Sex and the Widow Miles (The Women of Willow Bay)

by Reinhardt, Nan

  “I am happier, and I had a great idea last night for another fundraiser for the shelter. When I mentioned it to Sarah today, she was all about it.”

  Color rose up his neck, too, and he started to say something. The words wouldn’t come, so he gulped down the wine, then cleared his throat. “What’s that?”

  “I was thinking that it would be fun to do a fashion show. You know, using clothes that have been donated to Belle Femme. I’m sure I could get some of my model friends to help out. At first, I suggested using women from the shelter as models. I thought it’d be a kick for them, but Sarah nixed that idea.”

  “Why? I bet they’d have fun.”

  “She was afraid of the publicity—that maybe the women’s exes would see them in a newspaper picture or TV feature or something. I get that.” When I shrugged, the sweater, which had a wide loose neckline, fell to one side, revealing a glimpse of my collarbone and shoulder. Hastily, I rearranged it, wondering again if I should’ve selected something less revealing to wear tonight.

  Will gave a little sigh and got up from his stool, jiggling change in his pocket as he wandered around the kitchen like a nervous cat. The laptop was set up and open on the wooden surface of the table by the window. He picked the little optical USB mouse beside it, turning it over in his fingers.

  I caught his smile. “Hey, kid, no making fun of an old timer who can’t handle a track pad, okay?”

  “I didn’t say anything.” He raised both hands in self-defense. “I’m glad to see you got the wireless going.”

  “You didn’t have to say anything. I caught the smirk.” I scooped poached asparagus onto our plates next to slices of baked chicken. “And don’t start congratulating me yet. I still haven’t figured out the damn wireless, so I can’t get on the Internet. I’ve been emailing the kids from the shop. There’s always downtime and Sarah told me to feel free to check for messages if I felt like it.” I rolled my eyes. “That’s all I ever use the computer for anyway. But I really would like to get this one working so I can use it to map out plans for the fashion show and to email my friends from the agency. That’s Charlie’s old laptop, but I can get to my own email with webmail.”

  “I’ll take a look after dinner, okay?”

  “Dinner’s ready.” I waved my hands like a magician over the spread on the countertop. “Come and get it.”

  SEVEN

  Dinner was delicious. Cooking had always brought me pleasure and it was nice to have someone to cook for again. Not that I intended to be making meals for Will Brody on a regular basis, but I had to admit it was good to be in the kitchen and using my creative skills. As we ate and chatted about the neighborhood, his work, the latest emails from my family, and the shop, I was suddenly conscious of how at ease I could be with him. The attraction simmering just below the surface didn’t have to make things awkward. We could do this if we both simply kept things in perspective. Friends—relaxed and easy.

  But it also occurred to me that I’d spent most of the evening talking about myself and the shop and my kids. With news of Kevin and Meg’s due date coming up, the fashion show fundraiser, and Renee’s latest email from Africa, the conversation had centered on my life. I knew very little about Will, while he knew my whole history.

  I reached for the wine and added some to both our glasses. “Tell me about you, Will.”

  “What about me?” One blond brow rose. “I’m good. Just lining up some dates for Liam’s summer tour and getting his tax information together.”

  “No, I mean personal stuff like, where were you born? Do you have any siblings? Have you ever been married?” I smiled. “I hardly know anything about you except you were once a stockbroker. Carrie sent me a link to a very nice Wall Street Journal article. The Sorcerer of LaSalle Street, huh?”

  “No way she sent you that old article.” He bowed his head as a blush reddened his cheeks, then he shrugged, a little self-deprecating movement of muscle under his gray Northwestern fleece hoodie.

  “Yup. Very impressive. Why’d you quit?” I was enjoying his discomfort. He was a great one for asking questions. Now he could answer some.

  “It was time.” He eyed me, as though gauging what he wanted to reveal. “I was just out of a marriage that had bored itself to death. Had plenty of money. Figured out that working 24/7 wasn’t what I wanted to do anymore. About that time, I met Liam. Being his financial advisor and then his manager sounded like a kick. The rest is history.”

  “What’s the rest?”

