First Crush

by Linda Seed

  “No,” Martina corrected her. “It’s not a win-win. Especially if you still have all of those Troy feelings you had in high school.”

  “I do not have Troy feelings,” Bianca insisted.

  “Because if you still have Troy feelings,” Martina went on as though Bianca hadn’t spoken, “and it isn’t really a date, then you’re going to get hurt again. And I really don’t think any of us is up for a repeat of you crying in your room and blasting Sheryl Crow.”

  “I don’t know,” Sofia said thoughtfully. “Maybe he doesn’t intend it as a date, but he’s single, you’re single.… Even if it doesn’t start out as a thing, it could become a thing.”

  “I don’t want a thing right now,” Bianca said. “I just broke up with Peter. I need to regroup.”

  “That’s why you need to have a thing.” Sofia leaned forward in her seat for emphasis. “You need something to help you put the whole Peter mess behind you.”

  “A palate cleanser,” Benny suggested.

  “Exactly.” Sofia pointed one finger at Benny.

  “Or,” Bianca said, “I could behave like an adult, let some time pass between Peter and whoever I date next, and make sure I’m emotionally ready for something new when that next date comes along.”

  Benny grimaced. “The emotional equivalent of eating kale salad.”

  “I like kale salad,” Martina said.

  “Ugh.” Bianca scrubbed at her face with her hands. “The problem is, I do still have Troy feelings. Maybe. That’s why having dinner with him is a really bad idea.”

  “Aha! I knew it,” Benny said, triumphant.

  “They’re not real feelings,” Bianca went on. “Obviously. I haven’t seen him in, what, eighteen years? It’s just … there’s a flutter.” She pressed her hand to her middle. “I don’t want to feel a flutter, but it’s there.”

  “It could be the peanuts.” Martina picked up the bowl from the center of the table. “God knows where these things have been.”

  “It’s not the peanuts,” Sofia said. “And maybe they are real feelings. You could have dinner with him and find out.”

  The whole conversation was making Bianca uncomfortable. Crying and blasting Sheryl Crow had been the least of it back in high school. Bianca hadn’t just felt sad when Troy had started dating Penny DeLuca—she’d felt crushed. She’d felt as though every good, buoyant thing within her had been scooped out, leaving nothing but a hollow shell of misery and regret.

  She didn’t want to go through that again. And yet … there was the flutter.

  “His son will be there,” she said. “So, how risky could it be?”

  “You’re thinking about it,” Sofia said. “Aren’t you?”

  “I mean … he’s back in town, he’s being friendly … his kid is sick,” Bianca went on. “I don’t want to be rude.…”

  “Oh, boy.” Martina shook her head sadly. “Here we go again. And I don’t even like Sheryl Crow.”

  Bianca called him on Sunday morning and said she’d changed her mind—she would love to have dinner with him and his son.

  After that, she spent the rest of the day second-guessing her decision. She couldn’t seem to decide whether having a meal with TJ Davenport would be neighborly or stupid, casual or momentous, harmless or foolhardy.

  Well, she’d agreed to it now. There was nothing to do but wait and find out.

  11

  TJ had been relieved when Bianca had turned down his invitation. He was man enough to admit that to himself. He’d asked, and then she’d said no, and that was that. When she’d called and told him she’d changed her mind, he’d had to rearrange his thoughts on the matter, reminding himself this was a good thing.

  It was just dinner with an old high school friend, that was all. Not even a friend—an acquaintance. There was no reason it should have him all tied up in knots.

  Except, there were a lot of reasons, when you thought about it.

  He started out thinking about Owen—about how it was important for Bianca to see Owen as a person and not just as a patient. But as he pushed his cart up and down the aisles of the Morro Bay Albertson’s, shopping for the dinner, his thoughts expanded to include so much more.

  For instance, Bianca had liked him in high school. More than liked him, according to pretty much everyone who remembered the two of them back then. Was it possible that she still liked him now?

