ETERNAL

by Cecy Robson

  The park is busy, mostly filled with mothers and their babies. I catch a few fathers, one adjusting his daughter’s bunny hat, another pretending to be a bear chasing after his giggling son. That was always my dad, getting dirty right along with me and Trin while our mother giggled and set out our food.

  If it weren’t for my need to make sure Luci is okay, I’d stop to take in all the parents fussing over their kids and how the sunlight trickles against the dogwoods starting to blossom.

  But then I see her, continuing to hurry along.

  I follow, surprised she’s not sitting on a bench, watching the children play. It’s closer to her nature, at least the side I’ve seen.

  She walks to the end of the park, searching from left to right, the tension I sensed earlier just as evident as before. I start to close in when she latches onto something, her shoulders relaxing only to strain once more.

  There’s something very wrong. I jog after her, wishing these dress shoes I’m in didn’t make so much noise. As I round the bend, I see her, standing on the sidewalk looking ahead.

  “Hey,” I say.

  She spins around, almost dropping her bag. My hand shoots out, steadying the bottom and helping her keep it in place. “You got it?” I ask.

  She glances behind her. “What are you doing here?”

  I shove my hands into my pockets, almost thinking I should lie. It sounds better than the truth right about now, except that’s not what I’m about. “I followed you out.”

  Her eyes round. “Why?”

  Yeah, this sounds worse than I thought. “I went to get coffee and saw you. You seemed anxious. I wanted to make sure you were all right.” I chuckle, hoping to lighten the moment. “Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

  She doesn’t answer which makes me think she agrees.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I, ah, was worried something was wrong.”

  I wait for her to tell me she’s fine. She doesn’t, so either something is wrong, or I look worse than I feel. “Is something wrong?” I question.

  She turns back. A crowd a people cross the intersection, headed in our direction. Most aren’t close enough to make out their faces, but there’s someone Luci appears to recognize.

  A woman with a puffy yellow coat that’s about four sizes too big pokes her head around the crowd. Three more women shuffle behind her, one pulling a small wire cart. But it’s the two businessmen in front who catch my interest.

  Both men hone in on Luci. I can’t blame them, not when the breeze sends a strand of hair to curl around her beautiful face and not when the coat she’s wearing lights up her tender gaze.

  The man in the dark suit and coat smiles his approval. The one in gray perks up, pleased to see her.

  “You’re meeting someone,” I answer for her. Her eyes widen. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  She trips over her words. “I know this doesn’t look good,” she says.

  “Because you just had lunch with me or because I’m following you around like a lovesick puppy?”

  She frowns. “What?”

  “Never mind,” I grind out. Jesus Christ, when am I going to learn? Here I am, once again giving my heart to someone who doesn’t want it, and worrying over a woman who isn’t worth worrying about.

  Anger burns through me as well as humiliation. She told me this wasn’t the best time for her, I guess now I know why. “If there was someone else, all you had to do was tell me and I would have walked away.”

  I start to turn, my blood boiling when Luci scrambles in front of me. “This isn’t what you think,” she insists.

  I’m in no mood for more lies and I’m damned tired of playing the fool. “Then enlighten me. What was New Year’s all about? You being lonely? Or you being lonely that one night?”

  She clutches her bag, her stare shifting behind me. He’s here, that man in gray or black coat.

  My steely gaze turns to greet him, whoever he is. I shouldn’t resent him, or be jealous. For all I know Luci belonged to him long before she met me. I should stand down like any decent man would and walk away, pretending I don’t know her like I do. But here I am, waiting to see who it is so I can finally accept there is no us and take it as another screw-up on my part.

  As one, they both frown when they see me, looking quickly away from Luci and straight ahead. They don’t stop to greet her and she doesn’t seem to notice them. She’s focused on someone else.

  I turn expecting to see another man, my spine stiffening when a crowd of homeless people edge forward. The woman in the puffy coat is first in line, followed by the woman with the metal cart, and another one wearing a dirty red coat. Two other men hang back a few away, both strung out, but not too high that they don’t know to keep their distance.

  “Do you have any money?” the first woman asks.

  Luci positions herself in front of me. “He doesn’t have any money,” she answers for me.

  She places the large bag on a bench and steps out of her reach. “There’s plenty for everyone,” she tells them.

  As she backs away, she clutches my arm and leads me toward the park. That’s a good thing, and much better than the punch to the nuts I deserve.

  She hangs tight to me as we enter the park, glancing behind her every few feet to make sure we’re not being followed. We pass a small garden where city workers have begun to dig up the soil for new plants and flowers. It’s not until we reach another bend that she eases her hold and her arms slips away.

  “I really wish you would say something,” she tells me.

  “Sorry, it’s a little hard to speak with my foot rammed in my mouth.”

  She laughs, but keeps her attention ahead. When she doesn’t say anything, I realize I need to. “You feed homeless people during your lunch break.”

  “Yes,” she admits, her voice more quiet than usual.

  “Why sneak around to do it?”

  Her pace slows to a crawl. “There’s a lot I don’t want people to know about me,” she replies.

