“Who says?”
She frowned down at him. “Who says what?”
“That you have to deal with him on your own.” And you’re setting yourself up for getting closer to the woman, why?
“I do,” she said, tossing the sponge into a bucket on the landing, then wiping her hands on a towel before sitting on the stairs a few feet above him. “Because I was the one who ran. Well, after I kicked him out of our apartment. And to be fair, I think he deserves an explanation. If not an apology.”
Noah’s brow knotted. “Sounds to me like he doesn’t deserve anything. Except a swift kick in the ass, maybe.”
“Already did that. Not literally, of course. But he got the message. So I’m thinking this is for me.”
See, this is why female logic eluded him. “How can you apologizing to him be for you?”
She leaned back on her elbows, a crease digging into the space between her brows. “Because our relationship was a mistake. A mistake that would’ve never happened if I’d been honest with myself. And with him. If I hadn’t gotten involved for the wrong reasons.”
“But what he said to you—”
“Was cold and unfeeling and reprehensible. Absolutely. But even if he’d been kinder about it, things eventually would have fallen apart, anyway. And the reasons behind that were every bit as much my fault as his. That’s all I’m saying.”
On a sigh, Noah came to sit on the step right below hers, leaning forward so as to leave enough space between them for it not to be awkward. For her, at least. “That job offer really put you in a good mood, huh?”
Her laugh was soft. “It definitely did. But I’d already come to that conclusion about Jeff and me.”
“You’re something else, you know that?”
He felt her gaze on the side of his face, followed by a shrug. “Only trying to muddle through life like everybody else.”
Maybe so. But clearly her muddling skills were better than most. Especially Noah’s.
“So when you gonna call him?” he asked, quickly standing when his loud, chatterbox brothers walked through the door. Roxie stood as well, lightly tripping down the stairs to give them both hugs. Charley hadn’t been kidding.
“Soon,” Rox promised, tossing Noah a smile over her shoulder, earning him quizzical looks from both his siblings. “When it feels right.”
And for a moment, assuming Jeff the Jerk wanted to make amends, Noah almost felt sorry for him, that he was stupid enough to screw up what he’d had.
Almost.
If nothing else, seeing Eden every day gave Charley the perfect excuse to get out of the house, leaving Noah and Rox and the crew to the chaos. Not that he needed an excuse to visit his girlfriend, he thought, with what was probably a dumb grin, as he drove toward Santa Fe.
He wasn’t sure, at least not yet, that what he felt for Eden was love, exactly. Not like he’d felt for Mae, that was for sure. Maybe he was infatuated. And maybe that’s all it ever would be. But what he’d said to Rox about Eden making him happy? That was true enough. Because she made him forget the pain. Not Mae. He’d never forget her. Just the pain. And why that was a bad thing?
He pulled into Eden’s apartment complex’s parking lot, getting a little thrill when she waved from her balcony, her face all lit up. Although her yelling, “Yoo-hoo!” at the top of her lungs he could live without, truth be told. He could definitely understand Rox’s reservations—the woman wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet.
She vanished inside to greet him at her front door, giving him a big kiss on the lips, which was as far as their sex life went at this point. Not that she wasn’t amenable to something more down the road, she’d said, but what with their being still newish to widowhood and all, she thought it best they wait. For what, Charley wasn’t sure.
“So what do you think?” she said, spinning around in the cramped living room to show off what he assumed was one of her new creations, something that couldn’t decide if it was a blouse or dress or what, worn over a pair of those skinny pants that made her feet look big. Not that he would tell her that. As usual, she’d overdone her strong, spicy perfume. Mostly it didn’t bother him, but he did occasionally consider suggesting she take it down a notch—or two—only to immediately rethink that. Women rarely took kindly to what could easily be construed as criticism of their personal hygiene.
“Very nice,” Charley said, smiling when Eden grinned back, even though that little Chihuahua of hers growled at Charley’s feet. He’d never been a big fan of tiny dogs, but Eden was devoted to the thing, so he supposed he could get used to her.
