close to him, draped his arms around her waist. “You’re made of temptation, Robyn Chance. But I’ll always respect your boundaries.” He fixed her with a penetrating look. “Always.”

  Moments later, their lips touched, and her insides turned to ash from the searing heat of his kiss.

  He released her, then stepped back to put on his hat.

  She stood there, her mouth agape while he took her key and unlocked her door. He pushed the door open, then moved away and gestured her inside.

  With a tip of his hat, he said, “Good night, Robyn.”

  “Good night.”

  He stepped off the porch and walked away.

  She was still standing in the doorway watching when he drove away.

  That man is going to be my undoing.

  * * *

  Creeeaaakkk.

  The old wooden stairs groaned their protest beneath the weight of Troy’s boots as he climbed up to the attic. As he entered the room, he scrunched his head and shoulders forward since the low ceiling couldn’t accommodate his full height.

  While he moved over the dust-shrouded wooden floors, he shined the beam of his flashlight around the space. The beam was no match for the inky blackness of this rarely visited space, which had only one small porthole-shaped window. The small sliver of pale moonlight hit the floor like a dim spotlight but provided no help in navigating the room.

  He stifled a yawn with his free hand, but it morphed into a sneeze as the thick dust coating everything invaded his nostrils. Sniffling, he moved toward the far end of the attic.

  Finding the large mah
ogany wardrobe, the only thing in the space that wasn’t coated in dust, he pressed the lever-style handle and opened the door.

  Inside were his two most prized possessions. He kneeled on the floor, to give his neck and shoulders a break from his awkward positioning and reached inside the wardrobe. Moments later, he carefully slid out the folding tennis table and set it aside.

  Stretching until he touched the cool, smooth curves of the object he sought, he finally pulled out his father’s bass.

  The main body of the ’87 Music Man StingRay was a shimmering jet-black, embellished with red, orange and yellow paint that formed flickering flames along the bottom. Sitting down on the floor, he pulled the instrument into his lap and cradled it close to his chest.

  Just the same as he’d done in his dream—the dream that had awakened him and sent him up here to seek out the comfort of his father’s treasured instrument. He needed to touch it, needed to feel the solid weight of it in his hands. It reminded him of his father, of the music he’d loved so much, and of the bond they’d shared.

  Johnny “J-Rock” Monroe had taken this bass with him all over the world, laying down basslines for the legends of funk, soul and R&B. Johnny had been a wanderer at heart, just like Troy. But he’d always returned home to his son.

  The years that stretched between the present moment and the moment when he’d learned of his father’s death seemed at once instantaneous and eternal.

  I can’t hold Dad. But I can hold his bass.

  He would take his comfort where he could get it.

  Robyn’s face entered his mind. He thought back on the day he’d spent with her. Even when he’d spoken with her about his father, he hadn’t felt the pangs of grief that normally accompanied such conversation. Something about being with her changed the way he felt, let the pain melt away to reveal the humor and happiness of his memories.

  She’s probably asleep. If he had any say in the matter, he’d be asleep, too.

  Maybe it was because her life was so stable. Was it her solid, two-parent upbringing that made her such a buoy on the storm-tossed sea of his life? His own raising had been so different from hers—messy, imperfect and held together with masking tape. His father had spent a lot of time on the road, and his mother had spent a lot of time complaining. His dad was an explorer, ever-curious; she was a shrew, never satisfied with anything. And here he was, a combination of the two of them, and in many ways, just as broken.