Lover's Lane

by Jill Marie Landis

Christopher ran back into the living room first, his hair slicked down, his cheeks glowing. Carly had him change into a clean, collared polo shirt tucked into his jeans, and he carried a hooded sweatshirt.

  “We’re ready!” Chris announced.

  When Carly stepped into the room, Jake sensed that she put a lot of time into trying to downplay her striking looks, perhaps attempting to make herself into a woman who wouldn’t turn a man’s head when she walked into a room, but she had failed miserably. It would be near impossible to disguise her natural, wholesome glow, the grace of her movements, the sparkle in her eyes.

  Her long, pale hair gleamed around her shoulders. Glossy pink lipstick echoed the slight tint on her cheeks. She wore the same plain, silver shell earrings as last night. A black turtleneck sweater and jeans completed her outfit. He watched while she scooped up a fleece jacket from a chair near the dining table and the same backpack she’d carried at the ball diamond.

  Chris bounded over to him. “How many tacos can you eat, Jake? One time I ate six of ’em.”

  “Christopher . . .” Carly waited for them by the door. When she smiled over at him, Jake’s gut tightened.

  She flicked the lock on the doorknob, stepped around him and flashed him an uncertain smile. When she brushed by, he inhaled the floral scent of her hair and the image of summer sunshine immediately came to him. He smiled back, and before he knew it, his hand was riding the small of her back as they walked out the door.

  Carly paused and looked up over her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked him softly.

  By the time they had walked down the porch steps, Jake wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  13

  CASA GRANDE RESTAURANT’S ENCHILADA COMBINATION plate had been Jake’s undoing. Thoroughly stuffed, he leaned back in the banquette and wished he’d had the good sense to order a salad and an à la carte entrée as Carly had, but he knew of no better way to ease his conscience than with carbos and plenty of cheese.

  Carly sat opposite him, relaxed but quiet, while Christopher slept on the booth bench beside her. She had volunteered nothing about her life before or after she moved to Twilight Cove. Jake filled the silence by telling them about the walking tour of town he’d taken earlier. Both he and Carly had listened to Christopher’s tall tales of his adventures at school.

  The boy seemed bright, happy, and a well-adjusted six-year-old—squirmy, boisterous at times, pleased whenever he held their attention. His self-esteem was definitely high.

  Jake watched the busboy clear the table. “I didn’t think he’d be able to eat half that much,” Jake commented.

  Carly’s attention had strayed to a place only she knew. When she turned to him again, Jake found himself staring at her lips.

  “He was showing off, but he has a pretty healthy appetite. I can’t imagine how much he’ll eat when he’s a teenager.” She brushed Christopher’s blond hair off his forehead, watched it fall back into place again. “Thanks for asking him along. You’ve no idea how much this meant to him.”

  Jake was afraid that he did, and the knowledge only added to his guilt. He’d been a kid without a dad twice. He’d lost not one, but two beloved fathers, his own and his step-dad.

  “Ready?” Jake asked. At Carly’s nod, he paid the bill in cash, thanked the waiter and slid out of the booth. When he realized she meant to carry Christopher to the car, he stepped closer.

  “Let me do that,” he offered.

  She hesitated a moment, then allowed him to slip his arms around the boy, who easily drooped like a dead weight over his shoulder. What was nowhere near a burden in his arms only added to the growing weight upon Jake’s heart.

  Once they were back at Carly’s, Jake carried Christopher inside.

  “Would you mind?” Carly stood in the hallway, indicating the boy’s room.

  Earlier Jake had wanted the chance to check out the rest of the place, but not like this. Not this way at all.

  Carly turned the blankets back. Jake laid the boy down, then stepped back so Carly could sit on the edge of the bed and take off Chris’s shoes and jeans.

  “I’ll let him sleep in his T-shirt and underwear,” she whispered. “If I wake him up he’ll have a hard time getting back to sleep.”

