Kids by Christmas

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “No more than any parent’s.”

  “You’re single, and you’re starting up a business. Most parents have it cushy compared to that.”

  “When you put it that way…I’d be thrilled if you’d help teach Jack to ride a bike.”

  “Good.” He smiled at her. “Now, how’d you like to set the table? Looks like everything is about done.”

  He told her where to find silverware, plates and, when she asked, place mats and napkins. The fact that the table was bare probably gave away the fact that his usual dinner was eaten on a TV tray in the living room or here at the breakfast bar.

  “This is so nice,” she said, sitting down. “I like to cook, but not when I get home from work. I’ve been known to have cereal, or nothing but a bowl of ice cream. Maybe,” she said hopefully, “Sophia will turn out to love to cook.”

  “Be a prize-winning chef by eleven.”

  Another delicious chuckle. “Why not?”

  “We all have our fantasies.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it and blushed.

  Damn. She’d been about to ask what his fantasies were. Right this minute, he couldn’t think of a one that didn’t involve her.

  Pretending he hadn’t noticed, Tom said, “I gotta tell you, Sophia doesn’t strike me as the domestic kind.”

  Looking grateful, Suzanne argued, “I don’t know about that. Did I tell you she’s already learning to knit? She’s almost done with a muffler.”

  “Did you notice your throw out on the couch? It looks good there.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.” She smiled at him, her brown eyes warm and direct.

  If he kissed her, would she ever smile at him like that again? Or would she go back to slipping into her garage to avoid having to talk to him?

  Was it worth the risk to find out?

  He let her turn the conversation to local politics—city councils seemed to brew more controversy and downright nastiness than state or national government, maybe because everyone knew everyone.

  The peach pie was incredible. His pleasure was so evident, Suzanne said, “I’m just going to leave the rest for you.” She didn’t let him argue. “No, really. I have bags and bags of peaches in the freezer. I’ll make another. The kids probably won’t eat it anyway. They’re not so sure they like most of what I put in front of them.”

  “Well, then, thank you.”

  She insisted on helping clear the table and load the dishwasher, and he let her just to prolong her visit and enjoy the sight of her bustling in his kitchen. With her coloring and fine bones, she looked as French as her name suggested. He imagined her behind the counter in a Parisian boulangerie, flour dusting her cheek, her quick smile and laugh delighting the customers.

  “Do you speak French?” he asked.

  She turned, startled, from the sink where she was rinsing plates. “Yes, but not well. Why?”

  “I was just thinking that you really do look French.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze shied momentarily from his, as if she was disconcerted to know that he’d been studying her. “My parents spoke both French and English. We kids learned, but Uncle Miles didn’t speak it, of course, so my aunt Jeanne never did and I forgot every word really quickly after my parents died. I took four years in college, thinking I’d get a chance to visit France, but I never made it.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t,” he said. “Or maybe not, because you might never have come back.”

  “I would have, because of my siblings. I couldn’t have left them behind.” She shook off the shadow that had dimmed her smile. “Now, I could move to Rouen, and they could visit.”

  “Why not?” He wiped the counter and saw with regret that the kitchen was clean. “We’re done. Go home and get a good night’s sleep, Suzanne.”

  She gave a huge yawn, then laughed. “After the wine, I think I need to. Thank you, Tom. This has been such a nice evening.”

  Nice was becoming his least favorite word.

  “You’re welcome.” He walked her to the door. “I’m an early riser. Call me in the morning if you want a ride.”

  She put on her coat but shivered nonetheless the minute he opened the front door. “It is cold, isn’t it?”

  “It is. Be careful if your steps are icy.”

  “I will.” She flipped a hand and was gone before he could debate whether to risk that kiss.

  Despite the cold, he stepped out on his own porch in shirtsleeves and watched until he saw her go safely in her front door.

  “Damn,” he murmured, wishing he’d taken a chance. Afraid of losing her friendship, he’d been a coward. But he might not get many chances to have her alone.

