by Jillian Dodd
“You look and act more natural, more at home than I’ve ever seen you before.”
She laughs at this, shaking her head. “Your writer’s imagination is making you think that.”
“I don’t think so. You seem … at ease. Comfortable. Not so stiff and buttoned up.” I sit up a little straighter, looking at her over the end of my nose. The way she typically looks at me, like a duchess passing silent judgment over her underlings.
And it earns me no favor.
“I hope you don’t think you were imitating me by doing that.”
“And if I am?” I lift my eyebrows because why the heck not? She’s already annoyed with me. Might as well go all the way.
To my endless surprise, instead of scolding me, she cracks a tiny smile. “I don’t appreciate being made fun of.”
“We have that in common.” I lean in, grinning. “I’m not trying to make fun. But don’t tell me your relationship with Peter hasn’t helped you lighten up a little bit.”
She surprises me again by blushing. There’s no disguising it, no hiding it. This is maybe the second time in my memory that she’s shown a softer side. A more human side. I almost don’t know how to act around her.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun with this turn of events.
“Look at you,” I whisper. “Blushing like a schoolgirl.”
“Kathryn Antoinette.” She can’t even sound like she means it, not when she’s so busy grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Don’t make me regret having you over for tea.”
“I would hope you wouldn’t regret my visit.” I sniff, trying to pretend to be insulted when, really, I’m happier than I’ve been in ages. For her sake, entirely for her sake.
She had been alone for too long. No matter how many times she’d sworn she didn’t mind, that she could find male companionship whenever she was in the mood for it, I always harbored a sneaking suspicion there was a deep well of loneliness she didn’t want me to see.
Peter comes in, carrying a tray of sandwiches and cookies. If the change in my grandmother is enough to make me happy, the change in her longtime butler and official beau might bring me to tears.
He seems younger, lighter on his feet, and he is even humming softly. Just looking at the two of them together reinforces my belief in the sort of things I’ve been writing about for years, the things I want so much to believe in. True love, devotion. The transformative power of being able to admit, after so long, that you love someone.
And the sweetness of being able to express that love. The freedom to indulge those feelings.
Peter couldn’t allow himself to show the affection he’d developed for Grandmother over the decades as an employee. It’s like this massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders.
Another difference: the fact that he sits down with us when, in the past, such a thing would have been unheard of. I mean, a servant? Sitting down with us to eat? The horror—for her anyway. Not for me.
Yet there he is, perched on the silk-covered sofa, sitting beside my grandmother.
I have to say, I’m impressed with my ability to play it cool in front of him, like this is nothing special or new. I feel like the slightest movement will pop their happy little bubble, and I don’t want to do that. If it isn’t weird for them, it’s not weird for me.
“I hope you’re making sure she obeys the doctor’s orders,” I tease.
Peter and I have always had a playful sort of relationship. I’ve told him for years that he is my favorite thing about her, and I meant it.
His eyes crinkle at the corners, but he manages to hide a smile. “Your grandmother understands the importance of obeying the doctor’s orders. She knows she’s far too important to too many people to treat this lightly. She was fortunate her heart attack was only mild. We wouldn’t want to tempt fate and see what happens next time.” He angles himself toward her. “Isn’t that right?”
Meanwhile, I have to pretend to wipe my mouth with my napkin to hide my smile. For once, somebody’s scolding my imperious grandmother even if he’s being gentle about it.
She grumbles openly, though anybody who’s known her as long as I have could see she likes the attention. She likes being cared for even if she doesn’t always enjoy how that caring manifests itself.
“I know that’s as good an answer as I’ll get.” Peter winks at me, and I swear, I could kiss him.
He is a godsend to her—to both of us really since, without him, I would spend my days worrying about her. I’ve never had to worry about her—and not only because she has a good head on her shoulders and more than enough money to make sure she’s cared for until the end of her days, but also because I know she has somebody who loves her right by her side.
She lifts her delicate teacup with a sigh. “Once you decide to take a break from scolding me, you might spare a word or two for my granddaughter.”
“Hey! Hold on a second. Don’t try to turn this around on me.”
“I’m doing no such thing.”
“Yes, you are. Trying to change the subject, so Peter won’t give you a hard time and probably tell me about all the times you’ve tried going against your cardiologist’s orders.”
Peter, meanwhile, laughs through this. “Why would I ever criticize Kathryn?”
“Thank you,” I crow, throwing Grandmother a superior look. I manage to stop short of sticking my tongue out but only just barely.
“She’s dating an actor. Can you imagine anyone less stable?”
“We’re not dating, for one thing.” I don’t know why I feel the need to set the record straight, but I do. “We’re going to dinner tomorrow night. That’s not dating. That’s a single date.”
“This is for your next book, I imagine?”
I nod, and he offers a shrug.
“I don’t see anything so wrong with that. Kathryn knows what’s best for her. She always has. It must run in the family.”
