by Nancy Warren
He wondered if she’d been watching one of those cooking shows on TV. There was a definite gourmet odor to his kitchen. The table was neatly set with three places, as per usual, but instead of the regular vinyl table mats, she’d used the good ones from the dining room. That was weird. Was there some special occasion today he’d forgotten about?
Patrick stood stock still for a moment while he ran through all the special days he could think of. His first panicked thought that he’d forgotten one of the kids’ birthdays was soon gone. Dylan would turn ten, but not for a couple of weeks yet. They’d already talked about taking some of his buddies to a batting cage and then returning to the house for a family barbecue.
Fiona was a summer baby, and wouldn’t be six for several months yet. Mrs. Simpson wasn’t big on celebrating her own birthday, but he always gave her a nice check with a card in October.
Stumped, he continued down the hall to the den. “I’m home!” he called out.
“Hi, Daddy!” Fiona shrieked and came flying out of the den in her favorite pink OshKosh corduroy pants and the purple shirt with pink stars on it. Her hair sported little plastic star barrettes. “Hi, Fiona,” he said, holding out his arms as she barreled down the hallway for a hug. He swung her up in the air, and she said, “Guess what?” Her eyes were dancing and her chubby little face was pink with excitement.
Before he could attempt a guess, Dylan called to him, “We’re in here, Dad.” His son sounded so serious, almost as though he were acting the grown-up. Patrick was intrigued. Something was definitely up.
But nothing could have prepared him for the surprise that greeted him when he got to the doorway of the den and saw Briana sitting on the floor, obviously in the middle of a game of Junior Monopoly with the kids. “Surprise,” she said softly.
“Is it ever,” he admitted, feeling too stunned to consider how he felt about seeing her here in his home, with his kids. “Where’s Mrs. Simpson?”
“She had a car accident,” Dylan said, his eyes round.
Briana rose, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “That’s right. One of the nurses phoned a little while ago. Mrs. Simpson’s in the hospital. Some of the stoplights are out in the area.”
He nodded. “I think it’s more damage from the aftershock.”
“Well, she was driving through the intersection on her way here and someone hit her car. She was knocked unconscious and taken to hospital. She woke up, more worried about the children being alone than about her own health, and couldn’t rest until a nurse phoned to make sure there was someone here with the children.”
“But how did you know they were alone?”
Briana smiled at Dylan and he almost saw his son’s chest puff with pride. “Dylan phoned me at work and explained the situation. We decided it would be a good idea for me to come over.”
“Good work, Dylan.”
“Anyway,” she said, rising from the floor, “Dinner’s in the oven. Oh, and it looks like you’re going to have to find another sitter for the next couple of days. Mrs. Simpson bruised her ribs in that accident and she has a slight concussion.”
He nodded, feeling thick and off center. Briana didn’t live in this part of his world, she lived in the work part, and yet in the past forty-eight hours she’d definitely spilled over into his personal life.
The scary part was how much he liked having her there. As dangerous as it was, he let himself imagine, just for a second, what it would be like to have Briana in his life permanently. In two months of working together, they’d discovered a lot of common interests. They both liked traveling and hadn’t done nearly enough of it. They both liked The West Wing, but also never missed The Simpsons. They both liked the outdoors, and although she was a little vague about her family, he sensed they shared a strong attachment to their loved ones.
Briana was a little more organized than he was, and his math was better than hers. They were a good team at work. A fantastic fit physically.
He could so easily imagine what it would be like to walk into the house and find her in casual clothes, the fantastic smell of her cooking wafting through the house. A special expression in her eyes that she saved for him alone.
Sure, he was getting ahead of himself, but at nearly forty years old, he knew when his feelings for a woman were serious.
If she hadn’t taken to his kids, he wouldn’t indulge such a fantasy even for a moment, but what amazed him was the way she’d acted on Dylan’s phone call almost like a mother. She hadn’t messed around or tried to find someone else. She’d dropped everything and sped over to sit with his children.
