Counting Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  She carried her dirty clothes to the laundry room and tossed them in the hamper, noticing the key in the lock to the outside door. Did Peter leave it there? She hadn’t really expected him to have time to clean out Paul’s apartment. Curious, she opened the door and stepped outside. The door to the apartment was slightly ajar and, like her house, it smelled of pine-scented cleaner. Turning the light on, she went inside and was delighted to find the cupboards cleaned out and the closet completely empty. The dresser and nightstand were cleared off and had been dusted. The floor was vacuumed. Seeing a piece of paper on one of the pillows, she walked over for a closer look.

  Jane,

  Thank you for being such a great friend to my brother—and to me. Hope you like the apartment.

  Pete

  “Do you like your surprise?”

  Startled by his voice, Jane jumped. The paper fluttered to the floor. She turned to find Pete—wearing one of her aprons—leaning against the doorframe.

  He looked at the bed. “Now that it’s clean, I guess I can sleep over whenever I want.”

  “Uh—”

  He grinned. “Just kidding.”

  Is he? Jane experienced a moment of panic as she bent to retrieve the fallen paper. Paul had lived here, but somehow the thought of Peter spending even one night in such close proximity seemed entirely different.

  “The place looks really great.” She straightened, biting back a laugh as she took in Pete’s appearance. “You look good too. Maybe you should wear pink more often.”

  “You’re just trying to get me to cook more,” Pete accused. “First you abandon me to diapers and feedings, then, next thing you know, I’m slaving away at the stove.”

  “You offered.” Jane’s hands went to her hips.

  “I know.” His grin widened. “Come and get it while it’s hot.”

  Jane turned the light off and followed him outside. “What are we having?”

  “My one and only specialty,” he called.

  Feeling off-kilter, as she had since coming home forty-five minutes ago, she followed him back to the house and into the kitchen. “Do I smell—breakfast?”

  “You do.” Pete carried a steaming plate to the table. “I was planning to come over and make you breakfast tomorrow morning—since you’re always feeding me—but I decided we could just as well have it tonight.”

  “It smells heavenly.” Jane took a seat at the table and offered the prayer.

  “I didn’t know I had any bacon. Did you go shopping?”

  Pete nodded. “Yes I did, brave man that I am.”

  “I’ll say.” Jane looked at him in admiration. “And tell me, how was it, shopping by yourself with two babies?” She poured herself a glass of orange juice.

  “An adventure.” Pete set a plate of toast and the butter on the table. “I found one of those two-seater carts and stuffed blankets all around the sides. Everything was great until Mark grabbed Maddie’s hair.”

  “Uh-oh,” Jane said over the rim of her glass.

  “Uh-oh is right. I thought I might get arrested again, Maddie was screaming so loud.”

  Jane laughed. “How did you calm her down?”

  “Um . . .” Pete mumbled, then took a bite of his eggs.

  Jane folded her arms and sat back in her chair. “What did you do?”

  “Bacon?” Pete held the plate out to her.

  She took a piece. “Let me guess. Some beautiful woman took pity and came to your rescue.”

  He shook his head. “Actually, it was—”

  “More than one woman? My goodness,” Jane said. “I’ll bet you had a whole gaggle of them following you around the store.”

  “Nobody helped me,” Pete said. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because it’s a well-known fact”—Jane waved her hand in the air—“that women find men with babies very attractive. I can only imagine with you having two . . .”

  Pete took a bite of bacon and leaned forward over the table. “You never told me that men with babies are chick magnets.”

  Jane grimaced. “I hate that term.”

  “Chick magnets?” He grinned. “Sorry. Funny though, how you failed to mention such an important piece of information. Why, I could have gone to the park, or the mall, or . . .”

  “I didn’t want to feed your ego.” Jane rolled her eyes.

  “You think I have an ego after a month and a half with you?” Pete stabbed a bite of scrambled eggs with his fork. “I’ve been humbled to the depths by you, woman. It’s very hard for a guy who flies a multimillion dollar piece of machinery to admit he can’t change a diaper or snap a onesie correctly, or do any other number of things I’ve messed up.”

  Jane laughed. “Yeah. You look real humble. I feel just terrible.” She reached for the plate of toast and the butter. “Now, fess up. If it wasn’t a woman, then how did you get Maddie to stop screaming? I know what it’s like when she gets going.”

  Pete took another bite before answering. When his eyes finally met Jane’s, he looked chagrined. “I gave her a candy bar.”

  “A candy bar?” Jane asked in disbelief. “Peter, she’s only nine months old!” Her eyes narrowed and she pointed the butter knife at him. “What kind? Were there nuts in it?”

  “Three Musketeers. I’ve seen them around here, so I thought maybe she had a preference . . .” Seeing Jane’s exasperated look, he broke off. “I suppose those were for you.”

  “Of course they were for me. I’ve never given anything like that to the twins.”

  “Well then, that would explain it,” Pete said.

  “What?” Jane asked again, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “Now I know why they both preferred my Milky Way.”

  * * *

  “He’s finally asleep.” Pete let out an exhausted sigh as he sank onto the couch.