Oh, he’s good. He is very good. Sometimes, I forget he’s known her longer than I have. He knows exactly what to say to butter her up. When she’s not looking, I give him a thumbs-up. To his credit, he manages only a quick little smile, which is gone by the time she turns back to him.
“It’s only that I wish she would become serious about someone. Someone substantial. Someone who will take care of her.”
My shoulders slightly sag before I sit upright again. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. We’ve had this discussion before.”
“I don’t mean financially.”
“Neither do I.”
Peter, smooth as ever, steps in before my temper flares. “I think what your grandmother is referring to is having someone to look after you. Eventually, everyone needs looking after. Someone to be there for you in troubled times.”
“And if I decide to settle down, what does him being an actor have to do with it? An actor could be by my side during troubled times just as well as a doctor could.”
Clearly, we all know who she’s talking about. She still wishes I hadn’t ended things with Jake Becker, but that’s easy for her to say. It wasn’t her relationship.
“I never said you had to settle down with a doctor,” she snaps.
Peter chuckles, glancing her way. “No, but you wouldn’t be upset if she did.”
“Would you mind telling me whose side you’re on?” she asks with a teasing note in her voice.
They share a look that goes a long way toward melting the ice that started forming around my heart, thanks to this turn in conversation.
Honestly, they’re the cutest thing in the entire world.
I’m not an idiot. I know where her concern is coming from. Not only from a caring grandmother, but also from somebody who’s found love again. People who are in the honeymoon phase of their relationship want everybody to feel the same way they do. She has Peter, and Peter has her. She wants me to have the same happy security.
And it’s not like I wouldn’t enjoy it.
Just that I haven’t found i
t.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Why am I so nervous?
It’s not like I’ve never been on a date before. I probably haven’t been on half as many dates as people would expect a romance author to go on, but still they’ve increased substantially within the last few months.
So, why is my hand shaking as I apply my mascara? If I’m not careful, I’ll end up poking my eye out. Not the most attractive look, though I guess I could make up for it with a sparkly eyepatch or something like that. Unfortunately, I’m already running late, and I’m confident there isn’t an eyepatch store on the way to my date.
By the time I’m finished getting ready, wearing more makeup than I have in recent memory, I barely have time to run downstairs and hop in the car that my phone just told me was waiting by the curb.
Did I remember to put on deodorant? Crap, I can’t remember if I put on deodorant. As soon as I know the driver isn’t looking, I take a quick sniff test.
I smell fine, but I’m sweating. A lot.
Jeez, I wasn’t this worked up before seeing my adolescent superstar crush playing live and in person. That’s saying something because I was pretty much on the verge of an emotional explosion all night long. Like a powder keg waiting for the spark to set me off.
Maybe it’s because I genuinely like Rafe. He seems like a decent person. And while I’ve created a rough sketch of how I want my new book to go, I do need his help. I need to know about actors. How they think, their process. That’s what it’s called, right?
It wouldn’t hurt if things heated up a little bit between us either. I mean, I’m supposed to be writing hot romance, aren’t I? Goodness knows I’ve been on the verge many times, but it would be nice to finish my sexy scenes from experience instead of inspiration. Maggie keeps asking for more, and honestly, I’d love to be able to give it to her.
But only if he’s single and completely unattached. I don’t want to step on any toes. Ever since he reached out to me the day after we met to make arrangements—yes, the day after—I’ve been wondering about the girls. Ashley and the others. All of them seemed highly protective of him, which leads me to wonder if there’s more than unrequited crushing going on.
Even though I remind myself time and again to keep my expectations low and play this as cool as possible, there’s no holding back the nervous thrill that runs through me when I see Rafe waiting for me outside the cute little restaurant with twinkle lights outlining the window and strung up in the trees out front.
Gosh, he looks good, but then I’m sure he’d look good in just about anything. He wore a black sweater and pants for the workshop—everybody wore black; I guess that was decided upon in advance. Tonight, I’m treated to a nice pair of jeans and a gray turtleneck under a peacoat, the collar raised against the January air.
In a word, yum.
He smiles when I get out of the car, a genuine sort of smile that crinkles his eyes at the corners. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show,” he admits with a sheepish little laugh.
I’m half-tempted to ask if he hit his head recently because who in their right mind wouldn’t show up?
“Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. You’ve got your life together, and I …”
“Come on, Rafe.” I nudge him a little with my elbow. “An actor of all people should know about the power of illusion. Trust me, I don’t have it all together. And I’d have been ten kinds of stupid to stand you up.”
It’s not until we’re inside, taking our seats in the dimly lit restaurant—it’s nice, charming, with strings of even more white lights crisscrossing the ceiling and draped along the walls—that I have a chance to admire the way his turtleneck hugs his chest and arms. He’s not quite as lean as I thought he was in the slightly baggier sweater he wore before. He really does take care of himself.
I, for one, am grateful.
“This place is so cute!” I can’t stop admiring the tiny, twinkling lights, how they warm the place up and give it a sense of magic. “I don’t come down to the Village much, but whenever I do, I end up wishing I spent more time here.”