  She’d blossomed nicely since high school. She’d been somewhat awkward then—as they all had been—but now she was a poised, mature woman with a hell of a lot of appeal.

  It was the eyes, he thought. She had those deep brown doe eyes. And that olive-toned skin.

  “Excuse me? Excuse me!”

  He looked up to realize he was blocking access to the canned tomatoes. A middle-aged woman with dyed blond hair and blue eye shadow right out of the seventies was waiting impatiently for him to move.

  “Oh. Sorry.” He pushed his cart out of the way and tried to focus on what he was doing.

  Would it be so bad if Bianca still had feelings for him? He hadn’t dated anyone since the divorce, and sometimes he got lonely. Having his son and his dog to keep him company was nice, sure, but it wasn’t the same as being in a relationship.

  He missed having someone in his life. Things had been bad with Penny for a while, but he remembered when they weren’t, and he missed it. He didn’t miss Penny—not exactly—but he missed the feeling of being wanted by someone. Of belonging to someone.

  It probably wasn’t ideal for him to start something with Owen’s doctor, but, hell, if things didn’t work out between them, there were other pediatricians in San Luis Obispo County. He was sure Bianca would be professional enough to refer them to someone else should things go awry.

  Nothing’s going awry, because nothing’s going to happen.

  TJ reminded himself that he was jumping the gun by a good three seconds. He didn’t know if Bianca still liked him that way. He didn’t know if he liked her that way. He was spinning a fantasy in his head about something that might never come to pass.

  But still, there were those deep brown, doe eyes.

  Just shop, Davenport. For God’s sake, buy a chicken. You can do that without planning the next five years, can’t you?

  So he bought a chicken. No matter what might go wrong during the dinner, at least he knew how to roast a damned chicken.

  Monday after work, Bianca fussed with her clothes. When you didn’t know whether what you were doing was a date, it was difficult to know how to dress.

  Sexy was out, because A) TJ’s son would be there, and B) that would assume things that were better left unassumed. Professional was an option, but that would send back off vibes if he really was open to something more.

  Something more? Shut up.

  Bianca chided herself for even thinking it. She’d been so humiliated junior year when she’d gotten her hopes up about TJ and he’d started parading around school with someone else.

  She had no desire to get her hopes up again, only to have them dashed.

  Entire lifetimes, epic tragedies, romances, and fantasies were being played out in her mind, and they hadn’t even eaten together yet.

  Clothing, right.

  She opted for casual—a soft sweater, jeans, a pair of boots, with gold hoop earrings dangling from her lobes. She brushed out her hair until it was soft and shiny, then she carefully applied makeup, the eyes just a little smokier than she would have made them for work, the lips just a little redder.

  When she was done, she looked at herself in the mirror.

  “Why am I doing this?” she said aloud to her reflection.

  “Because you need to get laid!” Benny called to her from the next room.

  When Bianca got to TJ’s place, the dog answered the door.

  She’d noticed that the door wasn’t latched all the way, so she’d knocked on the doorjamb when she noticed there wasn’t a bell. The door had opened slowly, with a creak, and Bianca thought at first that no one was
there—until she looked down and saw an old Lab looking up at her, its muzzle sprinkled with gray.

  “Oh. Hello.” Bianca bent down to scratch the dog behind its ears, and the animal leaned against her thigh with a heavy sigh of contentment.

  “TJ?” she called into the house.

  A moment later, he came to the door with an apron—a manly one—tied around his waist. “Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you. I see you’ve met Gary.”

  Bianca looked down at the dog, who was still pressed against her. “Hi, Gary.” She gave his ears another rub. “How are you, boy?”

  “Ancient,” TJ answered for the dog. “But he’s hanging in there.”

  He ushered her into the house, a small Craftsman-style bungalow with a stone fireplace and built-in, dark wood bookshelves. It was a cold February day, and a fire was burning in the hearth.

  One of the nice things about Cambria was the lack of cookie-cutter tract housing. The town was made up of a charming mishmash of historic Victorians, log cabins, modern beach houses, immense estates, tiny cottages in dire need of repair, A-frames with steeply pitched roofs, and other styles too numerous to mention. No two houses were exactly alike.

