by Nancy Warren
Kiss a Girl in the Rain
Take a Chance: Book One
Nancy Warren
Kiss a Girl in the Rain
Take a Chance: Book One
Copyright © 2014 Nancy Weatherley Warren
All rights reserved
Discover other titles by Nancy Warren at
www.NancyWarren.net
These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Kim Killion
Acknowledgements
I am so grateful to my wonderful friends and the people I meet in life who so generously share their knowledge. Thank you to the real Evan for sharing his motorcycle, his name and his riding experiences with me. Thanks to my dear friends Bobby and Shannon who read the manuscript in first draft and made excellent suggestions. Thank you to Ken, a recovering lawyer, for the legal info and thanks to Shelley for inspiring me. Thanks to Kim for a fantastic cover.
Nancy
Dedication
This novel is dedicated to the real Evan and Caitlyn. Enjoy the ride!
Chapter One
When Evan Chance read the bucket list he’d penned when he was twelve years old, he caught a glimpse of the man he‘d wanted to be when he grew up. Now, at nearly thirty-five, he knew he was not that man.
Lists were important to Evan. He had master lists of ten-year, five-year and one-year goals, broken down all the way to daily task lists. He kept a catalogue of people he hoped to meet, all corporate movers and shakers or folks who could advance his career. Ruthlessly organized and efficient, he was a top corporate lawyer at a premier firm in Seattle. Seeing his pre-teen scrawl should have made him smile at his young self. Instead, somehow that naive list of unaccomplished dreams pulled at him.
His mom never should have sent him his list of dreamy-eyed ideals along with the birthday card she’d hand made with pressed flowers and a reminder to come home for the weekend to celebrate his milestone birthday.
Thirty-five.
Evan strode across the marble lobby leading to his law firm’s offices like a man in a hurry. In fact, he had ten minutes to spare before his next client meeting. A lot of people might use those minutes to grab a coffee, chat with a colleague or relax. Evan used his elevator ride to read a priority email; the time spent walking from the elevator to his office to consider his client’s question. By the time he hit his office, he was task-ready and sat down at his computer to email back his advice.
Even as he worked, in the back of his mind he realized that his big birthday was almost here and he wasn’t anywhere near where he’d planned to be when he was a pre-teen. Okay, he was a millionaire, but that was exactly the sort of lame goal a twelve-year-old would consider important.
But lists were important to Evan. And the fact that his mother, Daphne, had sent him that old one, as though it were a thing to be prized, bothered him.
Not that a hint of his thoughts showed on his face when he walked into The Rainier Room, one of the smaller meeting rooms. Half a dozen worried-looking executives were settling themselves around a mahogany conference table while Martha, Evan’s assistant, poured coffees and sparkling waters. Evan introduced himself and shook hands all around.
These five men and one woman were here seeking legal ways to raid their company’s pension plan. He had utter contempt for the naked greed of the president and vice presidents sitting in front of him in their hand-made suits and year round suntans hoping they could bail their asses out of the financial jam their fat paychecks and ludicrous bonuses had got them into. However, nothing on his face would give away his personal feelings. He was too good for that.
When the meeting ended, it was six o’clock. He returned to his office, typed up his own notes, then he stared out his office window at the other lighted high rises in Seattle’s financial district where he lived most of his life. In the distance he could see the harbor that led to the rest of the world. He pulled out the list. It was a bucket list made before that term even existed.
EVAN’S AMAZING LIFE LIST
Make a million dollars before age 30.
Ride a motorcycle across the country
Kiss a girl in the rain
Run a marathon
Learn Spanish
Have sex with a woman!
Learn to play an instrument
Travel to India
Fly a plane
Scuba dive a ship wreck
Swim in every ocean
Swim with dolphins
Hike the Grand Canyon
Leave the world a better place than I found it
As if.
He picked up his phone and called his parents’ number. His mother answered. “Well, hello darling,” she cried when he’d identified himself. He’d learned early that when there are eleven kids in the family, you have to identify yourself on the phone or risk insane time-wasting conversations. In the background he could hear rhythmic thudding that made his heart pretty much sink. “What’s that noise, Mom?”
“Your father’s remodeling the kitchen.”
“Again?”
“Well, we had a little problem with termites from the last renovation.”
As usual, he was filled with affection and irritation in equal measure. How many times when he was growing up had they been without the most basic necessities, like running water, because their dad was ‘renovating’. Which pretty much meant grabbing a sledgehammer and bashing down walls or cabinets or bathroom fixtures. Then standing in the midst of dust and destruction trying to figure out what to do next. Jack Chance was a man of strange visions and few handy man skills. But that never stopped him.
“Please tell me there will be a working kitchen this weekend?”
“Of course there will.”
An almighty crash sounded from the other end of the phone.
“Mom?” He wondered if he should call 9-1-1.
“It’s nothing, Evan. I guess that cabinet wasn’t attached to the wall after all. Don’t worry, the kitchen will be back together when you come for your birthday weekend.”
