This, Millie decided, was not the place for her. She could be no help to either her daughter or her former son-in-law at this point. She slipped away to hide in the kitchen. Surely something in there needed cleaning.
Five minutes later, both the children were gone and Debra was in the kitchen, too. “I’m going to run some errands,” she said, her voice tight.
“Would you like some company?” Millie offered.
Debra shook her head. She heaved a sigh.
“Why don’t we do something fun today instead, maybe go out for lunch?”
“I can’t, Mom. I’ve got too much to do.”
“I’m here to help.”
“I know. You’re doing enough already.” She sighed again. “God, I hate my life.”
Millie set down her sponge and hugged her daughter. “It will get better, baby.”
“Yeah? When?” Debra replied bitterly, pulling away. “He skips off into the sunset with his new girlfriend and I’m left taking care of the kids. Why do I have to be the responsible one? Why does everyone have to depend on me?”
Everyone. Suddenly the breakfast pancakes weren’t setting well in Millie’s tummy. Was she one of the everyones?
Debra shook her head. “Don’t mind me. I’m just hungover.”
And hangovers had a way of bringing out what people were really feeling. Before Millie could ask her daughter if she had regrets over inviting Millie to live with them, Debra was leaving the kitchen. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Don’t wait on me for dinner.”
A moment later, Millie heard the front door shut, and she was standing alone in the empty kitchen and looking out at the bonsai desert. What was she doing here? She threw the sponge in the sink and went to put on her garden clothes.
Amber was already at the community garden when she arrived. She greeted Millie with a smile.
“You look happy,” Millie said to her. “Where’s your son?”
“Home, playing with Dad.”
“That’s a good thing,” said Millie.
“Yes, it is. They haven’t done that in a while.” She suddenly got busy examining her garden glove. “I probably didn’t seem real open to advice yesterday, but I’m glad you gave it anyway. I think you were right. In fact, if you keep counseling me, you may just save my marriage.”
Too bad she couldn’t have saved her own daughter’s.
“Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. I came today, hoping you’d be here.”
Just a few words, but they acted like soul vitamins. Someone appreciated her. She still wasn’t sure what she was doing at her daughter’s house, but she knew why she was here at this garden.
TWELVE
AT 11 A.M. SHARP on Saturday morning, Jason was on Bobbi’s apartment building doorstep with the bookcase he’d made for her, a cedar contemporary ladder style where she could put both books and plants. She opened the door and gave him a real feast for the eyes: hot legs in tight jeans, blond hair caught up in a ponytail, and pouty lips tinted pink, waiting to get kissed. He was ready for that.
He was also ready to learn more about how her mind worked. So far they’d been having a great time together. But he wanted more than a great time. He wanted depth. Those cards she kept giving him told him it was there somewhere under all that froth. Getting a chance to help her load up her new bookcase was going to give him the perfect place to look.
She pointed to it and asked with a tinge of awe in her voice, “You made that?”
He nodded, feeling as pleased as a little kid whose teacher had just raved over his crayon art.
Bobbi stepped onto the porch and ran a hand along the smooth surface of the top shelf. “It’s gorgeous,” she breathed. “I love it.”
He could feel himself puffing up like a bullfrog. “I’m glad you like it. Let’s see what it looks like with your books on it.”
She stepped aside so he could carry it up to her apartment.
“I thought it might look good on that wall over there, by the window.” She pointed to the far side of the room where a box of books already sat. Next to that he saw another small stack of books. Where had those been before?
“Can I get you something? Coffee, iced tea, Coke?”
“A Coke would be great,” he said.
As he settled the bookcase in its new home, she poured the cola into a tall glass full of ice and then set it on her coffee table.
That was when he noticed the novel on the table with a bookmark sticking out. He picked it up. Jane Austen, of course. “Reading an old favorite?”
She blushed and nodded. There was something about a woman blushing. He felt a sudden urge to forget about loading the bookcase and start kissing off that pink lipstick right then.
