Someone Like Her

by Janice Kay Johnson

  He was even starting to understand why Lucy had mixed feelings about the whole family thing—wanting, on the one hand, to escape their nosiness and interference, while on the other finding it hard to pull away.

  He quelled a tug of anxiety by reminding himself that Seattle wasn’t so far she couldn’t come home often. It was a perfect compromise. Surely she’d see that.

  Aunt Marian appeared on the back porch bearing a casserole dish and called, “Time to line up!” The women ferried food out to the long serving table while the men and kids scrambled for position. Even Lucy deserted Adrian to help bring out dish after dish.

  That was another thing, Adrian realized, making this town feel so backward: there were definite gender roles here that had been mostly abandoned among his friends and contemporaries. He knew couples where neither of them cooked; they ate out or brought home take-out every night. One of his occasional racquetball partners, a bank trust officer, liked to cook and did most of it in his home. Not many people he knew had children; they were too busy building careers to take time out yet, and weren’t sure they ever would.

  In Middleton, it appeared Lucy and Samantha were the anomalies, women too engaged in their careers to get married or have children. Of course, Lucy’s career was cooking and Sam’s making a home-away-from-home for people with the bed-and-breakfast. He wondered what people would have thought if the sisters had gone into law or medicine or dentistry instead. Maybe a little less tolerant, a little less certain they’d “settle down” eventually.

  But then he noticed the men didn’t actually get their food first; their wives edged into line with them, and a few men dished up for their women. Aunt Lynn’s Will, Adrian saw, was one of those. From what Lucy had told him, that was no surprise; Will probably simply chose anything bland. But Adrian also saw the way she smiled when she took it, as though—damn it—she really loved him. Go figure.

  Lucy joined Adrian in line right before he reached for a plate, and quietly steered him clear of a few dishes.

  “Jeri’s bean dish is really awful. Most of us take some to be nice, but you don’t have to.” And, “Emily loves pepper. We haven’t been able to cure her of it. Unless you want to clear your sinuses…”

  He didn’t. There was ample food to choose from, and his plate was soon heaping.

  They sat squeezed together between Samantha and the cousin whose name he couldn’t remember on one side, and a wheezing grandfather and his live-in nurse on the other. Lucy’s side, thank God. She cut up some of the old guy’s food for him. Conversation was table-wide and lively, with rejoinders shouted from one end to the other. Adrian found himself laughing more often than he remembered in a long time, sometimes at the absurdity, sometimes at a jab of surprisingly sharp wit.

  The squeezed part he didn’t mind. Lucy and he kept bumping arms. Her hip was snuggled cozily against his. He could turn his head and find her smiling at him from inches away.

  Several assorted children were across the table from them, but Aunt Marian was right; they’d burned off their energy and were well-behaved and even semihuman. All except one boy, not more than six or seven, who kept squirming and occasionally slipping out of sight under the table. A girl who might have been ten or eleven kept hauling him back up, sometimes while still whispering with the friend on her other side. It seemed she’d had plenty of practice.

  “The doctor recommended Ritalin for Jake,” Lucy told him, as if reading his mind. “But Jeri is digging in her heels, and I don’t blame her. He’s just a boy. He’s learning to read, he’s actually a whiz with numbers, and why should she drug him to make teachers happy, is her theory.”

  His own father wouldn’t have tolerated any behavior approaching hyperactivity, Adrian couldn’t help thinking. He’d have been drugged into submission.

  He nodded. “I’ve read about the concern that drugs like Ritalin are being overused. I had a friend like Jake, and he grew up to be perfectly normal.”

  Once Tony Brodzinski had started playing sports, he’d been able to use all that restless energy. He’d gone on to play baseball for a couple of major league teams and was currently pitching for the Cincinnati Reds. Adrian hadn’t stayed in touch with him, but other friends had.

  He told Lucy about Tony, and she said with satisfaction, “Jeri will be glad to hear about him. She can use reinforcement.”

