She padded back into the living room and stopped in front of the bay window. She gazed down onto the cars speeding down Chestnut Street. No doubt the drivers were eager to get home to their families—to have dinner, help with homework, and curl up to watch a video. And here she was, alone again, preparing to eat a low-fat TV dinner, go to bed, and read. The routine that used to give her comfort now made her throat constrict.
Sara was engaged! Rebecca still couldn’t get her mind around it. She had thought Sara was just interested in having fun; she had no idea her assistant wanted to settle down, especially at such a young age. She was barely twenty-one! A gnawing feeling in her stomach, which she could only define as envy, plagued her.
She had very much wanted to marry Mark. Too many times she had expected him to propose: Valentine’s Day, her birthday, Christmas. But he never had, even after almost four years of dating. Every time she brought it up, he said he wasn’t ready. Before he’d ever reached the point of being ready, he’d left her.
Yet…Rebecca didn’t want to marry Mark anymore. She had someone else in mind, someone with twinkling blue eyes and a gentle touch. Could it ever work out with her and Jonathan Eastman? Could she trust him not to hurt her?
She walked back into the kitchen, wondering why the microwave hadn’t switched off yet, only to discover she’d never even turned it on.
With a sigh of exasperation, she gave up on the lasagna and returned to the refrigerator to search for a bag of prewashed lettuce. Finding one, she tore it open and poured a surfeit of low-fat dressing inside. She added a handful of croutons from a box with an expiration date of the week before, drew the bag closed, and shook it.
Makeshift salad in hand, she walked into the living room and fell onto the loveseat. She’d already covered herself with a throw blanket and grabbed a book from the coffee table when she realized she’d completely forgotten a fork.
* * * *
Dinner over and her fork washed, Rebecca knelt down at her bed, and pulled The Box from underneath the dust ruffle. She hadn’t looked through it for a while—several months, at least. Its contents always made her break down into uncontrollable tears. This time, she hoped it would be different. Breathing deeply, she sat down cross-legged on the carpet, and removed the top.
The dried roses from the first bouquet Mark had given her greeted her first. Once magnificent, the two-dozen long-stemmed reds had towered above the rim of a crystal glass vase.
And here were the front-row ticket stubs to the musical they’d gone to in the city. The menu from the four-star restaurant where they’d eaten on their six-month anniversary. The empty package of lavender scrub from the spa day they’d shared on Valentine’s Day.
Funny how all the mementos represented an extravagant gift or an expensive date. She’d told Mark several times that she didn’t need to be given presents or be taken out on fancy dates. He never seemed to understand how much she appreciated the easy things—a trip to the county fair, a hot dog smothered in relish, long walks near the water.
She drew out the letters next. Mark had gone on a long business trip about a year after they began dating. Instead of sending off e-mails, he’d written her postcards and letters. There were ten of them in total.
Each one detailed how much he missed her, but for the first time, she noticed how generic the phrasing was. He didn’t seem to have the slightest idea of who she was or of what made her special.
By the time Rebecca finished with The Box, the hour approached ten o’clock. Without undressing, she climbed up onto the bed and threw the comforter over her. She was crying, but not nearly as much as usual. She took this as a positive sign. Maybe she was finally getting over Mark.
Could she find someone else? Was Jonathan Eastman the one for her? In many ways, he reminded her of Mark. But in other ways—well, he was much, much different….
* * * *
Rebecca threw herself into work, anxious to divert her attention away from the growing dissatisfaction with her personal life. Of course, her work life wasn’t especially sunny, either. The financial situation remained grim.
The next Friday afternoon, she was just coming out of a paperwork trance when she thought she heard music. She cocked her head to the side. Sure enough, someone played an instrument outside the office. Deciding a dangerous criminal wouldn’t serenade her, she unlocked the office door and stepped outside.
Her jaw dropped. Eastman stood in the middle of Gretel’s Courtyard, dressed in jeans and a navy Oxford shirt, playing a saxophone unbelievably well. It was without a doubt the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. The sunset lit up the sky behind him, and each note he played seemed to summon a different color. A sharp evoked the orange; a flat called out for violet. Entranced, Rebecca stood in place for several seconds, just absorbing the music.
He beckoned to her. At that second, she recognized the song: “I’ve Got a Crush on You.”
She swallowed. She had resisted him for so long, pretended she wasn’t attracted to him. True, he was probably just like every other man in the world, and she would eventually get hurt. Happily ever after didn’t exist, but she couldn’t deny her feelings any longer. She moved a little closer to him. He kept playing, each note revealing more of the sunset and more of his feelings for her. At last, he sounded the final note and laid the sax gently on the ground. He opened his arms. All Rebecca’s defenses dissolved, and she went to him.
* * * *
Long moments later, Jon lifted his mouth from Rebecca’s hair and looked deep into her eyes. Although he’d kissed her cheeks, ears, neck, and nose, they had yet to touch lips. She had never felt so frustrated, excited, and cherished, all at the same time.
“Meet me for dinner,” he whispered.
“Where?”
“I read about a place called Chez Andre. You know it?”
