Summertime Dream (20 page)

And Mr. Taylor…Wow, the things you didn’t know about people. She’d never remember her high school math classes in the same way again.

They hit the stop light in the center of town. Nothing ventured…”You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.” He flashed her a glance, and then fixed his gaze on the road ahead. “Just thinking. A lot to take in today.”

Silence fell again. The light changed. They drove on, passing the restaurant. The warm, homey lights and people arriving and leaving offered a safe refuge against the looming sticky conversation. He’d drop her off if she asked.

She firmly avoided asking for that easy escape. “I’m sorry, about earlier.”

His brow rumpled tighter. “Do you want to talk about it? Whatever’s worrying you?”

“I got carried away.” Her face heated. “It...you...were wonderful.”

A smile grew on his face. “You were wonderful too. Getting carried away with you is easy.”

“I’m not like that. Normally. But with you...”

“Chemistry.”

“What?”

“We have good chemistry.”

She laughed. “Oh, yes.” Crazy good chemistry. She couldn’t pretend otherwise. But she didn’t want to test the strength of that chemistry. Didn’t want to ruin the pleasure of that chemistry with adding in reality. Only, there was no turning back to before. She had deliberately stepped over a line of no return. Now she was stuck.

Coward. Tell him, now.

I don’t know him well enough to be sure he won’t turn away.

Then you don’t know him well enough to be doing what you were doing with him in the kitchen. You either trust him or you don’t. You were doing just fine until you started to think.

We’ve only known each other ten days. It’s too soon for…for everything.

“It’s normally not so easy for me either,” he said quietly. “With you, it’s...special. I know that sounds like a total line, but for me, it’s true. We have something special together. Something I haven’t had before. I don’t want to ruin this.”

Struck by the concern resonating in his voice, she touched her palm to his thigh.

He dropped his hand away from the steering wheel and twined his fingers in hers with a light squeeze. “My friend, JoAnn, believes in love at first sight. Do you think there’s such a thing?” He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead on the road.

“I’ve never had it happen to me.” Until now. Until she’d looked into his green eyes that first time and something in her had irrevocably changed.

“Me neither. I’ve hit like and hope, but never love.” Another light squeeze and he returned his hand to the steering wheel.

Silence yawned.

Love at first sight. Had that lightning strike of life happened to them? She replayed that moment of first meeting of eyes. Possibly. Definitely a serious case of like, a ton of hope, and something that felt immensely the same, and yet markedly different from the love she’d had for Eddie.

Unfortunately, love called for truth, so she had to tell him all, whether she was afraid or not. Tomorrow, in the light of day. That would be best.

Christopher cleared his throat. “Taylor was something else, wasn’t he? Definitely got me wondering about people and how little we know about them sometimes, even when we think we know them.”

That was so true. Was he fishing for her to tell him? Was he worried he did something wrong, which he hadn’t? She should explain for that reason alone, that the problem wasn’t him, the problem was all her problem.

So suck it up, say it, and get rid of the problem.

“I know what you mean.” She hesitated, her confession lodged in a knot in her throat. Was she ready to trust again? She wanted to. Eddie, oh, Eddie. She definitely hadn’t known him like she’d believed. She’d trusted in loving him and been horribly mistaken. But Christopher was a different man. He felt solid, dependable and they rubbed together so nicely working together on the house.

Thoughtful quiet held for the remainder of the drive, until he turned the car onto her street. “So, tomorrow...” His question faded, loudly leaving her room to say she had other plans.

In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’m still game to help.”

He glanced over, the creased strain in his face easing. “Thanks.”

The lights at her house glowed from the porch and family room.

Christopher parked at the curb. “Looks like someone’s home.” He met her at her side of the car, shutting the door for her as she slung her purse strap over her shoulder.

They paused, not quite meeting eyes as a new awkwardness loomed between them. All her fault. That episode in the kitchen today had irreparably changed their friendship.