  “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” Jane said as she struggled to balance a set of plans and two open books on her lap. “You are officially relieved from weekend duty.” One of the books slid forward and she grabbed for it.

  “Let me help.” Pete scooted next to her, taking one of the books and half the blueprints.

  “Thanks,” Jane said again. “I’ll be done in a few minutes. I just need to get a quick overview of the yard so I can start thinking about the possibilities.”

  “Does this mean you’ll be gone next weekend too?” Pete asked.

  Jane looked up at him. “Oh no. I’m at least two months out on this one—probably three—before I get started. The Saunders will have to approve the final plans first—and if they’re anything like the Sweviecs or the Malones, that will take a month in itself. And after the plans are approved, I’ll need to line up the larger work I sub out.”

  “What?” Pete teased. “You don’t have a backhoe hidden somewhere in that tool jungle you call a garage?”

  “I wish. But alas.” She sighed. “That will have to wait much longer. Though I do have a marvelous drafting table now—thanks to Paul.”

  “I’m glad it was put to good use. By the way, everything of his that I saved is packed in plastic boxes in my garage. Your garage seemed pretty crowded, but if you would rather have them here . . .

  Jane shook her head.

  “Well, if you ever want to go through any of it, just ask.”

  “Okay. Thanks again for doing all that.” She began rolling up the plans. “Plastic was a good idea. It should keep out the moisture.”

  “That’s what the beautiful woman who helped me at the store suggested,” Pete said.

  Jane looked at him again, her mouth partly open. “You are—”

  “Don’t say it. My ego, remember?”

  Jane finished rolling the plans and made a point of hitting Pete on the legs before setting them on the floor. “I’ll take that book now.” She held out her hand and he returned it.

  “Mind if I turn the TV on mute?”

  “Go ahead,” Jane said. “I need to mark a few pages of some of the plants they liked.”<
br />
  Pete turned the television on, and Jane continued to scan her landscape books, her mind already planning the layout of the Saunders’ yard. Beside her, Pete clicked the remote until he settled on the news.

  She finished with one book and started on the second, noticing Pete made no move to return to the other end of the couch. They were sitting side by side, his shoulder next to hers, legs brushing up against each other.

  Jane stared at her book, trying to refocus her attention to deciduous tree selection, but her mind was elsewhere. How long had it been since she’d sat close to a man like this? Since Paul.

  Memories of their movie nights, shared popcorn, and Scrabble games came flooding back. Her fingers stilled on the papers in her lap as she closed her eyes against the unexpected tide of sadness.

  “Thinking about Paul?” Pete asked quietly.

  Not trusting herself to speak, Jane looked up at him and nodded.

  “I can always tell. You get that sad look in your eyes. It catches you off guard, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Jane said, astonished at his perceptiveness.

  “That’s the way it always is when you lose someone you love. Trust me, I’ve had plenty of experience.”

  “Tell me,” she coaxed.

  Pete turned the television off and set the remote aside. “Well, I can’t remember my father—he died in Vietnam—so I can’t say I’ve had those moments of intense memory and sorrow about him. But I still do with my mother—it happened a couple of times recently around your mom. Something just reminds me, you know?”

  Jane nodded. She did know.

  “And, of course, there’s Paul. Last night when I was going through his things, I was doing great until I found his letterman jacket. Then for some reason . . .” Pete shrugged.

  Jane resisted the sudden impulse to reach for his hand.

  “Of course, maybe it’s worse when you lose someone you loved romantically.” Pete’s eyes sought hers. “So when you lost Paul . . .”

  “I was devastated,” Jane finished. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she glimpsed disappointment in Pete’s eyes before he looked away.

  She hastened to explain. “In my other life—before I decided to dig in the dirt for a living—” She gave him a shaky smile. “I was going to be a therapist. I’ve always had this need to help people. And no one needed help more than your brother. He filled that need for me very nicely. But the thing is, when you’re doing so much for someone—like I was for your brother—you can’t help but love them.” Jane looked down at her lap, slowly closing Treasury of Trees. The book of Paul was over and done with—had never really begun, she realized suddenly. Was it possible her story with Peter could be different?

  “I loved Paul,” she repeated. “But it wasn’t a romantic kind of love. His feelings were all for his wife, and I loved their children, and that was it.”

  Pete looked at her, unconvinced.

  “You lived beside each other for how long?”

  “A couple of months,” Jane said. “But it was only so I could help with the twins—so they wouldn’t end up in foster care. Anyway, it wouldn’t have mattered if we spent a couple of years together. In Paul’s mind, he was still married. He told me so once.”

  “I see.” Pete wished very much he knew the circumstances that had led up to that conversation. He was certain she was telling the truth—about Paul’s feelings, anyway. What he’d read last night had extinguished any doubts he’d harbored about Paul’s loyalty to Tamara. But had Jane really only cared for him as a friend? Pete remembered her reaction that first night they met. He’d seen the same thing again from time to time and was certain, when she got that faraway, teary look, that she was holding onto some fond memory of Paul.

  From the corner of his eye, Pete watched as Jane folded and refolded a sticky note. I’m not the only one who’s nervous. Good.

  “Nothing happened between you two?” he asked. “Not even one little kiss?”

