by Susan Ward
“If you like him that’s the reason why you shouldn’t treat him badly.”
My tongue runs away with me. “I don’t want to be attracted to him! I don’t want to like him. I don’t want him to like me. I’m perfectly happy without a man in my life and I plan to keep it that way.”
“Making dates with him and bailing without notice isn’t going to change that you’re interested in him.”
“EJ and me—it’s a crazy thought, isn’t it? What do you think I should do?” I ask.
She hugs me. “Get dressed. Drive to Mel’s. Meet him as planned. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. And if you need to talk afterward, call me.”
“You’re right.”
She gives me a firm pat, then eases back. “One step at a time, Willow. You may fall flat on your ass, but it’s better than continuing to pretend you like being alone. We both know you don’t. You’ve got to start living again. Maybe seeing through breakfast with EJ will do you good. Get you back out there willing to dare the world of men. Have you considered that?”
I give her a small agreeable smile, but inside I say to myself how the hell can Ivy think anything good can happen between me and EJ? She used to have unfaltering intuition about men. For some reason, this time she’s pushing me toward trouble.
She stands up. “Come on. Let’s get you dressed.”
***
Ivy: Crisis averted. She bought the line about me letting you into the bar, but you’ve got to think before you do things, EJ. I’m not always going to be there to clean up your messes, and you’ve already involved me in this more than I feel comfortable with.
EJ: Thanx. Sorry. I let myself into Mel’s, set up, before I realized I shouldn’t have. That I’d have to explain I had a key and where I got it.
Ivy: You can’t run to me to save your ass over every little thing.
EJ: Did you fix that other problem?
Ivy: There you go, asking me for more things. Yes, Eric. I’ve got it handled. Jade’s going to make sure Willow doesn’t go into the apartment until you’re done. Now can I get back to pushing Willow out the door to meet you?
EJ: Pushing? What are you talking about?
Ivy: Can we forget I said that?
EJ: No. What’s going on?
Ivy: Got to go. She’ll be there in a few.
***
AS I TURN FROM THE mirror, I spot Ivy lying on my bed, hunched over her phone. “Who are you texting?”
“A man. A pest I can’t make go away.” She rolls her eyes at my surprised open-mouth stare as I didn’t know Ivy was seeing anyone. Then she gives me a once-over and grimaces. “You’re not wearing that, are you?”
My face heats. “What’s wrong with it?”
“That blouse looks like one of those painting smocks we wear when we go to wine and craft night. Or worse, a maternity top with all those giant pastel flowers. Whatever possessed you to buy something so hideous?”
I tilt my head. “I didn’t. It was a gift from Dean. I’ve never worn it.”
She gapes, then busts up laughing. “God, the only thing that guy didn’t have awful taste in is you. That shirt is reason enough to have divorced him. Go back into that closet and get something cute.”
Something cute?
Ah—no.
“I’m trying to avoid sending the wrong message.”
“Well, you’ve failed. Do you want to know what that shirt says?”
“Not particularly.” I cross my arms.
Her brows slowly lift. “That ugly thing says I’m trying to convince you I don’t want to fuck you. It’s overkill. Practically an invitation for him to make the first move.”
A flash fire runs my body.
Oh God…she’s right.
She springs off the bed, brushes past me, and starts rummaging through my things. Sinking down on the bed, I cradle my head in my hands. This entire morning I’ve been nothing but a bumbling idiot, ditching EJ, having Ivy get my butt in gear, and now I can’t even pick out the right clothes to wear. Confirmation that I’m not ready to attempt dating again.
“Wear this.” She shoves something toward me and I’m afraid to look. It shakes, demanding, disturbing the air near my face.
Cringing, I glance up beneath my lashes and let out a sigh of relief. I expected something borderline slutty given how Ivy’s practically shoving me at EJ.
But, hmm…this is a good choice.
Simple short-sleeve black sweater, high scoop collar, no cleavage, but flattering. The hem hugs mid-hip on my pants. It’s from the business-casual section of my closet.
Exactly appropriate.
I rip off the tent top from Dean and pull the sweater over my head. She hands me the brush and I go back to the mirror to smooth the curls Ivy added to my layers.
Turning, I hold my arms wide. “There. Do you approve? Can I go now?”
“You look beautiful, Willow.” She kisses my cheek. “You’re ready to have breakfast. Try to enjoy it. Tell him thank you and let that be it if you want it to be. But you have to learn to walk again before you can run. Consider this date with EJ learning to walk again.”
“It’s more like steerage class on the Titanic,” I grumble as I gather my purse from the bed. Ivy’s laughter makes a smile tease my lips.
Her arm slips around me as we leave my bedroom. “Doesn’t matter, Willow. You’re the Unsinkable Molly Brown. You survived Dean and you’ll survive breakfast with the Titanic.”
Chapter Nine
Willow
I STEP INTO THE bar, and my pulse leaps. For a moment I’m stunned and unable to make sense of what I’m seeing because too many things hit me at once.
The first thing that comes clearly into focus is how EJ looks standing beside the already set booth with the white tablecloth that came from somewhere.
