by Susan Fox
She crossed her arms. “I didn’t like how Aaron interfered.”
“By basically saying that we shouldn’t date, he made you want to do it?” Luke would be happy about that if he wasn’t feeling so confused right now.
“Kind of. But also . . .” She dropped her head, staring down at her plate with a nibbled slice of pizza on it. “This is hard to say without sounding . . .”
“Just say it.”
Her head lifted and she shot him a glance. “You’re not my type, yet tonight I’m feeling kind of, well, attracted to you.”
Yes! He managed to restrain himself from doing a fist pump. The thing he couldn’t control was the swell of hot blood to his groin. But he had to be rational, and so he reflected for a moment.
Though her past shocked him, her honesty in sharing it impressed him. She and Aaron had done their best to cope with horrific circumstances, and Miranda was no longer that person. She knew she had issues and she was working on them. So, though she wasn’t perfect, who was he to judge? The important thing was, he was coming to believe that she was trustworthy.
“Luke?”
He smiled and said, “I’m attracted to you, too. So, what are we going to do about it?”
Her return smile was an uncertain one. “I don’t know. This is new for me. Spending time with a guy and our kids.”
When they’d first met, she had said she wasn’t dating. “You haven’t dated anyone since you had Ariana?”
She snorted. “Oh, I did. Most memorably a chef named Emile. But a couple of other guys as well. Ariana wasn’t part of any of that. There was a great older lady who lived down the hall. Mrs. Sharma. She’s a grandmother, and she looked after Ariana when I went out.” A smile flickered. “Every kid should have a grandma like Mrs. Sharma.”
“You dated guys and didn’t want them to meet your daughter?” That seemed inconceivable to him.
“Yeah. And they didn’t show any particular interest. Which should’ve told me something, right?”
“Seems to me it should have told you everything you needed to know. Sorry if that sounds judgmental, but . . . You’re a mother, Miranda.”
“Gee, I keep forgetting that,” she said sarcastically. Then she sighed. “No, sorry, you’re right. But with Emile, I thought I loved him and so I figured things would work out somehow. And no, don’t say it, I’ve already heard it enough times from Aaron. I was stupid. But with the other guys, it was purely casual. I just wanted, once in a while, to do something young and fun. Like go out dancing.” Or have sex, he guessed, but was glad she didn’t say it. “Is that so bad?”
“No, it’s not. Sometimes I leave the boys with my in-laws or a sitter when Forbes’s band is playing at Quail Ridge Community Hall.” On the rare occasions that Julian was in town and playing with the band, Luke always tried to go. But he wasn’t about to bring up the guy Miranda got all fan-girl over. Not tonight, when she’d admitted to being attracted to Luke. “It’s fun to have a beer with friends, dance to some tunes.”
“Who do you dance with?” Her question came so quickly that he wondered if jealousy was stirring.
“Whoever’s there,” he responded. Seeking a reaction, he said, “One of my favorite partners is Jane Nelson.”
“Oh?” She toyed with her half-eaten slice of pizza. “I don’t think I know her.”
“No? I bet she’s been in Blowing Bubbles, since she and her hubby have grandkids and a couple of great-grands.”
“Mrs. Nelson? The eighty-something-year-old?”
“That’s the one. Though it’s hard prying her away from her husband. He may be in a wheelchair but that doesn’t keep him off the dance floor.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
He nodded. “They’ve been married more than sixty years.” Candace and he used to bet that their marriage would outlast the Nelsons’. Good thing they hadn’t put money on it.
“You’ve got that look.”
“Hmm?”
“That sad, reflective one. You’re thinking about your wife. About how things were supposed to go.”
He shrugged.
“If you ever want to talk more about it . . .” Her eyes were soft now, the gentle grayish-blue of autumn woodsmoke.
“I may take you up on that one day.”
She nodded, not pushing. “Want me to nuke the pizza again? Or should we make popcorn and share it with the boys?”