“I’m bringing Tessa with me,” he said.
“Great. We finally get to meet her.” Then she squeaked. “No. Jack. The electric – oh, dear. Evan, I’ve got to go.”
“Wait. Why did you send me that stupid list of kid dreams?”
“Because you should do some of those things,” she said. “Love you. See you Friday.” And then she was gone. He suspected his birthday dinner would be raw food. Eaten by candlelight.
Because you should do some of those things…
For one second he felt the pull of temptation. Then his mind presented him with a mental view of his schedule, crammed for the next six months. He was a top producer for his firm, clients relied on him. He couldn’t go running off because of a collection of dreams he had when he was a boy.
He folded the list once, neatly so the edges all matched and put a clean fold down the middle. Then, precisely, he turned it again and folded the paper once more. He slipped the paper into his wallet. He had no idea why.
His door opened after the briefest of knocks. He glanced up, not surprised to find Tessa walk in. His secretary only let two people past her desk without alerting him first. Tessa was one of them.
“How did it go?” she asked coming toward him.
He made a face. “I’ve never shared a room with so much naked greed before. You could smell it, like B.O.”
Tessa was one of the newer partners in the law firm of Willoughby, Tyson and Grundemeyer and his girlfriend. She settled her hip on the edge of his desk, something
she’d never do if his door wasn’t closed, giving him a nice view of her excellent legs.
“And you’ll help them get what they want. Because you are that good.”
“Probably. And screw the employees who’ve worked their asses off and paid into the pension fund all these years believing they’d be rewarded at the end.”
Tessa reached out and straightened the collar on his shirt. “We don’t make the law, Evan. We work within it.”
“Manipulate it.”
For a moment she looked surprised by his sarcasm. Then she smiled. “You must be tired. You’re in a mood.”
He gripped her hand. “Sorry. Are you sure you’re up to this weekend?”
“Of course. I’m so looking forward to meeting your family at last.”
“I know they feel the same.”
He was the one with reservations. Nothing could prepare a sophisticated woman, an only child, who’d grown up in Manhattan’s Upper West Side for a family dinner chez Chance. His parents were old hippies who lived in an old house in the Oregon countryside that they’d added onto, ineptly, as their family grew. And grew.
He was about to try and prepare Tessa for the weekend ahead when another brief knock sounded.
Tessa was off his desk and standing when the firm’s managing partner Clayton Willoughby walked in. Clay was the other person who never had to be announced before he entered Evan’s office.
“Ah, Tessa, how nice to see you. I was going to invite our boy here for an early birthday drink. You’re most welcome to join us.”
Evan knew that Tessa would sacrifice a chunk of her trust fund to share a chummy drink with Clayton Willoughby. But she was much too adept to take him up on an offer he’d clearly made out of politeness.
“Thank you so much,” she said, showing her even white teeth, “but I’ve got some work to finish up.”
“Next time,” Clay said.
“Of course.”
She didn’t linger and within minutes Evan and Clay walked over to Clayton’s club and found a quiet corner where a couple of maroon leather club chairs huddled in the lounge. The Port Club had served the affluent and influential gentlemen of Seattle for a hundred years. Recently, they’d had to allow women to join, but the club was the epicenter of the old boys’ network. The lounge they sat in still allowed smoking.
A waiter wearing black tails arrived with the single malt scotch Clayton favored without being asked. As Clay took out one of the cigars his doctor had forbidden, he said, “This scotch is almost as old as you are. Happy birthday, Evan.”
“Thank you.”
They sipped and savored. “Big plans for the weekend?”
“I’m going home to visit family.”
Clayton puffed his cheeks out as he got his hand-rolled Cuban going.
“Take a look at what my mother sent me.” Evan pulled out his wallet and removed the list he’d drawn up, knowing Clay would get a kick out of it. If Jack Chance was Evan’s biological father, Clayton Willoughby was his father in all things business and law. He liked to say that in Evan he saw a younger version of himself. Of course, the man was heavily overweight from all the years of working, the business lunches, and the fine wines and brandies he so enjoyed. He called the current and much younger Mrs. Willoughby, “My third and final wife,” though Evan wouldn’t bet next year’s bonus on the marriage lasting.
“I wrote it when I was twelve,” he said offering the lined school book paper with the scrawled items.
Clay took the list, perused it and grinned. “You had no idea what you were capable of,” he said handing it back.
“But I haven’t done most of those things.”
“Of course you haven’t. Any fool can learn to play the ukulele or swim around with dolphins, but you’re a partner in one of the most prestigious law firms in the country. You know we’re grooming you for great things.” He didn’t say that he hoped Evan would one day stand in his shoes as the managing partner of the firm, but it was understood.
Clay was right. Evan had a life he ought to be thrilled about. What the hell was wrong with him?
Chapter Two
“It’s so good to have you home, honey,” his mom said, reaching over and squeezing his hand. As the family sat around the big dining table – made from timber milled on the property – he was comforted to know that even though lanterns and candles adorned the table, they were for atmosphere. The electricity was working, the food was cooked. The kitchen, while missing a few cupboards and with a chunk of ceiling mysteriously absent, was functioning.
