With Tommy gone and Megan in her bedroom playing with Princess Leia, the house was quiet—other than the steady tick-tock of the antique clock on the mantel and the occasional crackle from the fire in the hearth.
Dinner had been pleasant this evening—until Jared had called. Yet it wasn’t just the call that had surprised her. She’d also sensed something in his tone. Something…off.
He seemed a bit down, but she wouldn’t try to analyze why. She was just glad that he’d thought about the kids and had wanted to talk to them before bedtime.
Megan’s desperate outburst had clearly caught him off guard, though, and Jillian understood why it had. Early on, the six-year-old had been brokenhearted about the split, but up until this evening, she seemed to have been taking it much better than Tommy.
Jillian combed her fingers through her hair. Would her life ever get back to normal? Not that she hadn’t accepted the divorce and adjusted to being a single mother, even if it wasn’t what she’d signed on for. She’d come to grips with that reality months ago. It’s just that she was sorry about what the kids had been forced to endure—all because of the choices their father had made.
Of course, Jared had always had a selfish side, even though she hadn’t realized it at first. When they’d met during her last year of college, she’d been charmed by his good looks and his outgoing manner. But what she’d considered self-assurance had been egotism in the classic sense of the word.
In retrospect, she wasn’t totally convinced that she’d been in love with Jared back then, but at the time, her father had been fighting a losing battle with cancer, and she’d known that he was worried about dying and leaving her on her own. So marrying Jared had seemed like the right thing to do.
Tommy had been born ten months after her wedding, and Megan had come along three years later. Jillian adored her children and had been happy with her life. Her only complaints had been that her husband traveled a lot on business, and that she spent too many nights alone.
Last Thanksgiving, after her dad died, she’d found herself lonelier than ever. She began to realize that she’d been so tied up caring for her children and her ailing father that she and Jared had drifted apart. Yet she’d soon learned that Jared’s job hadn’t been the only thing drawing him away from home.
Jillian stood and made her way to the window, where she peered out into the rainy night, her breath fogging the glass. There was no sign of Tommy and Mac yet. Hopefully, that meant Mac’s plan was working.
It had been a godsend when he’d shown up on her front porch earlier today, and she couldn’t help thinking that her prayers for some kind of relief had been answered.
She suspected that Tommy thought so, too. His excitement had been obvious when he’d talked to his father on the telephone earlier—so much so that Jared had quizzed Jillian about Mac when they’d talked privately afterward.
“Who is that guy?” Jared had asked.
“Just someone I went to high school with,” she’d replied.
When her ex had pushed for more information, she’d downplayed the relationship she’d once had with Mac. After all, their time together today and their dinner tonight hadn’t been anything more than old friends reminiscing—even if she found herself increasingly attracted to the man he’d become.
There’d always been something about Mac that had drawn her to him, something dark, edgy, and sexual. Something wounded and gentle, too.
Thinking back, they really hadn’t had anything in common when they’d been younger, although she suspected that might not be the case any longer.
Of course, if her father were still alive, he’d probably argue that point. He never had liked Mac, even though he’d refused to even give him a chance.
One day, suspecting Jillian hadn’t been honest about where she was going and who she was meeting, her father had followed her to The Creamery, where he’d found her and Mac cuddling in the corner booth. Mac had stood up and extended a hand, but her father had refused to take it. He hadn’t made a scene, but he’d insisted that Jillian leave with him. She’d decided it was in everyone’s best interest if she quietly got into his car.
Once they were alone, he’d blown up.
Jillian had never rebelled a day in her life, but she’d been determined to stand up to her dad, to tell him that he couldn’t choose her friends. But then he’d dropped the bomb and told her he’d been diagnosed with cancer.
Her whole world had fallen apart at the seams. Afraid to put any more stress on her dad than necessary, Jillian had told Mac she couldn’t see him anymore.
As footsteps sounded on the porch, drawing her from her musing, she turned toward the door, eager to know what had happened at Mr. Iverson’s house. And, if truth be told, she was eager to lay eyes on Mac again, too.
When he’d gazed at her and skimmed his hand along her cheek earlier this evening, he’d sent her senses reeling. Still, she was afraid to read too much into that. She doubted a good-looking bachelor would find an overweight single mom attractive. Yet every now and then, she’d caught him looking at her, and her fantasies would take flight.
As the door swung open, Mac reminded Tommy to wipe his feet. Then he closed the wet umbrella and left it on the porch. A hank of sandy-blond hair fell over his forehead, and Jillian had the strangest urge to brush it aside.
She stood to greet him, yet she forced her arms to remain at her sides as she waited for Mac and her son to give her a report.
“You ought to see all the cool stuff Mr. Iverson has,” Tommy said, his eyes bright, a blush on his cheeks. “He’s not as mean as I thought he was.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” Jillian glanced at Mac. His grin set her heart on end. Then she returned her focus to her son. “Why don’t you take your shoes off and leave them on the rug by the door? Then tell your sister it’s time to get ready for bed.”
