by Linda Seed
Things started on a light note.
“How was the zoo trip?” Jake asked.
“It was okay,” she told him. “Lucas had a good time.”
“What about Michael?”
Breanna shrugged. “He made a big show of being put out, but by the end, he was having fun, too.”
“Huh. So the angsty thing is an act, then?” Jake asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I think some of it is and some of it’s not. It comes and goes. Like weather.”
“And you’re afraid he can’t handle the thought of his mom dating, I gather.”
Breanna looked down at the path in front of her. A fat, fluffy squirrel scurried through the brush to one side. “He’s going through a rough time.”
“I figured.” He shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked.
“I shouldn’t have left your house that way. I’m sorry if I made you think … well, that I regretted what happened between us.”
They squeezed to one side of the boardwalk to make room for a couple coming the other way. “So you don’t regret it, then?” Jake asked.
“No. I don’t. It was just maybe a little soon, that’s all.”
* * *
It seemed to him that she was making this more complicated than it had to be, but he was open to the idea that he might be wrong. “I won’t pretend to know what it’s like to deal with dating somebody new—and everything that comes with that—when you’re raising kids,” he said. He’d never had kids. You could imagine what it might be like to be responsible for two other lives, but that probably didn’t come close to the reality of it.
Her head tilted downward, she shot a quick, tentative look at him that made his heart speed up a little.
“So … you and your ex never wanted kids?”
“She didn’t. I did.” Just four words, and in those four words lay a world of hurt, of misunderstanding, of conflict and unresolved longing. He could have said so much more, but he figured that was better saved for another time.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well … I figure it’s good we didn’t, considering how things worked out.” If his divorce had felt like surgery without anesthetic, then going through it with kids would have been like trying to remove his own spleen with a mirror and a butter knife.
No thanks.
There was no point in hashing out every nuance, so he said what most needed to be said—the thing he’d really come here to tell her.
“Listen, this thing between us—I don’t want it to end just because you feel like we rushed things. We can slow down if you want. Hell, we can go back to the beginning and start over. This has the potential to be something really good. Let’s try not to screw it up.”
He knew he hadn’t been as eloquent as he’d wanted to be, but that was okay. He got the gist of it out there. He’d said what he thought, and now the rest was up to her.
Jake knew he was on the right track when her expression, which had been serious or even grave before, turned to amusement, her lips quirking up into a half grin.
“ ‘Let’s try not to screw it up?’ Nice speech, Travis.”
“Well, you know, I write my own material,” he said. “But I try to be modest.”
She was smiling, and he felt the warmth of it deep in his chest. He wanted to pull her to him and kiss her, but instead, he reached out for her hand and held it in his.
“So, dating, then?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “The movies, the malt shop, that kind of thing? Maybe at the end I can try for a kiss?”
“I don’t think there’s such a thing as a malt shop anymore. And I don’t know that I want to go back all the way back to the beginning.”
“All right. Maybe I’ll try to feel you up, then. Under the sweater but over the bra. That kind of thing.” The banter—the ease and fun of it—felt good. He didn’t want it to end.
“Something like that,” Breanna agreed, grinning.
He couldn’t wait to get started.
24
Now that they had the ground rules established, Breanna and Jake settled into a regular routine of dating. They went out a couple of times per week, usually on Friday or Saturday night and again once or twice during the week.
There was a good amount of kissing and a little bit of groping, but they’d tabled the matter of sex for now—though neither of them was entirely satisfied with that situation.
Still, for Jake, the whole thing was not at all disagreeable. He liked spending time with her. He liked talking about her day, or his, over a long dinner. He liked holding her hand during a walk on one of Cambria’s forest trails. And he sure as hell liked the kissing and groping. He figured they’d get around to the sex again sometime soon, and when they did, it was going to be better for the wait.
Sure, he was experiencing a certain amount of frustration. But he was tough. He could take it.
In the meantime, he kept working on the Moonstone Beach house, and Breanna kept bringing Michael—and now Lucas, too—over to help.
At first Jake had worried that the construction zone might not be safe for Lucas, who was only eleven. But he figured out safe things the kid could do, stuff he couldn’t mess up but that would make him feel like he was working on his new home.
On a Wednesday afternoon a couple of months into the slowed-down dating, Jake had Lucas sand part of the deck of the main house while he and Michael worked to tear out some old linoleum in an upstairs bathroom.
Downstairs, some of his guys were working on the kitchen, rerouting plumbing so the sink could be put in a different location. Jake wasn’t a plumber, so it was just as well that he wasn’t involved in that.
Jake showed Michael how to score the old linoleum, scrape beneath it to pull it up from the floor, then use a heat gun to remove the adhesive underneath. Because the job involved sharp objects, heat, and, underneath the linoleum, an original wood floor that he was trying to preserve, Jake kept a close eye on the boy for the sake of safety—and so he didn’t gouge the wood with the scraper.