  Her friendship was going to turn into a kind of hell for a man in love with her. Yeah, he was going to have to take that risk.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WHEN HER ALARM WENT OFF the next morning, Suzanne surfaced reluctantly, thought, Oh, I hope Jack didn’t wet his bed last night, then remembered. No children. She was shocked to feel a momentary twinge of relief. But it was momentary. Any parent enjoyed a day off.

  The strain of dealing with Sophia had worn her out more this week than had the everyday necessity of changing Jack’s bed, making breakfast for the kids, planning dinner, organizing them so that they brought enough to keep them entertained all day at the shop—and then getting herself ready for work. Sophia had remained sullen and almost insolent whenever Suzanne asked her to do anything, Jack puzzled at his sister’s mood. And, of course, after three days stuck at the shop, they were getting bored. Carrie’s offer to take them overnight had been a godsend.

  Suzanne thought how lovely it would be to close her eyes for just a tiny bit longer, then stretched and sat up, putting her feet on the floor.

  It wasn’t until she was in the shower that she remembered what Tom had said about the weather forecast. And that made her think about dinner, the things they’d talked about, the way he’d joked about her calling him beefcake, the odd expression on his face when she’d admitted to not seeing him quite the way she used to.

  The other day Carrie had teased her about her gallant suitor, and she’d known she’d been blushing when she’d tried to claim they were just friends.

  She wished she knew whether he was thinking about the possibilities, too. She wished she was better at reading signals from a man.

  If she just weren’t so inexperienced. Josh had been her high-school sweetheart, her college sweetheart, her husband. She’d dated since her divorce, but not successfully. She’d come to the conclusion that she didn’t know how to flirt, didn’t always notice when someone else was, and she was agreeing to have dinner with men she wasn’t attracted to just because they’d asked and she didn’t know how to say no.

  Thirty-two years old and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to tell if a man was interested or not, short of him sweeping her in his arms. Which Tom certainly hadn’t done. Last night, she’d almost hoped…

  Embarrassed at how vividly she imagined him kissing her, she ducked her head under the hot spray. It had been so long since she’d had more than vague fantasies triggered by a romantic movie or book, she hardly knew how to react to the idea of the real thing!

  Finally turning off the shower, stepping out and wrapping her hair in a towel, Suzanne half wished she hadn’t ever thought of Tom that way. She liked having him as a friend. What if he realized she was attracted to him, and he wasn’t to her?

  In the middle of drying herself, she stopped to stare in the mirror. Heaven help her, what if he was? Did she even want to think about having a relationship, never mind actually have one? What about the kids? How would she find the time?

  Maybe, if she didn’t encourage him, she’d never find out if he felt the same. Which was certainly safer. They could go on being friends without awkwardness.

  But Suzanne kept remembering Christmas Day and the way Gary and Rebecca had looked at each other, the intimacy and sexual energy every time Carrie and Mark’s eyes had met. She’d envied them. Sh
e wanted that closeness with someone, the knowledge that she didn’t bear every burden alone. Lately she’d felt that with Tom, without having identified the sweet sense of relief.

  Suzanne put on a bathrobe and slippers and went to the living room. She turned on the television to the picture of what appeared to be a dozen-car pile-up on the freeway.

  “Overpasses are particularly treacherous,” the newscaster was saying. “Seattle city police are asking that commuters be extremely cautious when approaching hills. Roads appear deceptively clear until the motorist brakes.” The TV picture changed to show an SUV sliding inexorably down a steep road in Seattle, finally smashing against a parked car. “State patrol are asking that you stay home if at all possible. Many government offices will be closed today…”

  Suzanne stood for a few minutes, watching the chaos out on the roads with horrified fascination. Early commuters hadn’t heeded yesterday’s warnings, and it appeared that highways were sheet ice.

  Well. She wouldn’t be opening her shop today. Even if the weather warmed up enough for the ice to begin to melt, she couldn’t imagine that anyone would go shopping. And since this was Saturday, that gave her two whole days off.