“I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there today,” he said at last. “Thank you.”
He took a step forward, and she took a step forward, and then they realized at the same moment what they were doing and stopped.
“Well,” she said, “I should get going now you’re home.”
“No,” both kids cried at once. “We have to finish the game.”
“Please?” Fiona said, disentangling herself from Patrick’s legs and giving him the pleading look that always turned him into mush. “Can we finish the game?”
“Can she stay for supper, Dad?” Dylan piped up, more enthusiastic than Patrick had seen him in a long time.
“Oh, I don’t-”
“Can she stay for a sleepover?” Fiona asked loudly, not to be outdone by her older brother.
He bent to ruffle Fiona’s curls, giving Briana a moment to recover her composure. He wasn’t going to be the one to say no to that one. In fact, he thought Fiona had a fine idea there.
They were saved by Dylan, who told his sister, “Grown-ups don’t have sleepovers.”
Well, Dylan had pretty much let Briana know he didn’t have women sleeping over on a regular basis, so that was good. And he’d saved both adults from having to comment on Fiona’s idea.
Patrick glanced up finally to see that Briana’s color had subsided from tomato to more of a watermelon tinge. “Stay for supper. You cooked it. We can at least feed you.”
“That’s okay, really. I love to cook, and since I moved here, I haven’t had a lot of opportunity.” She shrugged. “I was happy to have free run of a big, fully equipped kitchen.”
“I’m not sure how fully equipped this one is anymore. I’m no gourmet, and Mrs. Simpson’s recipes aren’t exactly cutting edge. Our pantry runs more to chicken noodle soup and Cheerios than cilantro or lemongrass.”
Briana laughed. “That’s okay. I used some canned stuff and there were lots of spices in the walk-in storage cupboard. Well, I do want to talk to you about the phone-in show.” She smiled hugely. “You were great.”
Fiona, who’d been waiting impatiently for a pause in the adult conversation, tugged at Briana’s skirt. “Can we finish the game now?”
Briana glanced at Patrick, half-laughing, half-shy. “If you’re sure you don’t mind me staying for dinner…”
“Absolutely sure,” he said. “I’ll go change while you finish the game and then we’ll eat. Sound good?”
He watched as the three of them settled back to Monopoly. Fiona, he noticed, kept shuffling closer to Briana until the two of them were hip to hip. Briana put an arm around the little girl and looked down at her fondly. Dylan stayed in his own spot, but his eyes never left Briana’s face. It seemed to Patrick that Dylan was experiencing his first full-blown crush.
“Get in line, son,” Patrick muttered to himself as he headed down the hall to his own room.
Since he was hot and sticky from a long day at work and the lights in the studio, he indulged in a quick shower, then pulled on his usual postwork uniform of jeans and a T-shirt. He thought about shaving for a second time today, but he didn’t want anyone-especially himself-getting the wrong idea about tonight.
He left his five o’clock shadow, knowing there’d be no after-dinner nooky with a woman who worked for him. Unfortunately.
By the time he made his way back to the den, he saw that his child
ren were cleaning up the game, so quietly and cooperatively, he wondered for a second if some pod-kids had swapped places with his own. Then he realized they were trying to make a good impression on their guest.
He walked on and found Briana in the kitchen, one of Mrs. Simpson’s aprons wrapped twice around her slim waist. She’d taken a casserole dish out of the oven, filling the room with truly heavenly scents.
“That smells fantastic,” he said, his stomach beginning to rumble appreciatively.
“Thanks. It’s a superquick version of chicken cacciatore. I hope your children will like it.” She glanced at him with a worried expression. “I thought I’d serve it over pasta. Kids like pasta, don’t they?”
He had a feeling she could serve Dylan and Fiona nothing but leafy dark-green vegetables and liver and they’d be as excited as though they were eating hot dogs and potato chips. “They love pasta. Thanks again for doing this.”
