by Susan Ward
It was at spontaneous that my thoughts ran me into a ditch thinking about Eric James. Impulsive doesn’t work out well for me either. It was the thought of Eric James that caused me to drag my butt from the warmth of my bed and get dressed. No good ever comes from thinking too much and that’s how I would have spent the day in my empty house.
Immersed in thoughts about the past.
The good and the bad.
Nope, not doing it.
And now, surrounded by what promises to be a bright day, I’m glad I didn’t stay home with my regrets and melancholy thoughts.
It’s a beautiful day.
The sun’s fighting to break through the clouds.
Eventually it will bring some happy to my mood.
Keep moving forward.
That’s the only way to make my life better.
A smile rises on my lips, and my mental pep talk puts a slight spring in my step as I round a building and turn down my street toward Mel’s. Staying busy is the best way to keep my mind off things I don’t want to think about.
Focus on the positive, Willow. I’ve got a nice home, good friends, a sister who cares about me, and maybe not a guy to love, but who needs one?
I weave through a cluster of people spilling out from a bus, and what fills my gaze causes me to freeze, the Java Hut bags swinging more briskly at my side.
My gorgeous street musician is sitting in front of the bar, guitar in hand, singing and playing. Seeing him makes me self-conscious about the second bag I’m carrying, and that warning about spontaneous and impulsive rears up in my head.
I swallow as I take in what I fight vigilantly not to give notice to. Or rather, maintain the charade that I don’t see him.
Really, there isn’t anything about EJ to get so affected by. His features are completely covered by that neatly trimmed full beard, and it’s silly that I assume he has a gorgeous face. True, he has a sexy mouth tucked behind the facial hair. Perfect, even white teeth. A straight nose, and rich blue eyes as deep and changeable as the ocean.
My gaze roams upward to the beanie he wears. For all I know that lustrous golden-blond hair just past his shoulders might not be on the top of his head. He could have a receding hairline, some flaw somewhere that I just haven’t seen yet.
Flaw…my pulse ticks up as I run his form from wool cap to hiking-boot-clad feet. Even through his thick jacket I can tell he has a strong, muscled body. Those broad shoulders wouldn’t lie. He probably stays fit from always having to walk and to lug his possessions everywhere.
That reminds me of why I grabbed two breakfasts today, though it doesn’t do anything to lessen my body’s reaction to him.
Every morning when I turn the corner, the sight of him hits me like a cement truck. Maybe Jade is right: I need to start dating or at least get laid. When you start having momentary arousal flashes about a guy with obvious and hard-to-discount negatives, it’s been too long since you’ve slept with anyone.
Unwanted tension builds between my legs. I need to give him his breakfast, say a few polite words, and get into the bar quickly.
But as I continue toward him, the rich, husky sound of his voice while he sings isn’t helping. It’s sexy as hell and I’m a sucker for a guy’s voice. Letting out a deep breath, I concede that without the being homeless part, this guy is exactly the type a girl would want flirting with her every morning.
He’s so masculine, mysterious and interesting. A tad cocky and very sure of himself even in his present circumstance. Enough so my thoughts often drift to wondering what his story is.
He’s got such a quick and witty mind. An engaging personality. Whenever I’ve allowed myself to talk with him for more than a few minutes, he’s been full of fascinating chatter about places and things I’ve never seen.
A guy like that doesn’t start on the streets. In fact, he seems to have had a more interesting life than me.
How pathetic is that, Willow? The homeless man in front of Mel’s has a more interesting life than you do.
I shake my head to knock away my thoughts. Thinking more than I already do about him will lead to no good. He’s the kind of guy you get too close to and fall down a rabbit hole.
Not happening to me.
Not again.
I stiffen my resolve to keep this impersonal, as I’ve been every morning since he set up shop at my front door.
His cobalt blue eyes lock on me.
They look like they’re grinning at me.
Oh no, when did I stop walking and how long have I been here doing nothing but stare at him? Without realizing it, I’ve been standing above him, my body close with my legs nearly touching his.
Heat rushes my face.
He stops strumming his guitar and tilts his head to look up at me. “Good morning,” he says.
“It is.”
His brows wrinkle and the color on my cheeks darkens.
That’s my usual a.m. exit point.
Why haven’t I exited?
Oh yeah…I ease down in front of him and hold out a bag. “I bought you breakfast.”
His brows lift above his heart-stopping smile. “You shouldn’t have, but thank you.”
“It’s nothing and I wanted to do it.”
His eyes go wider.
Oh no, why did I say that?
Wanted to do it?
Groaning inwardly, I search for something to add to dispel any wrong impression I might have given him. “I enjoy hearing you play in the mornings while I work. You can return the favor by finishing that song. It’s beautiful.”
“Sounds like a plan. I sort of figure now I owe it to you.”
“Owe it? I don’t understand. And how do you owe it to me?”
“Ahhh…” He drags it out before he laughs “You’re my muse for the song I’m working on. Can’t you tell?”
My stomach jumps. “Me. Really?”
“Don’t act so shocked.”
“Not shocked. Flattered. I’ve never been inspiration for a song before. Well, not that I know of.”
