Third Time's the Charm (2 page)

“How old is this guy?” Liz’s friend, Gemma, asked over the
phone.

“I don’t know. Maybe thirty—same age as us.” Liz exhaled.
“I’m only calling and telling you so that you can tell me to stay away from
him.”

Gemma laughed. “And he’s for sure not married?”

“I said you’re not supposed to encourage me!” Liz groaned.
“Because he was totally sweet, not to mention good-looking, and . . .”

“Has a job?” Gemma teased.

“Yes! But that doesn’t mean anything, at least not anymore.
I’m done dating for the next twelve years.” Liz pulled into the parking lot of
the salon. She was early, so she stopped and leaned back in her seat. One of
her splurges from her last paycheck was getting a Bluetooth. It was a god-send,
especially for important conversations like this.

 After Nick, it took until Paisley was about one year old for
Liz to even look at another man. Well, she’d been looking at Garrett for about
three months—cutting his hair—before she realized that she’d agreed to have
coffee with him after work one day. It had seemed so easy to date him. They’d
gotten to know each other slowly over haircut appointments. They each had a kid
from a previous marriage, and they were equally broke.

Pooling their resources together made total sense at the
same time, until Liz realized that Garrett expected her to be the full-time mom
to his kid, the intermediary with his hellish ex-wife, and the perfect
daughter-in-law to his parents, not to mention the working-woman and the do-it-all
homemaker after work while he gamed with his on-line friends.

She’d muscled through for three years. The worst part of the
divorce was giving up Max, Garrett’s eight-year-old son. He had ADHD, and Liz
felt as though she had a better handle on it than Max’s mother. The kid had
tried Liz’s patience to the hilt, but she’d truly loved Max. However the guilt of
losing Max dissipated somewhat when Liz learned about a year ago that Garrett
had gotten back together with his ex. Weird. And that’s when Liz started dating
David—a total rebound guy.

With the charming David on her mind, Liz renewed her plea to
Gemma. “If I text you ‘911,’ you must call me immediately and be prepared to
talk me out of whatever I’m in the middle of doing or thinking.”

Gemma laughed again. “Sounds like a plan, Liz. If I’m a
minute or two late calling you back during your emergency, just know decent
guys still exist—guys with jobs, guys without a ton of baggage, and guys who
might actually treat you good.”

“Well, until one of those guys walks into my life, I’m not
holding my breath,” Liz grumbled. “I didn’t have much luck at Aliso Creek High,
and I don’t have much luck now.”

A car pulled up to the salon, and Liz recognized Julie
Peterson, a cranky widow who came in each Thursday morning at ten o’clock
sharp. If Liz weren’t there to greet her, Liz’s tip would be cut in half.

“Gotta go, Gem. Thanks a million!” Liz said, then
disconnected. Just as Mrs. Peterson entered the front of the salon, Liz hurried
around to the back entrance. She came through the back room with a smile on her
face and greeted her faithful customer.

Mrs. Peterson took her place at the hair washing station.
“You put too much curl in it last week.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Liz said, her thoughts straying back to
Sloane’s friendliness, efficiency, and his . . . realness. Who would have
thought he had issues with his family?
I guess money doesn’t buy everything.

The phone in her pocket buzzed, but Liz waited until Mrs.
Peterson was under the dryer before checking her messages. Only Gemma and Arie
bothered to text her. Jess, their other “Five” girlfriend from Aliso Creek High,
was lucky to even keep track of a cell phone. And Drew, the only male in their
group, was busy traveling the country shooting photography sessions for
national modeling magazines. Liz was the only one still in the general area of
Aliso Creek.

Hi Liz. It’s Sloane Branden. Got your number from your
file. The pipe was out of stock—you know how picky I am—but it should be in
tomorrow morning. I’ll bring it by then. Sorry you have to listen to dripping
another night.

Liz scrolled to the end of the text, then back to the top
again. First, she had to process that Sloane had texted her, and that he’d gone
to the effort of looking up her number to text her. Then she had to process the
fact that little tingles had started in her stomach.

