Vance helped himself to a cream puff. “Just remember to find yourself a woman with a big heart, one who looks beyond the cover-model pecs, and you’ll be okay.”
And with that bit of helpful advice, Vanessa Valentine, aka Vance Fish, took his cream puff and walked over to Jonathan’s kitchen table. “Come on, let’s play cards.”
Jonathan would play cards, but he was done gambling for Vanessa Valentine novels.
He didn’t buy a book at the signing at Mountain Escape Books the following day, either. He didn’t even go.
* * *
“I can’t believe it,” his sister said when he showed up for his next dance lesson. “Vanessa Valentine is a man?”
Jonathan nodded glumly. “And I thought maybe I’d learn something about women from those books. Everything the heroes did was bogus.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Juliet said. “Everything they did was right. Romantic and noble.”
“But they’re written by a guy,” Jonathan protested.
“Well, I don’t care if they’re written by a space alien. They’re wonderful books. And those heroes are the kind of men women dream about.” She smiled at Jonathan. “A good man is a good man, no matter who’s telling his story. And not every book you read was written by Vance. Anyway, believe me, if more men would read romance novels, there’d be more happy marriages.”
Uh-oh. Wasn’t Juliet happy?
As if reading his mind, she shook her head at him. “Don’t worry. I’m perfectly happy with Neil. I know sometimes he says dumb things and sometimes I do dumb things, but we always make up. He’d do anything for me, and in the end that’s what counts.” She grinned. “Still, if he’d read a few romance novels, he’d sure get some brownie points.” She sighed. “Why can’t more men be like romance-novel heroes?”
Probably because trying to become one was practically a full-time job. Still, if a guy did the job well, maybe it paid off, Jonathan told himself. After his disappointment over Vanessa Valentine, he’d been ready to pack in this whole romance-hero scheme, but now, listening to his sister, he changed his mind. No matter who was writing this stuff, they knew something he didn’t. Which wasn’t saying a lot.
During their dance lesson, Juliet raved over the progress he was making, and by the time he’d finished, he’d come to two important conclusions. One, although he didn’t have the dancing gene he could overcome his handicap with hard work. And two, if Vance could write a romance so could he, and he was going to write a real-life one. With Lissa.
Chapter Fifteen
On Saturday Adam entered a new shop in downtown Icicle Falls. Crossing the threshold of Oh, Baby was like setting foot on foreign soil—in a place where there were no men. Women in varying stages of pregnancy browsed among doll-clothes-size dresses and tiny football and basketball jerseys. Tables were piled with blankets and sets of what looked like blue and pink long underwear. He saw bonnets, miniature sundresses and shoes that were small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Babies were so little. How did you handle one without breaking it?
A surge of terror rose in him and swirled into the excitement already present. This was really happening. Was he ready to be a dad? He hadn’t even mastered being a husband.
But he was working on that. People could change. He’d be a better husband and he’d be a great dad, too, one who really deserved that Father’s Day tie.
It seemed appropriate that he was starting his campaign to prove himself a worthy husband and father on Father’s Day weekend. Tomorrow, just like in the book he’d read, he’d lay a gift on Chelsea’s front porch with a note attached. The next day, another would appear with another note and so on until the following Saturday. Then he’d show up and ask her to Zelda’s grand opening night. He’d already made reservations for eight o’clock. Lucky for him he’d called when he had. Charley, who owned the restaurant, told him he’d gotten the last available table.
He hoped this plan worked. If it didn’t he was out of ideas and out of luck.
Where to start? What to get? Everyone in here was staring at him. It was like they were gang members and he’d wandered onto their turf. He looked around and fought the desire to run.
A short brunette who seemed to be in her mid-thirties greeted him. She was the only one, besides him, who didn’t have a bulging belly, which meant she was probably the owner. “Hi. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“I’m having a baby,” he said. Several women smiled and one snickered, making him feel even stupider and more exposed. He might as well have been walking around in his underwear. He cleared his throat. “I want to buy some baby stuff.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” the woman said. “Do you know what you’re having?”
“A baby.” More snickers. “I mean, I don’t know if we’re having a boy or a girl. We just found out.”
“Well, you can probably use almost anything, then,” the woman said.
“I need seven presents,” Adam said. “I want to give my wife one a day.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” said a woman who was standing nearby, checking out blankets. She looked like she had a watermelon under her dress.
Oddly enough, she looked kind of sexy. Adam imagined Chelsea with a big belly, a belly growing their baby. He smiled.
“Maybe a mix of necessary basics and fun things?” the shop owner suggested. She picked up something with a bunch of snaps. “How about a Onesie? If you go with a neutral color like green or yellow, you’ll be fine whether it’s a boy or a girl.”
The watermelon woman stepped over, holding a light green blanket that made him think of ice cream. “This would be nice,” she suggested.
“Thanks,” he said. The panic began to subside.
Now another woman was at his side. “Here’s something cute.”
It was a sort of pajama thing—orange with tiger stripes.
