Truths and Roses

by Inglath Cooper

  And it wouldn’t do to let himself begin to think otherwise.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Will’s Jeep rolled to a stop at the curb in front of Hannah’s just as the grandfather clock in the den chimed six.

  Hannah let the curtain fall and ran to the center of the room. What was she doing peering out the window as if she hadn’t had a visitor in ten years?

  To her Aunt Sarah’s dismay, it had been about that long since anyone of the male persuasion had come to pick her up at this house.

  The doorbell sounded, making her jump.

  She ran a hand across her hair before undoing the latch and pulling the door open. A hesitant smile touched her mouth as she said, “Hi, Will.”

  He stared down at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Hannah. You…” He cleared his throat. “You look nice.”

  She glanced away. “Pretty casual, I guess. I didn’t think we’d be going out anywhere.”

  “It’s…” His voice cracked again. “It’s fine. You look fine.”

  “Well, all right, I’ll get my coat, then. Be right back.” She turned and walked toward the closet, berating herself on the way. This was not a date. And she’d do well to remember it.

  His voice followed her to the closet. “I like you in jeans.”

  She turned around and caught him jerking his gaze upward. Her face flooded with heat. “Thanks. I’m ready,” she said with an uncertain smile as she retraced her steps into the foyer and shrugged into her coat.

  Will stepped forward. “Here, I’ll help.”

  But he was too late, and his hand brushed her arm.

  She bolted for the door and then stood waiting for him to follow her. He stepped forward, and they did a quick little dance trying to get out of one another’s way.

  She murmured an embarrassed, “Um, sorry.”

  He shrugged and moved aside while she locked the door.

  And with the silence surrounding them, they walked toward the Jeep, keeping a respectable amount of sidewalk between them.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  To Hannah’s surprise, dinner was ready to be served when they got to the house.

  She shrugged out of her coat and raised her eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you did this yourself?”

  “If I were smart, I’d probably lie and say yes,” Will said, looking sheepish. “But the truth is, Aunt Fan, my father’s housekeeper, came over and helped out this afternoon. She didn’t think ordering pizza again was such a good idea.”

  “I know Fannie.” Hannah nodded, unsettled by the notion that Will had thought the evening important enough to go to such trouble. “You shouldn’t have done all this.”

  “Are you kidding? I was grateful for an excuse to get one of Aunt Fan’s meals. Why don’t we eat first? I’m hungry. You sit down. I’ll have it on the table in a minute.”

  She took a seat at one end of the table while Will crossed the room to turn on the stereo. Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” filled the room as Will returned to the kitchen and pulled dish after dish from the oven. There was something decidedly intimate about a man serving dinner to a woman. It wasn’t something Hannah had ever experienced. Her cheeks grew warm at the thought. Changing her train of thought, she said, “Fannie must have thought you needed fattening up.”

  “Not me. You. Said you’d dwindled down to the size of a bird last time she saw you.”

  She flushed and looked away. “Hardly.”

  “I’d have to say I agree with her. Don’t you ever eat?”

  “I eat plenty. But I guess the last couple of years haven’t been easy. Sarah, my aunt, has been in a nursing home for a good while now. She’s diabetic. And she developed Alzheimer’s some time ago. It’s been difficult to accept.” Her voice remained even until the last few words.

  He watched her for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry to hear that. I remember Miss Jacobs well. From church.”

  She thought of the way Sarah had looked this past Sunday, intent, before she died, on seeing her niece happy. “It’s not easy to watch someone you love…slip away. Especially not like this.”

  Once he’d laid all the dishes on the table, he sat down and sent her a look of sympathy. “I’m real sorry about that. I always thought a lot of her. If there’s anything I can do…”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that,” she said, her voice faltering.

  As if to break the awkwardness in the air, Will picked up a knife and began carving the baked chicken. “I think we’ve got enough here for ten.”

  “Maybe Fannie thought you’d invited a whole committee.”

  They both smiled then, passing dishes back and forth until both their plates were filled with chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, broccoli, squash casserole and fresh biscuits.

  “You like all these vegetables?” Hannah asked in surprise.

  “I like anything green.”

  “I would have figured you for a steak-and-fries man.”

  He shot her an injured look. “You’re looking at the number-one contender for best cholesterol level on my team.”

  She smiled. “You don’t say?”

  And so the conversation went, tidbits of anything and everything that added up to nothing in most cases, but served as pieces of the puzzle that together made the picture of who and what they had become over the past ten years.

  He liked a bowl of fresh fruit before bed every night, but admitted to a love for Mallo Cups. She didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but professed a manic affinity for popcorn. He hated sitcoms but had been known to sit through the same movie three times in a row. She liked books, the longer and more complicated the better. He worked out up to three hours a day. She wilted at the mere thought.

  “Three hours a day?” she repeated incredulously. They were in the living room now, and he had put on a pot of coffee. The aroma of some Irish blend scented the air.

  He disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a tray bearing two cups of coffee and two candy bars. Mallo Cups, of course.