She was tempted to 911-text Gemma, but then she decided she
wasn’t in any danger. Sloane wasn’t even in the room.
Should I text him
back?
She stared at the screen for a moment until the salon phone rang,
bringing her back to reality. While Josi, the lady at the front desk, answered
the phone, Liz texted:
Thanks for the update. I guess I can’t talk you out
of doing the job yourself. So I’ll see you in the morning.

SEND.

Her heart hammered. She should have just stopped at
update
instead of being so conversational and referring to what they’d talked about
earlier. She slipped the phone into her pocket and walked over to Mrs.
Peterson. The woman had her eyes closed and was probably asleep by the way her
chin was lowered halfway to her chest. It wouldn’t hurt to let the woman have a
short snooze.

Her phone buzzed, and Liz checked it again.

Nice try. It actually works out better this way
.

Did he mean he was going to his family’s dinner after all? She
wondered why he wanted to avoid a family dinner so much. Liz wanted to ask him
what he meant. But as her fingers hovered over her phone, she decided not to
text back. At least for a while. She’d think about it.

Liz was proud of herself. She hadn’t texted Sloane after his
last reply yesterday, and she hadn’t needed to emergency-text Gemma. This
morning, Liz felt very in-control. Paisley woke up grumpy, though, and Liz made
an extra effort to be funny and cajole her out of her sleepy mood.

“Do you want to help me make Mickey Mouse pancakes?”

“No,” Paisley’s little voice came from underneath her
Cinderella comforter. The girl was a Disney lover, and it didn’t help that Liz
was on the sale alert list for Disney.com.

“What about Goofy pancakes? You could help me make his
big
nose.”

Paisley giggled and peeked out from beneath her covers.

Liz pulled the covers down and smoothed the strawberry curls
around her daughter’s face. She was grateful that Paisley took after her in
looks rather than Nick, which of course confirmed to Liz that she was a selfish
person.
I’m working on that.

“Come on, babe. Goofy is waiting for us in the kitchen.”

Paisley scrambled out of bed, her hair matted on top of her
head, making her look like a pixie fairy.

They made pancakes together with a lot of laughter and
plenty of batter splashed onto the stove top. When Liz dropped Paisley off at
the bus stop, only then did her stomach knot. She didn’t know what time Sloane
would show up, and she hadn’t even showered. But if she waited for him to come,
there wouldn’t be enough time to shower before work.

Inside her kitchen, she stared at her cell phone, then broke
down.
What time do you think you’ll be here?

It was several minutes before he replied.
About 30 mins.

Okay.
Liz hurried through her routine and found
herself pulling on one of her better shirts and her favorite non-holey jeans.
Even if she did admit it to herself, she knew she looked good in them.
Why
am I worrying about how I look at nine in the morning?

She ignored the thought of texting-911 to Gemma right away.
Instead, she scrubbed off the pancake batter from the stove. Her quick strokes
matched the rhythm of her pounding heart. When Sloane knocked on the door,
Liz’s heart was in overdrive.

Calm down,
she ordered herself just before opening
the door.

He was leaning against the rail on the opposite side of the
door, typing onto his phone. Before he lifted his gaze, Liz got a good look at
him. Today he had on another tie, but his shirt was a blue-gray. His slacks
were a dark brown, and of course his shoes matched his belt: a sign of a
well-dressed man, or at least one with a good job.

When he lifted his eyes, a warm jolt shot through Liz. His
shirt matched his blue-gray eyes quite perfectly.
Oh no. Not this.
She
smiled and led the way to the kitchen. Sloane was saying something, and Liz
mm-hmmed. She sat at the table while Sloane arranged his tools on the counter
and went to work.

911. Text only!
Liz typed furiously.
He’s in my
kitchen.

Just relax. What’s he wearing?
Gemma responded.

You’re no help at all!

A couple of seconds passed before Gemma texted back.
LOL!
Call me when he leaves.

Maybe.

Liz set her phone on the table just as Sloane turned to look
at her, holding up the new pipe. “Nothing but the best.”

Liz smiled. “Where’d you learn about plumbing?”

