by Chant, Zoe
This weekend, at least, she could have Dean to herself, the way everything inside of her yearned to have him, and next week she could jump feet-first into I-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing soup.
Chapter 12
Dean paced.
“I’m boooored,” Aaron moaned, laying upside down with his feet over the back of the couch. “Can’t I watch TV?”
“Your mom should be here at any moment,” Dean said, looking at his watch for at least the seventeenth time. “I want you to be ready to go.”
“I’ll turn it right off,” Aaron wheedled. “My bag is already packed, and I’ve got my shoes on already.”
They were indeed on, pointing straight up into the air with shoelaces untied and tongues crooked.
But Dean knew better than to think that Aaron would be able to shut off the television himself without a physical intervention. “She’ll be here soon,” he growled. He pulled out his phone and looked despairingly at the unread status of the text he’d sent.
It didn’t really mean much; Deirdre was constantly letting her phone run out of charge. And it wasn’t even that unusual that she was running late. Still, an hour late was into the territory where he was allowed to be a little put-out, wasn’t it?
“I’m so booooooored,” Aaron repeated. Then he sat up. “I’m hungry! Can I have a snack?”
“Get your shoes off the couch,” Dean reminded him. “Yeah, how about...” what was easiest? “A cheese-stick?”
Aaron managed to drag his shoes across nearly the entire couch getting them down to the ground. “Can I have crackers with it?” he begged.
Dean grimaced, dreading the time it would take but unable to come up with a good argument against it. “Let’s make you a bag to go,” he suggested. “But don’t get crumbs in your mom’s car.”
Aaron danced off to the kitchen merrily and Dean’s heart rose up in his chest as he heard a car pull up outside. It was a few minutes before six... Shelley might be early. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged the wrinkles out of his shirt.
“Sorry I’m late!” Deirdre called, walking in as she knocked. “I was a little delayed and then there was construction just outside of Madison.”
“Aaron, your mom is here, let’s go!”
Dean thrust the bag at Deirdre. “His allergy medicine is in the outside pocket, he’s got a page of math homework, and he says he left his favorite hat at your place so he doesn’t need one.” His words tumbled out over each other; Dean didn’t realize how fast he was talking until he heard himself. “Come on, Aaron!”
Deirdre gave him a puzzled look. “I think I saw his hat at home,” she said with a slow nod. “Hi sweetie!”
Aaron had apparently tried to fit the entire box of crackers into a bag, and was now struggling to close it. Bingo trailed behind him hoping for overflow. “Hi Mom! Can you close this for me?”
Deirdre gave him a hug and a kiss on the head, then deftly ate a handful of crackers from the bag so she could close it. “Have a good week, honey?”
“He was great,” Dean answered for Aaron. He didn’t want to actually shoo them out, and it took all of his self-control to keep from flapping his hands anxiously at them.
Aaron, predictably, started a lengthy, rambling story about something that Trevor had done at school.
“You can tell her in the car, kiddo,” Dean said desperately. “Get your hug!”
Aaron took a breath and started part two of his story, tolerating Dean’s hug distantly.
“I’ll miss you,” Dean reminded him.
“Yeah, Dad,” Aaron said, returning the hug more sincerely.
“Thanks,” Deirdre said cheerfully. “See you on Sunday night,” she said as they started down the sidewalk to the curb.
Part three of the tale was unwinding and Dean was ready to close the door when Aaron suddenly turned around. “I don’t have my Batman pajamas!”
Dean groaned. “You have your green pajamas,” he said hopefully. “Won’t those do?”
Aaron stared in horror. “No, I need my Batman pajamas! Otherwise, I might get scared.”
“There’s nothing scary in your room,” Deirdre reminded him with an amused smile.
“I neeeeeeeeeed them!” Aaron insisted.
“I think they’re in the hamper,” Dean said despairingly.
“We can wash them tomorrow morning,” Deirdre said with a shrug to Dean.
“Go get them,” Dean said to Aaron, defeated.
