The Hope Chest

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  But while all her work woes might have bugged her a month ago, now with Ryan in the picture, her office problems lost some of their teeth. He’d gained importance in her life, and obsessing about her work had lost some of its appeal.

  The problem was, she wasn’t entirely sure that she was as important to him. She wanted to believe it—and on a good day, she did believe it—but she could never be certain. Not without asking, and she couldn’t do that.

  The brutal truth? She was falling in love with the man. And, frankly, that scared her to death.

  “You know what I think?” Ben asked.

  She scowled at him. “You think too much.”

  “I think you’re using that widow’s year crap as a crutch. I think you’re scared to put it on the line, and so you’re hiding behind your stupid rule.”

  She raised an eyebrow, trying not to show how much the words stung. “Are you sure you’re a guy? Because I don’t think guys talk like that. Allison, yes. You—”

  “Give it a rest, Marty,” Ben said. “I’m right, and attacking me isn’t going to change that.”

  Well, hell. How was she supposed to answer that? Especially since he was absolutely, positively right. She sure didn’t want to give her cousin the satisfaction of saying so though.

  “Marty?”

  She heaved her arm back and tossed the rest of her hot dog across the stone courtyard. A dozen pigeons swooped down to attack the feast.

  “Not hungry after all?”

  “Damn it, Ben. You’re right, okay? There. I said it.”

  He looked at her, wide-eyed. “Wow. I can’t quite believe you said that out loud. You want to repeat it so I can get it on tape?”

  “Oooooh, you!” She beat ineffectually against his arm with her fists, then dissolved into a laugh that was punctuated by tears. “Look at me! I’m an absolute mess. I hate this. I don’t know what to do or what to say or—”

  “Just tell him how you feel.”

  “Yeah, right. He’s given me no indication he wants to take this further.”

  Ben crossed his arms and stared her down. “You’re kidding, right? The guy spends every spare moment with you. He puts up with your wacky family, namely me and my hyperdriven toddler. Not to mention the way he looks at you.”

  Marty curled her toes in her shoes, desperately wanting to believe everything Ben was saying, but terrified of setting herself up for disappointment. “What if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not. But even if he hasn’t thought about it, that doesn’t mean you can’t put the idea in his head. All you have to do is tell him what you want. And then fight for it.”

  “Fight for it?”

  Ben shrugged. “Sometimes men are idiots. I thought you knew that.”

  This time, her laugh was genuine.

  Marty thought about it, and decided that maybe Ben was right. What did she have to lose—other than her self-esteem, of course? After all, she put her heart and soul into her work every day, then splashed it across the Chronicle for millions to read. She was used to setting herself up for humiliation. Could this be any worse?

  It could, of course, but she was going to risk it anyway. Ryan was worth the risk.

  “All right,” she finally said. “I will.”

  “There you go,” Ben said. “I’ll even help you. He’s coming over tonight, right?”

  She nodded, wary.

  “After the museum, I’ll send Allison and Toby home, and I’ll head back to your place with you. I’ll help you figure out a late-night dinner menu that’ll knock the socks off Kurt Russell.”

  Marty made a face, but in truth she was a tiny bit amused. Ben’s reference to The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes really did fit Ryan to a T. And Ryan was at least as cute as the famous actor. As for the dinner, Ben was an amazing cook, whereas Marty could barely boil water. If he was offering to help, then maybe she could offer Ryan something more appealing than Kraft mac and cheese….

  IN THE END, they decided on homey elegance. Roast chicken, rosemary potatoes, fresh bread (well, from a bread machine), steamed broccoli and a very expensive bottle of wine. The appetizer was a bit more tony, and at the moment, Ben had just finished showing her how to wrap a brie in filo dough.

  “That should do you,” he said. He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Just tell the man how you feel. Allison told me, and I pretty much melted on the spot. Trust me. It works.”

  “Maybe. But I’m thinking I’ll just play it by ear. I’ll back off my widow’s year plan, and if something develops, then it develops. I don’t think I should force anything though. I’ll just go with the flow.”