“Popcorn sounds like a good idea.” But there was a concern he had yet to deal with, he realized. Was she, like her mother, too fond of alcohol and drugs? He thought he knew the answer, but he had to be sure. Rising from the table, he picked up the bottle of wine on the counter. “Want another glass?”
“No, thanks. Since Ariana was born, I have a one-drink limit.” She rose too and began to clear the table. “Not that I ever drank a lot, because I don’t want to turn out like Mom.”
“So, no drugs either?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t be offended.
“God, no,” she said vehemently. “That’s just plain crazy.”
“Agreed,” he said, convinced she meant it. Relieved that his fears had been alleviated, he said, “Where do you keep the popcorn?”
“In that cupboard.” She pointed. “Give me a few minutes to get the leftovers packaged and do the dishes.” Deftly she moved around the kitchen. There was no dishwasher and, since she showed no inclination to leave the dishes soaking in the sink, he wielded a dish towel.
It wasn’t until the room was spick-and-span that she put the popcorn in the microwave.
He wondered what the kitchen had looked like in that tiny apartment where her mother had turned tricks and shot up.
When they took two bowls of popcorn and a roll of paper towels into the living room, Ariana was curled up in a ball at one end of the couch, sound asleep, with a blanket tucked around her. The boys were still awake, sprawled on the floor in front of the TV.
“Popcorn!” Brandon cried happily, barely glancing away from Ratatouille to dip into the bowl Luke put in front of him.
Caleb looked at his father. “Is it a good birthday, Daddy?”
“It is, Caleb.” He tousled his son’s longish locks. “A very good one.”
Miranda had seated herself on the couch beside her sleeping daughter. When he went to sit on Miranda’s other side, she glared at him. “It’s your birthday?”
“Yeah. Twenty-ninth. Only a year until the big three-oh.”
“You accepted my dinner invitation and didn’t tell me it was your birthday?” She sounded outraged, but he wasn’t sure why.
“The boys and I were supposed to go to Mom and Forbes’s, like every year. But he called yesterday to say she had a nasty cold and wasn’t up to it. So I was feeling sorry for myself, having to cook dinner on my birthday, and you phoned and saved me. Which was a great present, by the way.”
“I would’ve at least made cake,” she grumbled.
“Cake!” Brandon almost yelled. Luke hadn’t realized the boys were listening.
“Sorry, Brandon,” Miranda said. “There’s no cake tonight. It’s your daddy’s fault.”
The conversation, or maybe just the word cake, woke Ariana. She stirred and knuckled her eyes. “Mommy?”
“Hi, sweetie. Want some popcorn?” Miranda balanced the bowl on her lap. She fed a few puffy kernels to her daughter, who soon drifted back to sleep.
The next time she dipped into the bowl, Luke did, too, letting his hand brush hers as if by accident. Neither of them spoke.
The time for personal conversation had passed, and there’d be no opportunity for anything any more physically intimate than hand-brushing, but Luke didn’t mind. It had been a terrific birthday. He’d learned that Miranda didn’t have her mother’s addict tendencies and, though she’d made some mistakes in her life, who hadn’t? She was trying hard, she was responsible, and she was a great mom. Those were the things that mattered.
Not to mention, she was attracted to him. Luke grinned, and it wasn’t at the rat’s anti
cs on the screen.
Chapter Eight
The morning after the pizza and popcorn night, Miranda drove into Blue Moon Harbor, the windshield wipers flicking like a metronome against a steady drizzle. She was working today, but going to the village half an hour early. Dreamspinner bookstore opened before Blowing Bubbles, and Iris Yakimura had emailed last night to tell her about a sale on kids’ books.
The radio was on but she paid scant attention to the morning chatter and songs. Her brain kept mulling over Luke’s dinner invitation—the one she’d told him she needed to think about—and replaying memories from last night.
She couldn’t believe he’d come for the evening and never told her it was his birthday. She’d felt blindsided when Caleb mentioned it.
She also couldn’t believe the way she’d opened up to Luke. Her mom and her past were painful subjects, ones she tried to not think about. Ones she’d never shared with anyone except Aaron, who’d lived through all of it, too.
