Romance on Mountain View Road (9 page)

Then what was she so happy about?

“I played poker.”

Poker? Seriously? He wheeled back his chair and stared at her. “You did?”

“Girls can play poker, you know.”

Okay, now that was cool. “What did you play?”

She screwed up her face, trying to remember. “Five-card...um.”

“Stud,” he supplied, and she looked at him blankly. “Draw?”

“That's it. And you'll never guess what we gambled for.”

“Pennies.”

“No.”

“Quarters?”

“Nooo. We gambled for something
way
more valuable than money.”

There was something more valuable than money?

Sex. He flashed on an image of Jillian and him playing strip poker.

“And more fun.”

There was nothing more fun than sex. “Okay,” he said, “I give up. What did you gamble for?”

“Chocolate!” She proferred a little candy dish full of Hershey's Kisses. “I won. Want one?”

“Don't mind if I do,” he said, and helped himself. “So, I never figured you for a cardsharp.”

“Oh, I'm not. My girlfriends and I are just learning. I have a cheat sheet with all the card values, but even with that I'm pretty pathetic. One hand, I forgot what a full house was and folded.”

He chuckled. “You'll learn.”

“I will,” she agreed. “I want to win more chocolate.”

Chocolate, he mused as they got to work. Now there was the way to a woman's heart. Why hadn't he thought of it before?

Chapter Seven

T
he Icicle Falls reunion page was now live. (Go Grizzlies!) And the Facebook page was up, too. Both were getting a lot of traffic and plenty of comments.

“I'll be there,” wrote Feron Prince.

That would be fun, Jonathan thought as he approved the comment on the website. Feron would probably want to demonstrate how he'd stuffed him in that locker back when they were freshmen.

“Me, too,” wrote Heidi Schwartz. “I can hardly wait to show off pictures of my baby.”

Yes, it would be one big weekend of bragging, Jonathan reflected sourly. By now, those in his class who weren't married with children were sure to show up engaged. What would he have to show for fifteen years?

A house and a business, he reminded himself. He could whip out pictures of his house and show them off. And his dog.
This is my girl, Chica.

A comment from Lissa came in. “I can hardly wait to see everyone!”

Him, too? He was someone.

Nothing from Rand yet. Maybe, now that he was married, he wasn't coming, after all. No loss there.

The rest of the football team was attending so they could relive their glory days.

Jonathan posted the picture Linc Jorgensen had sent next to the one of Linc from the yearbook. He'd exchanged a football uniform for a suit and was now a Hollywood mover and shaker with a new reality show in production. It looked like his hairline was receding. This observation only made Jonathan feel mildly better.

He scowled as he looked at the other pictures he was about to upload. A couple of guys on the football team had gotten fat but most of them had kept in shape. This was his competition—jocks with six-packs and impressive jobs.

He considered putting up a picture of himself. He could write “business owner” under it.

But the picture itself was problematic.

He'd have to wait until he got in shape.

He hoped Bruisers gym had a fast-track program.

* * *

Kyle worked straight through lunch so he could leave work early and get to the Sweet Dreams gift shop before it closed at five. Whoever heard of closing a shop at five? Didn't they know people had to work? Of course, most of the people who popped into the gift shop either worked in town or were tourists, so maybe they didn't need to stay open for commuters like Kyle. At least it was a short commute. He'd get there in plenty of time to choose something for Jillian.

He made it with ten minutes to spare. And found Adam there, paying for a gigantic box of chocolates.

“What are you doing here?” Kyle asked. Well, duh. Same thing he was, trying to buy a woman's affections.

“Chelsea loves chocolate,” Adam said. He lowered his voice so Heidi Schwartz, who was ringing up the sale, couldn't hear. “I figure this is like fishing. You've got to use the right bait.”

Kyle nodded. “Good point.”

Adam studied him. “You buying some, too?”

“Can't hurt,” Kyle said.

“What the hell. It's only money,” Adam agreed. He scrawled his name on the charge slip. “Good luck,” he said, then took his candy and left.

“Hi, Kyle,” Heidi greeted him. “What can I get you?”

Kyle looked around at the various displays, suddenly overwhelmed. Should he get fudge? A box of truffles? Dark chocolate? Milk chocolate? “Have you got a box with a bunch of different kinds?”

“Oh, sure,” she said. She walked over to one of the displays and picked up a pink box tied with a gold ribbon. “How about this thirty-six-piece ballotin? It has a nice mix—truffles, salted caramels, a couple of our newest flavor combinations.”