He rubs his chin, shaking his head, and my insides flip because he has that devilish glint in his eyes he sometimes gets. “If that’s true, Seattle’s full of musicians that are fools. Take my word for it, you’re the kind of girl men write songs about.”
Oh Lord. If sexy had a name it’d be EJ.
“I’m almost afraid to ask. Why am I the kind of girl men write songs about?”
Flutters fill my stomach as he grins.
Dang. I flirted back.
Then he lifts his bag and coffee. “You do things like this.”
I’m relieved and disappointed by that answer. It wasn’t what I expected. “That can’t be true. It was nothing.”
His blue eyes take on a serious expression. “Kindness is never nothing. The older you get, you realize more how rare and important kindness is.”
I straighten up. “I should go. You need to finish that song.”
I’m at my door, fishing in my purse for my keys.
“You’ll be the first to hear it when I do,” he promises.
I dart a fast glance over my shoulder.
Both his mouth and eyes are smiling at me.
Steam from his coffee swirls in a gray cloud above his cup.
It’s so cold today.
It must be miserable out here for him.
How is he always so affable and upbeat?
“Hey, any time you want to, you can come into the bar before it opens to work on your music. I’ve always got a pot of coffee and it’d be more comfortable.”
“Thank you. But only if you’re sure I won’t disturb you while you’re working.”
“You won’t. And it’s nothing. No problem.”
I’ve almost got the bar unlocked.
“Then how can I resist? Tomorrow, then. It’s a date. And since you bought today, I’ll bring breakfast for us.”
Bring breakfast?
Oh no.<
br />
“That’s not necessary,” I sputter, alarmed.
“It’s very necessary so stop arguing with me. I do pretty well out here, much better than you think, and it’ll feel good doing something for someone who’s worth it.”
I hurry into the bar, like I should have done five minutes ago. Groaning, I collapse back to lean against the closed door, trying to bridle my racing pulse and thoughts.
What just happened out there?
I shake my head. I should have kept my mouth shut, dropped the bag into his guitar case, and kept moving. Now he thinks he has a date with me.
Brilliant, Willow.
Chapter Two
Willow
THE MORNING’S MORE hectic than usual for a Monday. I’m glad things are busy and messed up because it gives me something to focus on other than EJ.
Immersing myself in work is good, even if the muddle I find left by the bartender who closed last night isn’t.
The weekend cash register drawers won’t balance. Or at least I can’t get the tallies to come up the same way twice so I can prepare the bank deposit. For some reason, the weekly alcohol delivery came today instead of Wednesday, like I prefer. And my sister texting and calling makes my cell dance like a jumping bean every ten minutes on the wood counter of the bar.
My phone buzzes, and I glare at it.
Sorry, sis.
Not answering.
There’s no way I’m going to talk to Jade a second time this morning. Having her words in my head when I crossed paths with said sexy musician I already think of too often propelled me mouth-first into getting overly friendly with him.
A date? That’s what EJ termed returning the favor for the breakfast sandwich and coffee.
Darn it.
How did my offering EJ someplace to stay in the mornings until it got warmer on the street spiral into a breakfast date?
As unbelievable as that thought is, I can’t deny that’s how my gesture of bringing him Java Hut ended up. With EJ misconstruing everything and thinking I’m open to something with him.
The morning events prove one thing case positive: I’m darn near a danger to myself when left on my own in the world of men.
I shouldn’t attempt dating, or even flirting with a man, ever again. My list of mishaps in romance is long and intimidating.
Seven years ago, I fell for Eric James, the lying cheater who failed to tell me about his wife before he demolished my life. Then I married Dean the cheater. And now I’ve been roped into a first date with a homeless man.
Yep, I’ve got no skills with men.
I drop my forehead in my hands and groan. Jade would be so pleased with the news of my breakfast date—that is if I tell her and keep secret the full details about who my Mr. Flirt really is.
Only I am far from pleased about this development. Somehow I gave EJ the wrong idea about me, that I’m receptive to being more than casual acquaintances. And, bam, it morphed into something I now have to undo.
I can’t continue having him think it’s possible for there to be a relationship between us. Though how I’m going to correct that without hurting his feelings is a mystery to me.
I’d hate to hurt his feelings. EJ’s life is far from easy, being on the streets and all. It’s probably packed full of hurtful people and disappointment in daily doses I can’t even imagine. It’s an awful development that I’m—unintentionally—backed into a corner of adding to it.
But there’s no help for it now. That’s where my talkativeness this morning has brought me, needing to redraw the boundaries pronto. I’m not interested in dating anyone, though to get involved with a homeless street musician I’m sure would officially classify as my worst mistake with men yet.
Even though EJ’s gorgeous.
Even though he’s an awesome musician—his singing voice is so raspy and panty-melting, and even a musically illiterate person like myself can see he’s an incredible guitarist.
Even though his blue eyes heat me up from head to toe each time he looks at me.
Even though I can tell there’s a lot more to him than his homeless days suggest.
Even though I find him sweet and very appealing as a man, and at times I get lost in my thoughts about him.