“Oh, and you’ll need these,” another woman said, handing him a package of bibs.
Before he knew it, he had an armload of baby things. “I think you met your quota,” the shop owner teased.
All except the last present, which had to make a statement. And there it was, sitting on a shelf, beckoning him—a big, blue stuffed elephant. An elephant never forgets. And he wasn’t going to forget the lessons he was learning the hard way. “I’ll take that elephant, too,” he said, pointing to it. “And can you wrap all of these up?”
“Of course,” said the owner. “How about a variety? Some in gift boxes, some in bags?”
“Sure.” He didn’t care how she did it. It all just needed to look nice.
“Your wife’s a lucky lady,” said the watermelon woman, smiling at him.
“No, I’m a lucky man,” he corrected her. He was lucky to have found Chelsea. Now, with a little more luck, maybe he could keep her.
* * *
Father’s Day was still hard for Jonathan. This Father’s Day was especially hard. He kept thinking how proud his dad would have been to see some muscle actually forming on his scrawny son. He could have talked with Dad about Lissa, asked him for advice on how to proceed. Instead, he was going out with his family to Der Spaniard in memory of Dad.
“Your father loved to eat here,” Mom said.
This was hardly a newsflash but sharing it obviously made her feel good, so Jonathan nodded.
“I wish he was still here,” Juliet said, “because this is a very special Father’s Day.”
She was smiling like a woman who’d won a free shopping spree. Happy sister, comment about this being a special Father’s Day—it could mean only one thing. Jonathan didn’t steal her thunder by guessing her news.
Sure enough. She and Neil exchanged sappy grins, then she announced, “We’re pregnant.”
“Oh, darling, that’s wonderful!” her mother cried,
and hugged her.
“Congrats, man,” Jonathan said, shaking Neil’s hand.
“Thanks.” Neil was looking like he’d won the Nobel Prize for science.
Jonathan couldn’t blame him. They’d been trying for two years.
Mom dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Our first grandchild. Your father would have been over the moon.”
“I’ll be an uncle.” Jonathan smiled. “Uncle Jon. I’ll teach him how to play chess.”
“No nerd stuff,” Neil said firmly, making Jonathan frown.
“What if he’s a she?” asked his wife.
“Girls can play sports,” Neil said.
“They can be smart and play chess, too,” Juliet pointed out.
“And they can learn to cook,” her mother said. Then, as if realizing she might have stepped in it, she took a quick drink of her lemonade.
“Actually, I’m learning to cook,” Juliet said.
When? This was news to Jonathan.
“I signed up for a class Olivia’s offering at the inn. It’s called Comfort Cooking and we’re going to make old classics with new twists.”
“I can hardly wait to see how you twist those,” Neil said.
Neil needed to read some romance novels.
“Or you can just take over the cooking,” Juliet told him. “Because,” she added, “next time you insult my cooking, that’s what’s going to happen. I’m tired of it.”
Her lower lip was trembling and her eyes were filling with tears. This was awkward. Jonathan got busy on his enchiladas and Mom took a sudden interest in something outside the restaurant window.
“Hey, babe. I’m sorry,” Neil said, and covered her hand with his.
“I know I should have been a better cook,” she continued. “And now that we’re starting a family, I’m going to learn. I want to set a good example for my daughter. Or son. And I want you to set a good example, too, so no more insults. My daddy never insulted my mom.”
“Okay, got it,” Neil said, and he suddenly got busy with his enchiladas.
“Have you thought about names?” Mom asked, moving them away from the awkward moment.
Juliet smiled. “We still haven’t agreed on a girl’s name, but for a boy, we’re thinking Jonathan.”
Jonathan nearly dropped his glass. “What?”
Juliet beamed at him. “In honor of a good brother and a good man.”
Naming their son after a nerd? What did Neil think about this? “Are you okay with it?” he asked Neil.
“Yeah.” Neil pointed his fork at Jonathan. “But you still don’t get to teach him chess.”
“Unless he wants to learn,” Juliet corrected.
The possibility of having a namesake had him so choked up he could barely say thanks but he managed.
“And don’t worry,” Juliet said to Mom. “He’ll have Daddy’s name, too.”
“Jonathan Frederick. It has a nice ring to it,” Mom said.
Jonathan figured the kid would rather be called Jon than Fred. Thank God his parents hadn’t named him Fred, Jr. He’d had enough to cope with in high school as it was.
“Well,” Mom said, raising her glass, “here’s to our new family member.”
“To the new member,” Jonathan echoed, and they all clinked glasses.
For the rest of the meal, talk centered on the baby, and that was fine with Jonathan. His sister had waited a long time for this and he was happy for her.
A nasty little gremlin hopped onto his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “This may be the closest you ever come to getting a kid. You’re a nerd and a loser.”
You act like a hero, you’ll get the girl. Vance’s words came back to him and he used them like a sword, taking out the gremlin with one swift move. Damn it all, he was going to get the girl.
* * *
Of course, Chelsea wasn’t home when Adam pulled up. But Dennis the Menace was out, mowing his lawn. Was that all the man ever did?