She lifted her gaze and studied his face, the serious, craggy contours already dear and familiar. And hunger still filled his eyes. Her pulse pattered. Up to her. She could make this moment an end or open the window to a new beginning.

Margie was never certain who moved first, but as if magnets drew them together, their lips touched, soft and hesitant, seeking balance between sensibility and desire after the earlier emotional turbulence.

Desire trumped sense. The searching kiss ignited, incinerating every last levelheaded thought. She forgot what she needed to tell him, where she was, the hard unyielding car behind her, time—everything but the wild, searing kiss. Submerged in sensation, his strong mouth possessing hers, driving her, daring her. The scratch of his evening beard against her skin. His fierce grip on her hips. The compelling crush and ride of his body against hers, her straining rise in return to meet him and begin again. Their gasps and sweet groans and murmurs. The scents of sweat and desire, fragrant nicotiana, roses, and cut grass.

Little by little, sanity crept back, the deep drowning possession easing to desperate, reluctant presses of lips.

“I need—I need to let you go.” He murmured hoarsely against her ear, unlocking his grip on her hips.

“Yes.” She found the strength to move, and slipped away on shaky legs.

“Margie—” He shook his head. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes.” She burned under his gaze on her every step to the house, and he waited until she’d shut the door before he drove away.

Oh, boy, what a day. She slumped against the door. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would pull herself together and tell him everything.

Penny came running, nails skittering over the wood floor, and skidded up to her in a happy wiggle. She knelt to pet Penny.

“Hi, sweetie,” her mom called out from the family room over the burbling laughter from the television. “I already let Penny out. Have a nice day?”

Nice? No. Crazy, wonderful, intense, worrisome? Absolutely. “Yes. I ate at Christopher’s and then we went over to the Taylors’. Did you know Mr. Taylor had been friends with Christopher’s grandma when they were kids?”

Afraid her kiss-bruised lips and beard-chafed cheeks would give her away, she hung at the family room doorway through her chat with Mom, and then fled upstairs for bed.

Behind Joe’s closed bedroom door, news commentators yapped on the television. He was home early. She sighed. Not a good sign when he watched the news rather than one of the cooking shows. If only she could fix things between him and Stephanie. How did two people who loved each other come to this horrible limbo and not want to fix what went wrong? However, if she tried meddling like he meddled in her life, guaranteed he’d be angry.

The next morning, after another night of tossing and turning over her problems and Joe’s left her tired and bleary, she dilly-dallied over her breakfast, poking vaguely at her story. Judging by her apprehensive jitters, having this third cup of coffee was probably not a bright idea. She would be an adult and tell Christopher about her surgery first thing.

And no kissing.

What about a kiss hello?

Well, even that could be a problem, considering the personal fireworks they kept setting off every time they did kiss.

However, when she arrived, he was on the phone and buried in work in the morning room where he’d cleared space at one end of the dining table for his “office.” He really needed a proper secretary or something to help him field calls. Working on the house was one thing, but he needed to demarcate time for himself away from the job. Even Joe set aside personal time away from work, though not so much lately.

He looked up from the laptop screen, saying, “Yes,” into the phone and waved to her with a smile, before tapping away at the keyboard. “Got it.”

Well, that solved the kiss dilemma and gave her a reprieve on her mission. She waved back and slipped away to tackle more sorting in the parlor.

And yes, she’d rather have had the kiss.

Christopher finally made it off the phone just as she discovered the stash of seriously expired canned peaches, pineapple, and green beans hidden under the parlor couch. He stood in the doorway, thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets. He just shook his head at the neat rows of cans. “I’ve got to run. I have the real estate agent appointment and then I need to hit the hardware store. Do you want to take a break and come along? I expect I should be back here around noon.”

She choked down the desperate urge to beg,
No, wait, please don’t list the house
. Objecting wasn’t her right. “No. I’ll just keep at it here. I want to try to get as much done as possible before taking Penny to the vet for her annual check-up at three.” And drat, she’d lost another opening to talk.