  “In other words, you’re afraid that if you tell him you want more, he’ll balk and run.”

  She scowled. “Something like that.”

  Ben laughed. “All right, all right. I’ll quit bugging you. Just give it time. Don’t go getting all paranoid and weird. You’re a helluva catch. Sooner or later, he’s going to realize that he wants more.”

  “The way Eli did?”

  A flash of anger crossed his face on her behalf, and she felt a flood of warmth and thankfulness that she had Ben on her side. “Eli was an asshole,” he said. “And that’s being polite.”

  She nodded; she certainly wasn’t going to disagree.

  “Ryan’s not an ass, at least not what I’ve seen so far.”

  Again, she nodded. Ben truly liked Ryan, who’d brought his little nephew Gizmo over to play with Toby last Saturday on one of Ryan’s rare days off. Despite the two-year difference in ages, the kids had got along great, and both Ben and Allison had pulled Marty aside and expressed their approval of her latest romantic conquest.

  “Just tell him,” Ben repeated.

  “We’ll see,” she said, not willing to commit to such an extravagant plan.

  He headed out the door and Marty set in to wait. The chicken needed another hour in the oven, which meant it would be ready around 9:30, which was the time Ryan usually appeared on her doorstep. She understood what he did at work about as well as she understood her dad’s job—i.e., not at all—but there was no mistaking that he was passionate about it.

  At nine, she changed into a little black dress.

  At nine-fifteen she tossed the dress in the back of the closet and put on jeans and a casual top.

  At nine-thirty, she raced back to the bedroom, pulled off the jeans and slipped on a flirty summer dress. Nothing fancy, but not too down-home, either.

  At nine-forty-five, she was pacing the kitchen.

  At ten, she was beginning to get worried. She took the chicken out of the oven so it wouldn’t get hard and stringy, but she laid foil over it so it would still be hot when Ryan finally got there.

  By ten-thirty, she was seriously considering calling the cops. Or the hospitals. “Don’t panic,” she told the toaster. She stabbed some of the potatoes with a fork and shoveled them into her mouth. “He’s fine,” she said after she swallowed. “Houston traffic. He’s probably stuck behind some construction crew in a cell phone dead zone.”

  Pretty lame, really, but it was the best explanation she could come up with on short notice.

  Flustered and out of sorts, she headed back to her bedroom to check the answering machine. She would have heard it ring, but you could never be too careful….

  As it turned out, the power light on the all-in-one cordless phone and answering machine was blinking, a tell-tale sign that there’d been a power surge and the entire piece of crap system needed to be reset.

  Usually, this irritated the hell out of her. Right then, though, she wanted to kiss the machine. He’d tried to call! Of course he had. He’d tried to call, and he couldn’t get through. A simple, elegant explanation.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, relief flooding through her. If he’d called her house and gotten nothing, the next thing he’d try would be—

  She scrambled for her purse, hating the way her blood was pounding in her ears and feeling like a high school sophomore with a cru
sh. But there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. And when she found her purse under a pile of discarded outfits, she heaved a huge sigh of relief. She rummaged in the bottom, finally coming up with her cell phone and—yes!—a single voice mail.

  She pressed the speed dial, listened to her own spiel, punched in her pass code, and then closed her eyes in silent thankfulness as Ryan’s smooth voice filled her ear. “Marty, sweetheart, I’m tied up at work. It’s a huge project, and it’s going to be a big drain on my time, but it’s a huge opportunity, too. I’m sorry. I’ll try to swing by if I can, but don’t wait up for me.”

  And then he clicked off. She’d held her breath at the end, hoping he’d end with a casual “I love you,” but he hadn’t. Which wasn’t a surprise since neither of them had said those words to the other yet. But what was a surprise was how much she’d been secretly hoping to hear those words. Because, dammit, somewhere in the midst of all this, she had fallen in love with him.

  And damned if the day she realized that was the day that he decided not to come over after all.

