“I’d guess not.”
“What is it?”
Jen took a deep breath. Her gaze flicked away from his for only a second and she licked her lips before she spoke. She was really nervous, more nervous than he’d ever seen her. “It’s a prosthesis,” she said, her words softer than usual.
Zach was unable to immediately think of a body part of this particular shape, much less one that Jen was missing. “For what?”
Jen lifted her right hand and placed it flat on her left chest. To Zach’s surprise, the shirt disappeared to nothing beneath her hand. The left side of her chest was flat, unlike the right side of her chest.
The breath left him completely.
“It’s gone,” she said, her words hoarse. “That fills the space instead.” She lifted the knitted ball out of his hand, reached beneath her shirt and presumably put it back into her bra.
Then she appeared to have two breasts again.
For once in his life, Zach didn’t know what to say.
Jen took a sip of her coffee, blinking fast. Her words spilled in an increasing torrent once they started. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m defective and you’re right. I had cancer. I had a mastectomy. They cut it off.” Her throat worked. “And I might get cancer again…”
“That’s why you knit a cherry,” Zach guessed, interrupting a speech that didn’t promise to get more optimistic. He’d never had a date end in a complete emotional meltdown of the woman in his company and he saw no reason to start now.
Shit. A mastectomy. Didn’t that only happen to older women? His mind stalled on the concept. He glanced at her chest, then looked away, knowing that she was watching his response avidly.
They cut it off…
Jen frowned into her mug. “I wasn’t sure I’d live very long,” she said, her tone flat. “I didn’t want to leave stuff half-done all over the place. It’s terrible for people to have to go through everything and sort it out.” Her throat worked again.
“You met other people during your treatment, people who didn’t survive,” he guessed again and she nodded emphatically.
“I wanted everything neat and tidy and organized. I didn’t want to leave trouble for people. Loose ends in the knitting basket, that kind of thing.” She heaved a sigh. “I finished things for dead people, out of respect for them. It’s not easy…”
“It couldn’t be.”
She shook her head emphatically.
Zach watched her expression change, watched the shadows dance in her eyes. He couldn’t imagine facing such fear in his own life. He couldn’t imagine being given such a diagnosis, never mind how it would change his perspective and his life.
But Jen had gotten through it, she had survived, and it seemed very important to point out to her the merit of her achievement. “But the fruits keep getting bigger. You didn’t finish that avocado in one go.”
“No.” She looked up, her expression wary. “I’m not dead yet, apparently.”
The conversation could have ended there, and maybe Jen would have preferred it to do so, but Zach wasn’t letting this go just yet. “So, what are you knitting now?”
She exhaled shakily. “I made socks. For my mom for Christmas.”
“Two socks?”
A smile touched her lips. “She has two feet.”
He pretended to shiver in delight. “There’s nothing sexier than an observant woman.”
“I’m not…” she started to argue, then gulped her latte.
And there was the crux of it. Zach heard the truth in what Jen didn’t say.
She continued in a rush. “Anyway, I’m making a shawl for my grandmother now. I should get home and do some knitting before I go to sleep otherwise I won’t get it done before Christmas.”
She might have reached for her coat, her confession over. She was so certain that his interest in her would be eliminated by this truth that Zach understood Steve’s crime.
He couldn’t let her go.
He settled into his chair as if he’d be there for the duration, knowing that the position of his chair blocked her exit. “So, how long ago was it?” he asked lightly.
She looked at him. “You don’t want to know.”
“Actually, I do.”
“Two years since I was diagnosed.”
He watched her, seeing the barriers being erected, catching unexpected glimpses behind them, and understood a great deal more about Jen Maitland. “Let me guess: that was when this Steve guy dumped you?”
She nodded without meeting his gaze. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. Just because he was an asshole doesn’t mean all men are. It doesn’t, in fact, mean that I am.”
She shrugged, unconvinced, sipped her latte and didn’t look as if she was enjoying it. Jen looked, in fact, as if she’d like to bolt.
But there was one thing Zach had to say to her first, even if it didn’t change anything. “I’m sorry that I said what I said about you waiting tables and having no dreams,” he said quietly and she stared at him. “I thought we had a lot in common, but the difference is that you had an excuse. I’m a loser, that was a fair shot, but you’re a winner, Jen. You beat the worst bastard disease that there is. Don’t forget that.”
“I didn’t call you a loser.”
“Close enough.” Zach decided a brief change of subject might let her find her equilibrium again. “I haven’t lived with a lot of focus, shall we say, until lately. I didn’t know what I wanted to do.”
“Not until you weren’t busy annoying your father anymore.”
He smiled and turned his cup on the table. “Pretty much. That day I met you, when I had lunch with my old buddies, I realized that I didn’t want to be like them. I didn’t want to have the pursuit of money be my goal, because it’s a crap goal.”
“Money’s a good thing…”
“But it’s not the only thing.”
“You can only say that because you have lots.”
