One Season of Sunshine

by Julia London

  Asher had never heard of her. He never saw TV anymore.

  “Haven’t you heard her on the radio, Dad?” Riley asked.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, and Riley and Jane laughed again, sharing some private joke. Jane was pretty when she laughed, he thought. Her eyes sparkled. And he . . . he felt even more vanilla. Lady Gaga. He made a mental note to look her up.

  Riley’s speech was peppered with little shout-outs from Levi, who claimed he’d seen a turtle, and when that did not elicit a reaction from the table, he upped it to a snake. As Asher helped himself to another helping of salad, Levi was talking about the school of sharks that he and DJ had seen in the lake.

  “There are no sharks in the lake,” Asher said.

  “Remember, we talked about that, Levi,” Jane added. “Sharks live in the ocean. Way, way out in the ocean.”

  “How do you know?” Levi asked. “Have you seen them?”

  “I have. My dad used to take us deep-sea fishing when I was a kid and I saw them once.”

  “Where was that?” Asher asked curiously.

  “Dad, seriously, how can you hire a nanny and not know these things?” Riley asked. “She’s from Houston. She’s a teacher.”

  “I knew that, smartypants,” he said, but Riley was right. He really knew very little about Jane, other than that she was pretty, she couldn’t cook, she was a runner, she thought Italians sparkled, and he had a growing and indefensible desire to sleep with her. He wasn’t just thinking it, he was imagining it in full-scale Technicolor. Sex in a bed, on the floor, in the shower.

  “Her family owns a restaurant.”

  Asher almost sputtered his wine. “Now that, I haven’t heard,” he said, looking at Jane. “A restaurant? And you don’t know what a pinch is?”

  She laughed, the sound of it velvet. “I know—pathetic, right?”

  “What sort of restaurant?”

  “Continental,” she said, fingering the stem of her wineglass. “Or, as we like to say, whatever Mom and Uncle Barry feel like today.” She told him about The Garden, and the family history with it, about the accolades it had received through the years. She said the Bushes were regulars there, and that her family gathered for an early supper each night in one of the private rooms. She made them all laugh with her descriptions of them. “Aunt Mona wears these big black button earrings. Uncle Barry says it makes her look like a tagged cow.”

  On the roof, in the car, on a boat. “Do you have any siblings?” Asher asked.

  “Two brothers,” Riley said. “She feels my pain.”

  Jane laughed and tousled Levi’s hair.

  “So how come you don’t cook?” Asher asked, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t anyone teach you?”

  “Oh, they tried, believe me, they tried,” she said laughingly, her smile illuminating. “It’s a huge joke now. But I don’t have the cooking gene. I don’t know why that is; I can’t taste things like they can.” She shrugged.

  “Maybe because you’re adopted,” Riley suggested.

  “Adopted,” Asher repeated and looked at Jane. Another surprise.

  “Yep. Adopted.” She smiled.

  Asher wanted to know more, but the sound of a cell phone interrupted them. “Oh, that’s mine,” Jane said. “Will you excuse me?” She hopped up from the table and hurried to her bag, fished inside it for her cell phone, then walked into the kitchen, her back to them as she answered.

  “I bet it’s her granola boyfriend,” Riley said.

  The boyfriend. Asher had conveniently forgotten about him. He looked at his plate and worked very hard to be disinterested. A boyfriend definitely put a damper on his game of imagining sex with Jane—he’d just imagined it in the pool. The boyfriend probably knew how Lady Gaga was. He was probably a very un-vanilla kind of guy.

  Suddenly wanting up from the table, Asher pushed his plate away. “Anyone up for a game of Chutes and Ladders?”

  21

  Are you going to stay, Jane?” Riley demanded when Jane stepped back to the table after asking Nicole if they could catch up later.

  “Stay?”

  “To play Chutes and Ladders! Dad and Levi are going to be a team if you will be my partner. Will you stay?”