She couldn’t believe that she’d told Luke she was attracted to him. Actually, she had trouble believing she was attracted. His stepbrother, yeah. She’d always had the hots for Julian Blake. He was her type. Luke wasn’t. Except she was changing. Now that she had Ariana, her life had a different focus. She had new priorities, centered around the precious girl behind her who was, at the moment, contentedly babbling in what might have been a conversation with her fairy friends or might have been a commentary on the radio program or the passing scenery.
They were driving past a small farm now, where a couple dozen sheep dotted a green field, their woolly coats making them oblivious to the rain. Near the fence by the road, pale pink blossoms unfurled on an early flowering tree. They didn’t seem discouraged by the rain either. Across the road, on a wooded stretch of property, a deer emerged from the trees. “Deer,” Miranda told her daughter, slowing the car. She was ready to brake if it leaped out on the road, but it simply stood watching as she drove by.
Miranda returned to her musings. Used to be, when she fell for a guy, she kind of gave herself over to him. Oh, not her financial independence or stuff like that; her pride and feminism wouldn’t allow it. But the men who attracted her were so passionate about their pursuits—music, acting, cooking, whatever—that she loved riding the wave of that passion. Being drawn into their new, exciting worlds.
Now it was sinking in that, if she was ever going to be serious about a man again, he would have to fit into her and Ariana’s world. He’d have to love her daughter, be good to her, make time for her.
Luke would do that.
Was that at the root of her attraction to him? The notion that he might be a good father to her little girl? Was she daddy-shopping?
If so, she needed to be sensible about her choice. For once in her life, as Aaron would say. Luke seemed perfect in many ways, but he had baggage. She’d seen shadows cross his face when he thought of Candace. He’d been with one woman, only one woman. His soul mate. How could another woman ever compete with that, much less a flawed one like Miranda? Besides, he had two boys. Looking after one two-year-old girl was a daily challenge. Miranda might be studying to be an early childhood educator, but how could she possibly think she’d be able to be mom to boisterous Brandon and reflective Caleb?
Arriving in town, she parked in the free lot and extracted Ariana from her car seat, pulling up and securing the hood of her daughter’s pink coat. The rain was really coming down now, and it was windy here by the harbor. She struggled against a gust as she raised the big umbrella to shelter the two of them and, hand in hand, they made their way down Driftwood Road, the main street.
As she passed the office of the Destiny Gazette, the door opened and Mr. Newall, the editor, stepped out, opening his own umbrella.
“Good morning,” she greeted him, looking forward to his response.
His thin face serious, he said, “Temperature nine degrees Celsius, two millimeters of rain since midnight, probability of precipitation this morning ninety-five percent. Wind southeast at thirty kilometers per hour, gusting to fifty. Umbrellas are endangered.”
“Thank you,” she said as he strode away, his umbrella raised like a shield in front of a soldier. With anyone else, she’d have told him to have a nice day, but social comments like that didn’t compute in his literal mind.
Grinning at the notion of umbrellas as an endangered species, she tugged Ariana’s hand and they continued on to Dreamspinner. When Miranda had first heard one of Mr. Newall’s weather forecasts, she’d asked Kara if he was a meteorologist. Kara’d said, “No, he’s the editor of the island paper, and has Asperger’s syndrome. He handles the business side and the detail stuff, and his wife and brother handle the people end.”
Destiny Island, Miranda was coming to learn, harbored lots of interesting characters. Iris’s aunt, a fabric artist as well as a bookseller, described the island’s population as a “crazy quilt”: the colors, patterns, and textures shouldn’t have gone together, and yet blended amazingly to create a thing of beauty.
Miranda had also noticed that, though Destiny’s temperate climate did, as with Vancouver, attract a number of transients, homeless people, and addicts, there were more community resources to help them. Here, it was rare to see a homeless person sleeping in a doorway or shooting up in an alley. Of course, Blue Moon Harbor didn’t have many alleys.
