Modern Heart: City Love 3

by Belinda Williams

  I took another deep breath to recover from my speech, which was when I noticed all three of my girlfriends’ jaws hanging somewhere near the floor. I grabbed for my wine. Alright, so that might have been a bit much.

  “That was all that happened?” Cate’s green eyes were rounded in disbelief.

  “No sex,” I confirmed.

  Christa giggled. “Sex would have been easier.”

  Oh shit. She was right. I paled.

  She reached over and grabbed my arm reassuringly. “I won’t mention the R word if you don’t.”

  “You know what this means,” I said slowly, “if he’s in love with me, I can never sleep with him.”

  “And there it is!” Maddy threw her hands up in the air. “Good to have you back, Scarlett. You had us worried there for a moment.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.” I scowled into my wine. What I said was true but the new Scarlett was going to try putting it out there for discussion. “Hear me out,” I suggested. “I’ve never slept with a man who was in love with me—”

  “Wait a minute!” Cate cried, slamming her hands down onto the table. “Are you serious?”

  My love life and newfound ability to share seemed to have everyone in a very worked up state.

  “Completely. I’ve told you all before that’s how I do things. It’s much easier that way. Lust definitely. But not love.”

  Cate sighed while Christa picked up her wine, awaiting the rest of my logic.

  “If I sleep with John now – as much as I want to – it’s only going to end up hurting him,” I concluded.

  “And why do you want to sleep with John?” Maddy asked.

  “Lust, of course.”

  “Not love?”

  I frowned.

  “Perhaps you just don’t know what love is?” Cate suggested hopefully.

  “Or perhaps you’re scared if you sleep with him, you’ll fall in love with John even more,” Christa added.

  Alright. So maybe this sharing with your girlfriends approach wasn’t so good after all. “You’re the ones using the love word, not me.”

  “And you’re the one crying on his shoulder,” Christa said.

  “I shouldn’t have told you,” I snapped, grabbing my wine again.

  “Hey,” Maddy said. “Yes, you should. We’re not judging you.”

  “Certainly feels like it.”

  “No!” Cate protested. “I may not always understand you, but it’s so wonderful to hear what’s going on with you, Scarlett. We’re only trying to help.”

  “Help me fall in love, you mean.”

  Christa smiled. “That’s completely up to you.”

  Oddly, I wasn’t so sure. Since John Hart had landed in my life, I’d exhibited a distinct lack of control.

  “So what do you think you’ll do?” Cate asked. “Apart from not sleeping with him?”

  “Avoid him?”

  “No!” Cate pleaded.

  I shook my head. “That was just wishful thinking. After last night, and the way he supported me, I wouldn’t do that. He’s invited me to dinner. I guess I’ll accept and we’ll take it from there.”

  I didn’t mention the fact the invitation was to his parents’ house. Nor was I about to divulge the part about how I’d cried on his shoulder over my childhood last night. As supportive as my girlfriends were, some things were personal.

  Chapter 22

  Well, this was all wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong.

  About halfway through dinner I realized I was enjoying myself. To make matters worse, I genuinely liked John’s parents and his sister, Flick, too.

  When John had picked me up earlier in the evening, I’d geared myself up for a night of awkwardness. I’d expected plenty of empty silences due to people not knowing what to say to each other, but there had been none of those. The minute I’d been ushered through the door of John’s parents’ pretty suburban house, I’d been engulfed in conversation. And laughter. Tonight I’d possibly laughed more than I’d laughed the entire last month. John’s family had a love of teasing each other that was far removed from my rigid childhood. So far I had been content to watch rather than participate. Besides, I wasn’t sure if the Hart family was ready for my brand of cynicism.

  “So, Scarlett,” Wendy Hart, John’s mum said, “how did you end up in advertising?”

  We’d just finished eating and were seated around a large wooden dining table adjacent to the open plan kitchen. Wendy stood and started clearing the table.

  Normally questions of a personal nature from near strangers would get my back up. Not with Wendy. I was still marveling at how different she was to my own mother. Unusually tall for someone of Chinese heritage, she had shoulder length black hair that fell in soft waves around her face. It accentuated her astute dark brown eyes and full rosy cheeks. Where my mother was severe and uptight, everything about Wendy was natural and relaxed.

  “It seemed like the obvious fallback option,” I replied truthfully. “There’s always demand for advertising.”

  Wendy placed a pile of dirty plates on the counter and looked at me. “Very true. But surely with your artistic skills you could have attempted a serious art career before now?”

  John cleared his throat from his position beside me at the table. “Scarlett left home at a young age.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right. Such a shame your parents weren’t supportive of your talent.”

  She bent down to place a plate in the dishwasher. I turned to John and shot him a death stare.

  “Don’t blame, John,” Wendy called out. “Once you get to know me, you’ll appreciate how I have a knack for extracting information from people.”

  “That’s why I had to move out,” John retorted.

  “Nonsense. I knew what you were getting up to. You just thought I didn’t.” Wendy turned her back again as she continued to stack the dishwasher.

  A slow smile spread across my face. “And what were you getting up to, John?” I asked.

