by Donna Fasano
Lauren's broad smile was totally genuine. "It is right up his alley, Norma. What a great idea."
"And if we were to stop for pancakes on the way, that wouldn't constitute a date or anything. We'd just be grabbing breakfast, right?" She flashed Lauren a quick wink. "I'll get that man to go out with me one way or another."
"I don't know, Norma. I told him he should get out of the house more, but he's never listened to me in the past."
"Well, he'll listen to me." Norma settled her hands on her trim hips. "I'll liven him up all right. All he needs is a good roll in the hay."
Lauren's eyes bugged. "Norma!" Laughing, she comically clamped her hands over her ears. "I don't want to hear that."
Norma grinned. "Oh, grow up, Lauren," she teased. "Old people do it, too. Heck, we probably do it more than young people. Well, maybe not more than young people, but definitely more than middle-aged people."
Reflecting on her own sexual habits, or lack thereof, Lauren was forced to admit, "Now that I believe." After a moment, she said, "If anyone can get Dad out of the house, Norma, I'd lay odds on you. I think you should know, Dad's a sucker for pancakes."
A beacon wouldn't have outshined Norma Jean's smile. "See there? My instincts were entirely correct about the man." They chuckled and then she said, "If we're all through for the day, Lauren, I'm going to head home. It's been a long week. I'm going to soak in the tub and make an early night of it. I need a good night's sleep if I'm going to tackle your dad in the morning."
"I hope you don't mean that literally," Lauren joked. "He's got a bad knee." She gave the air a tiny swipe. "You go ahead. I'll lock up here."
Once she was alone in the office, Lauren tidied up. She put away the code books she'd pulled from the bookcase for research earlier in the day. She checked her electronic calendar to see which court dates were scheduled for the beginning of the next week and slid those files into her briefcase so she could read them over the weekend. She was digging in her purse for her keys when Jo Leigh's voice floated through her brain yet again.
"Would you mind. . .?"
Heat flushed through her body and an odd array of emotions gathered in her chest. Conflicting emotions. Powerful emotions.
Images flooded into her mind unbidden. Pressing her fingertips to her temples, she rubbed rough, tiny circles but could not scrub away the memory of her and Greg's very first meeting.
The sun had beat down like a hammer that hot August day. She was home from college for the summer. Her pre-law degree was behind her and she had scored well on the LSATs. She'd been accepted at three of the five schools of law she'd applied to. Everything was right with the world.
She'd gone to a friend's house for a day of lounging by the pool. A handful of college girls were there, all in skin-baring bikinis, all full of talk focused on nothing but career plans and life goals. These women were serious about the future.
Her friend's parents had hired a carpenter to repair the door to the pool house which had been sticking. The other girls had taken little notice of the dark-haired, dark-eyed young man who was sweating in the blaring heat. Well, that wasn't quite true. They noticed him, but not a single one of them was interested in a man who worked with his hands, who wore blue jeans and work boots on the job.
But there was something about the way Greg moved, about the way he'd handled that plane, his fingertips gliding, probing, checking the wood with each pass of the tool that caught Lauren's attention. She'd watched him work, saw the meticulous care he put into the job, her gaze hidden behind a chic pair of large sunglasses.
The summer sun pounded the concrete surrounding the pool. Beads of sweat had formed on her chest, rolled down her belly, and she'd been wearing next to nothing. She could only imagine how hot Greg must have been in his cotton t-shirt, denim pants and heavy work boots. She'd risen from the lounge chair and grabbed an icy bottle of water from the cooler. Her friends had gaped in disbelief as she'd padded across the cement expanse and offered the fix-it guy a drink.
Their conversation had been so short and inane that it was nothing but forgettable. But he'd appreciated her effort; that she did remember. Gratitude had shown in the black depths of his eyes. She'd headed to her lounge chair and he'd stopped her with a soft, "Hey."
She remembered turning back to face him.
"Would you let me take you to dinner some time?" he'd asked.
"Yeah," she'd told him. Oh, yeah.
And then he'd smiled.
Lauren scrubbed her hands over her face, brushed her bangs from her damp forehead.
"No, Lauren," she said to herself, right out loud. She repeated the word even more firmly before adding, "You don't mind if Greg and Jo Leigh see each other."
She pulled the business card from her pocket and placed it on her desktop. The small rectangle of stiff, cream-colored paper stood out starkly against the rich cherry wood.
She'd put Scott off long enough. It was time to jump back into the dating fray. She picked up the phone, punched in the numbers and listened to the ring on the other end of the line.
Greg was moving on with his life. She shouldn't be bothered by that. She wouldn't be bothered by that. It was normal. Natural.
It was time for her to do the same.
Chapter 12
How many of you have ever started dating because you
were too lazy to commit suicide?
~Judy Tenuta
The hem of the slinky dress struck her several inches above the knee and revealed her shapely calves. The fitted style showed off her slender waist and the red fabric made her skin glow. Lauren turned to the side, scrutinizing her image in the full-length mirror that hung on the back of her bedroom door. The material clung to her butt and her flat tummy and accentuated her breasts. Facing forward with enough momentum to make the skirt dance around her thighs, she studied her upper body; the spaghetti straps drew attention to her slender shoulders, and the same key-hole opening that prevented her from wearing a bra highlighted her cleavage.