  “Oh, no! The kids!” she exclaimed aloud. How would she pick them up? Tom had offered, but she couldn’t ask him to go out unless conditions improved a whole lot.

  She’d have to call Carrie. But not yet. Chances were their whole household was still sound asleep.

  She could go back to bed. Suzanne had a seductive image of burrowing back under her covers, closing her eyes, drifting… Oh, yes. Definitely back to bed.

  But she’d call Tom first, to be sure he wasn’t waiting to drive her downtown if she insisted.

  “Hey,” he said, when he answered the phone. “Have you turned on the TV?”

  “Yes. What a mess out there!”

  “Convinced you not to go to work?”

  “Convinced me to go back to bed.”

  He laughed, a low, intimate sound that made her wonder what it would be like to go back to bed with him.

  “You deserve a snooze. Give me a call later and we can figure out how to pick the kids up.”

  Feeling daring, she asked, “What do you plan to do today?”

  “I wish I could finish that headboard, but it’s too cold out in the garage.” Suzanne could all but hear his shrug. “Probably read.”

  “Would you like to come over for lunch later?”

  “After you get up, you mean?” Amusement deepened his voice.

  “I figure by noon, I should have had enough sleep.”

  He laughed. “It’s a deal.”

  She hung up, smiling and able to feel the heat in her cheeks. If she didn’t want to encourage him, she probably shouldn’t have suggested lunch. But it would have been a little strange if they’d both spent solitary days right next door to each other, given that he’d offered to drive her to Seattle later.

  Oh, Lord. She was overanalyzing. An invitation to lunch was not equivalent to an invitation to bed. She hadn’t been self-conscious before, not even last night when he’d suggested dinner. She was just being silly. He probably wasn’t even interested in her. He was a nice man who was a little bit lonely and glad to feel needed. That was all.

  Is that really what you hope? asked an annoying voice in her head.

  “Shut up,” Suzanne told it, and went back to bed.

  When she woke up again at ten-thirty, she felt fantastic. And the experts claimed you couldn’t catch up on sleep. What did they know?

  She got dressed with slightly more care than she might otherwise have, wearing jeans and a coral-colored cotton-and-silk sweater that draped beautifully, then called Carrie’s house.

  Mark answered, saying, “I hope you stayed home today.”

  “I did. I turned on the TV to see how bad it is. How are the kids?”

  “They’re having a great time, Suzanne. It should warm up this afternoon, if you want to pick them up, but they can just as well stay the night.”

  “I miss them.”

  “Want to say hi?” He muffled the phone and called their names.

  A moment later, a small voice said, “Hi.”

  “Jack? How are you? Are you having fun with Michael?”

  “Yeah, but you are coming to get us today, right?”

  “You scared last night?”

  “No-o.” At least, he wasn’t going to admit he’d been. “But I like my new bed.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “I miss you guys.”

  “I miss you, too,” he said, melting her heart.

  “Can I talk to your sister?”

  His voice became more distant. “Here, Soph.”

  “Hello?” his sister said.

  “I hope you haven’t been bored,” Suzanne said.

  “I’m making banana bread with Aunt Carrie.”

  Suzanne felt a funny little squeeze. She couldn’t be mom, but Sophia seemed to have no qualms about accepting an aunt and uncle.

  “Well, good. I’d like to pick you two up today. I wanted to take you shopping tomorrow. It’s our last chance before school starts.”

  “Oh. Okay.” The tone suggested, if not enthusiasm, at least acquiescence. Or maybe, Suzanne thought wryly, greed.

  “Tom said he’d drive me if the roads are still icy. So tell Aunt Carrie and Uncle Mark that I’ll plan to be there between two and three.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  Hearing dead air, Suzanne made a face and hit End herself. Apparently when a conversation with Sophia was over, it was over.

  She went out to explore her cupboards, eating a banana to hold her until lunch. Realizing she’d have to grocery shop soon, she had a flash of remembrance. Shopping with Tom wasn’t the most romantic outing in the world, but she couldn’t remember enjoying a day more than she had the one with him.