  TJ’s house had been built with love and with a keen eye for detail. Crown moldings, arched doorways, and detailed woodwork made the space both welcoming and charming.

  “This is lovely.”

  “It’s a rental.” He scratched the back of his neck as though the topic made him uncomfortable. “I wanted to buy a house, but … there was the divorce, and the alimony, and the upheaval of the move. I’m hoping to make a deal to buy this place once things are more settled.”

  Bianca would have thought the subject of divorce, alimony, and money troubles would have been off limits so early on; it seemed to her that most men would have attempted to put up a good front. His candor was disarming.

  “Is Owen home?” Bianca asked.

  TJ nodded. “Yeah, he’s in his room, probably texting his friends in San Jose.”

  “Oh. I imagine the move was hard on him.”

  “Yes and no. He misses his friends and his mom, but he likes Cambria. He wants to learn to surf. Owen!” TJ raised his voice so his son could hear him through the closed door. “Dr. Russo’s here! Come out and say hello.”

  It was clear from the look on Owen’s face when he came out of his room that the idea of having his doctor over for dinner was just slightly less embarrassing than parading down Main Street in a chicken suit. He had that scrawny look some boys had when they hadn’t filled out yet, his limbs not up to the challenge of giving shape to his jeans and T-shirt. His sandy hair had fallen into his eyes, and he swiped it away with one hand.

  “Hey,” he said.

  His skin and eyes looked a little yellow to her, as they had at his office visit. That wasn’t good, and she worried about what the blood tests would show when the results finally came back.

  But this evening was social; she was here as a friend, not as a doctor. She smiled and tried a conversational gambit that she thought might put him at ease.

  “Is Gary your dog?” she asked him.

  He relaxed visibly, and when he smiled, she could see the resemblance to TJ for the first time.

  “He was supposed to be my dog. But he likes Dad better. Don’tcha, Gary?” Gary had wandered over to Owen when he came into the room, and the boy laid his hand on the dog’s back. Gary wagged his tail in a slow, languorous arc.

  “He does not,” TJ protested.

  “Dad, you know he does.” And then, to Bianca: “He didn’t even want a dog, but now Gary sleeps in his bed with him.” Owen made a sound that was either a scoff or a snicker. Maybe both.

  Bianca raised an eyebrow. “He does?”

  TJ shrugged, embarrassed. “Yeah, well … the poor guy’s traumatized from being in the pound. What else could I do?”

  A delicious smell was wafting into the living room from the kitchen. “What are you cooking?” Bianca asked. “It smells great.”

  “Oh, crap, the chicken.” TJ headed for the small kitchen, waving for her to follow. “Come on in, it should be about done.”

  Bianca was impressed with the meal when it was spread out over the kitchen table: roast chicken with lemon and rosemary; roast fingerling potatoes; warm rolls; and a salad of fresh greens and colorful vegetables.

  They had just sat down, and TJ was pouring Bianca a glass of Chardonnay.

  “You’re quite a cook,” she told him.

  Owen made the scoffing sound again. “It’s the only meal he knows how to make. Every time we have anybody over, he makes the exact same thing.”

  Unperturbed, TJ said, “Why mess with a winner? If it’s good, it’s good.”

  Bianca buttered a roll still hot from the oven. “What will you do if you have me over again?”

  “Then you’ll get to see my skills microwaving frozen entrees,” TJ said.

  The idea that there might be a second time—that TJ might invite her into his home for another visit, another meal—made Bianca feel warm and nearly giddy. Clearly, her teen crush hadn’t subsided.

  But the feeling of attraction she still had for him was one thing. She’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected was to feel so comfortable here with him and his son, so at ease.

  They ate and chatted as Gary snored in his dog bed by the fireplace. Bianca could feel the easy affection between TJ and Owen as the two teased each other and bantered back and forth. TJ ribbed Owen about a girl he’d hung out with at a recent school dance; Owen made a joke about how TJ, who’d chaperoned, danced like he was being electrocuted.