Aaron scampered past, shoes flapping. “Wait, wait,” Dean insisted. “You can’t run upstairs with your shoes untied.”
He knelt to tie up the shoes and Aaron fidgeted, making the task even harder. “Okay, go,” he said at last, and Aaron was off like a shot.
When he stood up, Deirdre was looking at him suspiciously.
“What?” he asked.
“You picked up the house,” she observed.
“I do that, from time to time,” Dean said defensively.
“You also got a haircut,” she pointed out.
“I do that periodically, too,” Dean said, resisting his urge to run his fingers through it again.
“I’m sorry I was late,” she said, eyes narrow. “It’s not usually a big deal.”
“It’s fine,” Dean growled. “Aaron, did you find them?” he called.
“You’re trying pretty hard to get rid of us,” Deirdre pointed out.
“Trevor’s niece is coming over!” Aaron hollered, appearing at the top of the stairs. “They’re going to watch a movie, can I watch Iron Man?”
“Trevor’s...?”
“Aunt,” Dean groaned. “Trevor’s aunt. Shaun’s sister.”
Comprehension dawned in Deirdre’s face. “Oh my God, Dean, you have a date, that’s great!”
“Aaron, are you ready to go?” Dean begged.
Bingo, hearing the word go, barked in excitement.
And that’s when Shelley pulled up.
Chapter 13
It wasn’t like Shelley dated a lot, but she wasn’t a nun, either. She knew what to expect from a second date, especially on the heels of a first date and a kiss like Dean’s.
But when she pulled up to Dean’s house, nothing was the way she had expected it to be.
Shelley had to sit in the car a moment and screw up her courage to get out when she realized that Aaron was still there... and worse yet, a woman who must be Deirdre, standing in the open door.
She put her chin high as she stepped out, and tugged her skirt down into place. This was undoubtedly going to be ugly. Deirdre, Tawny had said, had broken Dean’s heart. That wasn’t the kind of thing that left emotions unruffled. And she was the new woman in Dean’s life, she reminded herself. Maybe. Hopefully?
Two steps up the sidewalk, a dog came barking to greet her: a large, slobbering, brown and white mutt with floppy ears that immediately tried to jump up and lick her face.
“Nice doggy!” Shelley squeaked, trying to push it down and keep her purse out of its reach and not fall over, all at once. Why wasn’t it afraid of her lion?
“Bingo! Bingo down! Bingo leave it!” Dean came running to her rescue, pulling the dog down and ruffling its ears affectionately as it wiggled in joy.
“You have a dog,” Shelley observed brilliantly, further cementing the impression of intelligence that she’d started with.
“His name is Bingo,” Dean said, looking sheepish. “Aaron named him. Like the kid’s song, you know. B-I-N-G-O.”
Was it a dig on the fact that she knew nothing about kids? “I remember that song,” she said tightly.
“He’s a goon, sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Shelley said faintly as they closed the distance to his porch. Clearly, her mate starter-kit came with everything: an old farmhouse, a dog, a kid... and a gorgeous ex-wife who’d broken his heart.
Deirdre was effortlessly beautiful, in a sunny, country way, with curly brown hair highlighted golden and big blue eyes.
She even had adorable freckles, scattered all
over her cheeks and nose.
She beamed at Shelley rather alarmingly, and immediately offered her a hand to shake. “I’m Deirdre,” she greeted. “Aaron’s mom.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Shelley said, hoping she didn’t sound as chilly to Deirdre as she did to her own ears. She reminded herself to smile.
The handshake was swift and utilitarian and Shelley wondered if the glance that Deirdre gave Dean wasn’t a little skeptical.
They had the mannerisms of people who were used to talking to each other without words, who knew each other so well that they were having an entire conversation with eyebrows and angles of the shoulder while Shelley stood there feeling left out and out-classed, even in her custom-altered designer clothes, with her name-brand purse and $300 shoes.
Even the dog, Bingo, had decided that she was no longer new enough to hold his interest, and went to investigate bushes around the yard.