  She thought of Eli and fought a little shiver. This wasn’t bad. Ryan wasn’t leaving her. This was just work. Just normal day-to-day stuff.

  Heck, she couldn’t even justifiably be angry with him. After all, dinner was a surprise. For all he knew, all he was missing was another late-night movie on AMC.

  Just work. Not personal.

  She repeated that to herself over and over.

  If she said it enough, maybe she’d actually start to believe it.

  HE NEVER CAME, of course, and four days later, Marty realized she’d been a fool for thinking he would. She’d clued in after he’d left her hanging for the second time, standing her up on even his simplest offer last night to “drop by and bring ice cream on the way home from work.” They only lived ten miles from each other. He wasn’t just standing her up; he was downright avoiding her. It was Eli all over again. But this time, it was hurt she felt more than anger. Dear Lord, it was like her insides were being ripped out every time he stood her up.

  Of course, Ryan apologized profusely each time. “I’ve literally been sleeping at the office,” he said. “It’s insane here.”

  No, Marty thought. She was the insane one.

  To his credit (Was she really letting the guy off the hook? Even a tiny bit?), he could tell she was upset. “I’m sorry,” he’d said when he’d called her this morning. It was Saturday, and he’d called at seven, managing to wake her up. “Give me one more chance. I promise I’ll come by this afternoon. I have to run some documents across town, and I’ll pop in on my way. I’ll only be able to stay a minute, but I really want to see you. I’ll call you and let you know when, okay?”

  Like a little puppy dog who’d been thrown a bone, she’d said yes. And now here she was, sitting not two feet from the phone. Her laptop was open on the desk, and she was supposed to be working on her profile of a local boy who’d just starred in his first major Hollywood movie. A nice interview piece that she could probably rework and sell to one of the celebrity magazines for another feather in her journalistic cap.

  She should be all over the story. Instead, she was barely managing to drag out the words, too preoccupied with staring at the silent telephone. Already two-thirty and still no call.

  A sick feeling started to settle in her stomach. She wanted to kick herself. How stupid could she be? She’d told herself she wasn’t going to fall for another man so quickly after Eli. And yet here she was, already in love with Ryan, and he was pulling the same crap Eli had. Only Eli had just up and left. Ryan was pulling slowly away, leaving her all alone to nurse a whole heartful of hurt.

  Damn it all.

  Enough. She wasn’t going to think about it. She wasn’t going to think about him. She wasn’t even going to think about work. She was going to pamper herself and forget about everyone else.

  Determined, she snapped her laptop shut, then moved to the living room. She popped in a DVD, poured herself a glass of peach-flavored wine, then settled on the couch. She didn’t normally drink in the afternoon, but it was a beautiful summer Saturday. Besides, a nice glass of wine would take the edge off. And she desperately needed to relax.

  Three glasses and two episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer later, her head was swimming, and Ryan was still right there at the top of her thoughts.

  Dear Lord, she was a pathetic mess of mush.

  Hugging herself, she eyed the phone, willing it to ring even as she imagined his smooth voice washing over her.

  And then it rang!

  She snatched it up, her entire body deflating when she recognized the voice at the other end of the line. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”

  Ben’s laughter bounced across the phone line. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  Marty sighed. “Give me a break. I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it.”

  “He hasn’t called?”

  “He’s supposed to. Supposed to come over, too.”

  “And you’re actually talking to me? I’m honored. What if he calls while I’m on the phone?”

  “Not a problem,” she said. “I have call waiting. Soon as it beeps, I’ll drop you like a hot potato.”

  Ben laughed. “I was right. You do have it bad.”

  She took a deep breath and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

  “Wow,” said Ben, obviously surprised that she’d admitted it. “So you forgave him for blowing you off last night?”

  Forgave, no. Understood, maybe. “I—”

  Beep.

  “I’ve got to go.” She stabbed the button without waiting for Ben to answer. “Hello? Ryan?”

  His warm laughter bubbled over her, and she practically sagged in relief. “Hey there. It’s great to hear your voice.”