It was a great dress. A sexy dress. A dress that would surely turn a man's head.
And practically beg him to make love to her.
Lauren groaned in frustration, yanking down the back zipper, stepping out of the cherry confection and tossing it onto the bed.
There was nothing she wouldn't love more than a night filled with sensuous pleasure, but that was no message to be sending Scott on their very first night out together. It was no way to start what could very well turn out to be a budding relationship. . .a relationship that just might prove to be something meaningful.
Half the clothes she owned were in a jumble on the bed. Lauren went to the closet and perused what was left. She tugged a black, knee-length pencil skirt from its hanger, and once she'd donned it, she chose a lacy bra and then a plain, white blouse. She was fastening the last button when she turned back to the mirror.
She looked like a librarian. . .or a lawyer on her way to court. Heaving a sigh, she yanked her way out of the outfit and pitched it on top of the ever growing pile on the bed.
What was the matter with her?
She sat down on the bed and propped her chin up with her fist, ready for a good sulk, her hair cascading over her shoulder.
She knew good and well what was wrong. She was scared spitless. She hadn't been on a date with anyone other than Greg in. . .
Dear Lord, just how long had it been?
Her mind worked out the numbers backward. Separated a year, married twelve, and she'd dated Greg exclusively for four years before their wedding.
Seventeen years. She'd been a kid then.
How were adults supposed to act on a date?
Wincing at her reflection, she muttered, "Don't be stupid."
How hard could it be? You meet at a restaurant, you eat a little, you talk a little, you laugh a little, and before you know it the date will be over.
"It won't even get started," she grumbled, "if you don't choose something to wear."
Lauren dragged
herself back to the closet. She pulled out a dress that was years old but Audrey-Hepburn-classic. The silk was such a deep purple that it almost appeared black. She slid the cocktail dress over her head and it whispered down her body.
Taking this first step out into the dating world was as logical as it was necessary. If her dad was right about her being 'too independent', then going out with Scott could be the answer to her problem. Or at least the beginning of an answer. If there was an answer. She wasn't sure there was a problem. Chuckling at her confusion, she made short work of the dress's zipper and went to the mirror.
Perfect. The dress looked nice. Elegant and simple. Flattering to her figure without being overtly sexy. The dress really was perfect for a first date, but she'd ask for a second opinion from her dad before she left.
One pair of black, open-toed heels and a black clutch later, she was ready to roll. She paused a second or two to comb her fingers through her hair and check her makeup.
"I hope you know what you're doing," she mouthed to the nervous blonde looking back at her in the mirror. She feared she was so rusty at this dating thing that she really wasn't sure what she was getting into. She'd have to muddle through even though that wasn't her normal style. On the job, she liked to plan her actions and choreograph her words, but that wasn't possible when she was heading into such unknown territory.
Dating was not a foreign land, she reminded herself firmly. She'd be fine.
On a final deep sigh, she headed out the door of her bedroom. The wardrobe mess would have to wait until later.
Her father was snoring softly in his old green easy chair while the anchorman droned on about one of the local sports teams. Norma Jean and the kids at the Boys and Girls Club must have worn him out today. He'd enjoyed himself, Lauren had been able to tell that when he'd arrived home this afternoon even though he'd complained about the children's lack of manners.
Just as well that he was napping. He wouldn't have liked the idea that she was going out. With a man. Other than Greg. Oh, he'd told her he realized she and Greg were through. He'd even told her he didn't want her spending her life alone. But he'd have given her grief. Even when she tried to act on his advice he groused. A lifetime of being his daughter had taught her as much. He couldn't fight who he was.
Lauren jotted a quick note and set it on top of the remote where he couldn't help but see it when he woke, and then she picked up her keys.
"Night, Dad," she whispered, nerves jitterbugging in her stomach as she shut the front door behind her.
* * *
"So what do you have over there?" she asked, peering across the candlelit table at Scott's plate.
"Let's see." He used his fork to sort through the salad. "Lettuce, roasted beets, candied walnuts and crumbles of blue cheese. It's good." Then he chuckled. "There's a woman who works for me, Gail. . .she'd swell up like a balloon if she ate this cheese. She's allergic." He snickered again and then shoveled another bite of salad into his mouth.
Lauren wasn't sure where to go with that comment so she fell silent and munched on peppery arugula and wild mushrooms that had been decoratively arranged on her salad plate.
"You see Scott today?" he asked.
"I did. He came to the barn just as I was leaving. I don't know how long he stayed." Lauren scooted a baby carrot to the edge of her plate. "The guy stopped by, too. The one who's going to airbrush the animals. He was really nice. Knowledgeable, too. We settled on a price for his work—a great price, I'm happy to say. And he took one of the horses with him. To his studio. Promised he'd bring it back next week."
A smile and a nod was Scott's only response, then he focused on his plate again.