“Look at that,” Jake said with admiration as they pulled up a square of the old flooring to reveal a layer of oak the color of caramel. “Your mom’s gonna love this.”
Michael squinted at the wood in skepticism. “It’s all scuffed up.”
“That’s now,” Jake said. “Before I do my magic.”
“You have floor magic?” The kid’s voice might have sounded a little bit mocking, and Jake thought he saw him roll his eyes.
“Well, not me. But I have guys, and they have magic. Trust me, it’s gonna be great.”
Michael had started this whole thing grumpy and defiant, but he’d been at this a while now, and Jake caught flashes of enthusiasm here and there, when Michael accidentally dropped his act.
“What kind of floor am I going to have in my room?” he asked. It was the first time Michael had inquired about the details of his room.
“Just like this.” Jake pointed to the oak they’d uncovered. “If it’s not too damaged. The crappy old carpet that’s in there now is going to go, obviously. There’s oak underneath, we just have to see what condition it’s in.”
“Could I maybe help you pull up the carpet in there so we can see?”
Jake felt unaccountably pleased that Michael not only cared about his room, but that he also wanted to be a part of working on it. He clapped Michael on the back companionably. “I guess this bathroom can wait. Let’s go take a look. But first, let’s see how your brother’s doing.”
They went outside and checked on the progress of the sanding, and Jake pronounced it superior—which he would have done whether it was or not. In fact, the kid was actually doing a pretty good job. Maybe the boy was up to more real work than Jake had realized.
“Hey, kid. You up for ripping out some crappy carpet?”
Lucas looked up, his face alight as though Jake had offered him a trip to Disneyland. “Really? Can I?”
“Grab a scraper and let’s have at it,” Jake s
aid.
* * *
The floor underneath the carpeting in Michael’s room was pretty much the way Jake had said it would be. Oak the color of brown sugar, showing a good bit of age and wear but still very much salvageable.
He and the boys pulled up a corner, and Jake stood with his hands on his hips, looking at it with satisfaction.
“That’s good quality oak. Boys, it will forever be a mystery to me why someone would cover premium flooring like this with cheap-ass nylon bullshit carpeting.”
It occurred to him, too late, that Breanna might object to him using the words ass and bullshit in front of her impressionable young offspring. But the boys seemed to be looking at him with fresh admiration, so he decided not to backpedal.
“So, why do they?” Michael wanted to know.
Jake shrugged. “Comfort on their feet, I guess. Sound dampening, especially for upstairs rooms. Carpet was probably in fashion at the time.”
“But it’s not now?” Michael was looking at him attentively, and Jake wondered if this irritable teenager could be interested in interior decorating. Anything was possible, he supposed.
“Now, most home buyers would cut off their left arm for original oak floors. Well, probably not an arm. Maybe a finger. Here, let’s get this up the rest of the way.”
* * *
They worked for another hour or so, and Jake was surprised when Breanna showed up at five to pick them up. He’d been so absorbed in the work, and so pleasantly engaged with the boys, that time had passed without him noticing.
By the time she got there, both of the boys were dirty and sweaty, but they were also alight with enthusiasm, talking over each other to tell her what they’d done on the house that day.
“Mom! I helped sand the deck and then I pulled up some crappy carpeting,” Lucas announced.
Jake wondered if Breanna would raise an eyebrow at the use of the word crappy, but she just looked at her son with love and amusement.
“Check out the floor in my room, Mom,” Michael said. “Jake says it’s original oak. It’s gonna be cool.”
“Maybe we can start thinking about how we’re going to decorate the room when it’s done,” Breanna suggested.
“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “I’ve had the same stuff in my room since I was a kid. We haven’t changed, like, anything.”
Jake wondered if Michael didn’t realize that he was still a kid—and then decided that he probably didn’t. That was the problem with adolescence, wasn’t it? The world saw you one way, and you saw yourself another way. The dissonance could be a lot to take.
He was still pondering the rough waters of the teen years when Breanna told the boys to go out and say goodbye to Sam so they could get going.
Once they’d left the room, she lingered behind, looking at him in a way that made the blood redistribute in his body.
She reached up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips.
“Thank you.”
“For what? Not that I’m arguing.”
“For getting them excited about the house. I really want them to love it here. But Michael … I wasn’t sure he was going to come around.” Her eyes were shining with emotion, and he felt the swell of pride that came with pleasing the woman in his life. He wanted to do more of it.
And soon.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Let’s all go out on Friday night. I mean the boys, too. All four of us.”
Something in her eyes dimmed, and she took a step back from him. What had he said wrong? Where was this sudden chill coming from?
“That’s really a nice idea, but …”
“But what? I get the feeling that I said something wrong, but hell if I know what it is.” He ran a hand down her arm to smooth over whatever it was that was bothering her.
“I just … I think it’s best if we keep things between us for a while.”
He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels. “The kids already know me. It’s not like I’m some stranger. I like them. And it seems like they don’t completely hate me, so …”
Breanna took another step back, putting more space between them. “I have to do this in my own time.”