“No, I don’t. I’ve been careful with what I had and I won’t starve to death anytime soon, but money didn’t keep my family from being the largest group of screwed-up individuals on the east coast. It didn’t make anyone happy. So I’m thinking that happiness is worth pursuing, not money, and am hoping that the money part takes care of itself.” He met her gaze steadily. “You have to promise to not tell anyone this.”
The barest smile touched her lips. “That you don’t think money is so hot?”
“That I’ve been thinking profound thoughts about life, the universe, and everything. It’ll destroy my reputation as a cavalier, selfish pleasure-seeker.”
“You’re not a cavalier, selfish pleasure-seeker.”
“Damn! I thought I had you fooled!”
She smiled openly at that. “You blew it yourself, by making that deal for your mother’s welfare.”
“Mmm. There was that. It had to be done, though.”
“Even at your own expense?”
“She’s my mom, Jen. It’s my job to take care of her.”
She smiled beautifully then, smiled just for him, and his heart started to pound. “I registered to go back to college after Christmas,” she said, her manner defiant. Zach wondered whether she was defying him, his expectations or the cancer.
He felt a tenderness for her that shocked him to his core.
He wanted to protect her from everything, from the world and jerks like Steve and even from cells splitting in unauthorized ways. He wanted to stand beside her and hold her hand and watch her triumph over every obstacle.
He nodded and sipped his coffee, knowing that they’d entered a full truth zone. “Is going back to school what you want to do or what people expect you to do?”
“I wanted to finish my B. Comm.”
“Why?”
She inhaled and fixed him with a look, daring him again to disbelieve her. She half-laughed and shook her head. “Okay, I’ve never told anyone this.”
“So, it’ll be fair. One from m
e and one from you.”
“Right.”
“I’m ready.”
She glanced around, as if someone might overhear. There was no one else in the cafe but the woman cleaning up behind the counter. “I always wanted to open a knitting wool store, with workshops and a place to knit and lots of wool,” Jen confessed in a low voice. “I want to make a refuge for knitters, a place they can just be, where they can relax and knit and maybe heal a bit from the pressures of the world.”
Zach smiled and sipped his own coffee.
“Don’t laugh at me!”
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m thinking you’d be great at it. I can see you in an old house with pine floors that are polished smooth.” He narrowed his eyes and refined his vision, sensing that she needed to know that he could see it, too. “There’d be big comfy chairs and rugs worn a bit, so you wouldn’t have to worry about spilling anything on them. Warm and welcoming, like your mother’s kitchen. Maybe you could have some old leather armchairs, you know how soft they get? And the color gets worn.”
“Not leather,” she said, her words carried on the barest breath.
“Right. Let’s kill innocent polyesters instead. Or maybe you could have the chairs upholstered with kilims or Navajo rugs? That would be funky and cozy, and kind of tie into the whole wool thing.”
“It would,” she agreed with a smile.
“There’d be piles of wool, with little signs about the pros and cons of each kind. Hand-written signs.” Zach gestured with one hand. “Tips from Jen for the uninitiated.”
“Yes,” Jen breathed.
“And there’d be knitters chatting and working at all hours of every day. You’d have to throw them out at night so you could go to bed. Maybe there’d be some plants in the window, because it would face south, right? All that sunshine.”
“Good energy,” she agreed.
“And hey, if there was some knitted fruit hanging from the tin ceiling, who’s to quibble?”
Jen smiled and nodded and Zach didn’t think he imagined that a tear fell. “Yes,” she whispered, her throat working. “Yes, just like that. So, if I get my B.Comm., then I can do a business plan and get a loan from the bank.”
“That’s a pretty long-term plan,” he felt compelled to observe.
“I know.” She gulped some coffee then reached for her backpack. He saw that it frightened her to even speculate so far into her own future and he wanted, desperately, to give her a guarantee that no one ever got. “It’s late. I have to go.” She might have run, but Zach reached out and put his hand over hers. She halted, stared at him, fearful of what he would say.
It was, however, time for some truth.
“I don’t know anything about what you went through, Jen,” he said softly, never looking away from her eyes. “And I don’t want to be presumptuous about how easy or how hard it might have been.”
“You could never know…”
“No. I know.” He swallowed and frowned, letting his thumb slide across the back of her hand before he met her gaze again. “But if losing your breast was the price of you being here tonight, drinking coffee with me, then I’m really glad you paid it.”
“But I’m ugly now. I’m scarred…”
“Whoever told you that was blind and stupid too,” Zach said, interrupting her. “And just for the record, you could give me Steve’s surname so I could go deck him one of these days.”
“I wouldn’t want you to get another shiner.”
“He wouldn’t have a chance to touch me.”
She shook her head, tears falling into her lap as she looked down. “You haven’t seen it. You don’t know.”
“I don’t care. You’re beautiful and that’s that.” He squeezed her hand beneath his own. “It doesn’t even matter how I frame a shot of you, Jen. It’s beautiful, every time.”
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with doubts. He held her gaze, let her see that he wasn’t lying to her, and slowly the skepticism faded away. “You’re lying to make me feel better,” she whispered.
Zach shook his head and let his fingers tighten over hers again. “Nope. I can’t lie about beauty. It’s part of the code.”