Aaron came thundering down the porch stairs in a way that made Shelley flinch, expecting him to fall at any moment. “Bye, Shelley!” he called. “Bye, Dad!” He paused to give Dean a hug, and Shelley stepped back out of his way before she realized he was planning to do the same for her.
“Er...” she knelt uncomfortably and gave Aaron a cautious embrace. It probably looked as weird as it felt, and Shelley was hyper-aware of Deirdre’s eyes on her. He smelled like cheese and dirt.
“Do you have my crackers?” he asked, bounding away to put his hand in his mother’s. “Bye, Bingo!”
“Right here,” Deirdre assured him. “See you on Sunday! Nice to meet you, Shelley!”
It seemed weird to go inside while they were still there, so Shelley stood with Dean and forced herself not to fidget as Aaron buckled himself into a booster seat and Deirdre gave him his crackers, and they finally—finally!—drove away. Aaron waved out the window as Shelley half-heartedly waved after him.
“Well, that was awkward,” Dean said cheerfully.
Chapter 14
Awkward was an understatement, but Dean tried to smile.
Shelley gave him her boardroom smile—the corners of her mouth turned up just exactly the right amount and her face otherwise completely blank. He could feel the roil of confused emotion underlying it, and couldn’t blame her.
“So, that was your ex.” Her voice was as bland as her face was. “She seems nice.”
Bingo, having finished his farewell circle of the lawn, returned to sit next to Shelley and try to lean on her knees adoringly.
Shelley edged back and Bingo leaned further. Shelley took a full step away, and the dog was forced to sit under his own power, choosing instead to lean into space until he flopped over on his side.
“You look beautiful,” Dean said, the way he’d originally planned to greet her. And she did look beautiful, like she’d just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Her legs were long and smooth and her tight skirt barely reached her knees. She was wearing a beige designer jacket against the autumn chill, and a fluttering red scarf that looked too thin to be warm.
Her eyes flickered to his and the smile looked a little more genuine. “Thank you. You look... really great.”
Dean might have tried kissing her then, no matter how awkward things seemed, but Bingo was lying between them, and he knew that the moment he stepped over, the dog would stand up, and the opportunity for a kiss would be ruined.
He didn’t want her any less than he had in the office of the shop, or when he’d kissed her in front of Gran’s Grits. But he wasn’t sure how to get from where they were to where they both really wanted to be.
“I made dinner,” he said desperately, and the timer had the good grace to go off then.
She followed him into the house, and even if Dean hadn’t been able to hear her heels clicking along the floor, he would have known exactly where she was behind him. It wasn’t just her smell—how was it possible for someone to smell so put-together?—it was the sense of her: a sweet, desperate yearning for her wherever she was.
“I hope you don’t mind casserole,” he said apologetically. It wasn’t city fare, but Dean’s sole criteria for the meal was something that could stay in the oven a little longer than intended, or reheat well, in case they got... distracted on the way to the meal.
That hope had been dashed by the chaos that Shelley had come into, and the stiff wall of doubt and discomfort that she’d put up when faced with an unexpected dog and an un-planned-for ex-wife.
“Casserole sounds fine,” Shelley said, utterly politely. “Can I help somehow?” She sounded dubious.
“Nothing left to do,” Dean assured her. “The table’s all set.”
“Oh,” she said with a smile. “Candles.”
They were emergency candles, because that’s what Dean could find, but he didn’t think they looked too inelegant in the antique holders.
“There’s a lighter by the fireplace,” he said as he bent to take the casserole from the oven. Damn, he meant to make a fire before she came, something cozy and warm to curl up in front of.
Too late now.
“Get back, Bingo. This isn’t for you. Out of the kitchen!”
He heard and felt Shelley go to the fireplace and find the lighter on the mantle.
“This is a cute house,” she said quietly, lighting the candles. It was just starting to get dark outside.
“Thanks! I grew up here. Bought it from my parents when they moved to Arizona. Mom couldn’t handle the winters, with her asthma.” It wasn’t as bad as still living with his parents, but Dean wondered if it was far off.