“Do what? Breanna …”
“Mom! Come on!” Michael called to her from out in the yard, where Lucas was wrestling companionably with Sam.
“I’d better go.” She headed toward the door.
“Breanna, hey. Don’t you think—”
“I’d really better go.” She left him standing there feeling like an idiot, like he’d committed some kind of crime by trying to be a part of her life.
25
Breanna broached the subject with her mother that evening while they were cleaning up after dinner. The boys had helped to clear the table, and now they were upstairs doing their homework while Breanna and Sandra loaded the dishwasher, put away leftovers, and scrubbed pots and pans.
“Jake wants to bring the boys on one of our dates,” she said tentatively. She was sure her mother would lecture her about the dangers of bringing children into a new relationship prematurely—and she’d be right to do it.
“About time, I’d say.” Sandra attacked a stainless steel pot with a scrub brush as Breanna gaped at her.
“What? But …”
“Man’s going to get involved with a woman, he ought to figure out whether he wants a part in her family,” Sandra said. “Otherwise, what the hell’s the point?”
“The point?” Breanna said incredulously. “The point? The point is that I’m trying to make sure that whatever’s happening between me and Jake is real before I bring my children into it.”
“You been dating the man awhile now,” Sandra observed. “You don’t have some kind of inkling yet about whether it’s real, well, I’d say it’s time to move on, stop wasting everybody’s time.”
Breanna was used to her mother’s directness. Still, she found herself feeling hurt and surprised.
“I’m not wasting anyone’s time. And … I have an inkling.”
“Do you, now?” Sandra looked at her daughter appraisingly. “Well, that’s interesting. I figure that inkling of yours has to be a positive one, or you’d be done already. So, what’s the holdup in him getting to know your boys?”
“He knows the boys. They’re working with him at the house. They know each other.”
Sandra grunted. “They know him as the guy who’s fixing up the house, I guess. But they don’t know him as their mama’s boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
Sandra faced her daughter with a withering look. “Does the man himself know that? If he doesn’t, I guess you ought to tell him so he’s not throwing away good time and effort on something that’s not going anywhere.”
The conversation was beginning to make Breanna’s head hurt, and she waved her hands, covered in bright yellow rubber gloves, in front of her face in a futile effort to clear away her confusion.
“Let’s take this one point at a time. Yes, it might be going somewhere. No, I’m not wasting anybody’s time. And, okay, he’s probably my boyfriend. But I’m not ready to bring the kids into it.”
Sandra seemed satisfied with the item-by-item rundown. “I guess that’s fair enough. What did the man say when you told him no?”
“He … he looked surprised. And kind of hurt.”
“Hmph.” Sandra’s expression softened, and she looked at her daughter with concern. “Seems to me one of you is moving a little faster’n the other one. You might want to ask yourself why that is.”
Breanna wasn’t sure what her mother was getting at, but she was pretty sure she wouldn’t like it.
“Mom. What are you talking about?”
Sandra shrugged her thin shoulders and went back to scrubbing the pot in her hands. “Maybe he’s rushing things because he’s on the rebound from his divorce.”
“I don’t think that’s—”
“Or.” Sandra interrupted Breanna pointedly. “You’re dragging yo
ur feet because you feel guilty as hell for moving on, like maybe you’re cheating on Brian.”
Breanna didn’t say anything, but the way she stood frozen, her jaw a little slack, told Sandra she’d hit the center of the bull’s eye.
“It’s something to think about,” Sandra said. “Hmph. Your uncle Redmond kept his distance from the love of his life because he wanted to be careful, make sure he wasn’t hurting anybody. Look how it worked out for him.”
* * *
Jake asked himself, not for the first time, whether he was putting all of his eggs in a basket that had a giant hole in the bottom of it. Or maybe the basket was hurtling over the edge of a cliff.
He could deal with the lack of sex. He could deal with going slowly, and with waiting to make their relationship clear to her kids. He didn’t have to get there today. But he had to know that they would get there eventually.
He had to know whether she even wanted that.
On top of all of it, he’d had an offer of a date with an attractive woman who wasn’t Breanna, and he was starting to wonder whether he was an idiot for turning it down.
The woman in question was Mark’s housemate—a dark-eyed hipster chick in her twenties who’d given Jake the eye when he’d picked up Mark for a run to Ted’s a few days before. When Mark had gotten home that night, Kye had asked him to fix her up with Jake—a prospect that had pissed Mark off a little, because he’d had designs on her himself.
Jake had said he wasn’t interested, but now he wondered why the hell he shouldn’t be. Breanna didn’t want to sleep with him, she didn’t want to take their relationship further, and she didn’t want her kids to know they were a couple.
Which, he guessed, they weren’t—not considering all of that.
The night after Breanna had nixed his idea to go out with the boys, he got home, walked Sam, took a shower, and then, in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, a sweating beer in his hand, he plopped down into a chair in his living room and called Mark.