  Jane hesitated. Today, in the pool when they’d been playing Marco Polo, Asher’s bare, muscular chest and surfer shorts riding just below a trim waist had had her believing she’d need to drive off a cliff to keep from launching herself at him. She didn’t think hanging out with him was the best idea. Actually, it was a very bad idea, but she was like a kid in a candy store lately—she couldn’t help herself. Jane had thoroughly enjoyed this day. The kids were in great spirits and she’d actually seen an endearing side of Asher, a softness and attention to his kids that surprised her.

  “Please?” Riley begged.

  “Don’t press her, honey,” Asher said and stood up, picking up his plate as he did. “She probably has plans.”

  “You don’t, do you?” Riley asked.

  “Actually . . . no,” Jane said, mentally kicking herself for being weak.

  “That means you’ll play, right?”

  Jane looked at the three of them looking at her. “Okay,” she said, to which Riley and Levi both shouted yay. “But on one condition, Ri. We have to win.”

  “We’ll crush them,” Riley said, pumping her fist.

  “Are you sure?” Asher asked Jane. “I don’t want to keep you.”

  “I think you’re afraid of a Riley-Jane team.”

  “Ha!” Riley cried.

  Asher chuckled. “Maybe a little. All right, you two,” he said to the kids. “Let’s get the kitchen cleaned before you take down the game.”

  “I’ll get it!” Riley shouted and was quickly out the door, Levi on her heels.

  “Hey! Carry stuff to the kitchen!” Asher called after them, but they were already racing upstairs. He glanced sheepishly at Jane. “My kids are spoiled,” he sighed.

  Jane laughed, picked up their plates, and carried them into the kitchen after Asher.

  He opened the dishwasher and groaned. “It’s full. I’ll have to wash.”

  “I’ll help.”

  “No,” he said sternly. “You are off duty and we’ve imposed enough as it is.”

  “Let me dry,” Jane urged him. She opened a drawer and withdrew a dish towel. “I can’t stand here and watch you like some guest. That would be weird. And besides, I have the towel,” she said, holding it out for him to see.

  Asher looked at the towel. “Never argue with a woman and her dish towel,” he conceded. “Thank you. And thanks for today,” he added as he filled the sink with warm, sudsy water. “I think the Price family needed that.”

  “A pool party?”

  Asher smiled, his green eyes soft. “Time to be a family without any demands on us. It was fun.” He leaned around her and picked up a plate from the island.

  Jane felt that little flutter in her belly again. She wished he wouldn’t move so close to her. She hoped he’d do it again.

  “It’s cool you can stay,” he said. “I thought you might have some work to do tonight,” he said.

  Work that kept piling up and up and up. Jane hadn’t written a word on her thesis. Her excuse was that she felt stymied waiting for Emma to get back to her. “I do,” she admitted, taking the plate he’d washed. “But I felt honor bound to stay and make sure you don’t cheat.”

  Asher made a sound of surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “Come on, Asher,” she said slyly. “You cheated at Marco Polo. You opened your eyes.”

  “I did not,” he protested with a guilty grin.

  “Then how do you explain that miraculous grab of DJ at the end?”

  “Hey! That was a highly skilled tactical maneuver, I’ll have you know. Did you think you were playing with a novice?”

  “Do you mean I was playing with a professional Marco Poloist?”

  He dropped his head back with a laugh. “Sweetheart, I wrote the manual on Marco Polo,” he
said roguishly, and a tiny thrill skated down Jane’s spine.

  Asher handed her another plate. “Here’s how you do it. First, you miss a lot. It makes the enemy complacent. Then, when you have them thinking you couldn’t find them in the bathtub, you make your move.” He reached around her again, his body brushing across hers, sending another, stronger shiver sizzling through her. He paused, still reaching, and looked directly into her eyes. “And then you pin them down. No mercy.”

  He was standing so close that she could see the flecks of brown and gray in his eyes. It rattled her, sparked a shock of desire through her. She wanted to say something witty, something charming, but words failed her, and before she could summon her thoughts, Asher faded away from her.

  He tossed a serving spoon into the sink. “That is how you play Marco Polo.”

  Jane released the breath she was holding. “Or . . . you peek.”