  “None of your business.” He poured me another glass of wine and pushed it toward me.

  “From what John’s shown me of your artwork, Scarlett,” Ken Hart said, “you won’t need your advertising job too much longer.”

  I’d liked Ken the moment I’d laid eyes on him. A tall, powerful looking man in his fifties, I recognized John’s broad frame in his dad as well as the strong jawline. That was where the similarities ended though. Ken had blue eyes, light brown hair peppered with gray, cropped short, and a neat beard.

  “John’s an optimist,” I told him. “I won’t be giving up my advertising career just yet.”

  Ken smiled. “Well, once you sell a few more paintings, maybe you will.”

  I was starting to see where John got his glass half full mentality.

  Flick groaned from her seat at the end of the table. “I’d give anything to be working full-time right now.”

  John raised an eyebrow at her. “You’d need to turn up to work before midday.”

  “She’d never survive,” Ken agreed.

  Flick pouted. “You’re just jealous.”

  Somehow out of the whole family, Flick looked the most Asian, even more than her mum. It probably had something to do with her styled appearance. Her dark chin length hair was cut sharply to accentuate her jaw, and her black eyeliner was bold like mine. She still managed to look cute, though, thanks to inheriting her mum’s full cheeks.

  “That I am, sweetheart. I’ve been waking at five since I was a young apprentice,” Ken said.

  “On the subject of your work, this house is very unique,” I said. “Did you build it?” I’d been dying to ask if he had a hand in creating it ever since I’d walked through the front door. John had told me earlier that his dad was a builder, and judging by the beautiful finish of the weatherboard home, he’d passed on his love of architecture to John.

  “He may as well have,” Wendy interrupted. “He’s done so much to this place in the fifteen years we’ve been here, he should have just knocked i
t down and started from scratch. Not that I don’t love it, of course,” she added, “but I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve turned a corner in my house to discover yet another room transformed into a work zone because Ken suddenly had a great new idea.”

  “I save my spontaneity for home. I mostly do new builds in my line of work,” Ken explained. “This house was my chance to work with some character.”

  Character was right. From intricate woodwork around door frames and light fixtures, every aspect of the house oozed attention to detail.

  Ken looked across the table at John proudly. “It was also good training for John. Although it turns out he prefers to use a pencil than hold a hammer.”

  John grinned. “I can still hold a hammer.”

  “You better. Actually, I’m thinking of adding on to the deck and you could—”

  “Oh dear God,” Wendy muttered. “At least this one’s outside …”

  Ken ignored his wife. “Scarlett, would you mind if I stole John for a moment? I’d like to run some ideas past him for the deck.”

  “Sure,” I replied easily. I stood and picked up the last few dinner plates, carrying them across to the counter.

  The men stood too and walked toward the back door. John caught my eye and paused before going outside.

  “Go,” I mouthed. If he was worried about leaving me with his family, he needn’t have. His family was child’s play compared to what I was used to.

  He nodded and slipped outside to join his dad.

  Flick, who had been alternating between our discussion and looking at her smartphone, got up and joined us in the kitchen. She plonked herself down on one of the stools tucked under the counter and leaned over to rest both of her elbows on it.

  “So.” She looked at me curiously. “Is it true John nursed you back to health in New York?”

  I stared at her. Did John tell his family everything? “He didn’t turn up in a nurse uniform, if that’s what you’re asking,” I replied.

  Her dark eyebrows shot up, then she grinned. “Oh God, if he’d done that I’d need the photos. Mr. Caring in drag. That would be so funny.”

  I held back a smile. There was a version of John I’d never envisaged.

  Wendy reached between us, picking up a glass. “Mr. Caring kept you out of trouble in high school, if you care to remember. Or have you forgotten?”

  Flick reddened. “Yeah, alright. I remember.” She turned her attention back to me. “But I’m right, aren’t I? He’s lead contender for the Mr. Caring title.”

  “Do you find it annoying?” I asked. I wasn’t about to admit his caring nature drove me up the wall at times.

  Flick’s smooth forehead wrinkled. “Annoying? No. It just highlights my inadequacies, I guess.”

  “Then it’s your issue, not his,” Wendy said firmly.

  Flick rolled her eyes. “The psychoanalysis is free in this household, in case you’re wondering. So, did he really look after you in New York?”

  I nodded. “Yes, he did.”

  “I wish a guy would come to my rescue like that.” Flick sat up in her seat. “It’s completely un-feminist of me, I know, but don’t you think it shows a certain initiative? The guys at university only show initiative when getting drunk and having sex. Relationships are too much work.”

  “Aren’t you a bit young to be worried about relationships? At your age I was more like the guys.” I bit my lip. While I wasn’t going to deny my non-relationship stance, saying that to John’s sister in front of his mum probably wasn’t one of my better ideas.

  Flick tilted her head to look at me. “John mentioned you weren’t the relationship type.”

  I resisted the urge to shrug and reminded myself not to be annoyed at John’s transparency with his family. From what I had seen so far, openness was a natural state in this house. “Art and work have always taken up my focus.”

  “I totally get that,” Flick agreed. “I have some big career goals, but I guess I just like the idea of having someone to enjoy it with.”