“For goodness’ sake, Diva,” Eden said, scooping the little rat dog into her arms. “You act like you’ve never seen the man! Go on, give him some love.” Thankfully, for both dog and him, she didn’t actually thrust the poor creature into Charley’s face—a move which would have probably resulted in Charley’s losing his nose—but when she offered up her “baby” the beast did seem amenable to a quick scratch behind the ears.
“I made chicken salad inside a cranberry Jell-O mold,” she said, setting the dog down and moving to her eating nook, the bistro table all set for two. “Hope that’s okay, I got the recipe out of a magazine.”
Still full from two burritos and a cinnamon roll earlier, Charley smiled. “Sounds perfect.”
He sat while, humming to herself, Eden bustled and fussed in the kitchen, a woman apparently content in her world. Content with him, he thought on a small burst of pleasure. Her garment billowing like a benign jellyfish around her, she swept back into the living area and set the half-size serving platter in the center of the table with a “Ta-da!”
“Wow. That looks amazing,” Charley said, and she flushed, pleased.
While Eden settled across from him, Charley waited to see if Mae had something to say about all of this. But no. In fact, his wife hadn’t talked to him since the one time, when she’d told him to fix Rox. Not that he or anybody else could “fix” the girl anymore than he’d let his niece dictate the terms of his relationship with Eden. And if she got this job, he’d be genuinely happy for her. Except there was something decidedly off about her excitement. Like it was a little too forced, maybe. And he was betting that “something” had to do with Noah—
“Everything okay?” Delicately salting her chicken salad, bracelets jangling, Eden cast a smile in his direction while the dog peered bug-eyed at Charley from her lap.
“Thinking about Roxie,” he said, eagerly digging in despite his lack of appetite. Woman definitely knew her way around the kitchen, that was for sure. Although her dishes tended more toward the exotic than Mae’s—there was some spice or other in here he didn’t recognize—but it was pretty good.
“Is she coming for Thanksgiving?”
“She said she would.”
“Willingly?”
Nodding, Charley forked in a second bite, then took a taste of the cranberry mold. Not bad. But he did not feel up to going into his and Rox’s conversation the night before. “She’s got a job interview next week. In Atlanta.”
“Really?” Eden plucked a small, knotted roll from the basket beside the platter, slathered on a good helping of low-fat spread. “She must be over the moon.”
“She is.”
“But you’re not.”
About to grab one of the rolls, Charley stopped, his gaze darting to hers. “What makes you say that?”
The slippery fabric slipped off one freckled shoulder when she shrugged. “You’re not exactly a closed book, Charley.” She pinched off a chunk of roll and popped it into her mouth. “And I bet I know somebody else who wouldn’t be happy if she left,” she said, waving the uneaten part of the roll at him, the dog’s head bobbing along. “That Noah.”
“Noah?” Not that Charley didn’t suspect the same thing, his niece’s protests that there was nothing between them notwithstanding. A blind man could see they were attracted to each other. Because he was a nice boy, despite his reputation. Good-looking, too, Charley supposed.
But after his and Rox’s talk last night he’d got to thinking, that after what she’d been through with that Jeff, it’d take more than nice and good-looking to sweep the gal off her feet again. “Rox’d never have him,” he said mildly. “Not her type.”
“Doesn’t mean she’s not his.”
Suddenly the very thing about Eden that had hooked him to begin with—her boldness—wasn’t sitting all that well. But he couldn’t exactly tell her she was butting into private family business, could he? So instead, he said, “Only because she’s female, most likely. Rumor has it boy’s got more oats to sow than ten men combined. He could never make Roxie—or, I’m guessing, any other gal—happy. At least not in the long run.”
“Except you’d said yourself, when we were driving last night, that he seems to have changed in a lot of ways.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, you did. So maybe he’s growing up. It does happen, you know. My Sal, you should’ve seen him in his early twenties. Wild? You have no idea. Then suddenly he hits twenty-seven, twenty-eight, and boom! Like night and day. Thirty-five years we were married, and never once did he so much as flirt with another woman. And I know what you’re thinking—how can I be sure?”