But before he could, she turned around and began to dig books out of the box. “I hope they’ll all fit.”
“If not, I’ll just have to make another bookcase,” he said, and reached into the box. “Do you have a particular order you want these to go in?”
“Order?” she repeated.
“Alphabetical? By category?”
“Oh, that. Just, well, um.” She began digging out books.
“You’ve got a lot of books on gardening,” he observed, and wondered where the heck she gardened in an apartment.
“There’s a community garden at Grandview Park,” Bobbi said.
Gardening and reading were solitary pursuits. Somehow, he had a hard time matching those hobbies with the vivacious Bobbi, especially after seeing her in action at the Grange Hall when they’d gone line dancing. She was a people person, a real party girl. Keeping track of all the people she’d introduced him to had been almost harder than trying to keep up with her on the dance floor.
But this was nice. Perfect, in fact. She had a quiet side, too. He flipped open a book. Inside he saw the name Hope Walker. “This has your sister’s name on it.”
Bobbi looked over her shoulder and read it. Her cheeks turned pink again, making him wonder if she’d snitched the book from her sis. She shrugged and said, “We borrow back and forth a lot. Hope’s a bookaholic. Just like me.”
He scooped up a trio of self-help books on time management and goal setting, and self-actualization. “Which one of you read these?”
He was about to open one when Bobbi snatched them away. “I was going through a phase.”
“A good phase to go through when you’re starting a business,” he observed. “So, are you an expert at goal setting? Got your whole life mapped out?”
“I wish,” she said with a sigh. “I’m just not sure what I want to do.”
“You mean the flower shop isn’t what you want to do?”
“Oh, I love the shop,” she said quickly. “I mean, well . . . it’s complicated.” She pulled out some more books and set them on the floor. “Life is like that, isn’t it?” she added breezily, shutting the door on the topic.
Now, that was interesting. Why didn’t she want to talk more about her complicated life? Women always wanted to talk about their problems. In fact, most of the women he’d dated talked until his ears fell off.
He picked up a handful of books and began to sort through them. Here was one on herbal medicine, another on origami. And, what was this? Beating Breast Cancer with a Positive Attitude. Whoa. Was this what she meant by complicated? No name inside, so it couldn’t be her sister’s. Had Bobbi had breast cancer? Other than the pink ribbons he saw everywhere and those ads for the three-day walk, Jason didn’t know much about the disease. His mom and sister were healthy. It had never touched his door. But when he thought of cancer, he thought of older women with grown kids or families at least half-raised.
He studied Bobbi as she burrowed in the box, now pulling out mostly novels. She was so sexy and full of energy. Jason thought it was pretty damned cool that she owned her own business, but maybe after having survived the disease she was re-evaluating her life. It was too early in the relationship to ask all the details he suddenly wanted to know, but he hoped she’d tell him soon. To
go through what she’d gone through and stay so sunny, it took spunk.
The doorbell rang and she ran to get it.
She opened the door and there stood her sister, Hope, holding a cardboard box. “I found some more books.” She caught sight of Jason and got suddenly pink cheeked. “Oh, sorry. I came up the back stairs. I didn’t know you had company already.”
“Come on in,” said Bobbi. She turned to Jason. “We were just . . .”
“Putting together some donations for the library,” Hope finished.
“Yeah,” Bobbi nodded.
Jason crossed the floor and took the box from Hope. “So, you live nearby?”
“Thanks. Just downstairs.” She ran a hand across her brow, which was damp from exertion, and stepped into the apartment.
“Where do you want this?” Jason asked Bobbi.
“Put it by the bookcase. I’ll sort through it later. Want some iced tea?” Bobbi asked her sister.
“Um, sure,” said Hope, sounding uncertain. She turned and followed Bobbi into the kitchen.