  She leaned back, melting into her pillows as Ryan’s voice filled her. “Hi. I’ve been looking forward to your call.” Had she really said that? Gads, what a geek. “I’m looking forward even more to seeing you.”

  A pause, and Marty’s fears started to fill the silence.

  She licked her lips. “Ryan?”

  His words came on a heavy sigh. “Marty, you’re going to kill me, but—”

  “You’re not coming.” Her voice was flat, her eyes closed.

  “I’m so sorry. Something’s come up and I have to—”

  “Just don’t.” She raised her hand in a “stop” gesture, as if the man could actually see her. “Just forget it, okay? It…it doesn’t matter.”

  “Marty—”

  She hung up. She didn’t know what he was going to say, and she told herself she didn’t care. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she brushed it away. This was for the best. She shouldn’t have fallen for him.

  After Eli, you’d really think that she’d have known better.

  The tears flowed freely now, and she rubbed her hand under her nose, her tears making her all snotty and stuffed up. Damn the man. He was making her a total mess.

  She got up and poured herself another glass of wine, determined to enjoy the evening without Ryan Kinsey. She didn’t need him around to enjoy herself. She’d been doing perfectly fine before he’d weaseled his way into her life.

  She channel surfed for a bit, surprised when she lifted the glass for another sip and found it empty.

  She poured another glass and sipped again, pausing when the remote landed on the biography channel. Mel Gibson. That was worth a few minutes. And more wine.

  By the time the credits rolled on Mel, she’d had another glass of wine and managed to work herself back up again. Ryan wasn’t Eli. She’d never felt as close to someone as quickly as she had with Ryan. She’d fallen hard and fast, and until recently, she’d been certain he felt the same.

  What was it Ben had said? That she’d have to fight for what she wanted?

  Well, she wanted Ryan.

  She poured the last dregs from her wine bottle into her glass, then took a long sip.

  Yes, indeed. She wanted Ryan and, dammit, she wasn’
t going down without a fight.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  C2H5OH

  RYAN STARED at the screensaver on his computer, the chemical symbols circling endlessly in a three-dimensional font. Ethanol. Not incredibly sexy as fuels go, but it was usable. And it was the first formula Ryan had ever memorized, all the way back at good old Mercy High School.

  He’d picked the formula as his screensaver as much for nostalgia as for inspiration.

  Today, he really needed some inspiration.

  Unfortunately, lately he’d been sadly lacking in that ephemeral quality.

  Edward slid through the doorway, his whole body vibrating with excitement. “They’re here. Elise is making them comfortable in the conference room. You ready?”

  “I better be,” Ryan said. He wasn’t, of course, but confidence was a good thing, and he intended to effuse it.

  The “they” that Edward referred to were Alan Deary and Leo Martin, two of the NASA big shots—men who had some decision-making authority with regard to the contract Kinsey Applied was gunning for. They’d called a few hours earlier, saying that they wanted to come by and chat about the project. An “informal talk” they’d called it, but Ryan saw through the rhetoric. They wanted a sneak peek at what Kinsey was developing. And they wanted to see how the company—and Ryan—dealt with unexpected and possibly unwelcome surprises.

  He intended to knock their socks off.

  It was a plan, he thought, that would work much better if he’d found the elusive solution to his state-of-the-art antimatter-based propulsion system. Despite spending every waking hour, and getting very little sleep, there was still a piece of the puzzle missing. A containment factor that was absolutely necessary if he was going to submit a bid for the development of a feasible system to safely transport humans to the far reaches of the solar system.

  “How’s C group coming along?” Ryan asked, as he and Edward walked toward the conference room.

  Edward sighed. “Kepler had the right idea, but none of our simulations are pulling together right.”

  Ryan nodded in understanding. In the 1600s, Johannes Kepler noticed the tail of a comet bending away from the sun and commented that sails should be fashioned to harness the heavenly breezes. The C Group—Edward’s group—was working to do just that: create solar sails that would utilize the power of billions of photons zooming away from the sun. The project was coming along, but it was far from ready to be implemented on a broad scale.