“Okay, sure.”

Heidi rang up the sale. Kyle saw what he'd just spent and swallowed hard. That was more than he'd planned to pay. But you didn't make an impression on a woman by being cheap. And he knew once Jillian got a look at this, he'd definitely make an impression.

“Is this for someone special?” Heidi asked playfully.

Kyle didn't feel like playing. “Just a friend.”

“That's some friend,” she said, handing over the charge slip for him to sign.

“I'm a friendly guy.” He signed and handed it back.

“Are you bringing her to the reunion?”

He pictured himself walking into the Friday-evening cocktail party with Jillian on his arm. He could almost hear the awe in the other men's voices as they said, “Well, will you look at that. Kyle got himself a long-legged hottie. He's short but, man, he's cool.” It was a very pretty picture.

“You are!” Heidi was smiling like she'd discovered some big secret.

“We'll see,” Kyle said, covering his bases.

But he was smiling, too, as he left. He could hardly wait to put this on Jillian's desk tomorrow. Chocolates, followed by lunch out, followed by dinner out, followed by...oh, yeah.

* * *

Bruisers Fitness Center was packed with Icicle Falls residents doing their workouts when Jonathan made his entrance. Over in the corner he saw Blake Preston working out with weights. Next to him was Tilda Morrison with a guy Jonathan didn't know, probably another cop. Joe Coyote was on a cable machine, and one of the local firemen was on a treadmill, listening to his iPod and running nowhere.

Looking around, Jonathan felt the same nervous jitters he'd experienced back in middle school on entering the gym locker room to suit up for P.E. the first time. This was different, though. He wasn't a kid anymore. He was an adult, just another member of the club (as of five minutes ago), coming in to use the equipment.

The woman who'd signed him up for his one-year membership had told him all about their resident trainer, but he'd passed on the offer for the moment. After all, how hard could it be to lift some weights?

He decided to start with the treadmill. He'd never been a treadmill kind of guy, but the thing was computerized, and computers were, after all, his specialty.

He quickly discovered there was a lot more to a treadmill than hopping on and pushing some buttons. Adjusting the speed and the incline, selecting a program, that was easy. Working the program was a different story. He wound up having to lower both the speed and the incline.

He'd been sweating for a simulated mile when his brother-in-law came in. “That thing's kicking your butt,” Neil observed.

Jonathan nodded and kept running, sweat dripping down his face.

“What are you doing here?” Neil asked as if Jonathan could huff and puff and carry on a conversation all at the same time.

“Getting in shape,” Jonathan panted.

Neil nodded. “You haven't been in before. Did you just join?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm about to work out on the weights. If you want I'll spot you.”

“Uh, sure.” Jonathan wasn't sure at all, but he decided he'd better swallow his pride and get some assistance from somebody who knew something.

Ten minutes later Neil was helping him master the free weights, making comments such as, “Not like that. You want to wipe out your back?”

It didn't take long to establish the fact that Jonathan was a wimp, but surprisingly, Neil was cool about it, actually a lot more encouraging than he'd been when eating Juliet's cooking. “It takes time is all.”

Something Jonathan didn't have a lot of. “How long before I'll see any difference?”

Neil shrugged. “I dunno. A couple months, maybe.” He studied Jonathan. “You on a schedule?”

This was where it got embarrassing. Jonathan gave a half shrug. “Just thought I should get in shape.”

Neil nodded. “Good idea.”

He wanted to be more than in shape. He wanted to look like Neil. “I'm thinking maybe I can, uh, bulk up a little.”

“I know what you need for that. Follow me.”

Jonathan followed him, past rows of men and women sweating on various machines, to the front of the gym. Off to one side of the reception area was a section offering products for sale—sweat bands, water bottles, vitamins and some big plastic jars of...

“Protein powder?” Jonathan read. “This stuff is forty bucks.”

“It'll help,” Neil said.

What the heck. Jonathan took a jar.

Neil clapped him on the back. “Good luck, bro. See you around.”

“Yeah, see you,” Jonathan said. He'd be around. A lot.

* * *

Adam pulled up in front of his house to find that at last his wife wasn't barricaded inside. She was out in the yard, weeding the flower beds. It would have been a good sign that she didn't up and run into the house at the sight of the SUV except for the frown. Oh, boy. This wasn't going to be easy.