He waved at Adam and turned off the mower. “She’s not home.”
He didn’t need old Dennis to tell him what he already knew. It was Father’s Day and she’d be in Seattle with her family. They’d always spent Father’s Day weekend over there. Right now he was sure she was at the Windjammer with her father and her two sisters and their families, enjoying a crab Louie. And telling everyone what a rat he was.
But he was done with rathood. He was a new man. Hopefully, these presents would prove it.
Here was Dennis again, intruding on his thoughts. “She’s in Seattle, visiting her family.”
A nasty little jab. “I know,” Adam said through clenched teeth. “Father’s Day,” he added, getting in a jab of his own. “How come you’re not with your kids?”
“Saw them yesterday,” Dennis said.
Instead of returning to his own lawn and his own business, he stood there, smiling a rival’s smile, eyeing the package in Adam’s hand. Had Chelsea mentioned to him that she was pregnant?
Now he nodded at it. “Chelsea’s birthday?”
“No,” Adam said. It was none of this slimy little predator’s business what the gift was for. Adam marched up to the porch and left his offering there. Then he marched back down the walk.
“I’ll see she gets that,” Dennis called.
Like he was her personal assistant? Or her boyfriend? It was all Adam could do not to walk over there and punch that superior expression off his face. “She’ll find it,” he said curtly.
Dennis shrugged and started his mower back up.
Adam imagined him running over his foot and smiled.
But his smile didn’t last long. It was hard to smile standing on the edge of a ruined marriage.
It’s not ruined, he told himself. At least it wasn’t yet. He could still make things right. By next Father’s Day he wanted to be a family, not a divorce statistic.
Father’s Day. When he was little, it had been a day for backyard barbecues and a chance to play with his cousins. After his dad split, it had turned into a rare opportunity to hang out with his old man. Dad would take him and his older brother, Greg, to see the Mariners play or out to Wild Waves water park. Those times were fun but they couldn’t make up for his dad not being around much the rest of the year. Staying at Dad’s apartment every other weekend was a novelty that quickly wore off. The weekend was always over too soon. And then when Dad got a new wife who came with sons of her own... Adam frowned. He didn’t want his kid to have to compete with some stepbrother or -sister.
He drove back to Jonathan’s, his home away from home, where he settled on the porch with the dog for company and put in a call to his dad. Maybe he’d have some sage advice. After all, he’d screwed up two marriages. He had to have learned something from that.
The old man answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Pops, I’m calling to wish you a happy Father’s Day,” Adam said. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, all right.”
“You doing anything today?”
“Nah. Greg’s got things going on with his wife’s family.”
And the old man hadn’t been included. That wasn’t surprising, considering the fact that his brother and father had grown apart.
“And Joe and Mark both had plans.”
The words came out sharp and bitter. But what did the old man expect? He wasn’t with their mom anymore. Stepsons didn’t owe loyalty to a man who’d divorced their mother.
“So how’s it going over there?” his dad asked.
Now was Adam’s chance to confess that he was in trouble and needed help.
But before he could say anything, the old man was on to a new question, steering them into shallow conversational waters. “You still like small-town life?”
“Oh, yeah, this is a g
reat place. Good fishing.”
His father had always promised to take him fishing but had never gotten around to it. Too busy. He’d promised to take Mom to Hawaii, too. That had never materialized, either. Dad had managed a trip to Reno with his tennis team, though.
“Well,” Dad said, “one of these days I’m going to have to come up there and check out your place, see if the fishing is as good as you say.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Even as Adam said it, he knew that would never happen. His dad was semiretired now and he had the time, but he’d never make the effort. Just like he’d never made the effort to work at his marriages. And now he was alone on Father’s Day.
Adam was going under for the third time but he realized his father was no lifesaver. He was his own personal shipwreck and he’d be no use to his son.
Adam said goodbye and ended the call. Now he was more depressed. Had he just been looking at his future?
He stopped by the house the next morning on his way to work and saw that yesterday’s present was no longer on the porch. Good. She’d gotten it. Or Dennis had filched it. Adam wouldn’t put it past him.
Adam decided to think positive. Of course Chels had found the present. Had she read the note he’d included? It had been short and to the point. “I’m happy about the baby. I wanted you to know that.”
Today’s offering was the blanket. The accompanying note read: “This blanket made me think of you. It’s soft and pretty. I can see the baby wrapped up in it. Wish I could wrap my arms around you like a blanket.” Had that been too mushy? Probably not. From what he’d read in those books, a man couldn’t get too mushy.
He wanted more than anything to ring the doorbell and wait for her to open the door so he could give her the blanket in person, but something told him this wasn’t the time. He needed to simply leave her every present, like Santa Claus. Then, maybe, by Saturday she’d be ready to see him.
If she was, he had to make sure he played it right. Deep down he knew this was his last chance. If he blew it there wouldn’t be another. No three-strike rule in this game. He’d be out in two.
Romance on Mountain View Road Page 20