  “No wonder you exercise so much,” she said.

  He grinned, an unsettling combination of boy and man. “Aaron Tate keeps them in stock for me. That and grape Nehi.”

  Hannah smiled, charmed. “I’ll bet you still save the point cards inside.”

  “Since I was about eight. One of my teammate’s sons collects them. He made me promise when I left L.A. that I’d keep sending them to him.”

  She watched as he unwrapped the candy bar and proceeded to peel back the brown wrapping with the same respect one might pay Beluga caviar. “Don’t you want yours?” he asked a moment later.

  “Not if I expect to keep the seams of these jeans intact. It’s a good thing I don’t eat the way you do, since I’m not the athletic type.”

  “Why do you think you’re not athletic?”

  She shrugged. “I’m just not.”

  “Bet I could prove you wrong on that,” he challenged.

  “I don’t think you’ll get the chance. Unless it’s a contest of bobbing for apples. I used to be very good at that.”

  From there, the conversation turned toward the carnival. Their excitement escalated as they moved from one plan to the next. Candied apples and popcorn balls—they were a must. So were clowns, a magician—kids love magic tricks—and pony rides. Hannah said she was sure Henry Lawson would help out. Volunteers, Will said. They’d need a lot of volunteers.

  A good two hours had passed by the time they finished batting ideas back and forth.

  She flipped through the pages of notes she’d jotted down. “No one could accuse us of lacking inspiration.”

  “Looks like we’ll need a whole army of volunteers. That won’t be a problem. We’ll call in a few favors.”

  “I hope you have a few to call in, then. I don’t. Do you think we can pull this off?” she asked, a note of doubt coloring her voice.

  “I know we can.” Will sat there holding his coffee mug, his expression warm and content. “It’s nice to
see you this excited about something. You look more like the way I remembered you.”

  “But you didn’t remember me,” she accused.

  He looked down at his cup, then back again. “Hannah, I wasn’t expecting to see you, and you were all wrapped up in that scarf and hat and—”

  “—I didn’t look the way I used to,” she finished for him.

  “No. You didn’t,” he said apologetically.

  “You’re right, of course,” she said, thinking of the confrontation she’d had with the mirror that evening. It had been a long time since she’d given herself that kind of scrutinizing— really looked at the woman she had become. “I guess I hadn’t realized how much I’d changed.”

  He stood and moved to reach for her hand, pulling her up from the couch. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “A walk? It’s March.”

  “And we have coats and gloves,” he reasoned. “The cold air will do us good.”

  A few minutes later they were strolling along the shores of Lake Perdue. The night sky was clear overhead, with only a few stars winking in the distance. A half-moon sent a beam of light across the center of the lake.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “It’s beautiful here.”

  “It is, isn’t it? The developer definitely picked the prettiest spot on the lake.”

  They stopped where the peninsula jutted out into the water. A small round gazebo sat there on the tip of the land. Will took her hand and led her up the steps to the wooden bench that looked out over the lake.

  They sat down, and he released her hand almost immediately. Hannah cleared her throat. They were sitting far too close for her peace of mind.

  He stared out at the dark water. His voice rang out in the stillness when he said, “Hannah?”

  She jumped. “Hmm?”

  “What happened between you and Tom Dillon?”

  Tension hung in the air.

  “What do you mean?” she asked after a few moments.

  “Something happened. What was it?”

  She looked away. She’d have taken a dip in the still-freezing waters of Lake Perdue before she’d have told Will. “Nothing happened.”

  “You stopped going out.”

  “That happens to lots of people.”

  “You didn’t date anyone else the rest of the year. Did you like him that much?”

  She closed her eyes for a moment and then said, “My studies were more important than dating.”

  “It wasn’t a broken heart, then?”

  “No. It wasn’t a broken heart.” She swallowed the lump that had settled in her throat.

  “Too bad I didn’t work up the courage to ask you out before he did, then.”

  “Before he—”

  “Yeah,” he interrupted. “But you made it pretty clear that day at school that you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

  She looked down at her lap. And then in a soft voice she said, “I’m sorry about that, Will.”

  He watched her for a second. “Anything we could have talked about?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “No.”

  “We were pretty different, you and I. Still are, I guess,” he said, crossing his arms. “You, the class valedictorian. Me, a dumb jock.”

  “I never thought of you that way.”

  “Even after that chemistry project we worked on together?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not.”

  He let out a short laugh. “I felt like such a fake. I don’t think I understood half of what was going on. You knew what all those signs and numbers meant.”

  She sensed that although the words sounded light-hearted, the admission had not been an easy one. “You did your part. And besides, I never understood how you kept winning award after award for every sport Lake Perdue High had to offer.”

  Will clasped his fingers together and stretched his arms toward the lake. “That’s not the same.”

  “Everyone has different strengths. But you’re truly gifted, Will. Most people aren’t so fortunate.”

  “I guess what it comes down to is that we always want what we don’t have. I envied you all those academic scholarships.”