He leaned against the counter and watched her competently serve up four plates of food.
As much as he enjoyed the show, he couldn’t stop a frown from forming between his eyes. “I’m going to have a talk to the car pool. I can’t believe those women drive off before the kids are inside the house.”
She nodded. “I thought the same thing myself. But I’ve never been in a car pool with children, so I don’t know what the protocol is.”
“The protocol is safety first, or it should be,” he answered shortly. “Whoever was driving today didn’t even check to see that Mrs. Simpson’s car was out front before leaving a nine-year-old and a five-year-old to fend for themselves.”
“The kids did really well, though,” Briana reminded him. “Dylan was very responsible. When Mrs. Simpson didn’t show up, he called you. And he wouldn’t let me in the house until I’d identified myself.”
Patrick smiled in spite of himself. His son was plenty responsible, thank God.
“It was bad luck that Mrs. Simpson had that car accident,” Briana continued. “Things like that don’t happen every day.”
“Around here it seems like they do. Damn lights.”
“I was thinking about that,” she said, turning to him, the ladle in her hand. He watched a single drop of rich, red sauce plop to the counter. “Do you think the lights could be related to the aftershock?”
He nodded. “Maybe. The point is, I need a better backup system for the kids.”
She turned back to her task, and there was a moment’s silence. Finally she said, “I’d be happy to keep a list of alternative caregivers and all their emergency numbers if you like.”
He squeezed the countertop behind him to stop himself from going over there and taking her in his arms. “Briana, I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more.”
“Don’t say that,” she said, sounding almost guilty.
He took a step toward her, and she ducked her head again, her color mounting. What was that about? Surely she could take a simple compliment. Or maybe because she didn’t have kids of her own, she felt that somehow she wasn’t to be trusted. “I do, Briana. I trust you.”
If anything, she looked even more uncomfortable. He would have called her on it, but he heard the unmistakable sound of four young feet pounding toward the kitchen.
“Wash your hands for supper,” he called out, stopping them in midstride. The pounding retreated and both kids headed for the bathroom before reappearing a few minutes later with clean hands. Dylan, he noted, had even brushed his hair.
Dinner that night was the best meal he’d eaten in his own home in ages. It wasn’t just the food-though a woman who could whip up anything that tasted this good, and do it so fast, deserved a medal-but the atmosphere. The four of them had fun being silly. Dylan told some juvenile joke he’d heard at school, and Fiona told Briana about something she’d learned on Sesame Street, then when it was clear their dinner guest didn’t know the entire cast of the show, his daughter happily enlightened her.
Patrick no longer had to hold up the entire adult end of the conversation. He had help.
Not that the kids needed a lot of prompting to talk. They couldn’t wait to tell about their days at school.
“How did you do on your biology test?” Patrick asked his son, remembering they were getting the tests back today.
“I got an A,” Dylan said with simple pride.
“That’s great,” he and Briana said in unison.
“I had to draw a picture of my favorite animal in school,” Fiona informed them.
“What did you draw?” Briana asked her.
“Dylan,” she said.
It was at moments like this, when his eyes met Briana’s in shared amusement, that he realized he’d been lonely. Not the all-by-yourself-with-no-one-to-talk-to lonely. He had a full life as a single dad with a busy job. But lonely in a purely adult way. He missed having a woman in his life. Not just for sex, though he sure as hell missed that, but for companionship. Someone with whom he could make plans for the future, delegate chores, worry over the kids. He missed having a wife and he knew his children missed having a mother.
“Dad, it’s rude to stare.” Dylan’s remark brought him back to the present.
“Hmm?” He blinked and realized that he had been staring at Briana, probably with the same lovesick gaze his son had turned on her earlier. “Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought.”
“We watched you on TV, Daddy!” Fiona said, breaking the tension and allowing them to rehash the call-in show.
“I think we’ll get our funding now,” he told Briana with a smile.