Small talk. People engaged in it every day. All that was needed were two individuals and an interesting subject to volley back and forth. The range of topics was as wide as the great, blue sky. Art. Entertainment. Culture. Sports. Fashion. The list was endless. Lauren had never thought of herself as verbally clumsy, yet she was having an awful time sustaining a simple discussion tonight.
All around her, she heard the murmur of lively conversations taking place between patrons of Charlie's. The upscale eatery had opened back in the summer on Sterling's up and coming east side. Lauren had heard about it from the same source that provided her with all the town news; Norma Jean. The restaurant marketed itself as specializing in 'New American cuisine with Old World charm.' And, indeed, charm pervaded the place. Candlelight glowed against the richly painted stucco walls and soft strains of jazz floated on air thick with ambiance. With food this delicious and atmosphere this cozy and relaxed, Lauren should have been having a good time. But if she were pressed for the truth, she'd have to say otherwise.
The problem, it seemed, was that she and Scott had little to talk about, or else neither of them were very adept in the fine art of making small talk. Oh, they'd tried. Both of them had. And the realization that conversation between them continued to fall flat with each attempt had her feeling self-conscious. Lauren had come to the conclusion that, workaholics that they were, she and Scott focused too much attention on their jobs and not enough time reading the classics or listening to good music or seeing the latest blockbusters.
She and Scott had done just fine together during those short bursts of time they had previously spent together; at her office or in court. During those times, the conversation had focused mainly on Scott's son and the court case. They'd had a great time that Saturday morning they'd been at the barn together. Lauren didn't remember feeling the least bit awkward and had actually enjoyed hearing about what Scott did for a living. It might sound silly, but she wondered if it was possible that they could have talked themselves out in that short time they were together that day?
She placed her fork across her salad plate, then leaned back to pick up the linen napkin from her lap. The fabric was stiff against her mouth. Then she tucked the napkin back into place and smiled, gearing up to venture another try.
"This place is great, isn't it?"
Scott nodded. "Did I tell you the owner hired my firm to handle their insurance?"
"Yes. Yes, you did." Lauren fought the sigh building in the back of her throat. He'd told her twice in the thirty minutes they'd been in the bar having cocktails.
"Did I tell you Charlie's is my account? My people are handling it."
Lauren nodded, just as proud that she was able to hold her smile in place as he was that he'd won the restaurant owner's business.
"The owners are offering their full-time employees—"
An excellent package, she silently provided.
"—an excellent package. Their part-timers aren't faring too badly either."
Her eyes nearly crossed as Scott launched into a drawn-out explanation of HMOs and PPOs and the monotonous minutia that made the entities different. Shoot me now, she thought miserably, please, somebody, just shoot me now.
Some part of her brain turned inward, searching desperately for a reprieve, and took a nose-dove into the deep pool of memories of when she and Greg had dated.
The first time he'd taken her out, they'd had a blast. He'd refused to tell her where they were going. His black eyes had danced and the air of excitement that had filled the cab of his beat up truck had made her feel light-hearted.
"It'll be an adventure," he'd promised. "Trust me."
She had, and she hadn't regretted it for a moment.
Riding a horse had been a new experience for her. And judging from the trouble Greg had had staying in the saddle, he hadn't been much of an equestrian, either. They had bounced and laughed all the way across the meadow and up the wooded path to the top of the hill where they had tethered the horses and enjoyed the wine and cheese and fresh, crusty bread that Greg had packed.
That day was emblazoned in her memory. A cool breeze had kicked up to take some of the stifling heat out of the summer air. The sky had turned a full palate of varying hues as the sun dipped lower toward the horizon. The glorious mantle above them had looked something clos
e to a miracle and left them speechless all the way back to the stable.
Something close to a miracle? Okay, so maybe her imagination had toyed with the memory a tad.
"Ah, so you've had this experience, I see."
She scrabbled her way back into the here and now, panic billowing in her chest. "I beg your pardon?"
Scott's smiled slipped the smallest fraction. "You grinned," he said. "I figured that meant you'd been confused, too. You know, over which health benefits to opt in or out of."
Lauren nodded, lifted her hands. "Who hasn't?"
"Exactly. I'm trying hard to simplify the language, the forms, everything."
"What an excellent idea," Lauren breathed, thankful that she'd made an adequate recovery and silently vowing to pay closer attention to the conversation.
Later as Scott walked her to her car, she stifled a yawn. It felt like midnight, yet when she glanced at her watch, she was surprised to see that they'd been inside Charlie's less than two hours.
"I screwed this up, didn't I?" He settled his palm low on her back. "I talked about work too much."
"Don't be silly." The warmth of him seeped through the silk fabric of her dress. "It was fine."
He rolled his eyes at her choice of words.
"It was great," she quickly amended, stopping by her driver's side door. When she saw skepticism continued to cloud his blue gaze, she expounded, "I had fun, Scott."
The reassurance made him smile.
"Can we do this again?" he asked, inching toward her.
She smiled. "I'd like that." The pathway to hell was paved with lies, and she could hear Beelzebub laughing hysterically at her, but the truth would only hurt the man's feelings.
Scott reached up and brushed her hair over her shoulder with the back of his hand before leaning in. "Would you mind if I kissed you good-night?"