I have to do a double take, then blink and look again. I know it’s him—his golden hair roguishly mussed, the wide smile that greets me every morning filling his face, the neatly trimmed full beard, his cobalt blue eyes gleaming at me the way they do when he’s being charming—but it’s a different EJ than I’ve ever seen before.
Trendy sweater molding his muscular frame.
Perfectly pressed slacks.
Stylish shoes.
I gaze at him, all air gushing from my lungs.
Holy fuck, he’s a gorgeous man.
Not that I didn’t know—but!
To collect myself, I look past him at the table. Exquisite china, shiny silverware, and a delicious aroma wafting from the plates. This is not to-go food. I wonder briefly where he got it and why he’d go to so much bother for me.
The sight of him—this—floods me with shame.
I can’t believe I almost stood him up.
No wonder Ivy strong-armed me to come here. She’d already see this before she came to my house. Why didn’t she warn me?
Even with my misgivings over being here with him, I would have regretted missing it. It’s darn near the most amazing thing any man has ever done for me. Dean sure as hell never did anything as romantic as this.
Romantic?
My face heats.
I shift my gaze from the food back to EJ, and he’s regarding me intently, his expression unreadable. I walk farther into the room, but he stays where he is.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I say as I close the last of the space between us.
EJ’s mouth quirks up. “You look beautiful this morning. You’re forgiven.”
Color fills my cheeks. Now that I’m close I can see the beautifully arranged plates piled high with an interesting assortment of food. “What is all this?”
“It’s a full English breakfast,” EJ says, his voice quiet and soft. “Though with some variation, personal preference and all. Bubble and squeak with poached egg on top. No black pudding because I wasn’t sure you’d ever had it. Fried bread, baked beans, tomato…”
An English bre
akfast…I think I’m in shock. He can’t know, not about him, but I can’t absorb what I’m feeling. Too many memories and questions cloud my mind.
Why would he bring this?
I’ve never had a full English breakfast before.
It’s an odd choice for an American.
A random coincidence?
It has to be, but weirdly it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like that part of me locked deep inside has been touched and I’m numb.
“…and, of course, coffee instead of tea. I’ve never been much of a tea drinker. And I’ve never seen you with anything but coffee from Java Hut.”
“Oh,” I gasp.
I blink a couple of times.
Why all this trouble? Why this?
I don’t understand.
“We should sit down,” he says, polite as ever, gesturing with hand toward the side of the booth I presume is mine. When I don’t move, he cocks his head, gazing quizzically at me. “It’s safe to eat and very good. Even the bubble and squeak, which is just a silly name for cabbage cooked with potatoes and meat. But it’s delicious.”
I’m standing like a statue, dumbstruck, and there he goes being charming him.
I laugh, nervous. “I’m sure it is, but I don’t know if we should eat this. Even the bubble and squeak. Whoever did the plates arranged them so beautifully I almost don’t want to disturb them.”
He grins, looking relieved that I’ve revived. “That would disappoint the chef. Good food is meant to be eaten. Beautiful things enjoyed.”
His eyes become a lustrous blue, and my heart turns over. His compliments are always delivered so smoothly they sneak up on me, and maybe that’s why they bring a rush of strong reaction.
I take a step back from him before I ease down on the seat in front of my plate. I still can’t believe he did this or reason out why. My gesture was a breakfast sandwich, but this…this…is so over-the-top unexpected.
I surreptitiously gaze at him from beneath my lashes as he lowers in the spot across from me. He’s always very handsome, but this new EJ is going to take some getting used to. I could look at him all day. He runs his long, graceful fingers through his hair before lying the napkin across his lap.
Unbidden thoughts fill my mind—how those fingers feel even in the briefest of contact—and my face flames. I stare down at my plate, not liking where my wayward thoughts are taking me.
I suck in a deep, steadying breath as he fills my coffee cup. It’s a cup with a saucer, not a mug. So elegant—so him, though I’m sure that thought is absurd. He’s homeless, for Christ’s sake. Pull it together, Willow. He’s just trying to impress you.
“You look afraid to dig in.” EJ laughs, startling me. “Like you can’t decide what to try first.”
I go crimson. What I can’t decide is why I’m here with you and why you unnerve me so much.
“Like I said, it’s almost too beautiful to eat.” My voice is quiet, breathy. “Where did you get this? I’ve never heard of a restaurant that includes linen, silver, and china with its to-go orders.”
He laughs again, his hands pausing above his plate, fork in the left and knife in the right. “A friend of mine owns the restaurant. He hooked me up with this.”
My gaze shoots to his face. “So you’re from Seattle?”
“No.” Smiling, he carefully cuts his eggs and doesn’t elaborate further.
“Where are you from?” I ask.
“Nowhere at present. I haven’t settled on a place to live.”
That sounds mysterious and evasive. “Why’s that?”
“I got divorced a year ago. My ex-wife got the house.” His gaze holds mine and it’s unnerving. I want to look away but I can’t.
“I’m divorced also. Two years now.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. I make a silly face. “Only I got the house.”
