by Kelly Moran
All right. He had a point. Several points. A part of her, a big part, wanted to go for broke just once in her life. Seek a connection and have what had always been lacking. Acceptance. Romantic love. But when he saw her scars or learned that his father had died trying to save her, he’d be hurt and everything would be ripped away.
And she’d be worse off than before.
“Storm misses you.”
Dang it. She laughed and covered her face with her hand.
“Told you not to do that, didn’t I?” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and lowered her arm. “I like looking at you.”
He studied her and swallowed. “We might find out we’re the worst possible couple in the history of ever. At least we can say we gave it a shot. It’s better than not knowing. And we’d prove The Battleaxes weren’t a supernatural deity on matchmaking. I can’t promise you wedding bells and babies. I can’t even promise you a Christmas gift eight months from now.” He ducked his face close to hers, sincerity in his eyes. “I can promise you I’ll try to the best of my capability not to hurt you.”
This was wrong. They were wrong. On all levels, wrong.
Geez, it felt so right, though. How many times had she wished for a man, any man, to say just one of the things Jason had spouted? To look her in the eye and claim he desired her? For someone to even notice her existence?
Why, oh, why did the first guy have to be Jason Burkwell? The obstacles. Mercy, the obstacles.
“Yes.” Sugar snaps, there went her mouth before her brain again.
He straightened suddenly, tilting his head. “Yes to what part?”
“All of it.”
Chapter 11
In front of his stove, Jason squinted in concentration at the small skillet. He had to admit, it was starting to smell good in here. “Okay, now what?”
From his cell on the counter next to him, his mother’s calm voice emitted. “They’re crispy on both sides?”
“Yup.”
“All right. Transfer the breasts to the pan of baked pasta you already prepared. Just set them on top.”
He did as she asked. “Done. And stop saying breasts.”
A musical laugh. “Spoon some sauce onto the breaded breasts and sprinkle the remaining Italian cheese blend you have left over that.” She paused. “Breasts.”
He shook his head, laughing, while he followed her instructions. “There’s just something very wrong about hearing your mama say breasts, even if she’s referring to chicken.” He wiped his hands on a towel. “All set. What now?”
“Put the pan in the oven on three-fifty for about twenty minutes, uncovered. And that’s all there is to it. My chicken parmesan recipe in a nutshell.”
The steps were more like a tote than a nutshell, but whatever. “Thanks, Mama.”
“Any time, baby.” She cleared her throat. Decisively. “You’ve never cooked dinner for a woman before.”
A station full of firefighters, yes. A woman? No. Which was why he figured she’d finally given him her recipe. “Nope. Sure haven’t.”
“She must be special.”
He assessed that theory from every angle in order to properly respond. “Ella is…different. Don’t get your hopes up, though. It’s new and I’m still not interested in long-term.”
Mama made a sound that had him suspecting she knew more than him. “We’ll see.” She sighed. “I’ll let you go. Have fun on your date.”
“I’ll try.” Ella was fun to be around. He doubted effort would be needed. And the fact she was coming to his place took pressure off performing in public. “Thanks for the help. Love you.”
“Love you harder. Oh, by the way…”
He frowned. “Yes?”
“Breasts.” And with that, she promptly disconnected.
Glaring at the ceiling, he grinned and then checked the clock. Ella would be over in about an hour. Just enough time to shower and throw dinner in the oven.
He did a quick kitchen cleanup and headed for the bathroom. After drying off and ignoring the fact that Storm stared at him the entire time he’d showered, he threw on jeans and a gray sweater. The kitten followed him back into the kitchen.
Mew.
“You already ate. This is for me and Ella.” He slid the pan in the oven and eyed the small table.
Mew.
“No, you can’t eat with us. Look, there’s only room for two.” Kind of ironic, that fact. He looked at the furball as she tried to climb his leg. “That’s what landed you here with me, remember? Climbing things you’re not supposed to and getting stuck.”
Mew.
“Yeah, it did work out. That’s not the point.” He reached down and picked her up, setting her on his shoulder since lately it seemed to be her favorite hangout spot. “While you’re here, you can help me set the table.”
He put out two plates, bowls, wineglasses, and silverware sets. There was a scented candle in his living room his mother had bought him, and he wondered if he should light it. Was that too much?
“What do you think, Storm? Candle or no candle?”
Mew.
“You’re right. Probably a good idea. Mood and whatever.”
Mew.
“Don’t be a know-it-all.” He moved the candle from the living room to the kitchenette table and lit the wick. The label said it was Mountain Lodge scented. Smelled like pine and snow to him, but he wasn’t an advertizing guru. “Good enough.”
Mew.
“Glad you agree. I…” A knock came from his door, tentative and quiet. He grinned. “She’s nervous. Wanna bet?”
Mew.
He turned the knob, anticipation cranking in his gut. Ella stood a few feet from the threshold as if ready to run at the first indication of conflict. Her hair was down, she wore a red top that hit her mid-thigh, black jeans that revealed her interstate of leg, and a hesitant smile that said she didn’t know why she’d come.
“Hello, Ella.”
“Hi.” Pause. “You always say my name like you’re revealing a secret that could collapse society.”