  On the other hand, Adrian thought, watching the kid bat away his sister’s hand, knock over his milk and accidentally poke the boy on his other side in the eye with his elbow, maybe Jake could use a little help.

  But his mother appeared, mopped up the mess and soothed the younger boy, issued a stern warning then went back to her seat farther down the table. Jake managed to stay still for the next two or three whole minutes. Adrian hid a grin when he saw the boy’s gaze slide sideways to be sure his sister was distracted before he slithered out of sight as quick as a snake vanishing under a rock.

  “Mo-om!” the girl complained.

  “He is a handful,” Lucy said with a sigh.

  Adrian had never given serious thought to having children of his own. He’d even said, when friends asked, that he didn’t intend to have any. What in hell did he know about raising kids? Great example his own parents had set, the one abandoning him and the other stern, demanding and distant.

  But suddenly, sitting there at the long table with Lucy on one side, Samantha on the other, a hyperactive boy bumping into Adrian’s legs to escape his sister, who had also gone under the table, Grandpa Peterson cackling at a joke Lucy had just told him, Adrian knew: he wanted children.

  It was a strange and bewildering feeling, this sudden sharp need to pass on his genes, his memories, to have a child count on him. Something close to panic clutched him. This was like being on a bullet train, the landscape that might have been familiar blurring because of the speed. So much was changing, so fast. Two weeks ago, he’d been contented with work, friends, condo. Now he wanted…everything. A wife, children, love, maybe even some of the chaos of this big family.

  He tried to tell himself he was having a momentary impulse that he’d get over. By the time he drove off the ferry into downtown Seattle he’d have gotten over this idiocy. Lucy, he definitely wanted; all the rest of it, no.

  But the panic continued to crawl over his skin like goose bumps, and he knew, deep down, that he really had changed. Lucy had found him. Something so simple, hardly even a huge effort on her part. But because she had found him, he in turn had found her, a woman with an astonishing capacity for love and kindness, thinly veiled by wariness that she’d be hurt. And because she’d brought him here to Middleton, he’d remembered the time before his mother left, when he’d known hugs and silly jokes and a playfulness he’d later had to suppress. He’d remembered being loved, being encouraged to dream.

  And now he wasn’t sure the man who two weeks ago he had believed himself to be existed at all.

  In desperation he thought, I have to get away. I have to find out if something in the air here is screwing with my mind.

  “Time for dessert,” Lucy told him, her smile intoxicating. “I hope you saved room. Sam’s pecan pie is to die for.”

  “What?” her sister exclaimed indignantly from his other side. “Are you telling him my pie will kill him?”

  Lucy laughed. “Only from bliss.”

  Still dazed, he had a slice of the famous pie and a cup of coffee, the old-fashioned kind. Middleton, he had been shocked to realize soon after his arrival, not only didn’t have a Starbucks, but it had no espresso stands, either. You wanted a cup of coffee in this town, you made it yourself or you signaled for the waitress at the café or the Truck-Stop Diner outside of town. They did not call black coffee Americano in Middleton. Coffee was coffee, same as it had always been. Fortunately, he liked a plain cup of black coffee, but still. It was another sign Middleton was out of step with the world just down Highway 101.

  Pretty much everyone pitched in to clean up, tossing paper plates, covering leftovers and sorting
out which bowls and dishes were whose. Lucy clutched her empty bowl when they left after an exhausting round of goodbyes.

  The sky was a dusky purple that would rapidly darken into nightfall. He guessed the sun was still above the horizon on the other side of the Olympic Mountains, where beachgoers could watch it sink into the ocean. Adrian wondered if Lucy could be talked into running away for a couple of days. He’d love to walk the beach at Kalaloch with her, see her eyes widen in delight when she spotted a perfect sand dollar and lifted it triumphantly from the damp sand. They could sit with their backs to a driftwood log and watch the sunset, the fiery orb seeming to melt as it met the vast arch of the Pacific Ocean.