  “There’s not a lot more to tell. I’m from Fremont, California. Went to UC Davis. Got my MBA from Northwestern and decided to stay in Chicago after graduation. Two sisters and a brother. My parents still live in the house I grew up in. I started working with Liam about eight years ago.” He raised his palms in a that’s all gesture.

  “Come on, Will. I want some serious scoop now.” I gave his foot a playful nudge with my toe.

  “You come on, Jules. I’m no good at talking about myself. I’m not very interesting.” His color deepened and sweat appeared on the side of his face in spite of the cool air from the ceiling fan over the table a few feet away. He really was uncomfortable.

  That made me cringe. I searched for a way to put him back at ease. “Okay then, want to play a game with me?”

  “What kind of a game?” Will’s tone was cautious.

  “It’s one that my mom used to play with her patients.” I leaned toward him. “I did tell you my mom was a psychologist before she died, right?”

  “No, but that explains a lot!” He grinned. “So now we’re going to play amateur psychoanalyst, huh? Do I have lie down for this?” He leered—or at least he tried to. No way was Will Brody ever going to do dirty old man convincingly.

  “No, you dope. Mom did this so her patients would be more comfortable and open up. It’s a getting-to-know-you thing.”

  “We already know each other.”

  “This is just for fun.” I gave him my best little pout, the one that always worked on Charlie when I wanted to do something and he was reluctant. “Come on.”

  Will gave me a dubious gaze then sighed. “Okay, what do we do?”

  “We tell each other six obscure facts about ourselves, but make one a lie and then we each try to figure out which one’s the lie.” I explained. “You start.”

  “Six obscure facts?” Will’s blue eyes narrowed. “Hm… give me a minute. I’m going to have to come up with six things you don’t already know about me.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be hard, Will. You haven’t been all that revealing in the past few weeks.”

  “Six things… let me think here.” He leaned his elbow on the bar and rested his chin in his palm. After a long moment, he said, “Okay, here we go. Number one—I love baseball, but I quit little league when I was seven because the coach told me I ran like a girl. Two—I play the guitar like James Taylor. Three—I didn’t have my first date until I was eighteen. Four—I broke my arm surfing when I was fifteen.” He paused again, glancing thoughtfully at the ceiling and then continued. “Five—I’ve performed in ballets with Ballet San Jose and Chicago Ballet. Six—I always take two showers a day—one in the morning and one at night.” He nodded with satisfaction, apparently quite pleased with himself.

  “Wow, you did that really well. I’m impressed.”

  “You should be. It was an effort.” Will smirked. “Now which one’s the lie?”

  “It’s a coin toss, my friend, between the ballet thing and the guitar, but I’m thinking there’s no way you play the guitar like James Taylor—that’s the lie.”

  He stared at me in mock dismay. “Well, that’s a crappy assumption to make. Why do you think that’s the lie?”

  “First, nobody plays the guitar like James Taylor except James Taylor, and besides you’re too young to be a Taylor fan,” I replied, impressed with my own unerring logic.

  “Ha! You’d be wrong, Slugger! Thanks to my mom, I’m a huge James Taylor fan. I even met him a few years ago
when he played the reunion concert with Carole King at the Troubadour in LA. Dad took all of us down for Mom’s birthday.”

  “Okay, you’re a fan, but I’m still sticking with my first assessment—I don’t believe you play the guitar. It doesn’t fit with geeky MBA thing and besides, I’ve never once seen you with a guitar.”

  He shook his head. “Wrong again. I’ve been playing the guitar since I was thirteen. I have four guitars in the spare room at my place, including a very nice antique Alvarez acoustic that used to belong to my grandfather. I even sound-proofed the walls of my apartment so I can rock out whenever I feel like it.” He jerked a thumb in the general direction of his apartment. “Pops taught me how to play… and seriously, a guy my age being into music from the sixties and seventies is pretty damn geeky.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I was shocked. “Why have you not mentioned this—you’ve never even alluded to playing the guitar, ever… not in all the time I’ve known you.”

  “You’ve only known me a few weeks and a little mystery is a good thing.” Will crossed his arms over his chest. “I jam with a group of guys I met when I was in grad school. We get together every other Saturday and play all day.”