“Where do you spend your time?”
Terrific. This is really going to make me sound exciting.
“In my apartment, honestly. That’s where I spend most of my time. It’s sort of a habit I’ve developed, for better or worse.”
“Where is your apartment?”
“On the West Side,” I say shyly, hoping I don’t sound like I’m bragging again.
One corner of his mouth twitches, pulling upward just a bit. He skewers me with those eyes of his. “Where on the West Side? I have lots of friends who live there.”
Why does my skin feel so itchy all of a sudden? Like I want to crawl right out of it. “Uh, near the park.”
“So, Upper. Upper West Side.” He laughs in time with the flushing of my cheeks. “Don’t be embarrassed! It’s just your address. I was genuinely curious. Hell, if I could afford an apartment on the Upper West Side, I probably wouldn’t leave either.”
“It helps that I have a job I can do from home.”
“No doubt. Good for you. Please,” he adds, reaching across the table and closing his fingers over mine. The suddenness of his touch takes my breath away. “Don’t think I hold it against you. I don’t. Sure, we had that little dustup at the diner, but it didn’t mean anything. If I didn’t think you were quality, I wouldn’t have bothered to ask you to dinner.”
I can buy that. Then again, with him looking at me the way he is and his thumb stroking my knuckles, I’m in a position to buy pretty much anything he’s selling.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I feel so uneasy. It’s so weird, spending time with a fan like Ashley. I’m always afraid I’ll end up disappointing someone.”
He offers one quick, soothing squeeze to my hand before withdrawing his. I wish he hadn’t, but eating with only one hand would be sort of awkward.
“Why do you think that? I can’t imagine you disappointing anybody.”
“You said it yourself though. You made a comment outside about me having my life together. People expect certain things from you when you’ve written something and they’ve read it. They expect you to be … something special. Different from them, even better than them, even though we all have talents of our own. And here I am, just a normal person. Somebody who barely leaves the apartment because I’m always working on one project or another, who barely has time to go shopping so I order all of my clothes online. The delivery people working in my neighborhood know me by my first name.”
“You know what I think it is?” He props his chin up on one hand, still looking me straight in the eye. It should be unnerving, but it isn’t—and not only because I want to drown in those eyes of his. They’re so intense. “I think we put people on a pedestal to keep them separated from us because if we admit to ourselves that they’re only regular people like us, it would mean having to turn inward to figure out why we haven’t reached that level when they could do it. Do you know what I mean?”
Jeez, he’s smart.
“So, for instance, let’s say I happen to have a huge, disgusting crush on a famous movie star.”
He snickers softly but manages to keep a straight face for the most part. “Right.”
“It’s easier for me to think of them as being something special because, otherwise, I might have to ask myself why I haven’t achieved everything I’m capable of if they were able to achieve it for themselves.”
“Exactly. Everyone needs somebody to look up to, even to aspire to. I guess, when you think of it that way, the world would be a pretty bleak place if we didn’t have anybody to base our dreams on.”
That’s something to ponder in the back of my mind as we order. Thanks to my overprepared best friend rubbing off on me over the years, I did a little advance research on the restaurant when Rafe suggested it and learned they served a delicious risotto, so I order that along with a glass of chardonnay.
“And I’ll have th
e grilled salmon with a double order of greens,” he decides, flashing our server a killer smile that leaves her giggling softly as she takes the menus.
It’s not the first time I’ve been on a date with a man capable of reducing grown women to giggling little girls, and I can’t say it’s not the tiniest bit gratifying.
Hey, I’m only human.
“Do you get that a lot?” I ask in a whisper.
He offers a blank stare. “Get what?”
“You know what I mean.” I bat my eyelashes and make kissing noises with pursed lips.
He covers his mouth with the back of one hand to stifle a laugh. “Come off it.”
“Are you serious? Or is this false modesty? Because if it’s false modesty, I’m not impressed.”
“I have a lot of faults, but false modesty isn’t one of them.”
“So, you honestly don’t notice women falling over you?”
This is supposed to be a joke, but it’s clear he doesn’t see it that way. Worry lines appear between his brows, and his mouth tips downward into a frown.
Instantly, I regret ever saying it. “I’m sorry. I was only joking.”
“Oh, I know. It’s just that you made me think of the other night. It can be sort of embarrassing, to be honest with you.”
“What can?”
“Always feeling like somebody wants something from me. I don’t want to name any names since I’m not that guy, but there’s only so much I can handle gracefully. I don’t like being hung on. I don’t like people hovering around me.”
I know exactly what he means, but I have to give him credit for being polite about it. He’s trying to be a gentleman, but I can see through his veiled language. That, and I remember how he stiffened up when Bianca threw an arm around him.
“I think now is as good a time as any to ask you if you’re involved with anybody in the group. I don’t want anyone getting upset that we’re out together like this.”
He shakes his head, and my heart practically sings. Ashley is a nice girl, and I would like to get to know her better, but I wouldn’t want to cause friction.