“I’m so glad. Congratulations, you’ve worked tirelessly for that funding.”
“You helped a lot, you know.”
“Well,” Briana said, rising from the table, “the only thing I could find for dessert was chocolate pudding. I hope that’s okay.”
“Sweet!” Dylan yelled, jumping up immediately to help clear the plates without even being asked.
Fiona had recently started helping also, though it was painful for Patrick to watch her carry her plate to the dishwasher, her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated on not letting her knife and fork slide off the plate.
“What a big help you guys are,” Briana said. “Thanks so much.”
After they’d had the pudding, Patrick insisted on finishing the dishes and Briana started to make noises about leaving. “Could you stay and read me my bedtime story?” Fiona asked.
“Um, well, I really should-”
“Briana has to go home to her own house, Fi,” Patrick reminded his daughter. Fiona’s lower lip began to tremble. Oh, boy. It looked like the entire family had a crush on his admin assistant.
“Well,” Briana said, glancing helplessly at him, “I guess I could read you one story.” She disappeared down the hall with Fiona.
After he’d done the dishes, checked his phone messages and gone through the mail, Patrick headed down to Fiona’s bedroom to find all three of them in there. Dylan had obviously decided to listen to the story rather than read quietly to himself, as he usually did.
Patrick paused in the doorway and watched the trio. His gut tightened. It was a wonderful picture, a great fantasy. Why the hell couldn’t it be real? All Briana had to do was take another job, a job he’d find for her, and they could spend as many nights like this as she was willing to spend. She seemed to like his children, she seemed to enjoy his company, and unless he was badly off the mark, she’d enjoyed their intimacy the other night.
What was holding her back from changing jobs?
“The end,” she said, and closed the book, returning it to the shelf. She’d glanced up and seen him standing there. “It’s time for me to go now,” she told the kids.
Fiona held her arms up mutely for a hug. Briana hesitated a moment, then walked over and hugged her, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Good night, Fiona.”
“Night.” Fiona rolled over and pulled her favorite stuffed bunny into her arms.
Dylan walked to his own room and Briana followed him. Patrick
stepped to his daughter’s bedside and dropped his own kiss on her forehead. “Night, sweetheart.”
“Night, Daddy. Love you.”
He was in time to see Dylan get the same kiss on the forehead that his sister had, and as Patrick passed Briana in the doorway, their bodies brushed. Oh, man, he wanted more than a kiss on the forehead from this woman.
Once he’d said good-night to his son, he walked back to the kitchen. Briana was standing there with her shoes on and her bag in hand. Suddenly, the atmosphere, which had been so easy all evening, turned awkward. “Well,” she said, running her fingers back and forth on the strap of her purse, “I’ll get going.”
He nodded. “I’ll walk you out.”
The night was warm for March, and the jacarandas for which the neighborhood, Jacaranda Heights, was named were in full bloom, their scent soft and evocative in the warm night air.
“You don’t need to walk me to my car.”
“I want to. I want to talk to you.”
“Oh.”
He waited until they were standing by her car. She unlocked the driver’s side but he stilled her hand before she opened the door. “Both my kids got a good-night kiss. What about me?”
She shook her head, refusing to look at him.
He struggled to suppress his frustration.
“I don’t suppose I could fire you again until tomorrow morning?” he asked.
She smiled and shook her head once more.
“What I’d really like to do is fire you permanently.”
That got her to look up at him. Her eyes were a vivid green in the light from the streetlamps. “You’ve got no reason-”
He pulled her to him and kissed her with all the pent-up feeling and passion he’d been tamping down since the night in the elevator.
She gave a gasp of shock and stiffened for a second, then seemed to melt into him. She kissed him back, as hungrily as he was kissing her, and he knew one thing. She was as crazy for him as he was for her.
Why then wouldn’t she help him make things right?
He pulled away at last, panting and shaken. He was appalled at the sharpness of his desire. “That’s my reason,” he said.