“It’s good to be here,” he replied, realizing it was. His mom was still a pretty woman, even though her blond hair had a lot of silver tangled in it, her eyes were the same happy blue, her slightly crooked smile as sweet.
Daphne had made his favorite meal of childhood. Ham and scalloped potatoes with peas. There were home made buns, and chard from the garden as well as a millet casserole for the vegetarians present. For dessert he bet his mother had baked a chocolate slab cake from scratch and decorated it with thick, gooey icing and edible flowers from the garden. That cake had always been his favorite part of his birthday celebrations.
Only six of his sibs were present. In a family of eleven grown children, only weddings and funerals were guaranteed to get everybody in one place at one time.
He felt guiltily aware that too often he was one of the absent ones.
“Are you a vegetarian?” Jack asked Tessa, as he stood in front of the baked ham wielding his carving knife like an inept executioner.
“No. But only one thin sli—”
Jack hacked a big hank of pink ham and plopped it on one of the blue plates Daphne had potted and glazed herself. He then passed the plate to Daphne who scooped a guest-sized portion of scalloped potatoes onto the plate before handing it to his sister Iris who added the chard and the peas, and finally passed the loaded plate to their guest.
“Thank you,” Tessa said faintly. To Evan, she muttered, “I can’t eat all this.” Tessa found the portions at Nobu too large.
“Don’t worry, I’ll finish what you can’t eat,” he murmured back.
While the serving continued, Daphne said, “I know it can be overwhelming remembering who everyone is in our family. I’ve put out nametags to help you. And we’ll all go around the table and say a little about ourselves. Saves tedious introductions. I’m Daphne Chance. I make pottery, keep chickens and I play piano.”
“Jack Chance,” her husband said. “I’m fifty-nine years old and I look around at this amazing family and my beautiful wife, and I don’t know how I got so lucky.”
“Oh, Jack,” Daphne said putting her left hand to her heart. They’d been married almost forty years and were embarrassingly in love.
He wondered what they looked like to Tessa, his crazy family. His parents looked exactly like what they were. Back to the land, alternative, passionate environmentalists, they wore clothes that they chose for their fair trade aspects rather than any idea of fashion. They were more into compassion than common sense. He and his siblings had either ended up following in their parents’ footsteps or going as far in the other direction as they could get.
His sister Marguerite spoke next. “I’m Marguerite. I live in a cottage on the property. I grow organic vegetables and sell them at the farmer’s market. I grew that chard you’re eating.” Marguerite seemed to think that more was required. She said, “I was almost called Daisy. Can you imagine?”
“A marguerite is a kind of daisy,” Daphne said. “And look at you, you speak French.”
“Tres bien,” Tessa said.
“I’m Josh. I work for an environmental organization and I have a twin brother. I’m gay and he’s straight, which I’ve always thought was weird.”
“I’m Iris. I own the Sunflower Coffee and Tea House here in town. I’m the oldest girl.”
“She’s also a writer,” her mother said proudly.
“Mother!”
“It’s true. She’s had several o
f her short stories published.”
“I sling coffee and flax seed muffins to afford my writing addiction.”
“I’m Rose. As you can see, our mother loves flowers.” Rose was a GP but she rarely told strangers that. She said too many people trapped her in corners and told her about this pain in their side, or a growth on their toe. “I live in Portland but I often come home on weekends.” Was that a dig at him because he came home so rarely? Probably.
“I’m Cooper. I’m the youngest boy and I’m in grad school.”
“You should put those introductions to music. Like the Von Trap family,” Tessa said in a low voice.
“Evan? Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” Marguerite teased.
He accepted his loaded plate. “I’m Evan, I’m the birthday boy and I hope you got me a good present.”
He nudged his date.
She put down her knife and fork. “I’m Tessa. I’m a partner in Willoughby, Tyson and Grundemeyer where I work with Evan.”
“Also a major babe,” Cooper said. He was the youngest boy and a charmer. It was amazing what he got away with.
“Totally,” Josh agreed. Josh might be gay, but he had a keen eye for feminine beauty. His sisters would be lost without his guidance.
“We’ve got five more kids who couldn’t come tonight,” Daphne said, glancing at the family photograph that dominated one wall of the dining room. They’d had it taken for their parents’ last wedding anniversary. She surveyed her brood proudly.
“Are they all yours?” Tessa asked Daphne. Perhaps she’d noticed that one of the kids in the photograph was black.
“Of course they’re all ours.”
“You gave birth to eleven children?” She eyed Daphne’s still-trim figure. “Are you Catholic?”
Daphne and Jack exchanged the same glance they’d been exchanging since the questions first started. “I didn’t give birth to every one of my children personally, but it’s not the act of giving birth that makes a child yours. It’s love and commitment.” She scanned the assorted group at the table. “Right kids?”
“Right Mom,” they chorused as they’d been doing for years.