“Yes.”
“Seven sharp. Don’t be late.”
He withdrew from the embrace, kissed her teasingly once more to the right of her mouth, and started for the exit.
Rebecca stood frozen in place for at least five more minutes. Adrenaline coursed through her body, and she struggled to focus. But she had to concentrate on at least one practical matter. What on earth was she going to wear? The only thing she had at all suitable was the black shift she’d worn to Gran’s funeral.
* * * *
Uneasy in the hushed silences of the wood-paneled dining room at Chez Andre, and, aware that Jon observed her, Rebecca glanced furtively at the utensils, trying to remember the order in which to use them. It had been a while since she’d been in such glamorous surroundings. She and Mark often ate out at restaurants just like this, though she’d never felt entirely comfortable.
She perused the menu again. Tuna tartare. Quail with roasted turnips. Fish with cardoons. What in the world were cardoons? Wasn’t it pirate money? No, that was doubloons. She willed herself to focus so she wouldn’t burst out laughing hysterically.
Maybe just a salad and soup. But the salad had rabbit in it! She had a fleeting thought of the bunnies in Storytown’s Peter Rabbit set. No, she couldn’t have that.
She peeked at the next table to see what her fellow diners were having, but it didn’t help. Their dinners looked unappetizing and depressingly sparse.
Just as she was reconsidering the fish with cardoons, Jon reached across the immaculate white tablecloth, took her hands, and said, “My sweet, I have to be honest with you. This isn’t exactly my idea of dinner.”
She blinked at him. “Honestly? Me neither. I thought you must like it.”
“No.” He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose I was trying to impress you. It’s the kind of place my dad frequents. What exactly are nettles? Aren’t they thorns? What I could really use right now is something intelligible, like a chili hot dog and fries.”
She giggled. “I could go for some fried chicken.”
“That settles it. Know of any diners around here?”
“I do, as a matter of fact. We’l
l be a bit overdressed….”
“Much as I prefer to see you underdressed, I think you look beautiful tonight.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“Don’t you believe me?”
“I do…it’s just, well, do you like me for anything besides my looks?”
“Yes. And I have a few things to say on that score. But let’s get to the diner first. I’m starved.”
“Okay,” Rebecca agreed. “I’ll lead you there.”
Within twenty minutes, they sat in Sam’s Diner at a red leather booth. They’d ordered soft drinks and settled on their dinner choices.
Jon lined up three quarters and twirled the carousel of musical offerings on top of their miniature jukebox.
“‘When a Man Loves a Woman’?”
Rebecca shook her head.
“‘Love and Marriage’?”
“No.” Was he trying to tell her something?
“Now you’re just being difficult. ‘Fever’?”
She nodded. “Fever” seemed appropriate for the way she was feeling.
“Finally we’re getting somewhere.”
The waitress returned with their drinks and a basket of biscuits. Rebecca ordered fried chicken with a side of cole slaw. Jon asked for a chili hot dog and fries, just as he’d craved.
He had thrown off his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and untucked his shirt. He looked relaxed and extremely attractive. Rebecca had to restrain herself from walking to his side of the booth and snuggling up against him. A little disoriented, she hoped she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.
Jon grabbed a biscuit and stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. When he finished chewing, he said, “Other than our disagreement over the songs, I would say we’re having a very successful first date.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to many more.”
“You’re awfully sure of yourself,” Rebecca said, but he just smiled.
“Now…you asked me a question earlier. Do I like you for something other than your looks, I think it was?”
She caught her breath. Any future they might have hinged on his answer. She nodded slowly.
“Looking at you in that black dress, with your curls all over your shoulders, it is difficult to remember, but yes, I like you for a lot more than your looks.”
“Such as….”
“You are completely unlike any woman I have ever known. I’m fascinated by everything about you. Your passion and love for Storytown. The fact that you have a cat living in your office. Your friendship with Sara of the Technicolor hair. Your intelligence, your competence. Your integrity. Your sensitivity. The way you spar with me with your green eyes flashing.”
His words echoed in her ears. He’d said everything she needed to hear. He seemed to have summed up her essence in just a few sentences. How remarkable that he seemed to know her so well in such a short time, whereas Mark had known her for years and never understood her.
She had to be straight with him. He deserved it. “Jon, I have to tell you something. I’m not sure I can sell Storytown to you after all. I’m sorry.” She prayed he wouldn’t immediately withdraw all the things he’d just said.
“I have something to tell you, too.”
She waited, holding her breath.
He leaned in close and whispered, “I’m going to help you keep Storytown.”
Chapter 8
Rebecca stared at Jon, unable to respond. Could he be serious? He would help her?
He took her right hand, turned it over, and ran his finger up and down her palm. She quivered.
“Why do you love it, Becca? Why does Storytown mean so much to you?”
She hesitated, gathering her thoughts. Would she be able to describe a lifetime of devotion in a few words? She finally said, “The short story? Gran—my grandmother—used to take me there. Often. It’s a part of my childhood I don’t want to lose.”
“And the long story?”
