“But if I were to pin you down and ask what you care most about in terms of a career, writing would be it for you, no question about it?”
She nodded. “Unfortunately what I am at the moment is a part-time library employee living off my savings from my one big bestseller.”
Jaime understood what it was like to be filled with frustration and uncertainty when the ideas wouldn’t flow. Clearly, though, he was more patient with himself than she was with herself.
“Why do you sound so mad at yourself? It’s a creative endeavor.”
“It’s my job, or at least that’s what I intended it to be. I diligently sit down in front of my computer every day and wait for the words to pour out of me,” she said with a touch of defiance.
“Admittedly I don’t know a thing about the writing process, but does the command performance thing work?”
Her expression turned rueful. “Not that I’ve noticed.”
“Then maybe you need to change things up, get some new experiences under your belt, meet some new people.”
She seemed startled by the suggestion. “You could be right,” she conceded. “My first book was heavily based on my experiences in my marriage. That well has definitely run dry. I’m sick of even thinking about it.”
“But not sick of letting it dictate your future,” he observed, deciding he needed to get a copy of that best-selling book of hers to see exactly what it might reveal.
She frowned at his words, but he let them hang in the air. Finally she met his gaze.
“You’re really annoying, you know that. We’ve barely even met and you seem to know me better than I know myself.”
“Outsider’s perspective, that’s all,” he said. “And a sincere interest in the subject.”
Before she could respond to that, Dillon and Nell had joined them and it put an end to any sort of personal conversation. It was just as well, Jaime thought. Let his words and his insights sink in. Emma might be exasperated by them, but that didn’t make them any less accurate. Perhaps his view of her would prove inspiring, not in terms of her writing, but in terms of opening her heart and convincing her to start living again.
More and more, he was hoping that if she did that, he’d be around to be the man she let into her life.
***
Though Jaime’s insights had thrown her more than a little, Emma found herself relaxing as the evening wore on. Nell and Dillon were great company and the music was even better than Nell had promised. While the band relied heavily on the expected Irish songs, they played a few familiar pop tunes as well. She found herself tapping her foot, regretting that she couldn’t join those who’d moved to the small dance floor that had been cleared right in front of the bandstand.
Jaime leaned in close. “You should dance. I know you’re dying to. Your foot’s been tapping to the music for the past hour.”
“No partner,” she said. “And I don’t know the Irish dance moves the way those couple on the floor seem to.”
Dillon apparently overheard them. “I might have a solution for that, if you don’t mind having an old man teach you a thing or two. Nell, love, would you mind?”
“Absolutely not,” Nell said at once, then gave Emma a sharp look. “Just don’t go getting any ideas, young lady. He’s only on loan to you.”
Emma laughed. “Everybody in town knows Dillon’s heart belongs to you, but if you don’t mind, I would love to learn a few steps.”
“Then come with me,” Dillon said happily.
Emma followed him onto the dance floor, where he showed her a series of steps so intricate and so fast, it was a wonder she didn’t get her feet completely tangled and land in a heap.
“How do you do that?” she asked breathlessly when the song ended.
“Years and years of practice. It’s second nature to me now. You’ll catch on. I imagine when Jaime’s back on his feet, he’ll be eager to give you a few lessons. He’s surprisingly good. Must be all the years he’s hung out around Mick. The Irish traditions have rubbed off on him.”
“Mick dances an Irish jig?”
Dillon chuckled. “With Nell as his mother, do you imagine her letting him or his brothers off the hook? They might have grumbled mightily, but when they came to Ireland, you couldn’t tell them from the locals on the dance floor.”
Back at the table, Emma regarded Jaime curiously. “Is Dillon right? Can you do all those dances?”
“All those and a mean tango and salsa, too,” he said with a wink. “I’m very diversified. Just wait till the fall festival. If we hire a couple of bands, I’ll show you all my moves.”
“What do the two of you think of this band?” Nell asked. “Would they be a good choice for the festival?”
“Absolutely,” Emma said at once. “Their music really does make you want to get up and dance.”
“I agree,” Jaime said. “I think their mix of selections would be perfect for a community event.”
Nell nodded. “Then I’ll go and speak to Luke. Dillon, you coming?”
“Yes, love,” he said and dutifully followed her to the bar, where Luke was pouring ales and chatting with customers.
“You look like you’re having fun,” Jaime said.
“I am,” Emma said, a little surprised by the admission. It had been a long time since she’d done anything just for the sheer pleasure of it. And here in one week she’d joined a book club and gone to the pub for an evening of music and dancing. Perhaps her horizons were finally expanding a bit. Was that due to Jaime or had it simply been time? She couldn’t be sure, but it did seem he was at the center of the changes she could feel taking place in her life.
What she didn’t know was how she felt about that.
***
After she’d dropped off Jaime, Emma felt so exhilarated, her flagging energy of late restored, she went home and sat down in front of her computer. For the first time in months, the words seemed to flow easily. As they flooded out, page after page of a new story inspired by an image of a sexy Latino, she was almost scared to stop. What if she did and the words were gone by tomorrow? What if her imagination failed her yet again?