  I didn’t really know what to say to that, so I picked up my glass of wine.

  “Not that I’m into the whole marriage thing myself,” Flick went on. “After John divorced so young it made me kind of scared to even consider it.”

  Chapter 23

  I choked on my wine.

  “Felicity,” Wendy said quickly, “don’t you have some studying to do?”

  Flick’s eyes had gone wide. She looked between me and her mum frantically, then nodded. She slipped off the stool and was gone from the room before I had the chance to catch my breath.

  John was divorced? He was only twenty-five, for God’s sake. I placed my glass down.

  “I take it John hasn’t told you,” Wendy said quietly. She’d stopped moving around the kitchen and was watching me from the other side of the counter.

  “Uh, no.”

  Wendy nodded. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “Obviously.”

  “You’re surprised?” she asked.

  I blew out a long breath. “Completely,” I admitted. I was having a hard time keeping the conversation going because my mind was full of questions. How long since he’d been divorced? How old was he when he got married? Questions which would have to wait because I didn’t think it was appropriate to ask his mother about it when he hadn’t even told me.

  Wendy regarded me sympathetically. “John will talk to you about it when he’s ready. All I’ll tell you is that they were high school sweethearts and they got married very young.”

  “But he’s so young now!” I closed my mouth quickly. Whoops. I hadn’t meant for that to slip out, but clearly I was having issues processing.

  “He was twenty-three when they got divorced.”

  “Wow,” I muttered, although I’d wanted to mutter something much more inappropriate.

  Wendy went to the sink, picked up a cloth and started wiping the counter. “How old are you, Scarlett?”

  “Thirty. Why?”

  “You’ve lived a lot more than John. He sees that in you.”

  OK, we were heading into dangerous territory. Cue awkward silence. And we’d been doing so well.

  Wendy didn’t appear concerned by my discomfort. “Does it bother you that he’s younger?”

  I cleared my throat. Tact, Scarlett, aim for tact. “We’re just friends, so it doesn’t really make any difference.”

  Wendy gave me a look. Oh wow. She’d just given me her “mother” look. Crap.

  I straightened. “It’s better if we’re just friends.”

  “Because the age gap bothers you?”

  Good grief. Flick was right. This woman’s psychoanalysis skills were scary.

  Fine. I would just be honest then. Kind of. “Among other things,” I hedged.

  “Yet here you are.”

  “As a friend,” I repeated.

  “As a friend.” Wendy finished cleaning then dried her hands on a tea towel. She turned to face me. “There’s no reason friends can’t have some fun together.”

  If I’d been drinking wine, I would have choked again. As it was, I was having a hard time trying not to choke on the air I was breathing in.

  Wendy shrugged, a thoughtful frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. “John could do with some fun in his life.”

  Was her definition of “fun” what I thought it was? If so, sometime between the main meal and finishing dessert I must have traveled to an alternate dimension, because there was no way this was really happening.

  Wendy huffed. “Come on, spit it out, Scarlett. I can tell you’re a woman who likes to speak her mind.”

  Yep. Alternate universe. That was definitely it. Seeing as this wasn’t really happening, then I might as well just play along. “So let me get this straight,” I said, “by ‘fun’ you mean fun.”

  “Why not?” Wendy reached for the half empty bottle of red and poured herself a glass. “The last thing John needs right now is a serious relationship. It’s perf
ect.”

  It’s perfect? “Perhaps the better thing for both of us would be not to have a relationship,” I suggested.

  “True, but that doesn’t solve the issue.”

  “The issue?” Whatever universe this was, I was seriously lost.

  Wendy appeared unimpressed. “Do you really want me to spell it out?”

  “Actually, yes. Because I can’t quite believe I’m having this conversation.”

  Wendy sighed. “You want to sleep with each other.”

  I blinked and then pointed wordlessly at the wine bottle. Thank God there was enough left.

  Wendy smiled knowingly, poured the wine, and pushed it in my direction. She waited until I’d taken a fortifying gulp. “So?”

  “So?” I repeated. So was this when I was whisked back to the real world, because now would be the perfect time …

  “So think about it.”

  I took another sip of wine. Oh believe me, I had been thinking about it. A lot. But that wasn’t really something I wanted to explain in any detail to John’s mother. “While I’m not going to deny you have a scary ability to assess the situation between me and your son,” I began, and then paused. I hoped by referring to him as her “son” she’d suddenly realize this was an incredibly inappropriate conversation to be having with me. “He’s made it very clear to me that he’s still very into the concept of a relationship.”

  “Well, of course he is.”

  “Huh?” There was no use hiding my confusion.

  “He’s not chasing marriage, Scarlett. That’s what I’m getting at. Yes, he’s the sort of person who prefers to be in a relationship. That’s just the type of personality he has. The relationship you can offer him is one with a lot of freedom, which is exactly what he needs right now.”

  Alright. I was just going to come straight out and ask it. “Are you proposing an open relationship?”

  Wendy laughed. When she laughed, she laughed loudly. It echoed around the kitchen. “No. I don’t think John would go for that. You’re not going to smother him is all I was getting at.”