by Maggie Wells
Or the fact that he didn’t kiss her again when he came back a few nights later.
Okay, so he was there to help Grace narrow down her project theme and decide on an experiment. And he did. For the past two days, her daughter had done nothing but babble about gravitational fields, magnetic repulsion, and neighborhood cleansing—or whatever they’d discussed.
He’d shown up with Giovanni’s pizza in hand, bumping him even higher on the list of Grace’s favorite people. The whole next day, she’d gone on and on about Jake, not-so-subtly pointing out all of Dr. Dalton’s many attributes.
They were mostly the pluses a twelve year-old girl thought a woman of her mother’s advanced age should find attractive. He had really white teeth. His hair was super-pretty—thick, not all wispy and greasy like Mr. Moran, her Social Studies teacher. He had a nice car and wore nice clothes. His nails were clean.
Tucking the snacks into her purse, Darla smiled. All of Gracie’s observations were unequivocally true. He was also charming. In turn smooth and self-possessed, then indisputably dorky. Sexy, despite the streak of awkwardness that sprung up any time there were more than twelve inches between them.
And, before he left, he informed her he was taking her to dinner Friday night.
He hadn’t asked her if she wanted to go out with him, he’d simply told her in his mildly stumbling but decisive way he’d pick her up for dinner at Saus Friday night at seven. She knew she should be outraged by his high-handed assumptions but couldn’t quite seem to work up the ire. She’d caved to his caveman, me-take-you-out, approach, but there was something about the guy that made her want to say yes. To anything and everything.
Jake Dalton wanted to take her to dinner. On a date. A grown-up dinner date with wine and nice napkins and no talk of magnets, planets, or arguments over which astronaut was the coolest.
Suddenly, she was a sophomore again.
The night she walked out of the hotel kitchen to find him deep in earnest discussion with her kid, every spark of girlie crush she’d ever harbored for Jake glowed a little brighter. Whenever she saw him, one of those low-burning embers seemed to flare. First, there was the way he was with everyone. Friendly, if a little distracted. Sober. Serious. Intent.
Those chicory coffee-colored eyes went from focused, to fuzzy with thought, then back again, and each time her skin rippled with anticipation. He’d look like that in bed. She knew that much instinctively. Determined. Intense. Then, ultimately, lost.
Jake wasn’t the kind of guy who did things by half-measures. Something made him a little more dangerous than the yahoos she’d dated since Gracie came barreling into her life. Over the years, she’d known more than a few men who thought they could get in her pants by buttering up her kid. Wrong. Most guys weren’t used to dealing with a grade-schooler with an IQ dozens of points higher than their own. Gracie was no easy sell, which made Darla’s love life—if she could claim to have much of one—both a challenge and a breeze.
Being a single mom was a double-edged sword in terms of socializing. Darla didn’t have the freedom most single people enjoyed. She’d lost track of the number of times she had to explain parenthood to the guy in her life. No, she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, simply take off for a weekend at the beach. Yes, she really did choose to stay home and rub mentholated ointment on her baby’s rattling chest rather than spend a wild night in Joey Bishop’s drafty hunting cabin. Granted, some sacrifices were easier than others, but rather than finding motherhood restrictive, Darla figured she had an indestructible and indisputable get-out-of-jail-free card.
She wanted to taper off on the catering jobs now that Grace was a teenager. She knew most parents looked forward to increased freedom as their children grew older, but Darla planned to take the opposite approach. Kids needed more attention from their parents as they were faced with more critical decision moments, and she planned to be available for every one of Grace’s. Even if putting Grace first meant putting off making choices for herself.
She liked the way Jake had simply not given her one.
Day after day, she was the one who had to call the shots. Most of the time, she liked it that way. But if she was being completely honest, sometimes being the one to choose…everything was a bit exhausting. She set the day’s schedule. She was the one who decided what they’d have for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She scheduled dental and doctor appointments, monitored what little there was in her checking account, and switched the lights out when the day was done.
But not tonight.
Whatever happened tonight was totally out of her hands.
Well, maybe not completely. She’d arranged for Grace to stay with Connie Cade. The supervision wasn’t coming cheap. She’d withstood thirty minutes of grilling on the telephone before Harley’s mother finally consented to care for her honorary granddaughter. Barely thirty seconds passed between the time Darla ended the call when she heard the chirp of Grace’s phone. But unlike Darla, her kid had taken on Connie’s questioning with a saucy grin and a side of relish.
Gracie had roamed the hallway between their bedrooms while she made the arrangements. The girl was so smug. A lesser mother might have sought to wipe the grin off her teenager’s face by explaining exactly why she’d arranged for Grace to stay with Connie overnight.
But she wasn’t one of those moms. As a matter of fact, she was an exemplary mother. She hardly said anything at all about her plans to play a little doctor with her daughter’s favorite rocket scientist. If she wasn’t reading the long, smoldering look he gave her when he informed her of their dinner plans wrong, it wouldn’t take much to launch her mission.