  So? She liked him. It didn’t have to mean more than that.

  And she was putting together an apple cobbler because he appreciated her cooking. Period.

  Well, it would also dress up the otherwise ordinary soup and sandwiches she’d have to feed him.

  He rang the doorbell just after noon and entered with a chilly blast of air.

  “Brr,” she said, shivering. “That doesn’t feel like it’s warming up.”

  “Still icy.” He sniffed. “Something smells good.”

  “Apple cobbler. To make up for the peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich you get for lunch.”

  Tom grinned, making his rough-hewn face handsome. “Happens I like peanut butter and jelly.”

  Hoping her voice didn’t sound breathless, Suzanne led the way to the kitchen. “I was kidding. I do have cold cuts. Unless you prefer peanut butter.”

  They bantered while she dished up split-pea soup and sliced and set out the whole-wheat hazelnut bread she’d bought at the bakery that was only a block from Knit One, Drop In. It sounded, she began to think, an awful lot like flirting. Had he noticed? She sneaked a peak at him, met his eyes and felt her cheeks warm. For Pete’s sake! Thirty-two, and she couldn’t even flirt without blushing.

  She couldn’t remember the last thing he’d said. “I called the kids.”

  “Yeah? They having fun?”

  “Jack said he was, but he likes his own bed. I promised to pick them up around two-thirty. If you think we can, safely.”

  “Sure. The major roads will be sanded.” He began to put together a sandwich as she sat down across the table from him. “We’ll want to get home in plenty of time to avoid the crazy drivers.”

  Suzanne relaxed. He sounded the way he always did. Not as if he’d noticed that she was sounding any different than usual. Probably it was all in her imagination.

  She told him her plans for tomorrow. “I know the malls will be mobbed this weekend, but the kids really need some new clothes before they go back to school.”

  Tom said thoughtfully, “You know, maybe Jack would rather stay with me. He could help put that last coat of paint on his headboard, and
if the weather’s good, we could have a bike-riding lesson.” He raised his brows. “Unless you’d intended to make him try on clothes, too?”

  “I like that.” She pretended to indignation. “Make him try on clothes.”

  There was that incredibly charming, even sexy, smile again. “Well, we are both guys. And, uh, guys don’t usually go much for shopping.”

  “You claimed to enjoy shopping when we went a couple of weeks ago.”

  “That was for materials for a project.”

  “You mean, furniture.”

  “Right. See, that’s different. Clothes…” He shook his head. “When I have to go, I buy two or three of everything that fits, so it lasts me a long time.”

  She laughed. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe it.” He grinned.

  “I’ll have you know, one of my cousins is a clotheshorse. His wife told me she doesn’t like to iron his shirts, because he criticizes how she does it.”

  “To every rule, there’s an exception.” He continued to eat. “Good soup.”

  She laughed again, then took a bite of her sandwich. When she looked up, it was to find him watching her with…well, she couldn’t decide. It was as if he’d just noticed something about her and was trying to fit it in context.

  “What?” she asked.

  He shook his head slightly, as though he was clearing it. “Nothing. I was just thinking that until the last few weeks, I’d never heard you laugh. Not in all the years we’ve lived next to each other.”

  “Never? But…I laugh.”

  His voice was quiet, a little gruff. “Not often enough. You’re…beautiful when you laugh.” His mouth twisted. “Actually, you’re beautiful all the time. But more so when you’re happy.”

  “I…thank you.” Suddenly shy, she looked down at the sandwich she’d lost interest in. “I’d never heard you laugh, either. It didn’t seem like you ever had anyone over. I don’t think people by themselves do laugh.”

  “I embarrassed you. I’m sorry. I’m glad to hear you laugh. That’s all.”

  “No.” She risked a glance up. “It was nice of you to say.”

  Tom sounded matter-of-fact, but his eyes were warm. “That you’re beautiful? You must know you are.”