“It’s a really good use of space,” she observed.
Was it code for this place is tiny and poor? She did come from a family of millionaires.
He put the casserole on the potholder on the table, and Shelley replaced the lighter on the mantle, nearly tripping over Bingo when she turned around. Bingo wagged his tail and tried to get her to pet him, but Shelley skirted around him carefully.
They sat opposite from each other at the little table and Dean was decidedly weirded out to be looking at his mate—his graceful, gorgeous mate!—in the seat where his son usually sat.
He poured her a glass of wine and they made careful conversation.
She told him that she did contract negotiations for one of the largest engineering firms in the Midwest and they shared a forced laugh over Shelley’s nickname, Shelley the Shark. “I’m not a lawyer like you see in television in court,” she explained shyly. “I’m the lawyer that keeps everyone out of court. My specialty is contract law. I help write the contracts and make people sign them, and then use them to make people do what they promised to do.”
Dean, feeling rather out-classed, explained that he worked as a mechanic and owned both the shop and the tiny hardware store next door as well.
“Well, the bank owns it, technically, of course. Ted wanted to retire and... well, really no one else wanted it,” he said sheepishly. “I scraped the down payment together and it does alright for itself.”
“All that and a single dad,” Shelley observed. “It probably keeps you really busy.”
Dean decided not to add anything about the volunteer work he also did. He’d wanted to fill his life to the seams when Deirdre left him.
“Yeah,” he said sheepishly.
“Can I help clear up?” Shelley asked when they were done. “It was delicious.”
Dean hadn’t made plans for dessert, he realized, standing and letting her help gather her dishes. He should have picked up something from Shaun’s bakery.
He’d had high hopes for something else happening after dinner.
Instead, everything was...
“This is weird, isn’t it,” Shelley said, standing next to him in the kitchen with her plate in one hand and her glass in the other.
“I didn’t want it to be weird,” he confessed to her. She was so beautiful, and he wanted her so badly that it made it hard to think.
She gave a wry smile that wasn’t part of her practiced rep
ertoire and a shy, downcast look. “I thought a mate would be... simple. Straight-forward. Instead...”
“Weird,” Dean finished for her.
“Weird,” she agreed, putting the dishes on the counter.
“Shelley...”
Dean finally accepted his bear’s relentless suggestions and stepped forward to kiss her, and then it wasn’t weird at all.
Chapter 15
His mouth was home, Shelley thought, when he kissed her at last.
Home like she’d never thought a home could be. She longed to be there whenever she wasn’t, and it made everything better and safer and sweeter.
He tasted like wine and tater tots, which had never featured in any of the romance books Shelley devoured, but nothing else could have been so perfect.
She kissed him back with all of her heart, winding her arms up around his strong shoulders. As complicated as they had managed to be, this was simple and straightforward. She knew exactly what to do, pulling him as close as they could get while still wearing clothing, passionately kissing him and regretting nothing.
Her lioness growled in her ear, and she knew that his bear was doing the same from the frantic way he was trying to find an enclosure on her shirt and the way he was dragging his teeth along her skin.
She tugged at his shirt, trying to get it off him, trying to pull him... wasn’t there a couch in the living room?
Then she gave a shriek as one of her heels hit the threshold for the kitchen and Bingo managed to be directly behind her again. She ungracefully fell over backwards, dragging Dean with her.
“Bingo, out of the kitchen!” Dean said, but it was too late even for shifter reflexes; between her heels and their entanglement, they both went over and Bingo gave a yip of dismay, fled two steps, and then returned to lick everything he could reach.
“Ack, ew, oh my god!” Shelley couldn’t help saying, but she was laughing, how could she not? There was dog tongue all over her swollen mouth, and in her ear, and across her forehead, and her arms were pinned by Dean’s weight so she couldn’t squirm very far away. “I’m pretty sure my mascara isn’t lick-proof!” she giggled.