“I’ll bring back some lunch and ice cream.”

“I’ll definitely be here then.” That would probably be the best time to have the talk. Daylight, food, and the table between them. Yes, she could do this. Must.

After he headed out, she carted the first small load of expired cans outside and then detoured to the kitchen for a glass of iced tea. On her way back to the parlor, she paused at the morning room doorway. Aside from the area Christopher had cleared on the table, the room remained the same disaster from when she’d first seen the house, minus the bags of clothing and outright junk.

If he lived here, the morning room would make him a great office. With the kitchen table for casual meals and the formal dining room, there was no need these days for a third dining room. She’d place a large desk where he had a view of the pond and orchard. Books and photos of his fishing trips could fill the built-in cabinets flanking the fireplace instead of the crazy array of porcelain what-nots. Maybe a large soft area rug. The current green drapes were old, but a nice color for a man’s office. There would be room for other furniture for his computer equipment and files, and for two cozy chairs by the fire for when he tired of sitting at the desk. The back porch door offered an easy escape for a short fishing breaks.

An inviting picture. Too bad it was only playing make-believe.

He was only here for twelve more days, but even so, working in this mess couldn’t be good for focus. She’d take the time while he was running his errands to knock the room into some semblance of a clean office for him.

Besides, getting the room into shape before potential buyers showed up could only benefit Christopher’s goal of a quick sale. She’d really like to put the whole first floor into showing shape. The better the individual rooms showed, the better the house might sell to someone who would properly appreciate the old home’s charm.

And, besides, when would she have a chance to play with a house like this again?

Nothing she could do about having fallen in love with Christopher and the house. At least she had this time with both. At least she could have a taste of a dream, for a little while.

Okay. No moping. First things first, transform the morning room into an office. She plugged in her music and set to work to the energetic beat of Lady Antebellum’s “Perfect Day.”

After covering his equipment with a clean sheet to protect everything from disturbed dust, she set to emptying the room. Boxing up a century plus of knickknacks and Reba’s decades of hoarding made the task a challenge, but Margie soon had the room cleared of all but the heavy table. She could almost feel the house sigh in relief. Of course, stashing the morning room junk messed up her progress in the parlor and dining room, but the goal was worth the increased disorder.

Next dusting, vacuuming, and a liberal polishing of wood. She shifted the table into the position she envisioned for a desk, dragged in two overstuffed chairs from the living room and arranged them by the fireplace, and a quick scrounge through the house netted her two side tables, a couple lamps, and a small cabinet she could carry once the drawers were removed. Dragging the leather desk chair downstairs safely from the library proved the biggest challenge. She worked out wrapping the chair in an old blanket and guiding the awkward burden in a controlled bumping slide down the stairs.

Another foray through the house netted a few masculine knick-knacks, a cut glass decanter and matching glasses, an old-fashioned black telephone, a selection of books, a letter tray and other desk accessories from the library, and two landscape paintings to replace the dreary still lifes of fruit and blowsy blown flowers. As for the fishing rods she pictured handy by the door, the brass umbrella holder should do the trick. One last pass around with the duster, a few more swipes of furniture polish, and the makeover was complete.

Yes! Far from perfect, of course, but the clean room now looked like a man’s office or a den. A glance at the clock showed she still had fifteen minutes to spare before Christopher should be back. Sweaty and dusty, but pleased with herself, she headed to the kitchen to celebrate with a fresh iced tea.

Then she’d sit herself down and plan out ways to start the conversation about her heart.

****

“Hey, Margie? I’m back. Sorry, it all took far longer than I planned.” Christopher peeked into the parlor. No Margie, but a huge new mess filled the room. She’d been busy doing something. What had been the deal with the canned goods under the sofa? Scary that he had such a packrat in his family tree. Not a habit he had, thankfully, thinking of his orderly, spacious apartment.

Her voice drifted from the back of the house. “I’m in your office.”