  “I’d like to see that,” Bianca said, laughing.

  TJ raised his eyebrows at her. “We should go out sometime, and maybe you will.”

  Owen blushed.

  Bianca didn’t, but the birds that had been fluttering inside her began beating their wings.

  TJ hadn’t planned to ask Bianca out. Certainly not like that, in front of Owen. But the words had come so naturally and easily that he’d barely noticed them until they were out of his mouth.

  He didn’t particularly want to take them back.

  The offer of a date hadn’t been intentional, but still, a lot had gone into it. His loneliness since the divorce—and, hell, since a long time before it. The way it felt to be sitting at his dinner table with a woman again. The effortless way she’d put Owen at ease as soon as she’d arrived. Those dark brown eyes. And something about her spirit—her aura, he might have said, if he believed in that kind of thing. She gave off a feeling of warmth and confidence that appealed to him and made him want more of it.

  So, yeah, he might have asked her differently if he’d thought about it. He might have waited longer, until they knew each other better. But he’d have asked eventually. The more he considered it, the more he knew that was true.

  The way Bianca was looking at him now, he knew she was still attracted to him. He knew that whatever she’d felt for him back in high school was still there in some form.

  He might not have recognized it then, but he did now. So he relaxed and smiled at her and turned on whatever TJ charm he possessed while she absorbed what he’d just said.

  He’d been led to believe—by his mother, at least—that his TJ charm was considerable. Which was why it surprised him when she hesitated, fidgeted with her napkin, and said, “Oh. Well … we’ll see.”

  TJ had spent enough time around women to know that we’ll see didn’t mean yes or even maybe. We’ll see meant we’ll do it when hell freezes over, and maybe not even then.

  Had he misread her attraction to him? No. He was sure he hadn’t. So what did that leave? Professional concerns? Resentment over what happened in high school? Was she involved with someone else?

  Now wasn’t the time to get to the bottom of it, not with Owen sitting there picking at his chicken and trying to pretend he wasn’t listening.

  TJ changed the subject to Owen’s extracurricular activities—band and chess—and they finished the
ir meal making companionable small talk.

  When they’d finished eating, Owen went to his room to start his homework, and Bianca helped TJ clean up. He’d tried to shoo her away, saying that guests shouldn’t have to wash dishes, but she insisted.

  As they worked side by side, TJ putting leftovers in plastic containers and Bianca rinsing plates and stacking them in the dishwasher, he told her what he’d found out about his former mother-in-law.

  “They’re saying it’s alcohol.” He snapped a lid on a container and slid it into the refrigerator. “Which is fair enough, I guess, since Beverly used to drink pretty hard. But she’s been sober for years. Liver disease wouldn’t show up now, would it?”

  Bianca put a dish in the dishwasher, dried her hands on a towel, and put a fist on her hip. “That’s hard to say. It’s possible she’s had alcoholic hepatitis for years without showing symptoms.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” He rubbed his temples as though the idea of it hurt him.

  “My other thought is, they might have misdiagnosed her.”

  He closed the refrigerator and faced her. “Okay. Tell me more about that.”

  “Well. If Owen has liver damage—and I’m not saying he does, without the test results—then that’s unusual. I mean, it could be viral hepatitis, but …”

  “Go on,” he prompted her.

  “I’m just thinking it would be more likely to be something genetic, especially considering his grandmother’s health history.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned his butt against the counter, considering it. “You’re saying Beverly might have a genetic condition that’s been passed down to Owen.”

  “I can’t say that without evidence.”

  “Right. Sure. But you’re thinking it.”

  “I’m thinking it’s worth looking into.”

  TJ walked Bianca to the door feeling encouraged about Owen’s health. If the kid had a genetic disorder, that could be bad news. But at least Bianca had some idea what to look for. At least she wasn’t brushing them off, telling them it was all in their heads. Because TJ knew it wasn’t.