  I was stumped. Here was a side of Will Brody I’d never imagined. What else did I not know about this man? I knew he kissed like a champ—I certainly did know that. I swallowed hard and sent that thought out the door. “Then it has to be the ballet thing.” I returned Will’s smile, feeling a little flutter low in my belly.

  “Nope.”

  “Oh, come on, Will!” I rolled my eyes and shoved my hair behind my ear. “No way have you ever been in a ballet!”

  “Do you know what a supernumerary is?” Will stacked his salad plate onto his empty dinner plate.

  “A fun word you just made up?”

  “No, a supernumerary is an extra, like someone who does a walk-on part. In the ballet, the supers are like human stage props. My sister, Tessa, worked in the costume shop at Ballet San Jose, so she recruited me and my brother to be supers.” I could see it in his eyes. He was dead serious. “Then when I moved here, I saw a call from the Chicago Ballet for supers on a board at Northwestern, so I went and auditioned. I guess I’ve been in the Nutcracker six times and in Romeo and Juliet and Swan Lake and others. Last time was about five years ago before I became Liam’s manager.” His stern expression dared me to challenge him.

  I snorted a laugh. “Do you wear a tights and a tutu?”

  “Okay, now see? This is why we’ve never had this conversation. Besides you’re still oh-for-six, Ms. Miles—only four choices left and I’m making a new rule—three guesses only. You’ve got one more shot.”

  “Don’t get all huffy! I’d hate for you to bust a seam in your tights.” I simply couldn’t stop chuckling.

  Will gazed at me in mock severity, shaking his head. “I never should have told you about the ballet. Doomed myself to months of tacky tutu jokes, have I?”

  “Most likely years.” I swallowed my giggles and sat up straighter, trying to assume a more serious stance. “Okay, okay. Let me think for a minute—you seriously distracted me with the whole ballet thing.” Truth was, I was picturing him, gorgeous in tights and a tunic, and the picture was causing my blood pressure to rise. Heat suffused my cheeks, so I took a sip of the cold wine. “Only one more shot? I guess… I don’t believe you didn’t have your first date until you were eighteen. That’s a little hard to buy even though you told me what a nerd you thought you were.”

  “Ha!” Will clasped his hands over his head in triumph. “You blew it. The lie was I broke my arm surfing. I’ve never even been on a surfboard. What do I win?”

  “Now, see? That was the one that was easiest to believe since you grew up in California—oh, and the running like a girl thing, I bought that immediately.” I winked at him.

  “Thanks a bunch. Okay, your six things, please. I’m on a roll, I’m sure I’ll get your lie on the first guess.” He swiveled on the stool and his knee bumped mine, setting off a few small fireworks inside me.

  I should’ve moved my leg away from his.

  But I didn’t.

  His muscled thigh against mine felt too good. Instead I gave him my sassiest grin and flirted shamelessly. “First, can we talk about the two showers a day? That’s a little quirky, don’t you think? You’ve never mentioned the OCD before.”

  “That’s not OCD.” A brow rose. “And it’s not all about being a clean freak, either. The nighttime shower is for relaxing at the end of the day.” He pointed, his finger just inches from my nose. “Hey, stop stalling! Six things, lady… now.”

  “Oh, all right!” I tried to assume a distressed expression, but failed miserably. “Okay, number one—I broke my nose three times before I turned five. Number two—I was valedictorian of my high school class. Number three—I never learned to ride a bike. Number four—when Charlie and I went to Italy the first time, I accidentally asked a man in Cortona if he wanted to taste my toes.” I stopped as he chortled. “Did I interrupt your list with rude laughter?”

  “No, no you didn’t. I’m sorry. Please, continue.” Will closed his lips tight, but merriment shone in his eyes.

  “Number five—the first time I shaved my legs, Mom had to take me to the emergency room. Number six—five years ago, I dropped Charlie’s car keys over Niagara Falls because when I’m at the top of someplace really high, I have an irresistible urge to throw something off.”