He threw his head back and laughed.
The kitten mewed in protest.
“Awwww.” Ella stepped forward and reached up to pet Storm on his shoulder. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve seen all week, and I work with a bunch of five-year-olds, so that’s saying a lot.”
“I assume you mean the furball and not me.”
Her eyes smiled point-three seconds before her lips caught up. “Yes, not that you’re not cute also. You are. Or should I say handsome? Is that more appropriate? I don’t think men like being referred to as cute.”
“Yep.” He glanced at the kitten. “Nervous. Told you.”
Mew.
“Sorry.” Ella wrinkled her nose in a move so adorable, he almost pet her. “If you put food in my mouth, I’ll stop talking for awhile. Not that you have to feed me, I mean. It’s just an idea—”
“Come in, sweetheart. Yes, I plan on feeding you. No, you don’t need to quit talking. I like a woman who can carry a conversation.”
He snapped his trap shut. Since when did he prefer talking to action? True, it would be nice to have actual dialogue with a female that showed a semblance of intelligence or substance beyond flirting, but it had been eons since that had happened. And, really. Blah-blahing was just a precursor. Usually. Right? Right.
Funny, he actually liked talking to her. Sure, he wanted to do other things, many other things, but chatting wasn’t a chore in her presence.
Ella walked past him, bringing her gingerbread scent with her. It sure beat Mountain Lodge.
“It smells good in here.”
At first, he thought she meant the candle. “Made my mama’s chicken parmesan. It should be done.”
“Yum.” She set her purse on an end table. “Do you need help with anything?”
“You could dish the salad while I pull dinner from the oven?” He set the kitten on the floor, walked to the kitchen, and removed a bowl from the fridge. “Ranch or Fre
nch dressing?”
“French, please.” She took the bowl and tongs from him and headed to the table.
He uncorked the wine, watching her. He’d had women in his place before, but there was something intimate about this particular scenario. Perhaps because the only meal he’d shared with a partner had been a quick bite of breakfast the morning after. A bowl of cereal or a toaster pastry. Not cooking dinner, nor having someone in his space helping him prepare said dinner. It was cozy, and he found himself not hating it near as much as he should.
Turning the oven off, he donned mitts and removed the dish to set on top. He turned to snatch a cooling rack when he spotted the envelope of cash he’d left there.
“Here, before I forget.” He held out the envelope. “That’s your money from the auction.”
She blinked at his outstretched hand, then him, and back again. “I told you I didn’t want it.”
“I know, but it still doesn’t feel right to me. They maneuvered you into bidding and we never actually went out.”
Her posture deflated even if her expression offered no indication to what she was thinking. Seconds passed, and she still didn’t take the money.
“I replaced your donation with my own. The charity got their take. Please?”
A shake of her head.
He strode to the entry table and dropped the envelope inside her purse. “There. Done. No argument.”
She offered her back and filled the salad bowls.
“I prefer this kind of evening, anyway,” he said quietly before he realized his lips had moved.
She paused in her task, but didn’t look at him.
“Paying to date someone cheapens it, charity notwithstanding. Being paraded in front of townsfolk as part of the deal is worse.” He scratched his jaw, wondering where in the hell he was going with this admission. “You deserve better than that, than how you were coerced. At least we got to meet because of their antics.” Shit. She was contagious. When she went mute, his brain shut off and his mouth filled in the blanks. “I can sit and look at you, talk to you here, without eavesdroppers or being interrupted. I’d rather have you alone.”
And…damn it. His filter had said adios the moment she’d entered his apartment. Awesome.
Slowly, she faced him. Her gaze swept over his features as if trying to spot the truth amidst his sentences. That’s all she’d find because he, apparently, was incapable of hiding anything from her. He wasn’t a fan of lying or misleading, but sometimes white ones through omission were necessary. Vital, even.
He was so screwed. Up one way and down the other.
“There’s something you should know about me before we continue whatever we’re doing.” She glanced down, her brows wrenching. “Um, it might change things.”
When she met his gaze, hers was so tormented, he had to fight the urge to grab the sudden ache in his chest. If whatever she felt she had to say caused half the distress her expression showed, he was certain he didn’t want to hear it.
“Do you have a terminal disease, are you married, or have you ever slept with Parker?”
She flinched. “Er, no. None of those things. I—”
“Then you don’t need to tell me tonight. Why don’t we save the heavy stuff for later?”
The biting of her lower lip and tilt of her head indicated she was contemplating his idea, but not liking it. “I’d feel better if you knew.”
“All right, then tell me another time. Deal?”
Not letting her reply, he grabbed the plates from behind her, served the chicken and pasta, and walked their plates back to the table. He poured the wine and held her chair out for her by way of invitation.
She cleared her throat and nodded, taking a seat. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.” He sat across from her and cut into his chicken. “I have a question. You grew up in the Ridge before your folks died, right? How is it I don’t remember you from school?” She was a pretty memorable person in his book.
She finished chewing and wiped her mouth, making him wish he were that napkin. “We lived on the northern peak of Redwood Ridge, in that area bordering Oakcrest. Technically, we were in Redwood’s city limits, but Oakcrest’s school system. I was also a year behind you.”