“Okay.” The boy did as he was instructed before dashing off.
“Tommy and Charlie seemed to have gained a new respect for each other,” Mac said.
“Good. That’s a step in the right direction.”
Mac scanned the living room, then lowered his voice to a near whisper. “How’s Megan doing?”
“She’s been pretty quiet.” Jillian nodded toward the stairway. “She took Princess Leia to her room.”
An awkward silence filled the air, and Jillian wasn’t sure what to do about it. She supposed she could thank Mac and walk him to the door, indicating their time together was over. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that. There was still so much she wanted to know, so much she wanted to say.
The girl she’d once been pressed her to ask if he was seeing anyone special right now. She suspected that he wasn’t, but the woman she’d become wouldn’t allow her questions to get that personal.
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” she asked, letting him make the decision to stay or to go.
Something told Mac he ought to decline and head home. He’d hoped to solve a neighborly dispute earlier today, and it appeared that he’d succeeded. Sure, now he had the Bobbie Sue/Princess Leia dilemma to contend with, but he wasn’t ready to tackle that one yet and had already decided to sleep on it.
Yet, while he passed on the coffee, he wasn’t ready to say good night. “I know it’s none of my business, but what did her father have to say about her sadness?” It would have turned Mac inside out if he’d had a daughter and heard her cry like that, begging him to come home.
“He didn’t say much. How could he?” Jillian began to close the gap between them. “But I think it really bothered him.”
“Good.” If Mac would have had a wife like Jillian and kids…Well, the guy ought to feel like crap for leaving them.
He kept his thoughts to himself as he watched Jillian draw near. Seeing her again had awakened the attraction that had lain dormant for years, and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it. Could he trust his feelings after only spending a few hours with her?
She tucked a strand
of hair behind her ear, and he fought the growing need to touch her. To slide his arms around her and draw her to him, just as he used to do when they’d been young.
“I think it also bothered him to know that you were here for dinner,” she said. “I told him that we were old friends, but he seemed to think there was more to it than that.”
Was there?
“Jared doesn’t realize that I’m not in a hurry to jump into a relationship,” she added. “I made one big mistake already, and I don’t plan to make another.”
He wanted to ask just what that mistake was. Her marriage? The divorce? Did she blame herself for not seeing it coming?
When she and Mac had dated, their split had left him heartbroken, but he’d been too proud to admit it. After all, back then, he hadn’t had a thing to offer a girl like her.
In fact, he still didn’t.
“Hey, Mom!” Tommy yelled from upstairs. “Come quick! The toilet is all stopped up!”
Mac couldn’t decide if he was glad to have the conversation interrupted or not.
“I’m coming!” Jillian, her cheeks a pretty shade of pink, managed a wistful smile. “Every time I turn around, something goes on the blink around here.”
“Let me take a look at it. I’ve developed a real knack for unclogging sinks and pipes in the past week.”
She scrunched her face in that cute way of hers. “Gosh, I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Why not?”
Her lips parted as though she had a good reason, then she stepped aside. “I’m probably going to be sorry for this, but to tell you the truth, I haven’t honed too many fix-it skills yet.”
“Why would you be sorry about me taking a look at your toilet?”
“Because you’ve seen me—and the kids—at our worst today. And something tells me that you’re not used to all the domestic drama.”
He wasn’t. Yet he lifted his hand and trailed his fingers along her cheek, relishing the silky softness of her skin, as well as the arousing effects of touching her. It was a ballsy thing to do, he supposed. But he couldn’t help it. And the fact she didn’t pull away or flinch suggested that she hadn’t found his move out of line.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “That’s what friends are for.”
But as he turned to head for the stairway, he found himself wondering if this was just the kind of drama he’d been missing all of his life.
Chapter Nine
Talk about domestic drama.
Jillian stood in the bathroom doorway and watched Mac kneel beside the toilet, roll up his sleeve, reach deep within the now-empty ceramic bowl, and pull out a small toy motorcycle. Then he got to his feet and dropped it into the sink.
As he washed his hands with hot, soapy water, he glanced over his shoulder and flashed Jillian a boyish grin. “I’ve had plenty of experience with plumbing these past few days, but I’ve yet to run into this same problem at my place.”
She was sure he hadn’t. Finding toys that had been flushed down the toilet was the kind of thing only parents and grandparents had to deal with. She turned to her son, who sat on the edge of the fiberglass tub, the pale green bathmat bunched up at his bare feet.
“How did your motorcycle get in there?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t do it.”
Jillian knew better than to believe everything her children told her, but since Megan had disappeared the moment Mac had entered the bathroom, Tommy wasn’t the only suspect. Jillian would have to question Megan about it, but she didn’t have the heart to scold her right now. Not after the child’s tearful chat with her father tonight. So she would wait until bedtime to bring it up.
Mac held the three-inch-long motorcycle under the running faucet. “What do you suggest we do with this? It definitely needs to be sanitized.”