  “From what I heard you got more offers than I did.”

  “They weren’t the same.”

  “A scholarship is a scholarship.” In light of the conversation she’d had with Jenny just a few weeks ago, Hannah was surprised to find herself defending Will’s chosen path in life. But then, it really never had been about football, had it? She had since come to realize that Will Kincaid had not grown into the man she’d imagined him to be. He was kind and surprisingly modest. Kind and modest, just as she’d thought so many years ago, before—

  She interrupted her train of thought with a quick, “You could have dated anyone in school. All the prettiest cheerleaders. They were crazy about you.”

  He turned to face her, raising one knee on the bench so that it pressed against her thigh. A smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Oh, you think so, do you?”

  “It would’ve been hard to miss it.”

  His eyes found hers. One hand reached to tilt her chin toward him. Hannah’s pulse started beating like a drum, while she marveled at how absolutely beautiful his smile was. She breathed in the scent of him, a hint of Irish coffee mixed with a trace of some cologne she instantly knew she would always associate with him.

  “Hannah?” Will broke the silence.

  “Hmm?” The response came out hoarse and uncertain.

  “Would you mind very much if I kissed you?”

  The question was not what she would have expected from a star athlete who’d dated his fair share of famous women. She found herself searching for a reply. “Kissed me?” she finally asked, the words barely audible.

  He nodded slowly.

  She looked away and began, “Will, I don’t think—”

  “Then don’t. Think.” He lowered his head, and one hand cupped her jaw, turning her mouth to his, while his lips gently grazed hers. The kiss had no more pressure than that of a butterfly lighting on a flower, but for all its delicacy, it sent a jolt of electricity through her like none she’d ever known. And then his mouth found hers once more, his lips firm and warm, knowledgeable in their intent to evoke a response. The sensation was irresistible. It would have been impossible not to want more. And so she let herself sink a little closer against him. Gave herself over to the sweet, sweet sensation of being kissed by this man whom she’d never forgotten. And she remembered that long-ago day when the two of them had kissed just like this by the edge of the lake.

  She jerked back and pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes locked with his in the moonlight. She shivered. And it had nothing to do with the crisp March air.

  He again leaned forward and pulled her to him, encountering no resistance from her.

  His mouth sought hers again, hesitant and questioning.

  Her breath came out in a soft gasp. When he pulled away to look down at her, a multitude of questions bombarded her. Why? How? What if?

  But the questions disappeared beneath the surface of her consciousness when Will reached around to the back of her head and pulled off the rubber band. He rubbed a lock of hair between his fingers. “Every bit as sweet as I remembered.”

  Hannah could only sit there, staring at him, certain that she’d imagined the words he’d just murmured so sincerely.

  They remained that way for several moments while the gentle waves lapped at the shore.

  Finally, somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Will stood, his hand on her elbow as he pulled her up beside him. “I think we’ve given each other enough to think about for one night. Why don’t I take you home?”

  She could only blink and nod, not trusting herself to speak.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  As he remembered.

  The words marched through Hannah’s mind throughout the next day. Three simple words. Creating such complicated questions.

  Had he thought of that
long-ago afternoon by the lake as many times as she had? It seemed impossible.

  And yet the thought tugged at her, even as she shelved books that morning, even as she turned out the light and locked the library door, even now as she wheeled her cart down the aisle of the grocery store.

  It was amazing, really, how one could remember certain things, how the details and nuances of a time long ago stored away in one’s memory could rush back so swiftly. Hannah reached for a roll of paper towels and dropped them into her basket, lost in her own thoughts. Ten years. Ten years and yet so clear.

  Hannah Jacobs had been aware of Will Kincaid’s existence since the first day she set foot in Lake Perdue Elementary School at the age of seven. Will Kincaid was the boy everybody noticed. Parents beamed at him, boys vied to sit beside him, and girls simply gazed at him in silent wonder.

  Hannah was no exception. From the moment she saw him, she knew he was something special. If such an adjective could be used to describe a boy, then she had thought Will Kincaid was beautiful. With a cap of dark blonde, wavy hair, blue eyes that shone with mischief and a curiosity about what went on around him, he was beautiful, just like her father had been.

  Everybody knew that Will had been held back a grade and was a year older than the other kids in the class. That made him all the more popular with his classmates. He’d experienced life’s wonders a few steps ahead of the rest. The first to lose his front teeth, the first to get them back. The first to make the sandlot football league, the first to become captain of the softball team.

  Aside from being the two smartest girls in their grade, Hannah and her best friend, Toby Cannaday, shared a secret fascination for Will Kincaid. Hannah was often in the same classroom as Will. But she admired him from within the confines of her own group, always a little surprised when he smiled at her or asked her a question about their homework assignment. By third grade, he’d established that academic subjects were not his strength. Athletics were. There he excelled. And despite his reluctance to focus on schoolwork, parents still beamed, boys still vied, girls still gazed at him in wonder.