Even though my voice does glow when I talk to him…
“Ugh,” I groan. “Damn you, sis, for saying that.” But Jade’s right. My voice does turn all frisky and vivacious girl-into-guy sounding when I talk to him.
Damn it, I have no one to blame but myself for the pickle I’ve landed in. When we were married, Dean always mocked me that I was too kind-hearted for my own good, that men took it the wrong way, and it would get me into trouble. I hated when he did that because I knew it was true at times.
At times? Get real with yourself, Willow. Don’t forget that jerk you tried to help the summer before you started college who romanced you up, played you for a fool, then screwed you over.
No, I can’t let myself forget Eric James. His memory should be a flashing hazard light in my brain every time I’m within a hundred yards of the opposite sex. Especially since he led me to my second big mistake with men: Dean.
I’m positive I’d have never bought into my ex-husband’s bullshit and married him if I hadn’t been freshly wounded and made vulnerable by a guy I fell in love with who later showed in the cruelest of ways what his true character was.
Though, in fairness, Eric James was wonderful until he wasn’t, so much so I’m certain any girl could be taken in by his slick lines and knee-weakening attention. But then, I’d never met anyone like him. Fast, fun, a thrill a second, and the kind of guy no girl forgets in bed.
A black-haired, blue-eyed, hot Brit stranded in Seattle by his friends, needing a helping hand, and too irresistible not to offer more to.
My insides flutter from the memory of him, and I’m sure there’s gotta be something wrong with me that he brings a zap to my veins whenever I allow myself to think about him.
I shut down my runaway memories of Eric and force myself to focus on the problem at hand. How am I going to step back from EJ without hurting his feelings? It’s what I have to do, but I don’t want to be unkind while doing it.
“Damn it, Jade,” I mutter. “Look what you got me into with all that talk about coffee dates!”
My cell vibrates with another call from my sister and I push it away from me.
“Okay, what’s wrong? Rough night?” asks an overly cheerful voice, and my face snaps up to find Ivy standing just inside the bar.
Crap, I must’ve forgotten to bolt the front door, otherwise I would have heard her come in. How long has she been watching me?
I feel heat spread down my neck. “What are you doing here? You don’t work today.”
She frowns. “I went to the NA meeting at the Capitol Hill Rec Center this morning. I was in the neighborhood. I don’t have a side job, so I thought you might like some company.” She glares at the cash drawers in front of me. “Or help. Griff make a mess of things again?”
“Yep. He must have a hot date every week after his shift on Sunday. I can’t ever get them to balance the next day.”
Ivy sets her purse on the bar and plops down on a stool. “You want help?”
I huff. “No. I just want to finish so I can get out of here.”
She glances at me speculatively and my cheeks heat. “That sounds intense. What’s wrong?”
“Not intense. It’s just my sister,” I answer, sidestepping the true response and opting for something safe.
Ivy rolls her eyes. “What’s Jade meddling in now?”
“Everything, like always.”
“Why don’t you just tell her to stop? That you can manage your own life, thank you.”
“Because she won’t.” I spring from my stool to grab Ivy a cup of coffee and set it on the bar in front of her. “She cares. That’s not a bad thing.”
“Personally, I’d prefer a little more helping and a littl
e less meddling and lecturing. Maybe if you got her down here to work in the bar a few days a week she’d have less time to tell you how to manage your life.”
“You don’t have a big sister. It’s not like that. Jade’s terrific.”
Ivy pushes her bleached blond bangs from her eyes. “I’m not saying she’s not great. I’m saying she should butt out of other people’s business. Perhaps spend a bit more time focusing on her own husband so she won’t end up having Gary do to her what Dean did to you.”
“Stop it,” I warn, not wanting to get into that discussion. “Gary’s a good guy.”
Her brows lift above saucer-large eyes, and inwardly I groan. Ivy can say so much with a single look. “She shouldn’t trust him. Dean’s his best friend. That’s enough proof that Jade shouldn’t trust Gary.”
Oh no—here we go, Ivy on her soapbox about men. I’m not up for it, not this morning.
“Stop,” I add more firmly. “They’re happy together. You know that. I don’t know why you relentlessly insist it’s not going to last. I don’t want that for Jade. She’s my sister and I love her.”
She shrugs. “Because nothing lasts these days. And don’t expect me to think it’s not rotten that they’re rolling in the bucks now that Tilman/Howard Technology has taken off and they’re all living the high life with you cut out of the windfall. You deserve a piece of that company as much as any of them do. Dean wouldn’t be where he is if you hadn’t held down two jobs to cover the bills during the lean days of the company. When I think—”
“Then don’t,” I interrupt quickly, pushing my face close to hers. “If I don’t feel that way, then you shouldn’t. The guys worked hard. It was their vision and invention. I only did what people do when married. I helped my husband. How was I supposed to know when we were going through our divorce that the company would be worth something someday? Water under the bridge. And you can’t live your life stewing over would’ve, should’ve, could’ve.”
“You can go back to court and get what’s yours. I don’t know why you don’t.”
“Ivy, it’s never going to happen and we both know it. Even if my divorce wasn’t final and I hadn’t released Dean of all future claims, I would never want to stir up trouble in Jade’s life over money.”