“Gotcha. No wonder.” He took another bite, contemplating his next question and if it was pushing boundaries. He’d been wondering since she’d first brought it up, though. “You mentioned living with your aunt and uncle. Were they…” He paused, carefully choosing his words. “Were they good to you?”
“Oh gosh, yes.” She sipped her wine. “Aunt Yona and Uncle Luis are wonderful. They met the year before my parents did and they actually had a joint wedding. Mom and Aunt Yona were twins. My cousin Gerta is only a few months older than me. We’re more like best friends. After Mom and Dad died, they were incredibly supportive.”
He smiled, more than a little relieved. If not for his mama, he didn’t know how he would’ve gotten through losing his father. But to have both parents taken? He couldn’t fathom. At least her family had stepped up and had given her as normal a life as possible.
“Yona. Unusual name.” He forked a healthy amount of pasta. “What nationality is that?”
“Cherokee. Grandfather was white, but Grandmother was almost one-hundred percent Native. They both passed away a long time ago. Only a couple days apart, too. Aunt Yona says he couldn’t live without her and wanted to follow, so he did.” She wrinkled her nose. Again, and still adorable. “Sorry. Our family is a bunch of romantics. Anyway, my dad was part Hispanic. Thus, my coloring. His father was Mexican and his mother was white. They died before I was born.”
Christ. So all she had were a handful of members left? He didn’t have a big family, either, but gatherings were always nice.
“I wondered about your heritage when we first met.” He winked at her. “Gorgeous hair and skin.” He set his silverware aside, finished. She was still working on hers. “My dad’s side was English with a little Scottish thrown in. Mama’s is Scandinavian and German. Thus, my coloring,” he added, mimicking her line.
She smiled, her eyes warm. “You call her Mama. That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, well, she’s a true southerner at heart.” He scratched the back of his head, suddenly sheepish. Of all things. Him, sheepish? “She’s amazing. I don’t know how she put up with my crap as a kid. I had tons of energy and no direction.”
“Because she loves you. That’s obvious. Seems like she did a great job.” She straightened and must’ve read something in his expression. Her eyes widened and her pretty mouth started its rapid fire. “I mean, I’ll bet it was hard being both a mom and a dad. And while grieving herself. I’m sure it was terribly hard on you also to lose him so young, and she probably understood that better than most people. It takes a lot of strength to keep going instead of falling apart. So, uh. Yes. She obviously loves you and did a great job.”
While she took a vigorous gulp of wine and stared elsewhere as if horrified by her rant, he had to wrangle a series of emotions in order to achieve basic oxygen exchange.
All his life, people had said platitudes and excused his behavior. Poor boy lost his dad at a young age. It’s tragic. No wonder he acts the way he does. But, that he was aware, not many had acknowledged what his mother had gone through and how hard it had been. In theory, yes. Outsiders looking in. Yet they didn’t hear her crying behind her closed bedroom door each night. They didn’t see her set the table for three countless times on autopilot, then recall there were only two places needed. They didn’t have to watch her dazedly stand in front of her husband’s photo on the mantle because that was the only glimpse she got to see of him anymore.
She’d been a pillar of strength. Still was, and Jason had gone off the rails. In a way, he’d never recovered. Thirty years old, and he couldn’t sit idle for long or with one person before the itch to move sunk in its claws. Through all of it, Mama had encouraged, hugged, smiled. Shown up to every ball game and had learned how to play vide
o games. Kissed scraped knees or taught him how to drive. She’d done everything in her power and ability to fill the sudden gaping void where his dad had once been.
And Ella, this lovely woman he barely knew sitting across from him, who’d not met his family or had one of her own yet, had somehow latched onto the bigger picture, the deeper issue, on a level no one else had dared touch. She’d empathized with his mom, understood the loss, and had used simple elegant words to describe what others took for granted.
He swallowed, a hard task considering the rock wedged in his throat, and glanced at her. She’d had her parents stolen from her, too. Not one, but both. Maybe that was the answer to the connection he’d felt with her, the one he’d been trying to find, but had been unable to locate. The sensation he got every time she was in the vicinity or when she’d come to mind.
Loss recognizing loss.
Pain identifying pain.
Emptiness acquainting emptiness.
“I’ve been selfish,” he mumbled, realizing the extent to that truth.
“No.” She shook her head, forehead wrinkling with concern. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know, but I have been selfish.” He wiped his hand down his face. “She always put my needs first.”
“Moms do that. The good ones, anyway. You were just a boy.”
“Doesn’t excuse my actions as an adult.” He met her gaze, and the understanding and sympathy in hers cut. “Yes, I mow her lawn and change her light bulbs. Yes, I call her every day. Yes, my world revolves around her. She’s the most important person in my life. But I still haven’t settled down or grown up. Not in the true sense or the way she’d want.” Sad fact remained, he didn’t see that changing anytime soon.
“Regardless, she loves you the way you are. If she wishes for something else, it’s only for you to be happy, not to alter your personality.” She set her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “Is that why you don’t date? Because you haven’t settled yet or you don’t see yourself as an adult?”