“Don’t bother doing that,” Tommy said. “It’s gross now. Just throw it away. I don’t even want it anymore.”
When Jillian nodded her agreement, Mac dropped the toy into the trash can beside the sink.
After he’d filled the toilet to the proper water level and made sure it was in working order, Jillian began to back out of the bathroom, clearing a path to the hallway.
“Okay,” she said to her son, “now that the crisis is over, it’s time for you and Megan to go to bed. I’ll be in shortly to tuck you in and listen to your prayers.”
As the boy headed to his bedroom down the hall, Jillian led Mac downstairs. “Thanks so much for solving another dilemma for me. I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
They continued to the living room, their weight creating an occasional creak on the wooden steps. Once at the bottom landing, she wasn’t quite sure which way to turn or what to say.
Mac had already declined coffee, and she feared, with her luck, something else would go on the blink before the night was over. So she walked him to the door, still not quite ready to let him go, but unable to conjure an excuse for him to stay when it was probably in his best interest to leave.
“Well,” he said, “I guess I’d better head home.”
“Thanks again for all you’ve done today.”
“No problem. Thanks for the best tacos I’ve had in a long time.”
“You’re welcome.”
In the lingering silence, their gazes met and locked. Something powerful swirled between them, something heart-spinning and warm.
Memories began to rush Jillian’s mind: their first kiss; the taste of the peppermint-scented toothpaste he used; that musky, mountain-fresh scent that had belonged only to him.
Her heart rate kicked up a notch, and anticipation swept through her. She may have gotten rusty at this sort of thing over the years, but she sensed he was going to kiss her. And if he did, she feared she’d let him.
There were a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t, but each one slipped her mind as quickly as it popped up.
Standing only a heartbeat away from Mac, the past and present blurring together, Jillian was afraid to speak, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell.
Was he just as caught up in it as she was?
Mac had dated his share of women since his breakup with Jillian, and he’d had plenty of hot, lusty kisses to ease his heartbreak. But none of those kisses had ever compared to the sweet innocence of the first one he’d shared with Jillian. Or with the hungry, youthful intensity of those that had followed. And now an opportunity to kiss her again was presenting itself.
The kid he used to be would have been reluctant to step out on a limb like that, but Mac was no longer that same gangly teenager on hormone overdrive who’d had a hopeless crush on the high school valedictorian, the good girl who’d turned the bad boy’s life on end. So he took a chance, lowered his head, and brushed his lips across hers, relishing the breathy intimacy.
He knew he was probably out of line, so he expected her to tense, to balk, to pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissed him back as though she’d been missing him for as long as he’d been missing her.
When her lips parted, his tongue swept into her mouth. The feel of her in his arms, her taste and scent, were better than he’d remembered, and his head swam in a sea of possibility.
But Mac was a realist, not a dreamer. He’d witnessed Megan’s response to her father’s phone call tonight. And he’d been aware of Jillian’s need to speak to her ex in private. Things weren’t the same as they’d once been; he and Jillian were no longer teenagers with their futures lying before them. There were complications now, as well as old baggage.
Mac had always made it a point to avoid dating single mothers for that very reason. There were too many extra hurdles, too many variables to make a man’s life more difficult than it had to be.
Besides, when it came to dealing with kids, Mac was way out of his league. There was no way he was daddy material, so he slowly drew back, breaking their kiss and loosening his hold.
As
he did, Jillian reached for his shoulder to steady herself. The kiss, he realized, had knocked her off balance, which shouldn’t be the least bit surprising. It had unbalanced him, too.
Her cheeks, which had flushed several times throughout their day together, were a rosier shade than ever now. And a red splotch along her neck and throat suggested that she’d been just as swept away by their chemistry as he’d been.
His ego wanted to rise up and pound its chest, yet common sense tamped it down. He and Jillian still couldn’t be any more star-crossed.
So now what?
Mac raked a hand through his hair. “I…uh…don’t know what to say. I hadn’t planned to do that.”
“Neither had I.” Her voice was soft, yet husky.
A rash of excuses lay on his tongue, yet he couldn’t think of one that was entirely accurate, so he let them all remain unsaid. “I’d better call it a night.”
She managed a smile tinged with shyness. Or maybe it was embarrassment; he couldn’t be sure how she was feeling.
“Do you want to borrow the umbrella?” she asked.
Then he’d have to return it, and he wasn’t sure if it was wise to make even that much of a commitment. “Thanks, but I won’t need it.” He glanced at the windowpane, saw no evidence of the heavy rain they’d had earlier. “It’s only drizzling now.”
He turned away and opened the door, letting himself out.
As he walked down the front steps, he knew she stood in the doorway, watching him go. It took all he had not to turn around, but he pressed on. He was nearly to the driveway when he finally heard the click of the door shutting behind him. It was only then that he seemed to falter, but just for a moment.
The winter air was cold and damp, yet he relished the chill and the subsequent shiver that chased his dreams away with a dose of reality.
Now what? he asked himself.
The answer never came.
Silver Bells Page 34