She took a sip of her iced tea. “Because these things, they never stay a secret. The guy trips up, or somebody always blabs, whatever. Especially after the funeral. That seems to be when the hitherto unknown mistresses come crawling outta the woodwork.” Her head wagged. “Not with Sal. So sometimes people do change. And you know…” Her gaze averted, she picked at her gelatin. “Having her settled…well, it would take a huge load off your mind, wouldn’t it?”
Charley looked up, the Jell-O quivering on his fork. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, Charley! She’s what, thirty? And not even your daughter! It’s not right, you worrying over her like she’s still a child! Or her acting like you’re still one! You both deserve your own lives, don’t you think?”
Funny, how thoughts that make perfect sense inside your own head sound not so perfect coming out of somebody else’s mouth. Because for all Edie had virtually echoed Charley’s own take on the subject, the flare of annoyance setting ablaze the chicken and gelatin in his stomach made him realize things weren’t nearly that black and white.
“For one thing,” he said, “it’s not up to me to get her ‘settled.’” Or fix her, he silently added to his wife, in case she was listening in. “Whether Noah really is changed or not, I have no idea. But that’s for Rox to decide, not me. Or anybody else. For another, maybe she’s not blood kin, but she’s the closest thing to a daughter Mae and I ever had. Nor do I recall there being an age cutoff for when you stop being concerned about somebody.”
Her cheeks pinker than usual, Edie leveled him with her gaze. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. I’m just afraid…” Petting the dog, she sagged back in her chair. “She doesn’t like me, Charley. And my gut tells me she’ll do anything she can to break us up.”
“She doesn’t know you, Edie,” he said, thinking, with a start, And obviously she’s not the only one. “Yes, we worry about each other. And it’s sometimes annoying as hell. But we don’t get in each other’s business. I can promise you no matter what she thinks she would never interfere—”
“Maybe not overtly,” Eden said, her eyes shiny. “But believe me—” she pressed one hand to her chest “—and I’m only speaking as another woman, here—if she thinks I’m bad for you she’ll wear you down until you think it, too. Especially as long as she’s still single herself!” At Charley’s probably flummoxed expression, Edie lifted her chin. “Sorry, but I can’t keep this inside. And I feel like I’m on really shaky ground here, with her.”
A long moment passed before Charley folded his napkin, placing it carefully beside his plate before getting to his feet, thinking it wasn’t Roxie she was on shaky ground with right now. “I like you, Edie. A lot. But if you’re convinced I can’t think for myself, or tell the difference between manipulation and being cared about…that’s a deal breaker. Believe me,” he said, his eyes on hers, “I can. Thanks for lunch,” he mumbled, then started for the door.
“Charley?”
When he turned she was practically on top of him, clutching her little dog and looking quite distressed. Moved—and frankly torn—Charley laid a hand on her cheek. “I don’t see my niece as either a burden or an obstacle. As long as you do, however…” He took a deep breath. “If you don’t trust me, maybe it’s best if we take a break.”
Then he kissed her on her soft, fragrant cheek and left, realizing with a kick to his gut that following your conscience doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going to be happy about it.
Chapter Seven
In front of Roxie stood a grinning, wriggling little boy wearing well-worn blue jeans, a heavyweight hoodie and straw-colored, choir boy bangs. Beside him stood an unshaven Noah wearing well-worn jeans—black, natch—a heavyweight hoodie…and a smaller boy in plush, dinosaur-splotched footed jammies, clinging to him like a limpet.
It was a lot to take in at seven-thirty in the morning. Especially given her lack of sleep over the pending job interview, her screwing up the courage to call Jeff and her uncle’s two-days-and-counting mopefest, which she assumed had something to with Eden but God forbid he actually talk to her or anything.
“Sorry,” Noah mumbled as he ushered in his six-year-old nephew, Ollie, then gently set a still very sleepy, two years younger Tad on the sofa, along with a jumble of pint-size clothes and a largish paper bag smelling of greasy heaven. “Silas had an early appointment and Jewel’s out at a birth. So I said I’d get Ollie to school by nine, and whichever one finishes up first’ll swing by to collect Tad. Hope that’s not a problem? Ollie!” he shouted as the boy vanished into the back of the house. “Get back here!”