  Asher suddenly smiled at her, the flash of it startlingly white and warm. “Busted,” he cheerfully agreed. “But I did it for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes, wasn’t it obvious? There was no way DJ was going to let that game end without some serious intervention.”

  Jane laughed. “Then I owe you a debt of thanks.”

  “That’s more like it,” he said with a wink. He washed the spoon and handed it to her, then slipped behind her again to grab a bowl, leaning in so close—or maybe it was she who leaned in so close—that she caught the scent of his cologne. It was subtle, but enticingly masculine.

  Come on, Jane, she thought to herself. As if her life wasn’t muddy enough right now. But she couldn’t resist his charming smile or the sparkle of warmth in his eye. Lord, how things had changed! She had warmed to Asher Price, was even fantasizing about him. It was so interesting to see how different he was when he wasn’t working. He was relaxed and charming and sexy. Jesus, the man was sexy.

  “So have you worked things out with your boyfriend?” Asher asked.

  “Huh?” Jane mentally shook her head, trying to clear it.

  “Boyfriend,” he said with a sultry smile. “The guy who wants to marry you.”

  “Oh. Him.” Yes, Jonathan—this was good, this would keep her feet firmly planted on the ground, and she forced herself to summon an image of Jonathan. “Not yet.”

  “Have you decided?”

  Decided? She’d hardly thought of Jonathan the last couple of days, a fact that stirred up a healthy dose of guilt at the moment. “No,” she said softly.

  He looked at her a moment, then turned back to the dishes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “You’re not prying.” She didn’t know how to tell him all the things that went round in her head when she thought of Jonathan and marriage. “I’m not any closer to a decision than I was a few days ago. The thing is . . .” She didn’t even know where to begin.

  When Jane didn’t continue, Asher turned to her. “The thing is?”

  Jane smiled self-consciously. “The thing is, I am in the process of looking for my birth mother, and I need to do that before I make any decisions about the rest of my life. It’s just this . . . this thing I need to do,” she said with a tiny shrug.

  “Oh. I didn’t know.”

  “Yes, well . . . the truth is, that is the reason I chose Cedar Springs to finish my thesis. I was born here. This is where I’ve started looking.”

  “Really?” he said. “That must be pretty intense for you.”

  “It is,” she said, nodding. “I feel like a pioneer. I have no idea what I am going to find, you know? It could be good, it could be bad. I’m throwing myself out there, let the chips fall where they may.”

  “That’s admirable,” Asher said as he handed her a glass. “I think that would take a lot of guts.”

  No one had ever said that to her. No one at home had given her credit for taking the steps or acknowledged that it did take a lot of guts. More courage than Jane sometimes believed she had in her.

  “So . . . if you don’t mind me asking, how is the search going?”

  “Not so well.” She told him about her trip to the hospital, and then to the Cedar Springs Standard. She told him that on Tuesday she would get to review the microfiche for the first time. “Sometimes I feel like I am standing on this bridge between Houston and whatever is out there,” she said, gesturing vaguely to out there.

  “I’d bet it gets lonely on that bridge,” Asher said.

  A different kind of shiver ran through Jane when he said that. He said it as if he knew, as if she’d confessed how alone she felt at times. How could he possibly know that? She looked up from drying a fork.

  Asher smiled a little and handed her a plate. “I’m just guessing.” He plunged his hands into the sink. “But the good news is, you have a boyfriend waiting at the foot of the bridge, right?”

  “Right,” Jane said absently. “I’m going to see him next weekend.”

  “Ah, well . . . great,” he said. “I look forward to meeting him. We’ll have drinks.”

  “No,” Jane said quickly. The thought of the two men meeting disturbed her greatly for some reason. “I mean I’m going home.” She put the plate down. “He’s a musician, and he’s got an important gig. He wants me there to hear it.”

  “A musician. Cool,” Asher said, nodding. “Classical? Jazz?”

  “Rock. His band is called Orange Savage.” Jane turned away from Asher’s curious green eyes. Yes, this was better. If she just didn’t look at him—

  “I’m an alternative rock guy myself,” he said casually.