  “My God, I’m speechless.” His eyes widened as he raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing up in spiky tufts. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “Three guesses, my little cygnet, or it’s a draw.”

  “Ah, a cheap Swan Lake reference.” He sighed theatrically. “So it begins.”

  “Yup,” I agreed. “Guess the lie, Will.”

  “Okay, I think the lie is—” he narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, “—that you were valedictorian of your high school class. But not because I don’t think that’s possible, I do. I really do.” He backpedaled, trying to gauge my reactions. “I only picked that one because I want the others to be true. I can’t stop picturing you asking some old Italian guy on the street to lick your toes, and the rest of them have such great story potential, I’d hate for them to be lies. I want to hear more.”

  “I do not believe this.” I tapped his forearm with a closed fist.

  “I got it?” Will grinned with triumph. “I won. Cool.”

  “You got it. How did you do that?”

  I shoved the stool away from the bar and rose to take our dishes to the sink. I was antsy sitting in such close quarters with him, with the fresh male scent of him wafting across the foot or so of distance between us. Was this dinner a huge mistake? Was I going to spend the rest of my time in Chicago lusting after a man who was way too young for me? And drowning in guilt?

  “It was just the one I didn’t want to be true, honest.” His laughter filled the room, and in spite of the steam rising from the sink, I shivered at the effect he was having on me. “But right now, I want details of all the other stuff—starting with the guy in Italy.”

  EIGHT

  Will futzed with Charlie’s laptop—my laptop—while I cleaned up the kitchen and kept him amused with the stories of a near toe-tasting in Cortona and tossing Charlie’s car keys over Niagara Falls. Will howled at my stories and teased me gently about my obvious inability to speak Italian. A few clicks, a moment of tapping on the keyboard, and magically, he was online.

  “How’d you do that?” I dried my hands on a clean tea towel and peeked at the screen over his shoulder. “I did exactly what Javier told me to do and I couldn’t get it to work.”

  “It’s a gift.” He flashed me a grin full of beautiful white teeth that sent a rush of sensation straight through me. “I could be your own personal guru.” Those blue, blue eyes offered way more than computer advice.

  “Yeah? Bet that’ll cost me.” I tossed him a wink.

  What was
it about this man that hyped up my flirting mechanism? I assumed it had died with Charlie, or if it hadn’t died, it was in mothballs at this stage. But here I was, smiling coyly and leaning over his shoulder.

  “Oh, we could probably work out some suitable arrangement,” he replied. “I might not be cheap, but I’m certainly reasonable.”

  Will’s handsome face was mere inches from mine. I could smell the citrus shampoo he used and the wine he’d had with dinner. My nipples tightened as my breasts brushed his broad back.

  Uh-oh. The heat radiating through me told me I was teetering on the edge of real trouble. I couldn’t believe I was so attracted to this guy. But I was also determined to keep the promise I’d made to myself after that humiliating night a few weeks earlier. I definitely needed to watch my step with Will Brody.

  I turned my attention to the screen in front of him. “Um, thanks for doing this, Will. It’ll be nice to be able to get on the Internet here at home. I can stop checking email at the shop.”

  “Okay, let’s take a look.” With an obvious sigh, he clicked the email icon on the desktop before I could stop him. The program began to load. “God, you’ve got a ton of new email. I thought you said you were checking it at the shop.”

  “Oh, no wait.” I put my hand on top of Will’s on the mouse. “That’s not my email, it’s probably Charlie’s old hospital account. I have to use webmail on this computer.”

  “Well, so far we’ve downloaded thirty-seven emails and they’re still coming.” Will pointed to the box racking up the message count, but at the same time, moved his fingers under mine on the mouse. “Want to just let it do its thing? I can open the browser for you to get to your webmail while it’s downloading. Then if you like, I can delete his account and set up your email for you.”

  “Um… I guess.” My pulse was quickening under the gentle massaging action of his thumb on my wrist. But at the same time, my curiosity was piqued about the emails pouring into Charlie’s inbox. Surely the hospital should have closed out his account by now. Will clicked on the browser and the new window covered the email program, but I could see the little counter in the taskbar, still showing emails coming in.