Avoiding the coffee shop side of Dreamspinner, where the smells were too enticing for her perennially cash-strapped wallet, she stowed her wet umbrella in a rack by the door of the bookstore side. At this early hour, the coffee shop hummed with business but here in the bookstore, Miranda saw only one customer, deep in conversation with Iris.
As always, Iris was slim and trim, today clad in a tailored, long-sleeved mauve shirt over black pants, with a silk scarf in shades of purple looped around her neck. The scarf, Miranda knew, would be her aunt’s creation, and a work of art. The customer wore an attractive burgundy hijab and a trench coat, and when Miranda saw her face she realized it was Luke’s neighbor, Dr. Shakoor. She wondered if the book in the woman’s hand was on pregnancy.
“Books, Mommy!” Ariana tugged impatiently at her hand.
Iris glanced over and smiled.
Miranda smiled back, and then guided Ariana toward the children’s book section. As they arrived at the back corner of the store where a low table and a few kiddie-sized chairs were surrounded by low bookshelves, Iris caught up with them. “I wondered if you two would be in this morning,” she said.
Two or three years younger than Miranda, she was attractive in a classic, unobtrusive way. She wore no makeup, not even colored lip gloss, yet her beauty shone through in her perfect skin, gorgeous dark brown eyes, and wings of glossy black hair parted in the middle.
Bending down, Iris said, “Miss Ariana. I’m so glad to see you.”
Ariana was no more in the mood for social conventions than Mr. Newall. “Want books!” she demanded.
“A girl with solid priorities,” Iris commented as she rose in a graceful, flowing motion that made Miranda wonder if she did yoga or tai chi. “Here are the books that are on sale.” The bookseller put a few brightly colored board books on the table and got Ariana settled on a chair to browse. “You will be careful with these books,” she said quietly, making it a statement of expectation rather than an order.
“I promise,” Ariana said.
Miranda smiled at Iris. “You have a way with her.” She knew from Eden, who was friends with Iris, that the young woman was single. “Are you planning to have kids?”
“I do hope so,” Iris said softly.
Keeping an eye on her daughter, who was turning the sturdy pages with appropriate respect, she said, “Then I wish you luck. You seem like a sensible woman. You’ll probably do it the right way, with a loving guy to help raise them.”
She gave a wistful smile. “Ah, yes, that’s the dream.”
The dream. There it was again. How many people had that same dream—and for how many did it come t
rue? “Anytime I’ve chased that dream,” Miranda said wryly, “and thought I’d found Mr. Right, he turned out to be a toad.”
“I think you mean Prince Charming, not Mr. Right. And it was a frog, not a toad.”
“What? Oh, right. I remember.” Aaron had read her that story when she was a kid. There was another book to add to the wish list, for when Ariana was a bit older.
The other woman’s expression went serious. “I envy you, Miranda.”
The comment surprised her, because until now Iris, while being efficient and kind, had also been reserved. Venturing a personal comment wasn’t typical of her. Eden said she was shy.
“Seriously?” Miranda said. “What do you envy? My infallible knack for finding frogs?”
“I envy you having the courage to chase the dream, to go after what you want. I could never be so brave.”
“Brave?” Aaron thought she was stupid, the way she flung her heart in the ring. “That’s nice of you to say, Iris.” She studied the woman, so classically lovely with her oval face and long, shiny hair. “I’d guess you haven’t found the right guy yet. When you do, when you truly fall in love, then I bet you’ll find that you’re braver than you think.”
“I’d like to believe that. The romance novels I read give me hope that all things are possible.” And then, as if she’d shared more than she intended, she turned away, hair swinging to hide her face, and knelt by Ariana. “Which book do you like best, little one?”
“This one. This one. This one.” Ariana pointed in turn to three of the half dozen books.
“You can only have one,” Miranda said, hoping the announcement wouldn’t trigger a TTT. “But maybe next time I get paid, we can buy another. Which one is your very favorite?”
Ariana’s bottom lip pooched out as she deliberated, and then she selected one with a birthday cake on the cover. “Cake!”