  His jaw tightened. He couldn’t run away. He had to go back to Seattle no later than the day after tomorrow. Kalaloch with Lucy would have to be deferred until he’d persuaded her to sell the café and move to his side of the sound.

  If she took a job as a sous chef at a high-end restaurant, would she be able to get away? Or would he find himself waiting for her occasional night off? Perhaps a Saturday-morning breakfast, before she left for work? Perturbed, Adrian realized how inconvenient it was that her career involved such long hours that happened not to coincide at all with his working schedule. Even if she was in Seattle, when the hell would they see each other?

  “Thank you for coming.” Seated beside him as he drove, Lucy was looking straight ahead, not at him. “I know a big family gathering isn’t your idea of a good time, so it was nice of you.”

  “I had fun,” he was surprised to hear himself say—and mean. “I’m pretty sure I ate more food today than I usually do in a week, but I think I’ll survive. And, damn, it was good.”

  “The Martin women can all cook,” she said, sounding pleased. “Now, Dad’s side of the family…”

  Jeri, who was so fond of pepper wasn’t a Martin, he remembered. On the other hand, Aunt Marian’s scalloped potatoes were darn near as good as Lucy’s potato salad, and an amazing rosemary chicken with pearl onions had been Lucy’s mother’s dish.

  “It’s a wonder your father isn’t fat.”

  She chuckled comfortably. “He can eat and eat and eat without ever putting on an extra pound. He and Mom were made for each other.”

  Adrian stole a glance at her smiling face. He was beginning to believe that Lucy was made for him, but he was far from sure she reciprocated the feeling. He had noticed today that she’d evaded his touch a couple of times when he had lifted a hand to lay it on the small of her back. She hadn’t wanted to be claimed in any visible way in front of her family. That didn’t strike him as a good sign.

  They reached her house, and he braced himself for her to peck him on the cheek and claim to be so tired, she’d better not sit on the porch swing with him tonight.

  He pulled into the driveway, set the emergency brake, and turned off the ignition. In the sudden silence his heartbeat quickened. He had the stricken feeling that the next few moments mattered terribly, that she was on the verge of telling him something he didn’t want to hear. He turned in his seat to look at her, willing her to say, “It’s such a nice night, why don’t we sit outside for a while?”

  Say it, he willed her. Or, “Would you like another cup of coffee before you go?”

  Instead, she took a very deep breath and turned, too, so that she faced him. In the dim light, cast by a streetlamp fifty yards away, he couldn’t make out her expression. But her eyes were dark, and he did see her open her mouth as if to speak, close it again, hesitate, then try again.

  Her words tumbled out. “Would you like to come in?”

  Say, “How about a cup of coffee?” Or, “It’s such a nice night…”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “I know it’s late and if you don’t want to come in—”

  “I want to,” he said hastily. “Of course I do.” Was she kidding? He’d go anywhere with her.

  Now and forever.

  God. Was he crazy? He hadn’t known her long enough to be thinking things like this.

  Her breath escaped in a tiny gasp. “Okay.”

  Wait. Why was she nervous, if this was merely a casual invitation? And she definitely was nervous.

  “Is this just for coffee? Or…?”

  “Well…” She clutched the bowl as if it were a baby she was protecting with her life. “I was thinking or.” She pressed her lips together. “Even though Sam will know if you’re even the smallest bit late, never mind stay out all night, and then the whole family will know. Unless I plead with her.” Her voice firmed. “I can do that. I’ll call her in the morning. Someday she’ll want a secret kept, too.”

  “Why am I a secret?” He had to know, even though his heart was slamming in his chest and all he wanted to do was kiss her.

  “Wouldn’t you want your sex life private from your family? Especially if there were so many of them, and they all liked to gossip?”

  “Yes,” Adrian admitted. “I would. The sex part. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to keep me a secret.”

  He couldn’t see her well enough to be sure, but he suspected she was rolling her eyes. “I took you to Sunday dinner, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah.” Suddenly, he didn’t give a damn about her family, or their gossip, or about tomorrow at all. He just wanted that giant bowl to not be between them. He unhooked his seat belt and hers. “Let’s go in.” His voice sounded raw to his ears. “Now.”