“Coming!”
“Of course not,” Roxie said, aching to take the sagging little boy in her arms, even as she kept an eye on his brother, darting from room to room like a pinball, his backpack going thunkathunkathunka between his slender shoulders, his sneakers pounding against the bare wooden floors.
First things first, though. “Hey, I called—”
“What’s all that racket?” Charley called from upstairs. Blast.
“Silas’s boys are here for a little while,” Roxie called back up. “Come say hi!”
Slam.
Crouching in front of the wobbly kid, who was seriously listing east, Noah shot her a glance. “Still?”
“Yeah,” she said on a sigh. “Um, I—”
“Tad! Wake up, buddy!”
Shaking his curly head, the little boy collapsed into a ball on the sofa cushion, hands smushed underneath his cheek. Roxie gave up. For the time being, anyway. “You want me to set out plates and stuff for the boys?”
“Nah, paper bags, fingers—we’re good. Okay, Tadpole,” Noah said, heaving the kid upright again, “I need to get you dressed—”
“Don’wanna,” the pink-cheeked tyke said on a huge yawn, drooping forward to crumple against his uncle’s chest, thumb in mouth, eyes drifting shut again.
“I know, guy,” Noah said, real softly, rubbing the little back, and Roxie could actually feel her heart melting. And her knees. And…other things. “But you gotta. Aren’t you hungry?”
With a slow, curl-quivering head shake, the squirt cuddled closer. Chuckling, Noah gently untangled the little arms, letting Tad slump against the back of the sofa to tug off his pj bottoms…earning himself a shriek of laughter when he tickled the soles of the little guy’s feet. Meanwhile, Ollie thunked and clumped back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…
“You’re good at that,” Roxie said to Noah, snatching up the bag of food before the grease reached the sofa, carrying it to the one end of the dining table not covered in Mae’s stuff and renovation detritus.
“What? Dressing kids?” Noah yanked a long-sleeve T-shirt over Tad’s head. Not looking at her. “Line up limbs to corresponding openings in
clothes, how hard could it be?” The little boy blinked, then grinned, and Roxie could practically see the jets firing, one by one. Countdown to liftoff in three…two…one…
“Shoes!” Noah boomed, grabbing Tad before he could take off after his brother. Feet rammed into a pair of SpongeBob sneakers, the little one let out a war whoop and threw his entire small self at the bigger one, igniting an instant wrestling match. In one sweet move Noah surged to his feet and yanked the two apart; Roxie tried to swallow her laughter, but a muffled snort still escaped.
“Knock it off, you two!” Noah pointed at the table. “Go, sit!”
This said with a mock stern look at the giggling boys, who flew into the dining room, chairs shimmying dangerously as they scrambled up into them, and then Noah was calmly divvying up egg sandwiches and hash browns and pint-size milk cartons between the two wiggle worms, and Roxie thought, Yes, please, just like that, although of course she didn’t mean exactly like that, since Noah would never—
Because he wasn’t—
Girl, don’t even go there.
“There’s plenty,” Noah said to her, unwrapping his own sandwich as he sat at right angles to his nephews. “Help yourself.”
Honest to Pete. Roxie plucked a bunch of napkins off the sideboard and distributed them, then pulled a still-warm sandwich out of the bag. “Mae used to make these,” she said with a blissful sigh, as she settled across from the boys. “I tried once, but it was a spectacular failure.”
Chewing, Noah frowned at her. “You can’t make an egg sandwich?”
“I can barely make toast. I can, however, identify a piece of antique glassware down to the decade, so I’m not entirely useless. So, where’d you get these?”
“Jewel made ’em, I’m guessing. Silas sort of shoved them at me when I walked through the door. Tad, sit up, buddy, you’re gonna fall out of the chair—”
“Ahmjushtryingtosee—”
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