Darla pushed away from the counter. A glance at the clock on the microwave told her she was cutting things close. Checking her bag to be sure she’d actually placed the snacks inside rather than imagining them there, she pulled her key ring from the morass and hustled for the door.
Drop-off and pick-up were important to Darla. She was all too aware the countdown to adolescent independence was in full swing. As things stood now, she used the fact that Sally Ride Middle School lay on the opposite side of a busy highway as her excuse for not making her kid walk to school and back. She didn’t even like for Grace to ride the bus, except in the most dire of circumstances. The thought of her child coming home to an empty apartment made her nauseous, and Darla did everything in her power to ensure those instances were the exception, and not the rule.
Most people might consider a job slinging rib baskets in a barbecue joint beneath them, but The Pit’s lunch-only hours and long-established clientele made the waitressing gig a single mom’s dream job. Sure, the associate’s degree in business administration she’d earned online could have landed her a cushy office job, but doing so would have meant leaving Grace in an after-school program—or worse, alone—for two or three hours each day. Darla knew single parents who made those choices, and she didn’t judge them, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do leave Gracie to her own devices.
Not when her own mother, who’d never worked a day in her adult life, had left her only child to the care of hired help.
Darla knew how dangerous freedom could be, and how quickly a person’s entire life could spin out of control. Irrevocable choices were made in mere seconds. She couldn’t make Grace’s for her, but she wanted to be close at hand when her baby needed her.
She decided long ago she’d choose parenting over money or prestige any day. So, she kept the job at The Pit, clocked in after she dropped Grace at school, ran her fat calories off for seven hours, then clocked out in time for thirty minutes of ‘me’ time before she hit the pick-up line. And she stood by her decision—even if her choices meant wearing sneakers with a hole in them for a couple more weeks.
Locking the apartment door, she jogged down the open staircase that fed into the parking lot. Her car was a year older than Grace but ran like a champ thanks to Harley and his magic fix-it skills. The engine didn’t exactly purr, but sweet Jolene
didn’t belch black smoke and backfire outside the elementary school like her predecessor, Lucille, had.
She sat for moment, giving the struggling air conditioner a chance to blow some of the late summer heat from the car. While she waited, she tilted the rearview mirror down, checked her face for stray streaks of sauce, then fluffed her hair. The cropped cut made styling her naturally curly hair easy-peasy.
She and Grace had splurged and gone to American Hairlines for their end-of-summer trims rather than their usual trip to the SuperClippers. Zelda Jo had gushed for a good thirty minutes when she walked through the door the next morning. Though Darla didn’t mind being compared to Demi Moore, she knew there wasn’t any real resemblance between her and the former Mrs. Kutcher, other than the haircut. Still, the older woman felt compelled to wax poetic about the pottery wheel scene from Ghost whenever there was the slightest lull in business.
Thankfully, The Pit was usually packed from the moment they unlocked the door until Bubba told them to hang the ‘all smoked out’ sign on the door. Darla glanced down at her shirt as she crept out of her parking space. She loved the bright neon color, but wasn’t quite as crazy about the new slogan. Bubba’d been super-good to her over the years. She’d wash and wear the shirt every day if she had too. Even if the printing on the back proclaimed, “You don’t need teeth to eat my meat.”
The shirts were tacky, but so were Bubba and Zelda Jo, bless their hearts. And even though they could drive her crazy, she loved them with her whole heart. Bubba, Zelda Jo, Harley Cade, and his sequin-loving mama, Connie, proved time and time again they were all the family she truly needed.
Just as her own parents had shown breeding and pedigree didn’t do anything to enhance a person’s worth.
She smirked at her reflection then readjusted the mirror. Her father had been one of the most respected deacons at Christ Baptist. Cafeteria Christians. That’s what Harley’s mama called “those hypocrites who think they get to pick and choose which of the commandments best suit their purpose.”
Honor thy father and mother.
A favorite in the Kennet household back in the day. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything etched in stone about loving your children without reservation or expectation. And when she truly needed her parents to love her unconditionally, they’d not only let her down, but also held her in open contempt. Now, instead of wallowing in the mire of a disappointing only child, they chose to pretend she’d never existed at all.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, her father had plucked a skewer of coconut shrimp from her platter then looked right through her as if she were made of cellophane. Darla drummed her fingers against the wheel as she negotiated the route to the middle school and wondered if Jake Dalton went to church. She knew his parents still belonged to Christ Baptist, but the Dalton family didn’t seem to be as flashy about their devotion as some.
Maybe that had something to do with science. Darla figured people who put the majority of their intellectual stock in fact had to struggle a little with the concept of faith. She sure did, and she wasn’t nearly as into proving things as people like Jake and Brian Dalton. Still, as much as she liked to think of herself as a realist, Darla had plenty of faith.
Not a fake faith they trotted out each week dressed up in its finest feathers. She figured God still loved her even if she barely made one service once a month. Her belief was unshakable. Harley, Connie, Mr. Beau, Bubba, and even Zelda Jo, annoying as she might be, were angels who walked the Earth. A quiet kind of faith. In herself, and Grace and the life they’d figured out together.