Nice asses ran in the family, Jason thought, watching her. Hope Walker had a great set of legs, too. Unlike her sister, though, she didn’t dress to show off the goods. He found himself idly wondering if she had a boyfriend.
“Don’t you love the bookcase Jason made?” Bobbi asked her.
Hope moved to the bookcase and ran her hand along a smooth shelf. “It’s gorgeous. You’ve got a real talent,” she said to Jason. “What else have you made?” She knelt in front of the books and began looking through them, separating them into piles.
He joined her. “Not a lot. A couple things for myself. I made a bed for my sister, and a rocking chair for my mom. I’ve done some wood carving.” He shrugged like it was no big deal even though to him it was. He knew he’d never be great with words. But his hands, that was a different matter.
“That’s amazing,” said Hope.
She was so earnest. Jason liked earnest in a woman. “Thanks.”
“I love a man who can use his hands,” added Bobbi, plopping down next to Jason. Between the two of them, the sisters were going to make his head so fat he’d never be able to get it through the apartment door.
He shrugged, trying to look modest. It was hard with two women fussing over you. “Everybody’s got talent. You ladies work magic in that flower shop of yours.”
“We try,” said Hope, and Bobbi smiled at her.
Obviously these two were close. Had Hope been there for Bobbi when she had cancer? Probably. “Looks like you’ve got a system going here,” he said, pointing to the growing piles in front of Hope.
“I like to sort books by category and then author,” she said. “It’s a lot easier to find what you’re looking for that way, especially the nonfiction. And I keep the hardbacks and paperbacks separate. It looks better visually.”
“Great idea,” said Jason.
“That’s how I like to do it, too.” Bobbi picked up a book and looked at it, considering.
“How about putting that one over here with your fiction?” Hope suggested.
Bobbi nodded and handed it over. “I was just going to do that. You know, I think we should have some lunch,” she decided, jumping up. “I’ve got pizza in the freezer. I’ll throw it in the oven.”
“Oh, I can’t stay,” Hope said. “I’ve got things to do.”
“Are you sure?” asked Bobbi.
Jason could tell it was half hearted, and he couldn’t help smiling. Bobbi didn’t want to share. He liked that.
“Yeah. Nice to see you,” Hope said to him, and smiled. She had a nice smile. It wasn’t a thousand-watt one like her sister’s, but it was enough to get a guy’s attention. It was quiet and warm, and reminded Jason of Glenn Close in The Natural.
“Same here,” he said, standing and lifting a hand in casual salute.
He settled back on the couch as Bobbi walked her to the door. Pizza for lunch sounded good. The sun was shining. Maybe he could parlay lunch into an afternoon hike in the Grand Forest. And then dinner afterward.
“So,” he said later, shoving the paper plate away from him, “what do you think about working off some of that pizza?”
“What did you have in mind?” she asked.
“How about a hike in the Grand Forest?” Okay, her lips were still turned up at the corners, but the smile had died from her eyes. “You like to hike, right?” Hadn’t she said that?
“Oh, yeah. It’s just that . . .”
“What?”
“Well, I have to be somewhere to night and . . .”
Where did she have to be to night, and with whom? It was still too early to be asking those kind of questions. They hadn’t slept together. They hadn’t talked about being exclusive. Right now he didn’t have a right to ask. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t dying to know who his competition was. “To night is a long ways away,” he said.
“You’re right.” She stood up like a woman who had made a decision and was ready to act on it. “Let’s do it.”
It wasn’t quite as good a response as “Cool” or “Sounds like fun,” but it was still a yes, so Jason decided he was good with that. He couldn’t help wondering why she hadn’t jumped at the chance to go hiking with him. They were having fun, she was interested in him, so what was the problem? And what did she have going on to night?
Never mind. It didn’t matter. He hated to think he had competition, but it shouldn’t surprise him if he did. He’d just have to outdo the competition, that was all.