  “I can see that,” I say. “But you feeding those who need it, it’s a good thing.”

  I sigh. “Luci, I’ve seen a lot of suffering around the world. What I haven’t seen is enough people willing to help.” Her head lowers, like what I say makes her feel bad. “Why do you seem ashamed by it?”

  I don’t think that’s the right word until I say it, and realize how bad it stings. This time, I’m the one holding her. I lead her to the bench. There’s a lot I want to do. For starters, apologize for being such an asshole. Instead I keep my arms around her and offer the comfort I think she needs.

  “Landon, I don’t let a lot of people into my life, and although I have friends, there’s a lot they don’t know about me and more things I feel I need to keep to myself.” She swallows hard, like she’s fighting not to cry. “It’s nothing against you or anyone. I just don’t want others to know what I do during my lunch hour.”

  I still don’t understand. What I understand is that she’s a private person, more than I gave her credit for. I won’t push. Not now. Now, she needs my respect. “All right,” I say.

  Considering what a dick I was, I don’t think I have a right to hold her. But I can’t stop myself from touching her, and gifting her with the kindness she’s always shown me. I stroke her cheek, wishing I could make the hurt she’s feeling disappear with each brush of my fingertips. “I thought you were meeting another lover.”

  “Another lover”. Perhaps those aren’t the best words to use. They assume too much, like that’s what I am to her.

  She adjusts her purse. I think she’s going to leave, but then she lifts her chin to better see me. “Why would you think that?” she asks, not bothering to call me out.

  “Because you’re beautiful and smart, and every man who meets you knows it.”

  She drops her gaze. “That’s not why you followed me.”

  “No,” I agree. “You seemed upset and worried. I guess I was upset a
nd worried for you.”

  “Why?”

  She still doesn’t understand why I’m here. “I like you, Luci, and not just as a friend, and because I do, I want to make sure I can help you if you need it.”

  I’m expecting her to glance away the way she often does when things grow uncomfortable. She doesn’t, meeting my face with something that looks too much like hope. “You thought I was meeting another man,” she repeats, like she can hardly believe it.

  As embarrassed as I am, I don’t bother denying it. “Yeah, I did.”

  “You were really angry,” she points out.

  “And jealous and humiliated,” I add. “I wish I wasn’t, and I wished I’d given you the benefit of the doubt. I’ve just been burned in ways you can’t imagine.” My voice drifts when I catch the hurt and pain that lingers in her features. “I take it back, maybe you can imagine.”

  “Maybe,” she agrees.

  I reach for her hand, taking it gently in mine. “I’m sorry for how I acted and how I spoke to you. Believe it or not, I’m not such a bad guy.”

  “I don’t think you’re a bad guy.”

  It’s what she claims, and at first I think she’s about to tell me more. When only silence follows, I’m the one who speaks. “Good,” I tell her, using care.

  “You were really angry,” she says after a moment.

  “Well, yeah,” I say, not bothering to argue.

  “Why?”

  “Because I thought there was someone else,” I remind her.

  My comment seems to confuse her, as if she can’t understand how I’d think there could be someone else. I tell her why, even though like her, there are things I don’t what others to know about me, too. “My ex-wife had a pretty shit life.” She looks up, stunned. “I didn’t marry a socialite if that’s what you thought. I married a woman I thought I could help.”

  “Help?” she asks.

  “Yeah. She grew up surrounded by violence, a lot of addiction, and a father who cared more about boozing and snorting whatever drugs he could get his hands on than his own daughter.”

  Luci stops moving completely, it doesn’t look like she’s breathing. I think I’m doing a piss-poor job of explaining why I married Bernadette so I try harder. “I thought I could save her and give her a better life, but I was never enough. It wasn’t a good marriage. I know that now. But I wanted to make it work. It took her cheating on me to see we were done.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice more of a stutter.

  “I’m not,” I say. “Not anymore. As much as I like helping people, some aren’t worth a damn.”

  Luci, looks down, swallowing enough misery to fill an endless ocean. “Baby, why do you look so sad?” I ask.

  I don’t deserve to call her baby. But the word comes as easily as my need to feel close to her. Her gaze travels to where our hands are entwined. “There’s no one else,” she tells me, keeping her voice as tender as always. “I want you to know that.”

  I take a chance. “Do you mean there’s no one at all, or no one besides me?”

  A small breath escapes her mouth. This is what I’ve been waiting for, for her to stick me in the friend zone or to take on step closer. “There’s no one else besides you.”

  She raises her chin.

  I take another chance and kiss her.

  The wheels of a squeaky stroller roll by and in the distance the laughter of children fills the air. But right now, all I think about is Luci, how good she feels in my arms and how much I don’t want to stop kissing her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Luci

  I’m not having sex with Landon.

  My hand vigorously whips the heavy cream and sugar in my large mixing bowl.

  No, I’m not.

  I search for my rubber spatula to scoop the whipped cream into a bowl. When I’m done, I seal it with clear plastic wrap and place it in the refrigerator beside another bowl piled with blueberries.

  “I’m not having sex with Landon,” I repeat. But good heavens, I really want to.