  “Not a one,” Jane confirmed.

  In a bold move, Pete reached for her hand. Holding it on his lap, his thumb began caressing her palm. “Do you know what I think?” he asked.

  She shook her head but didn’t look at him.

  He reached for her chin and turned her face to his. “I think my brother was a fool.”

  Jane’s eyes widened and she pulled her hand away from Peter’s. Grabbing her books, she stood. “What a—a terrible thing to say. Paul was kind and good and—I’ve wondered, this whole time, why on earth you two were at odds because you both seemed so nice, but now I see—”

  “Whoa,” Pete said, standing to face her. “I didn’t mean anything like that. I just meant that I couldn’t have lived so close to you and not kissed you.”

  “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing you don’t live in the apartment.”

  “Jane—” Pete raked his fingers through his hair. How did I mess this up?

  “I’m going to bed now. Please lock up when you leave.” She tried to step around him, but he caught her arm.

  “Look at me, Jane.” She did, and he saw through her mutinous expression. She’s scared. “I only said that about Paul because I was trying to find a way—I was trying to tell you I wanted—to kiss you.”

  “Please don’t,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “Why not?” Pete asked. “Didn’t you just tell me earlier that women find men with babies irresistible?” He risked a smile.

  “And women find men with big egos particularly unattractive.”

  “Ouch.” Pete brought a hand to his chest, and Jane tried to move around him again.

  He blocked her. “Let me kiss you, Jane.”

  She shook her head and crossed her arms in front of her, books and papers clutched to her chest.

  Pete took a step closer. “Why not?”

  “Because bad things happen when people kiss me. It’s disastrous—”

  “Nothing bad is going to happen.” He reached for her hands. Gently he pried her fingers open and placed her things on the side table. “Have you ever had a kiss that was good?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Pete put his hands on her shoulders and his eyes locked on hers. “A kiss that made your breath catch and made your heart feel like it stopped for a minute? One you wished would never, ever end?”

  Jane nodded slowly.

  “Me too,” Pete said. “A long time ago.”

  “What happened?” Jane whispered.

  “She died,” Pete said, knowing now was not the time to tell her about his past with Tamara. “What about you? Why aren’t you with the man whose kiss swept you off your feet?”

  “I got fired,” Jane said with an embarrassed smile.

  Pete smiled back, sensing her resistance melting. He knew she’d gotten fired—it had been one of the most curious things he’d found in her file. He longed to hear the whole story but didn’t want to take them from the moment they were in now. “If you kiss me, I can guarantee you won’t lose your job. In fact,” he paused as if just then considering the possibilities. “You might just get a promotion.”

  “How so?” Jane asked, licking her lips nervously.

  “Well,” Pete drawled. “I have this theory that Paul wanted us to be together—to be more than Mark and Madison’s co-guardians. To be . . . a couple. And I just want to see if that’s possible. One kiss is all it will take—just one.”

  “Just one?” Jane repeated, looking down at the floor, shifting from one foot to the other.

  Pete nodded and worked hard to keep a straight face. “How well two people kiss is high up there on the compatibility measure.”

  He could see her struggling to contain a smile.

  “So are you willing to give it a try—for Paul’s sake?”

  Jane was silent for a minute, her brown eyes glistening as she looked up at him. Finally she whispered, “For Paul’s sake.” Her eyelids closed expectantly.

  More nervous than he would have liked to admit after all the hype, Pete
took her face in his hands and bent to kiss her, praying he could remember how, hoping he could be half as good as the guy whose passionate kiss had cost her so much. After all, he didn’t want to take away from that experience. He only wanted to give.

  Her lips were soft, warm and . . . still, giving him the impression at once that it had either been a long time or she didn’t know how to kiss. He endeavored to teach her, holding her face tenderly, gently increasing the pressure on her mouth. And suddenly, she responded.

  He felt her arms move hesitantly around his shoulders, the light touch of her fingertips driving him crazy. Pete moved one of his hands to the back of her neck. Threading his fingers through her damp hair, he pulled her closer.

  After that, he couldn’t have said who was the one being kissed. But suddenly he was the one who couldn’t breathe and was certain his heart had ceased to beat.

  At last, Pete lifted his head, but kept his arms around Jane. She lay her face against his chest, and he bent to kiss the top of her hair. After a moment, she tilted her face up to his. Her eyes were sparkling with mischief and something else.

  “Do you have your answer?” she whispered.

  He nodded slowly, then pulled her tightly to him. “Yes.”

  A resounding yes.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “Look at them,” Karen said, standing at her parents’ family room window. She watched as all the grandchildren and Jane hunted for eggs in the backyard.

  Caroline came up beside her. “Mom said Peter came over early this morning and hid a bunch of eggs just for Jane. Can you imagine that?”

  “And she gave him an Easter basket.” Karen made a face. “Disgusting.”

  “Completely revolting,” Caroline agreed. She sighed. “I’m so jealous. When’s the last time you got something for Easter?”

  “Last year. Play-off tickets,” Karen said dismally. “Though I ended up giving mine to one of Scott’s friends, so I suppose that doesn’t count.”