Even as her doubts crowded in, the flow of words seemed to slow to a trickle, then stopped altogether. She stared at the computer screen, dismayed. Had just thinking about her writer’s block brought it back?
She stood up and began to pace, but her small office wasn’t big enough to contain her level of frustration. Despite the lateness of the hour -- well, after midnight -- she grabbed her keys and left the house.
Carefully avoiding the route past Bayside Retreat, she went around the block in the opposite direction, walking for perhaps a mile before her steps slowed and brought her back to Wisteria Lane. In front of Jaime’s she noticed the lights were still on in the living room.
She stopped and stared, indecisive. She knew if she crossed the street and knocked on his door, things between them would change. That kiss she’d banned would happen. Maybe even more than a kiss.
In her present mood, though, filled with a conflicting mix of heady exhilaration and frustrating defeat, she was ready to risk anything…maybe even her heart.
She crossed the street, stepped onto the porch and knocked. Through windows left open to the cool night breeze, she heard a loud thump, a mild curse and then the slow, but steady rhythm of crutches tapping on the wood floors.
There was time to turn and run. Jaime might even chalk up the knock to kids playing a prank, but Emma told herself that for once she shouldn’t be a coward. Jaime had brought something unexpected into her life and she needed to know where it might lead. Even nowhere would be okay, as long as the experience broke up the tedium she’d come to accept as the norm for her future.
The door swung open and then it was too late to run.
Jaime’s expression registered only mild surprise. “Emma! Is everything okay?”
She swallowed hard. She looked away for a heartbeat to gather her composure, then looked into his eyes. “I’d like
to try that kiss, if you haven’t changed your mind,” she said boldly.
Heat turned his eyes dark and his hand reached out to caress her cheek. “You sure about that?”
“No,” she admitted. “But yes.”
He chuckled. “Now there’s a decisive answer if ever I’ve heard one. A wise man would exercise caution before moving forward. Want to come in and talk about it?”
“I want to come in,” she said. “But not to talk. I mean not about the kiss or whether or not it’s a good idea. I just want to do that, then talk about other things.” She took a deep breath. “Or not.”
He stepped aside. “Come in, then. Can I get you something to drink? A midnight snack?”
She shook her head.
“Then have a seat.”
She noted that the Patterson book he’d apparently been reading had fallen on the floor. That must have been the thump she’d heard right after she knocked. A glass of water was on the table beside his chair, along with the remains of what must have been his own late snack -- some cheese and crackers, a few grapes, a perfectly respectable snack for a health-conscious man.
Then Emma spotted a few graham cracker crumbs in an aluminum pan and knew he’d thrown caution to the wind and finished that key lime pie from their recent lunch together. That made her smile, at least till she thought about why she’d come by.
Scared out of her wits by the implications of her impulsive decision, Emma sat on the sofa and waited to see what Jaime would do. He sat next to her and put his crutches aside.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
She glanced into his eyes, noted the concern, then looked away.
“Emma?”
She sighed and held his gaze.
“What’s going on?”
“A willing woman shows up on your doorstep in the middle of the night and you really want to dissect it?”
“I think we probably should. I don’t want to take advantage when you’re feeling vulnerable.”
“Maybe I’m just coming to my senses,” she replied. “You did say I needed to open myself up to new experiences.”
“Ah, so I planted this notion in your head. Good to know you were listening and taking my advice seriously.”
“It sort of worked,” she told him. “I went home tonight and wrote for a couple of hours. I won’t know till I look at it tomorrow if it’s good or if it’s garbage, but the words did flow.”
“Then why aren’t you happier about that?”
“They stopped almost as fast as they’d started.”
“So you’re here for more inspiration?”
She winced at the lightly-made accusation, because it was probably true. “More than likely. Then, again, that whole kiss thing has been on my mind ever since you brought it up.”
He smiled at that. “The power of suggestion.”
“Have you changed your mind?”
His expression turned serious. “Not a chance. You were the one with doubts. Do you still have any?”
“About a million,” she told him candidly. “But I want to know, Jaime. I want to feel something again.”
He beckoned her closer, leaving it to her to come to him. When they were sitting thigh to thigh, he caressed her cheek again, his eyes locked with hers. His thumb brushed across her lower lip, stirring sensations she hadn’t felt in years, hadn’t expected to ever feel again.
And then his mouth was on hers, his breath a whisper against her skin. Her heart, empty for way too long, filled with a heady mix of anticipation and joy that sent her pulse scrambling. Her brain tried to argue against this, but it was too late. She wanted the sweet touch of Jaime’s lips, the lingering caresses that left fire in their wake, the whispered endearments that seemed to reach into her soul and replace the cold with unexpected heat.
Jaime was the one who broke off the kiss before it swept away the last of their control. He didn’t let her go, though. He managed to stretch out on the sofa and pulled her snugly into his embrace. The cast was a definite hindrance, but they made it work.