  The day he followed me into the park could have been disastrous. He could have thought I was truly meeting another man and walked away, and I could have let him. It would have been an easy way to let him go. But as angry as he was, it was his hurt I couldn’t see past. I didn’t want him to walk away, nor did I want him to think I betrayed him. While we didn’t promise each other anything, there was an unspoken bond between us from the first kiss we shared.

  That bond and that moment almost made me tell him everything, including who Fernie really is. Until he told me about his ex-wife.

  She was me in too many ways and someone he thought he could save. When I think about how her life mimicked mine I cringe. I didn’t want Landon to think I was another woman who needed saving or one he’d ultimately regret helping.

  So I opened myself enough to let him know what he means to me, all while keeping Fernie tucked away.

  Landon . . . likes me. The past few weeks we’ve shared have proven as much. And it all started out with that amazing kiss in the park.

  “What are you doing for Valentine’s Day?” he’d asked.

  “Nothing,” I answered cautiously.

  “Neither am I,” he explained. “So how about we do something together?”

  It was our first real date, with flowers and dinner, and lots of kissing. Yet it wasn’t our last. Instead of rushing back into bed, though, I took him up on his original offer to get to know him first and allow the sex to come later.

  He agreed, and do I love everything I’m getting to know.

  “Love,” I say quietly. I play with the spray of flowers on my small dining room table, flowers he brought to our last dinner out.

  I’m in love with Landon, totally, completely, and madly. I tried to deny it and push it aside, only to ultimately give in and feel everything that word allows.

  I skip around my condo, arranging the throw pillows on my couch just right as my thoughts stay on this incredible man.

  Some people don’t know the exact moment they fall in love. I do, and I’ll never forget it.

  It was at the company party for the staff. Mr. Bradley and Mr. Ballantyne had asked for volunteers to attend the function on behalf of the legal staff. I’d just finished dealing with a few last details when I walked into the reserved dining area and saw him speaking to a cluster of legal secretaries.

  He immediately left them upon seeing me. If that wasn’t enough to show those in attendance there’s something between us, what followed was.

  He reached for me, his hands falling to my hips and into the “boyfriend zone”. “You look beautiful,” he told me.

  He only kissed my cheek, but the way he gazed at me, and the way my face flushed, it seemed like so much more.

  Even now, my body warms, remembering how he led me around the table and pulled out a chair for me. His arm found my shoulders, and that’s where it stayed long after the partners arrived. Landon isn’t afraid to show anyone who I am to him. And while we still have people glancing our way at the office, the reception has been positive.

  I only wish I could be more open. Fernie remains my most guarded secret and I struggle with whether that’s the right decision. I don’t like hiding things from Landon, but I won’t be his ex-wife, no matter how similar our lives. She used her past to get what she wanted. I refuse to use mine to keep him.

  My doorbell rings, allowing me to push aside my guilt if only for a moment. I throw the door open. Almost immediately, Landon lifts me into his arms.

  “Hi,” he says, grinning as he breaks off our kiss.

  “Hi, sweetie,” I say, smoothing my palms down his chest.

  He shrugs out of his jacket and removes his holster. It gave me pause the first time I actually saw his gun. It shouldn’t have, seeing how many of the other attorneys carry them. But I suppose I’ve always placed Landon in a class by himself. Now, I don’t think twice about it. I only think abo
ut how good it is to be alone with him.

  We walk into my kitchen. He pauses, closing his eyes. “Pot roast?” he guesses.

  “And potatoes, spinach, and baby carrots.” I point at him as he takes off his leather jacket, trying not to gape when I see how perfectly his gray T-shirt stretches across his chest. “Just don’t compare my cooking to you mother’s.”

  He flips on the water at the sink and washes his hands, laughing. “I won’t. But I think you should know, I’m mad at you.”

  I lift the bowls of food from the oven and place them on the tray. “Why?” I ask.

  “You know why,” he tells me. He dries his hands and reaches for a pair of pot holders then carefully lifts the ceramic dish out of the slow cooker. “You wouldn’t let me kiss you goodbye before I went to court.”

  He follows me into the dining room. After several dinners, we’ve established a routine. “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is.” He places the container on the chafing dish. “Ask anyone who was there.”

  “Oh,” I say. “You mean all those people who were watching us when you tried to kiss me?”

  He smirks. “You don’t like an audience?”

  I arrange the serving utensils closer to the food. “You do?”

  Landon’s arms curl around my waist while I’m still bending forward. “Not for more intimate moments.” I involuntarily groan when he drags his tongue along the curve of my neck. “But a goodbye kiss is innocent enough,” he adds, giving my earlobe a tug with his teeth.

  “Not the way you kiss,” I stammer.

  The no sex thing doesn’t exactly mean no contact. The way Landon’s hand lifts to cup my breasts is a reminder of that. “No?” he asks, his fingers separating my blouse from my skirt. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Okay. Landon and I are having sex.

  The pads of his fingers skim along my stomach. I don’t stop him. But when they pause beneath the swell, I do encourage him, craning my neck to meet his lips.

  My heat-filled gaze meets his as I pull slightly away.