  Christopher’s room was as tidy as could be expected for a kindergartner’s. The walls were white with detailed race cars painted here and there at random. Homemade valances that matched the comforter trimmed the windows.

  There were toys lying around, and near the window, a small student desk covered with crayons, markers, and construction paper. The desk chair sported a bright blue cushion on the seat.

  Again Jake was reminded of his own childhood. He’d never had a lot growing up, but there was no shortage of love. After his father died and his mother remarried, Manny and Julie Olson had become his family, too.

  Jackson Montgomery, his grandfather, had always been there, always trying to convince Jake that he’d be better off moving in with him full time.

  They returned to the living room, and without the boy as a diversion, Carly seemed edgy and uncomfortable alone with him.

  “Do I make you uncomfortable? Would you like me to leave?” he asked.

  “No!” she protested, then caught herself and laughed nervously. “It’s been a while since I’ve . . . well, since I’ve been out on a date with anyone.”

  He laughed. “You call that a date?”

  “Actually, yes. I haven’t been on a real date for a long, long time.”

  “Then I consider myself very lucky.”

  “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Decaf, if you have it, but only if you’re having some.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen. He heard her rustling around, opening drawers, filling a pot with water. When she came back in, she seemed surprised to find him still standing in the middle of the room.

  “Please.” She indicated the sofa. “Sit down.”

  “Thanks.” He sat on one end. She chose the listing wicker rocker.

  “How long have you had this place?” He thought it a safe query, one anyone might ask and not be prying.

  “A while.”

  After a few more attempts and getting nothing but vague answers in return, he stopped asking her questions. She went back into the kitchen to pour the coffee.

  “How do you take it?” she called.

  “Black is fine.” At his place he could never trust the milk not to have turned sour.

  She walked back in, set a steaming mug down on the trunk, and sat in the rocker again instead of choosing the space beside him.

  “I see Christopher’s into race cars,” he commented.

  “Actually, it’s fire trucks now.”

  “My dad was a race car driver. He died when I was eight.”

  “You’re kidding? Was he famous?”

  “He was getting there.” Jake nodded. “He was a NASCAR driver.” He never spoke of his father very often. The hurt was still too deep, still raw even after all these years.

  “Is that how he died?”

  “A pileup one Sunday afternoon.”

  “It was hard for you, growing up without a father.”

  It was a statement, not a question, and he knew she was thinking of Christopher.

  “Sure, it was hard. We’d been best friends. I missed him. I used to go into my room and pretend he was there. I’d talk to him, tell him I hated him for dying. Then I’d end up bawling my eyes out and begging him to forgive me.

  “My mom remarried about three years later to a great guy, definitely one without the need for speed. He was a carpenter who had custody of his only child, a daughter. Julie’s the sister I mentioned last night at the gallery.”

  Carly hesitated, as if debating what she was about to say.

  “Christopher’s dad was killed in an accident. Chris never knew him.”

  “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

  She shook her head, stared into space. “I don’t kno
w. He wishes he had a dad.” Then she shrugged, smiled a wistful smile. “Or a dog. Sometimes I’m not sure which he wants more.”

  “Aren’t dogs allowed here?”

  She looked over at him as if she’d almost forgotten she wasn’t alone.

  “They are, but . . . the place is too small.”

  He nodded. She had relaxed, kicked off her shoes, curled her legs up beneath her.

  “You have any brothers or sisters?” he asked.

  She paused with the coffee mug to her lips. Her eyes clouded before she blinked and looked down. “No. I was an only child.”

  She appeared so vulnerable, so very alone. He wished he could come right out and say what he really wanted to say, ask her why she had run from Borrego Springs. Why she had changed her name, felt compelled to stay hidden all these years.

  Why hadn’t she let the Saunders help her?

  He was tempted to confide in her, but until he knew what she was running from, he didn’t want to spook her. He hated to think he might cause her to leave the life she was establishing for Christopher and disappear again.