  Their car doors opened simultaneously, but he was faster. They met on her side, the bowl still between them, but who was noticing?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LUCY’S LAST THOUGHT before he kissed her was, Please, please, don’t let me be sorry I did this once he’s gone.

  Then his mouth closed over hers with such raw hunger, she quit thinking at all. Or at least not very coherently. Instead, she kissed him back.

  Somehow she held on to that big serving bowl. It even made it inside, if not to the kitchen. The minute the front door closed behind them, Adrian took the bowl from her. She had no idea what he did with it. He was back, impatient and oh, so male, before she could wonder.

  They shed jacket and sweatshirt right there in the entry. Then he groaned and pulled her up against him, his hands gripping her buttocks, so that she couldn’t help feeling his erection. She flung her arms around his neck. Instead of kissing her immediately, though, he searched her eyes.

  “I want you,” he said, in an odd, rough voice. “You’re sure about this?”

  Lucy bit her lip and, after only the smallest of hesitations, nodded. “Just a little nervous.”

  “Why?”

  She thought she ought to warn him. “I’m not very experienced.”

  He went completely still. “You’re a virgin?”

  Lucy shook her head. “No, I had a couple of different boyfriends in college. I was trying to live wild, you see. But…well, it was just a few times, and—” She stopped.

  “And?”

  “Um…not that exciting.”

  “Ah.” He relaxed. One of his hands moved from her butt up her spine, leaving a trail of fireworks behind it. “We’ll have to try to improve on that.”

  On a burst of nerves and enthusiasm, she blurted, “I did sort of think it would be different with you.”

  Momentarily his hand paused and his eyes narrowed. “So this is in the nature of an experiment?” That rough, raw quality to his voice was gone; instead he sounded carefully neutral.

  She must have annoyed him, Lucy realized, but she wasn’t quite sure how. It wasn’t an insult to let him know that she assumed he had way more experience and skill in bed, was it?

  Feeling a little indignant, she said, “If I’d wanted to experiment, I wouldn’t have gone so long without…you know.”

  “So why me?”

  “You’re different,” she said simply. “I’ve never felt like I do when you kiss me.”

  He smiled, all charm and something that made her heart squeeze. “Good,” he murmured. “You’re different, too.”
>
  Of course, she wasn’t different at all, unless he meant rustic or unsophisticated. He was just being nice, which she appreciated. And he did want her. She couldn’t be mistaken about that.

  “Bedroom upstairs?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Shall we do this in style?”

  “What do you mean—?” She hadn’t finished, when he lifted her high and her legs closed in panic around his waist. Her sandals dropped to the floor. She squeaked and grabbed tight. “I can walk!”

  “But then I’d have to set you down.” With one large hand he kneaded her hip, while the other hand gripped her nape. “And you feel good like this.” He captured her mouth with his.

  Oh, it did feel good wrapped around him like this. Her hips rocked; he groaned and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

  Somehow he did make it up the stairs with her in his arms. He’d wrench his mouth from hers and climb a couple of steps, then back her against the wall and kiss her as if he needed her taste more than he’d ever needed anything in his life.

  By the time they reached her bedroom, Lucy couldn’t have stood on her own two legs if her life had depended on it. She trembled, aching to have him inside her.

  He laid her on the bed and followed her down, planting a knee between her thighs, still kissing her even as his hand slid under her T-shirt. He stroked her belly and closed his hand over her breast, squeezing. Her nipples had hardened and pressed against his palm. If only her bra were front-opening! When she made a sound of frustration, he growled in response and pulled her to a sitting position.

  Lucy lifted her arms and let him peel off the shirt, then he unclasped her bra and tossed it aside. She’d never thought much about her breasts; after all, she only wore a B cup. But Adrian looked at her with hot gray eyes that made her feel sexy.