He got out of the car and started toward her, his heart thudding as hard as it had the day he proposed. That was disconcerting. No, terrifying. For the past seven years he'd felt so comfortable around Chelsea, so relaxed. There was no comfort to be had today.

“What do you want?” she greeted him.

“You.” He stopped in front of her and held out the box of candy.

She looked at it as if he was holding a piece of crap instead of fifty bucks' worth of chocolate. Then she looked at him as if he was an even bigger piece of crap. “You just don't get it, do you?”

His hand tightened on the candy box. What the hell did she want from him? “No, I guess I don't. Jeez, Chels, I bring you flowers and you toss them, candy and you look at it like I'm giving you dog turds.”

She made a disgusted little snort. “In case you forgot, I've been trying to lose ten pounds.”

He had forgotten.

“I don't want bribes, Adam. I want sincerity.”

“I am sincere!”

“No, you're angry,” she said, and went back to pulling weeds. “You've taken me for granted for the past five years of our marriage.”

“I have not.” But he didn't sound any more convincing to his own ears than he did to hers. They both knew the truth.

“Yes,” she said calmly, “you have. You've gone off fishing whenever you felt like it, assuming I wouldn't mind being left alone. You've gotten busy and never let me know you'd be late for dinner. You've even forgotten nights we were supposed to go out.”

“Not always,” he argued. But she was right; he was a shit. He was king of the shits.

“Not always,” she conceded, “but often enough, especially lately. And then to go and forget our anniversary.” The way she looked at him made him want to shrivel up and die. “A woman gets tired of always being in second place.”

He knelt down beside her. “You're not in second place, Chels. You know that. You're the only woman for me.”

“I'm the only woman who would put up with you,” she muttered. She sat back on her heels and regarded him, her expression softening.

She was going to take him back, thank God. He held out the candy again.

That had been the wrong thing to do because her face turned to granite. Oh, yeah. The ten pounds. Uh-oh.

“Back to the bribes.” She shifted away from him and stabbed the earth with her trowel. “I don't want to see you, Adam.”

“Ever? Come on, Chels, you can't just end things like this.”

She kept her back to him. “I don't want to see you until you figure some things out.”

He'd figured some things out. “I have. I don't want to be without you.”

“Well, I don't want to be with you. Not the way you are.”

He felt as if she'd just stabbed him with that trowel. The candy fell from his hand and he stumbled to his feet. The locked door, that had been a punishment. So had the clothes and the flowers on the porch. But
this.
To hear her say she didn't want to be with him.

He forced himself to walk to the car but all the way there he felt like he could barely breathe. A million bees were humming in his ears and he was sure he was going to pass out or have a heart attack. What was happening to him? What was happening to them?

* * *

The evening was almost gone and Jonathan was beginning to hope that maybe Adam had convinced Chelsea to take him back when he heard the crunch of car tires on gravel. He glanced up from his online chess game to see Adam walk through the door looking like a man who'd gone a couple of rounds with the grim reaper. His eyes were red-rimmed and his jaw set in determination. He came over and sat on the couch next to Jonathan, enveloping him in a cloud of alcohol fumes. Someone had paid a visit to the Man Cave.

“How much did you have to drink?” Jonathan asked.

“Not enough,” Adam growled.

Jonathan frowned in disapproval. “You shouldn't have gotten behind the wheel.”

“I didn't. Todd Black gave me a lift.”

Great. That meant Jonathan would have to get up early and run Adam over to the tavern to pick up his car. Jonathan shook his head. “You know, I'm beginning to see why Chelsea kicked you out.”

Adam's brows dipped into an angry
V.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don't think about anybody but yourself. You go and get loaded and somebody has to drive you home. Tomorrow somebody—me!—has to take you to pick up your car. You're a pain in the butt.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Jonathan regretted them. Talk about kicking a guy when he was down.

Adam's face crumpled.

Jonathan watched in horror. Oh, no. Now he was going to cry.

Adam bent over, elbows on his knees, and ran his hands through his hair. “Oh, God, I suck.”

“Hey, man. I'm sorry.”

“No, you're right. I'm a selfish bastard and I deserve what's happening to me. And you, old pal...” He gave Jonathan a slap on the back that almost sent him flying off the couch. “You've been great. I gotta get my life together. You gotta help me, Jon.”

“Me!”

“Help me think of something romantic I can do to show Chels I love her. Find me something in one of those chick books.”

Jonathan was having enough trouble working out his own romantic plan of attack. “How am I supposed to do that? I don't know what your wife likes.”