  Jane picked up the bowl he’d just washed. Asher leaned across the sink to fetch a glass, bracing himself with one arm against the edge. An image popped into Jane’s head of Asher bracing himself like that over her on the kitchen island, his golden hair hanging over his brow as he moved inside her. . . .

  Good God, stop it, she silently chastised herself. She looked at the bowl. She’d all but polished the glaze from it. “Where does this go?”

  “Up there.” He nodded to a pair of tall cabinets.

  Jane opened the cabinet. There was a spot on the top shelf, naturally. She went up on her tiptoes and reached up to put the bowl away. Her sundress skimmed up the backs of her thighs and pulled tight across her back and bottom. Asher was suddenly behind her. “Let me help.” His voice was low; he put his hand to her back, reached up beside her, took the bowl from her, and slipped it into its spot on the top shelf. The thrill of his touch flooded Jane, warming her skin, prickling at her nape.

  She sank down to her feet beside him and glanced up. It didn’t help at all that she thought she was seeing the edge of want in his eyes, too.

  His gaze dipped to her mouth, then slid lower, to her chest. “Just one or two more,” he said quietly. His hand slid lightly across her hip as he dropped it and moved back to the sink.

  He washed one more plate and the last of the silver while Jane wiped down the countertops. “I think that does it,” he said a moment later. He drained the sink, wiped his hands, and shoved them into his pockets, then smiled at Jane. “Okay, Miss Aaron,” he said. “Let’s see if you’re as tough at Chutes and Ladders as you are at Marco Polo.”

  “Tougher,” she said. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m the southwest regional champion of Chutes and Ladders.”

  “Wow,” he said, pretending to be impressed as he gestured for her to precede him. “A tournament girl. I’ll have to show you my trophy case.”

  “You, too?” she asked, feigning surprise.

  “Monopoly,” he said with a wink. They both laughed.

  Three hours later, after several rounds of Chutes and Ladders and Chinese checkers, Jane tapped her wristwatch and looked at Asher meaningfully. “All right,” he said reluctantly. He’d had a wonderful time with Jane and the kids, and while he was still imagining Jane naked, the need to see her naked had subsided somewhat. Asher could thank Chutes and Ladders for returning him to the world of reason.

  He said good night to Jane, put Levi to
bed, told Riley not to stay up too late, and retreated to the huge cavern of a master suite, where he’d spent some of his darkest hours. He never entered this room without remembering.

  The suite had an adjoining study and a sleeping porch between the bedroom and the outside balcony. Susanna had decorated the suite so many times that Asher had lost track. At the time she’d died, the room had been painted in blues and greens and the bed and window coverings had had an aqua feel to them, which Asher supposed was apropos of his life with Susanna—in the last two years of her life, he’d felt as if he’d been constantly struggling to reach the surface of a marriage in which he’d been drowning.

  He still hadn’t completely come to terms with her death. There was part of him that believed that if she’d kept taking her medicine, she would still be here and his kids would still have a mother. There was another part of him that wondered whether she hadn’t been destined for that fiery death all along, and there was nothing he could have done to change the course of her fate.

  He looked around him now; he’d painted the walls and removed most of her art, replacing it with a flat-panel TV and Riley’s and Levi’s baby portraits. He’d left only one of Susanna’s paintings that was really quite good; it was the vista outside their bedroom windows, a view of the lake and the cedars. In it, one could see the rooftop of the studio he’d built for Susanna and Riley through the trees. The other paintings she’d made for this room were nonsensical color messes. She’d argued that they were contemporary art. Asher called them nightmares. He’d stored them all in the attic in case Riley or Levi wanted them someday.

  He’d thrown one portrait in the trash after her death. Susanna had had it done just after her forty-third birthday, a few short months before she died. In it, she was completely nude, lying on a fur rug, her expression full of sexual desire. Asher had never really been able to shake the thought that maybe the portrait had been intended for someone.

  He was certain it had not been intended for him.

  This place was his now, his retreat, the one place he could escape Susanna in this damn house. His clothes were draped over a chair. His basketball sat on the floor next to the wardrobe. The bed coverings were muted and suitable for a man.