She sighed. She told him about her parents’ bad marriage and how the park had become her escape. “So that’s why it’s important to me that others have the same refuge I did. It’s the last place of innocence in a scary, out-of-control world.”
“I can see that.”
“I’ve worked there my whole adult life—when I was in school even. I got a degree in business administration just so I could become the manager.”
“You’re certainly determined.”
“Jon, we have customers who come every week. There’s this autistic girl…Emily. She blossoms when she’s there. How can I take Storytown away from her?”
Jon nodded. “I’ve seen her. You’re right. She obviously loves the place.”
“But how can you help me? I thought the whole reason you’re here is to buy Storytown—to make it into a ThemeWorld park.”
Jon frowned. With his free hand, he lifted the chili dog that had arrived while they talked, took a huge bite, and wiped his mouth with a record-shaped napkin. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’s been conflicted. I’ve changed my mind.”
Surprised, she dropped her hand from his. “What? You seemed pretty serious.”
“It’s my job. But let me tell you something. While you were growing up with Storytown, I was growing up with ThemeWorld. My dad’s been the president for over twenty years—did I tell you that? So you can imagine I hung out at the parks a lot as a teenager. But I always had the nagging sense that I didn’t like ThemeWorld all that much.”
“You didn’t?”
“Although I wouldn’t have been able to express it at the time, these last few months at Storytown—with you—have clarified it for me. ThemeWorld appeals to people’s baser instincts—instant gratification, cheap thrills. And the bottom line is making money for the organization. Sure, the rides can be fun,” he stopped and gave her a pointed look, “especially with you. But ThemeWorld doesn’t give a whit about their customers. Not like you do.”
“Then why….”
“I had a sister, Becca. She was two years younger and, as the saying goes, the apple of my father’s eye. She was following in Dad’s footsteps and had moved up to VP. The youngest VP they’d ever had. But she was killed in a car accident. I’d followed my own dreams and was working for the Boys and Girls Club at the time, but when Penny died, I went to work for the company. My dad expects me to take over for him and become president one day. I’m not exactly looking forward to it.”
He appeared pained, and Rebecca took his hand and massaged it. “Oh, Jon, I’m so sorry. How horrible to lose your sister. But have you ever tried telling your father how you feel?”
Jon laughed bitterly. “He and I don’t talk about feelings. We meet our obligations in our family, like it or not. But I also don’t want to upset my mother by going against my dad. She was distraught after Penny died. She doesn’t need any more drama.”
Rebecca leaned in and placed her hand against Jon’s cheek, delighting in the deliciously smooth face. Her pulse quickened, knowing he had recently shaved for her. “I’m really sorry.”
“Me, too. But even though I’m stuck working for ThemeWorld, I’m determined to tell my father that Storytown is not for sale and it’s time to give up. At least I can do that much. And I want to help you.”
“How?”
“I have tons of experience with fundraising and volunteer recruitment. I think the Hillmont business community could be called upon to sponsor Storytown and help with things like painting and mechanical repairs. And they could hold fundraising events for you. In the long-term, you could get volunteers to build new sets to attract more business. You’ve got plenty of untapped land.”
“But I thought you felt parks like Storytown were falling out of favor.”
Jon smiled widely at her and fed her a fry. “Then we’d better hurry up and change that, hadn’t we?”
* * * *
“I’m thinking banana split,” Jon said a while later, and Rebecca nodded happily.
He called over the waitress and placed their order.
They ate nearly the whole thing, but after they’d mowed through the bananas, whipped cream, and two of the three scoops of ice cream, they collapsed against the back of the booth and grabbed their stomachs.
“I give up,” Jon said and staggered to his feet to pay the bill.
They walked slowly to Rebecca’s car.
“I had a nice time. Thank you.” Rebecca rummaged through her purse to find her keys. Naturally, they were nestling at the very bottom.
“I know you have to work on Saturdays, but may I take you out again tomorrow night?”
“I’d like that.”
“Dinner and a movie?”
“Okay. Sure. I have to stay a little after closing, though.”
“I’ll pick you up at the park at five?”
She nodded.
“They say it might rain tomorrow evening,” he said.
“Yes, I heard that, too. And windy—it might be windy.” She wondered if the conversation could become any more banal.
“Thundershowers, even.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, withdrew them, and crossed his arms.
Rebecca knew he wanted to kiss her, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted him to or not. If they started kissing, she might not ever want to stop. Deciding to compromise, she shook his hand and kissed him on his right cheek. “Thanks again.”
He responded by kissing her lightly to the side of her mouth. “My pleasure. See you tomorrow.”
* * * *
The next morning, Rebecca floated down Storytown’s Dormouse Lane, whistling a song she’d just heard on the radio. All her problems were going to be solved! Not only was Jon going to stop pressuring her to sell, he would help her save Storytown. As if that weren’t enough to put her in a buoyant mood, she’d had a great date with a good-looking man and would be seeing him again that night. Sara had been right; she hadn’t dated in ages. She’d forgotten how nice it could be.
Storybook Love: A Storybook Park Romance Page 7