  He couldn’t take the chance of that happening. If it did, he doubted he’d be able to forgive himself.

  So he chose safer ground. “You must have studied a lot of history to be able to recreate early California figures in your work.”

  “I grew up in libraries. They were always warm and . . . well, warm.”

  She stopped abruptly, leaving him to wonder—warm and what? Warm and safe?

  “How’s the painting coming?”

  “Which painting?”

  “The one on the back porch. Is that mine?”

  She smiled over the lip of her coffee mug. “Let’s just say I haven’t started yours yet.”

  “What do I have to do to get one?”

  Her eyes widened, as if she wondered exactly what he was hinting at. A pink blush slowly crept up her cheeks.

  “What I always tell Chris when he asks for anything is that he has to be very, very good.”

  14

  AS SOON AS THE WORDS WERE OUT OF HER MOUTH, CARLY wanted to crawl under the carpet. She couldn’t believe she was actually flirting and had no idea where her burst of bravado had come from.

  She couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to take up the whole sofa as he sat sprawled with his legs out, ankles crossed, resting his empty coffee mug on his stomach. His thick, dark hair was mussed just enough for her to want to run her fingers through it. His clear blue eyes were alive, alert. And they never left her.

  She’d been nervous as a cat when he first made it apparent that he wanted to stay a while. She’d offered him coffee, listened while—bless his heart—he did all the talking, as if he somehow knew how hard this was for her.

  It wasn’t that she was unaccustomed to being around men, she waited on them day in and day out at the diner, but having one in her living room was entirely different. She caught herself watching the way he moved his hands, the way he rubbed the back of his neck with his palm and rolled his head on his shoulders.

  As the minutes passed, she’d grown more at ease. When she thought about how he had invited Chris to go along with them and then gently carried him into the house, a feeling of tranquility crept over her, one that she hadn’t dared let herself enjoy in a long, long time.

  That surprising warmth stirred a long-slumbering hunger, a need she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge. She remembered Joe’s words of advice.

  You’ve got to let someone in sometime.

  Time eased away as she sat in silence, cradling her empty coffee mug between her hands, surreptitiously watching Jake move, listening to the deep timbre of his voice. It was as satisfying as sneaking a bite of chocolate.

  His masculinity filled the room, gently wrapped itself around her. What would it be like to make physical contact? To kiss him? To have him touch her hand, her hair? To feel like a woman more than a mom for a few stolen moments?

  With a start, she suddenly realized Jake had set down his coffee cup. He was ready to leave.

  Any other time she would have been relieved that she would no longer have to be on guard, watching every word. Now, part of her ached with disappointment.

  Jake could tell that she was tired, so he stretched and glanced at his watch. “Thanks for having dinner with me.”

  When Carly unfolded her long, slender legs, he realized that without her shoes she seemed even more vulnerable. The way she was smiling at him was doing things to his composure.

  “Thank you. It was sweet of you to ask Christopher along. He had a wonderful time.”

  “He’s a good kid.”

  “Thanks. I like to think so. I want to keep him that way.”

  She led him to the front door, tried to open it for him.

  “This sticks,” she explained as she began tugging on the doorknob. “It warped last year when we had all that rain, and it hasn’t been right since. There’s a little bit of technique to getting it op . . .”

  The door gave before she expected, throwing her off balance. When she landed against his chest, his arms automatically closed around her. He heard her swift intake of breath, felt her freeze. Neither of them budged, not until he put his hands on her upper arms and moved her away.

  “Sorry about that.” She turned to smile up at him.

  “Anytime.”

  He stood in the open doorway, awkward, an imposter trying like hell to convince himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong, that he had not crossed any lines.

  Having seen her face-to-face and glimpsed an inside view of the life she had made for herself and her son, knowing Rick Saunders’ child was happy and well adjusted, Jake found himself reluctant to tell anyone at all that he’d found her, even Kat.