As they meandered along various trails under tall firs and cedars, she plied him with questions about the different hikes he’d done and where. Had he ever seen a bear? Had he ever gotten stung by bees? Did he ever worry about getting mugged? Not exactly the conversation of a seasoned hiker.
“Don’t tell me you’ve gotten mugged hiking?” he teased.
“Does getting groped count?”
That wasn’t surprising to hear. He could hardly keep his hands off her.
“It can be dangerous for a woman in the woods,” Bobbi continued.
“Not in these woods,” he scoffed. Suddenly, a vision of his encounter with her sister came to mind. Hope had been flushed and smiling, walking along the trail, lost in the experience. She sure hadn’t been afraid.
“And bees. You can get stung.”
“Yeah, I got stung once,” Jason admitted.
“It’s not fun,” Bobbi said, her mouth turning down. She started chewing her lip as if working on a big decision. “I should tell you, I haven’t gone hiking since I got stung by bees.”
Jason scratched the back of his head. Hmmm. She’d led him to believe she was into this kind of thing. Well, maybe she had been before she got stung. A bad experience could turn a woman off. “You can get stung by bees in the garden, too,” he pointed out.
“Not a whole nest of them.” She shuddered. “But this is nice,” she added in a small voice. “I’m having a good time.”
He smiled down at her. “I’m glad.” He gently pulled her to him and kissed her.
She came willingly enough, but the kiss got cut short by other approaching hikers. Just as well, he decided. He didn’t want to be numbered with those other gropers she’d encountered in the woods in the past. He reminded himself that he wasn’t in a hurry. Don’t let your brains go south this time around. The big head tells the little head what to do, not the other way around.
Half an hour later they had reached the end of the trail. “I think you helped me conquer my fear of bees,” Bobbi told him, giving him a dimpled smile.
“Good. What do you say we go out to dinner to night and celebrate?” The answer was going to be no. He could see it in her eyes.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a commitment I can’t get out of.”
“Every Saturday?”
“For a while. But I’m free on Sunday. Want to try your hand at line dancing again?”
Not really, but for her he would. “Why not?” he said, trying t
o sound excited about the prospect of making a fool of himself in public again.
He was about as excited over that as he was over having nothing to do on a Saturday night. Maybe he should have just come right out and asked Bobbi if he had competition. Much more of this settling for a date on Sundays and he was going to feel like a second-string player.
“Still can’t make the A-list, huh?” teased Duke when Jason called to see if he wanted to go out for a beer.
“You’re funny,” said Jason. “Maybe I should take that smart lip of yours and wrap it over your head.”
“You can try,” Duke said amiably. “Meanwhile, why dontcha come check out the action at the Last Resort? The scenery over there beats the Sticks and Balls to hell. Those cocktail waitresses are hot.”
Jason wasn’t interested in hot cocktail waitresses, not when he’d found the perfect woman. But he wasn’t interested in sitting around watching the tube on a Saturday night, either. And he was ready to branch out beyond the tavern at the edge of town they often haunted after work. “I’m down with that.”
So, nine o’clock found him threading his way through a sea of tables that looked like they’d been stolen from the set of some old fifties flick to where Duke sat, dredging handfuls of beer nuts out of one of the biggest, ugliest old ashtrays Jason had ever seen.
“Hey, man,” Duke greeted him.
They bumped fists and Jason sat down and looked around, checking the place out. The point of entry had a huge fish tank running all along the wall, dividing the lobby area from the rest of the lounge. The bar took up the entire far end of the room. The dance floor wasn’t big, and to night the little stage above it was set up with a podium and microphone—trivia night, Duke had said. The place was dim, and packed with a mix of mostly twenty-something couples and singles looking to end up as a couple before the evening was over. A Blake Lewis song blasted out of the speakers, wrapping the hip hangout in an audio blanket of cool. Two women sat at a table nearby nursing drinks and pretending to visit as they checked out the neighboring tables. One of them winked at him.
Love in Bloom Page 11