Darla believed every obstacle life threw at her was an opportunity to learn and grow. She hadn’t been so philosophical about it when she was eighteen, pregnant, and scared out of her wits. Then, she’d been abandoned and betrayed by the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally. People who used faith and morality as something to hide behind, when they were really only concerned with their pride. Again, she hadn’t really understood at the time, but in the years since, she’d acquired both distance and perspective. And watching the little girl she’d carried in her belly for nine months learn and grow and flourish had given her the greatest gift of all—faith in herself.
Straightening in her seat, she resolved to carry that same conviction into her date with Jake. She was a strong, capable woman. A force to be reckoned with. She narrowed her eyes as she scanned an intersection. Jake Dalton had better watch out. Darla Kennet had an itch and a little black dress ready to see some playing time. She hoped he was prepared to deal with a woman who was more than ready for blastoff.
****
Jake had to stop looking down the front of Darla’s dress. He was being rude. Inappropriate. She was a mother, for chrissake. Those breasts weren’t recreational; they were functional. Okay, maybe not now, but they were once. And he shouldn’t be staring at them. Even if the plunging neckline gave him a tantalizing eyeful every time she reached for her glass.
“Is your food okay?”
He blinked but found himself powerless to drag his gaze from the dip of the vee. Pale as freshly skimmed cream, those mouthwatering mounds pressed close to one another as she leaned in. He wanted nothing more than to press his face right into the soft crevice—
“Jake?”
“Hm?”
“Is there something wrong with your chicken?”
He swallowed hard as she moved in a little closer. He watched her fingers close around the stem of her wine glass. “Huh-uh.”
Darla’s already husky voice dropped to a whisper. “Then maybe you should pay a little more attention to the breast on your plate.”
She took a healthy slug of her wine and plunked the glass back down. Then, to his mortification, she tugged the sides of her dress closer, making it impossible for either of them to pretend he hadn’t been ogling her in the middle of Mobile’s trendiest restaurant. The tips of his ears burst into flames. Dropping his gaze to his untasted entree, he curled his hand into a fist.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology was automatic but utterly sincere. He was sorry. Not for staring—because what man with blood in his veins wouldn’t—but for making her feel uncomfortable. Things had been going so well. When she opened the door, he’d managed to greet and compliment her without having to roll his tongue up like a rug and tuck it back in his mouth. They’d chatted easily on the drive to the restaurant. He’d even managed to hand his car over to the valet without tripping over his feet and landing in the gutter. Then, he took his seat directly across from her and completely lost his shit.
“I’m so sorry. I, uh, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He swallowed what was left of his pride and forced himself to meet her eyes so he could finish issuing his apology honestly and directly. “You’re just...beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Her eyelashes fluttered, but there was nothing flirty or fake about her reaction. Thick lashes swept up to reveal dark eyes shining with pleasure, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a flash of devilry. “I borrowed the dress.”
He held her gaze, emboldened by the tempting sparkle. “I’m writing the thank-you note in my head right now.”
“So well brought-up.”
“Please don’t tell my mother you caught me staring.”
Her chin came up a notch. “Not worried I’d tell your daddy?”
“I think we both know my mom’s the truly scary one. And Dad probably would’ve looked, too, but he’s had decades more practice, so he’s better at not getting caught.” He reached for his own glass and lifted it in a small toast.
“You might need to have your glasses checked.”
He chuckled and swallowed the sip of wine without even registering the flavor. Grateful to be let off the hook so easily, he picked up his knife and fork. His brow furrowed as he looked down at his sauce-drenched plate. “I don’t even know what the hell I ordered.”
“Some kind of fancy chicken-fried chicken,” she said, cutting into her
fillet.
Frowning at the wine in his glass, he gave his head a shake to kick-start his brain. “I think you short-circuited my wiring.”
“Good.”
Startled by the decisiveness in her tone, he raised an eyebrow. “Good?”
She slid a bite of beef into her mouth and took her time chewing before giving up an explanation. “Well, no woman shoots for being one of the guys.”
“A man would have to be completely blind to mistake you for one of the guys.”
Darla dismissed his clumsy compliment with a wave of her fork. “Don’t tell Harley I said this, him being Mr. Moneyman around here and all, but I don’t get why everyone’s so crazy about this place. The food is good, but I don’t know it’s all that different. I mean, it’s a steak. Does throwing some goat cheese on the plate make it better?”
He smiled, amused by her irreverence. “I guess if you’re a foodie, it does.”
“Are you a foodie?”
Jake laughed as he cut into his chicken. Thirty seconds passed before he realized she was actually asking the question. “Me?” He shook his head. “I mean, I like food, but I’m not particularly picky about what I eat.”
“Then I don’t need to warn you I think I saw six different kinds of pepper listed for your gravy.”
Lifting his cutlery, Jake studied the thick layer of sauce covering his chicken. “Are there six different kinds of pepper?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I read the menu wrong.” A slow, playful smile curved her lips as she shot a pointed look at the sconce closest to their table. “I suppose they call this ambiance, but to me it looks like Harley and Chef Tommy are too cheap to pay the light bill.”