“You never followed anyone else’s code.”
“This one’s all mine.”
To his astonishment, her smile broke free. There were still tears on her lashes, but she smiled at him. She turned her hand beneath his, so that their palms were together, so that their fingers entwined.
He waited, let her decide what she wanted to do, even though he had a favorite choice from the options available.
“Don’t you live near here?” she asked hesitantly.
Zach grinned. “Close enough. Roxie’s been asking after you, you know.”
She looked across the coffee shop, then nodded once, such uncertainty in her expression that another onslaught of tenderness made Zach catch his breath. He stood and drew her to her feet. He pulled her close, sensing that she needed his touch, and kissed her again. When she looked up at him, he touched her cheek. “No lie, Jen.”
“I know,” she murmured with such conviction that his heart clenched. “Let’s go. I could use a Roxie-fix.”
“Everyone needs a little dog spit in their life, now and then.”
“Or a lot of dog spit.”
“Or a lot.” Zach helped her with her coat and they left their lattes on the table, then walked hand-in-hand through the falling snow. There were no words for this moment and Zach didn’t mind one bit.
* * *
It had been so easy.
Too easy, a voice had murmured in Jen’s thoughts, but she had ignored it. It was easy to go home with Zach, easy to imagine how they would tangle together, easy to think about what kind of a lover he’d be.
And if he only wanted sex, well, maybe Jen could live with that. (For the moment, at least.) Because the truth was that she wanted sex, too.
Sex with Zach.
Now.
They walked in silence to his apartment, the world around them painted in spinning white. She changed her analogy: it wasn’t so much like an old movie as stepping into an Impressionist painting. Or being lost in a dream that she didn’t want to end. This was a world she wanted to remain in, this was a moment in time that she wanted to last clear through eternity. There was nothing in it that mattered, nothing but the presence of the man beside her.
He’d been so sure.
Zach’s fingers were tight around hers and their arms brushed as they walked together. It wasn’t that cold and there wasn’t much wind.
Just dancing snow.
He might think differently when he saw the scar, but Jen was bracing herself for that.
Maybe she wouldn’t let him see it this time.
Maybe she’d take this moment and make it last as long as she could.
Jen couldn’t help thinking that no matter what happened after this, the look in Zach’s eyes in that coffee shop when he’d understood would make it all worthwhile. There had been compassion and surprise and admiration all mixed up together. He’d looked at her as if she’d conquered adversity, as if this night was as special to him as it was becoming to her.
That made her feel pretty damn good.
And she hadn’t even had an orgasm.
Yet.
Chapter Twelve
When Zach opened the door to his condo, Jen was shocked, and it wasn’t by the enthusiastic canine greeting she received.
There was furniture in the living room.
“Is this really your place?” she asked, pretending to check the number on the door.
He grinned, hung up her coat, then bent to clip Roxie’s leash on to her collar. If Jen hadn’t thought it impossible, she would have said he was embarrassed. He was certainly avoiding her gaze.
He wasn’t just putting her on about trying to be an adult. He had listened to her and made some changes. She was impressed.
Jen wondered what other changes Zach had made.
“I just picked up
a couple of things,” he said, then reached for the door. “Do you mind? Roxie needs a pit stop.”
“No problem. I’ll just wait.”
“Good.” Their gazes locked and held for an electric minute, then Zach was gone. Jen took off her boots and left them in the foyer. She used the washroom, noting how clean it was. Since he really did live here, that was impressive, too. She peeked into the medicine cabinet and was reassured by its Spartan interior. No prescriptions. That worked for her.
She went back into the living room, then, on impulse, turned out the lights that Zach had flicked on when they arrived. The falling snow brightened the room and the cascading flakes of snow were all that she could see out the windows. It was quiet.
A haven in an unexpected place. The candles that had been burning the last time she was here were still on the window sill, as were the matches. She lit them, liking how their light mingled with that from the snow.
Once again, Jen had the sense that she had stepped out of time and space, into a place where there was nothing but tranquility.
She turned and looked, wondering if Zach had bought furniture just because of what she had said to him. He did have a tendency to listen when she least expected it.
Zach also had a tendency to do things that surprised her, but that she liked once she saw them. The same was true of the furniture. She never would have anticipated that he would have liked modern furniture, but he obviously did, and she liked that.
Now she could see that it suited him perfectly.
There was a pair of armchairs in the living room with an end table between them, plus a dining table with four chairs in the dining room. She moved the candles around, so that the room was filled with their golden light. The furniture looked as if he’d just dragged it back to his cave and not known what to do with it. There still wasn’t a rug or any drapes, no art on the walls other than his single framed photo.
That one was so good, though, that Jen thought it deserved pride of place. She stopped to admire it again.
The furniture wasn’t new, not by a long shot, although someone had taken care of it. There were a few scratches in the wood and the upholstery was hopelessly faded orange burlap, but he’d bought teak. Even in need of a polish, the grain of the wood gleamed. Jen could see that he’d gone after the arm of one chair in an attempt to clean it up, because that one shone more than the rest. The suite would look gorgeous when it was all polished.
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