Emma sighed as her head rested against his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat soothing and reassuring.
“Did you get what you came for, Emma?” he asked softly.
She could hear the smile in his voice. “I did, and then some.”
“It’s just the beginning, you know.”
She did know, and while that terrified her, she was suddenly eager to see where it might lead…even if it ended in heartbreak.
Chapter Six
Early Saturday morning Emma awoke to the sound of birds chirping like crazy and to the smell of real coffee brewing and bacon frying. Since she kept her windows shut tight much of the time and rarely cooked, it took her a minute to realize it wasn’t a dream. She was still on Jaime’s sofa, snuggling up with a soft throw that had apparently appeared sometime during the night.
She wandered through the house till she found the bathroom, washed her face, used a finger and some toothpaste to freshen her mouth, then padded into the kitchen, coming to a halt in the doorway and simply staring.
Jaime stood precariously balanced on one crutch in front of the stove cooking breakfast. Wearing only his customized jeans, a pair that had clearly been well worn even before he’d taken scissors to the one pants leg, and a snug white T-shirt that emphasized his muscular build and his tan, he looked totally male. She had to pause to catch her breath at the glorious sight, then forced herself to focus on the riskiness of his awkward balance.
“You shouldn’t be doing that,” she scolded. “You could fall and break something else.”
He turned and a smile broke across his face. “You’re worried about me,” he gloated.
She frowned at his interpretation. “I just don’t want any broken bones on my watch.”
“Maybe another broken bone or two wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It would give me an excuse to hang around Chesapeake Shores even longer. And if you felt guilty, you might volunteer to be my personal angel of mercy.”
Emma gave him a disbelieving look. “Pretty extreme measures just to have me wait on you. And I guarantee you wouldn’t be getting a breakfast like this one if the cooking’s left to me.”
“Your cooking skills aren’t what interests me,” Jaime informed her with a wink before turning back to the bacon.
Emma used the time to catch her breath for a second time and to try to find safer conversational ground. “Isn’t Mick’s company headquartered here? Shouldn’t that be all the excuse you need to stay in Chesapeake Shores?” she asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee, then breathed in the scent of the strong brew. A man who could make coffee like this might be worth considering. When she was writing well, she drank gallons of the stuff.
“True, but my responsibilities for the company are on the other side of the country,” he reminded her.
He gave her a quick glance as he spoke and she thought she detected real regret in his eyes. Was that because his work was elsewhere and he wished otherwise or because he was stuck here even temporarily? She couldn’t be sure. “Do you miss it? The work, I mean. Or the Pacific Northwest, for that matter.”
He glanced at her. “Do you miss writing?”
“Of course, but it’s not exactly the same, is it? The minute you’re able to move around freely, you can jump right back into your work. You can go back to Seattle and pick up where you left off.”
“Some of it, sure. The actual construction just requires me to oversee the work, make sure it’s on schedule, that nobody’s skimping on the workmanship, but that’s just a necessary part of the process. Like yours, my real work is creative.”
“How so?” she asked, genuinely interested. She’d watched houses go up, even housing developments, but she’d never thought about the forethought that went into the process. Or how that might compare to what she did, building a story from a tiny nugget of an idea.
“I have to find parcels of undeveloped land that inspire me, then design the sort of homes that might
work there without spoiling the environment. Neither Mick, Matthew nor I design little cookie cutter developments. We take pride in creating communities that fit in with their surroundings, the way Chesapeake Shores is exactly right for this bayside setting. That’s not coincidence. It takes vision and commitment.”
Emma smiled at the passion in his voice. “You do love it.”
“From the first rough sketch to the last nail that’s hammered in,” he agreed. “And I love going back when the homes are sold and the businesses thriving to see how it’s all come together, to see the events on the town greens and the kids laughing and running on the playgrounds in the parks.”
“You’re clearly as devoted to it as Mick notoriously is,” she guessed.
“Was,” he corrected. “Mick’s retired or reformed. At least that’s what he likes to tell everyone. He’s come to understand that his family is his greatest achievement, not this town or any of the others he’s designed and built.”
“But you haven’t made that leap,” she suggested.
Jaime smiled as he piled crisp bacon on a plate and handed it to her to set on the table, then turned his attention to scrambling eggs. He seemed to be happy to have an excuse not to respond to her right away.
Eventually, when she simply waited for an answer, he said, “You have to have a family to put them first.”
“And you don’t?”
“My mother’s still in Florida. I get home to see her once a year at least. No wife, if that even needs to be said given what’s going on between you and me. No ex-wives, either. No kids. Mick had Megan, five kids, two brothers and their families, to say nothing of Nell waiting for him right here, no matter where we were working. At least he did until Megan tired of it and walked out. Those were dark days, apparently. I joined the company after the divorce. Once they reconciled, I took on more responsibilities to free up Mick’s time.”
“Which left you with none of your own,” Emma concluded.
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