  It was almost as if by guarding her secret, he could keep Carly all to himself. Given time, if he could win her trust, perhaps he could help her and Rick’s son, find out why she’d changed her name, why she’d run from the Saunders.

  Hell, it was a long shot, but since he knew both parties, he might even be able to bring about a reconciliation between her and Anna Saunders, but that would only happen if and when Carly trusted him enough to hear the truth.

  Kat would be chewing him a new one right now if she could see him like this, or worse yet, read the pipe dreams in his mind.

  “Are you still leaving town tomorrow?” Carly was blushing, holding on to the edge of the offending door as he pushed open the screen.

  “I decided to head back Monday morning instead.”

  “But then you’ll be back . . . because of the house.”

  He thought of the ramshackle Craftsman waiting on the hillside, and an unfamiliar tug of anticipation hit him. It had been a while since he’d had anything but work to look forward to. He’d be kidding himself if he didn’t acknowledge that he wanted to see Carly again, too.

  “I’ll definitely be back. I’ve got some clients down south to deal with first. Some loose ends to wrap up.”

  “It’s good you own your own business.”

  He glanced away. “Yeah.” Definitely the truth, partially anyway.

  Had she stepped closer? He wasn’t sure, but he caught a whiff of the heady floral fragrance of her hair. It lingered, tempted. He wanted to touch her again, but didn’t. Wanted to stay, but couldn’t.

  So he said, “I was hoping that . . . if you have some time tomorrow, that you might come see the house. If I do lease it I’ll need some advice on color before I start painting.” He could already envision her there, standing on the porch overlooking the sea.

  “That would be great. I’d love to, but . . .”

  “Chris, too, of course.”

  “We’ll come, but only if you let me bring a picnic lunch.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  The awkward silence returned. Neither of them wanting to say good-bye.

  Jake tried to break the spell. “Well, it’s late. I’d better get going.”

  Shouts of “Bunco!” and the sound of so
mething heavy hitting the floor next door drew their attention. Carly shook her head and giggled.

  “My neighbor, Mrs. Schwartz, is having Bunco night with the girls.”

  Jake stared over at the plaster burro and cart statuette highlighted in the glow of the amber porch light next door. Carly crossed her arms and rubbed them against the chill damp air.

  Above her, the butterfly mobile gently swayed in the breeze off the ocean. The night air was moist and heavy, tinged with the sharp sting of salt. Beyond the perimeters of the cinder block wall around Seaside Village, the surf pounded against the rocky coastline and short strip of private beach.

  Jake looked back, saw her framed in the doorway. The glow of lamplight from within cast her in silhouette. Backlit, her blonde hair shone like a halo, long and full around her shoulders.

  In that split second of time, in one heartbeat, he found himself wishing she was someone else. Anyone else. He wished to God she was simply a woman with no past, a stranger he had met on an innocent stroll through town. He wished he was what he claimed to be—a consultant who had needed some R and R away from his ordinary world.

  “Good-bye . . . Carly.” His heart nearly stopped. He’d almost called her Caroline. He turned and cleared the first step.

  “Jake?” The sound of his name, coming so unexpectedly and perhaps a bit desperately, stopped him cold. She quickly stepped through the door, joined him in the darkness.

  He lingered at the edge of the porch, willing something to happen, afraid something might.

  Maybe he was overestimating the situation, reading his own desire into the moment as Carly hesitated just above him. His position on the lower step put them eye to eye.

  “Good night, Jake.” She spoke so softly he barely heard her.

  It wasn’t until he felt her hand against the side of his neck that he even realized she had reached for him. Her fingers teased the curls above the nape of his neck with a touch as light as the gentle night breeze off the water.

  With the slightest tug she invited him to kiss her. Their lips met, brushed as lightly as the waxed paper butterflies skimmed one another. His hand went to her hip, rested there as naturally as if it belonged, as if it had been waiting forever just to touch her.