He laughs, seemingly amused by my weak attempt at humor. “I’m glad you did.”
“Why?”
His glance moves back to mine. “If you hadn’t, you may not have been in Seattle when I got here. I’d have regretted that.”
How he looks at me makes my stomach shimmy. “Where were you before Seattle?”
“Backpacking through the Northwest with a friend. We set out from Winthrop nine months ago and went as far south as Portland then came back up here.”
Most of it I already knew. Yet he’s so fascinating when he talks about himself. Mysterious even in his openness.
My brows pucker. “Winthrop? How the heck did you land there? I’m born and raised in Washington and even I don’t know anyone who’s been there. Is it even a real city?”
He smiles, his long fingers curling around his coffee cup. “Depends on how you define real. The population dropped from 375 to 373 when Hank and I left.”
I laugh. “Why were you there?”
His eyes fix on his plate. “Rehab. There’s a wilderness boot camp facility there. Did ninety days.”
His easy sharing of this is intimidating, but the revelation’s disturbing. “What are you? An addict or an alcoholic?”
“Both.”
And there’s the flaw. I knew there was one. Only I didn’t anticipate this. He doesn’t look uncomfortable over telling me that, but I feel grossly so.
I crinkle my nose. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“I don’t consider it prying.”
I change course. “How long are you going to be backpacking around the country with your friend?”
He shrugs. “A little while longer.”
What does that mean?
“Then what?”
His gaze shoots back to mine. “Depends on how well things go for me in Seattle.”
I flush scarlet, but mentally pat myself on the back for not dropping my fork. He gives me a self-deprecating smile as if to make sure I’m clear on the meaning of that last comment—my inner woman would have to be dead to miss it with how he’s staring at me—and I hear my sharp intake of breath.
“Do you always just drop in the middle of a conversation that you’re interested in a woman?”
“It can’t come as news to you. Have I offended you?”
“No.”
“Good. Things work better when people are honest with each other, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve not met many men who are honest, and I don’t think I have today.” I’m surprised by my audacity, my sudden antagonism toward him, and I’m not sure where it comes from.
Without missing a beat, he refills my cup. “Women should have a healthy skepticism about men. I’d want my daughter to be exactly the way you are. It shows that you value yourself.”
Whoa…he has a slick answer always.
And that other part he just slipped in.
“You have a daughter?”
Pride rises with the smile in his eyes. “Yes. She’s six.”
My mind’s reeling, though I can’t decipher why. Is it finally knowing the details of his life before he showed up in front of Mel’s or that it feels like each piece he sets on the table draws me deeper into my fascination over him?
“Do you get to see her?” I ask.
“Twice a month. She flies up here for visitation.”
“Where does she live?”
“I have joint custody with my ex, but Hana’s been living with my parents for about two months now.”
“Why with your parents?”
“My ex-wife decided, after two years battling in divorce court for sole custody of Hana, that she doesn’t want to be tied down anymore. It was more about the financial settlement than our daughter for her.” He grimaces then lets out an aggravated groan. “I’m sorry. My marriage is a sore spot for me, in case you haven’t noticed.”
I smile sympathetically. “Mine is, too. It’s why I don’t talk about it.”
“I’m rusty at this dating thing.” His face scrunches up. “Too much personal too early?”
“A bit. But I could be wrong. I’m rusty at this, too. Hana. That’s a beautiful name. Do you have pictures?”
He laughs. “Never ask a dad that.” He sets down his fork and reaches for his phone. After tapping through screens, he turns it toward me. “There’s my sunshine.”
“Wow. She’s beautiful.”
Hana looks exactly like him. She has his coloring and smile. I study her features, wondering if they’re mini replicas of what EJ’s beard hides.
With my finger I scroll, discovering a long text string between them with a daily selfie being sent. It’s cute how he chats with her and the pictures of themselves they exchange.
I give each one of EJ a description inside my head.
Sweet Dad.
Happy Dad.
Disciplinarian Dad.
Goofy Dad.
Educational Dad.
Loving Dad.
Not a single word about his circumstance, and I wonder if it’s so she doesn’t worry about him. It’s clear he adores her. It makes it even more baffling that a guy like him is living on the streets.
My inner glow dims. “Why aren’t you home with her?”
“I’m not ready to be home yet.”
It’s the first time he’s looked awkward.
I hand him back his phone. “Ready or not, all any little girl wants is her dad home.”
“That’s what my mom keeps telling me.”
I lift my face. “You should listen.”
He laughs. “So noted.”
I smile fondly, but knowing he’s going to eventually leave Seattle is unwelcome. It also confirms I was right: despite his negatives, nothing could ever come of EJ and me even if I wanted it to.
I should be relieved.
I’m stunned to realize I’m not.
EJ is watching me intently, taking bites of his meal. It draws my gaze to his lips and I wonder what it would feel like to be kissed by him.
Continuing to eat in silence, I sneak looks at him. There is more to him than I suspected and yet I don’t feel as though I know the half of it. An intriguing, sexy mystery. I don’t know what it is; there’s just something about him.