“Worked maintenance at an apartment building during high school.
It turned into a landlord position, which helped me through college.” He knelt
down on the floor and shone a flashlight inside the cupboard. “Hey, can you
hold this light?”

Liz knelt next to him, shining the light into the darkness.
She didn’t let it bother her that she was so close to him. He smelled the same
as he did yesterday, a nice, pleasant manly-smell. Except she wasn’t noticing
it today, because then she’d have to text Gemma again and put up with her rebel
friend’s teasing.

“How was the family dinner last night?” she asked.

Sloane leaned back and rested his hands on his knees, then
looked over at her.

Okay, they were really close.

“I made a late appearance,” he said, and his lips quirked.

“Is your family really that bad?” she asked before she could
tell herself not to ask him any more personal questions.

A serious expression crossed his face. It was the first time
Liz had seen him serious.

“How should I say this?” He looked genuinely puzzled. “My
ex-wife and I started Branden Enterprises with her dad’s money. When it became
successful, we paid him back, but about that same time, things were falling
apart between us.” His blue eyes filled with sadness and Liz wanted to reach
out to him. But she barely knew him, and with her heart thudding against her
chest at his nearness, she should really be keeping her distance.

“We stuck our marriage out for a while longer, but we both
knew we were doing it only for the business. When we got divorced, her dad sued
me for interest on the loan.”

Liz nodded since she didn’t know what else to say.

“Twenty percent interest. Even Darci agreed it was
ridiculous, at least in the beginning.” He shook his head; his eyes had a
faraway look in them. “But her father’s lawsuit has held up properties we were
about to close on and develop. My brothers are furious. They’re in business
with me now, and they want me to pay the twenty percent.”

“Wow,” Liz said. “Is the twenty percent worth the future
business you’re losing?”

“If it were that simple, I’d definitely consider it just to
get the guy off my back and break away from Darci’s family for good.” He was
looking at her again, and Liz was struck by a real desire to take his hand.
“But his latest demands include a share in equity.”

“Is Darci still your partner in the company?”

“She never was a partner. She helped with the accounting in
the beginning, but when we started making money, I hired an accountant, and
Darci spent her days at the spa.” His jaw flexed. “Another story.”

“Well,” Liz said, dumbstruck. “I have no advice for you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Thanks for saying that.
It’s nice to be with someone who isn’t going to tell me what to do.”

Liz laughed. She couldn’t help it, even if it was totally
inappropriate at this moment. “I expect your family dinners are full of
unwanted advice?”

“Exactly.” He held her eyes for a moment longer then turned
back to the pipe.

Liz almost sighed out loud. Instead, she held the flashlight
as she watched his arm muscles flex against the effort of installing the new
pipe.

“Do you have any kids?”

“No, thank goodness. Darci would never adjust.”

I’m barely adjusted myself,
Liz thought.

He tightened the final coupling and gathered his tools.
“Thanks for your help.”

“Thank
you
,” Liz said, standing and switching off the
flashlight. “I wish I had some good advice for you, but I have nothing.”

He stood and smiled at her. Liz realized that it was just
the two of them, standing a couple of feet apart—very alone together in the
kitchen. Grease was smudged on his cheek, and Liz’s first impulse was to wipe
it off.

But she kept her hands at her side and said, “You’ve got
some grease on you.”

“Oh, here?” He swiped at his cheek, making it worse.

Liz laughed. “Uh, yes. Let me get a paper towel.” She pulled
one off from the roll on the counter, and then because he was standing there so
patiently as though he were waiting for help, she moved toward him and wiped it
off. “Much better.”

His eyes held hers, a slight smile on his face. “Your
daughter is adorable. Like her mother.”  

“My . . . You know Paisley?”

“I’ve seen her at the jungle gym with the other kids. Had to
patch up her knee once.”

“You’re the
Band-Aid man
?”

He laughed. “Yeah, that’s what the kids call me. They run to
the office for a scraped knee or elbow. I’ve learned to keep all kinds of
Band-Aids on hand.”

“Wow. I can’t believe we haven’t met before,” Liz said.
“Paisley talked about you for a straight week after you fixed her knee. I just
thought you were one of the other kids’ dad.”

“When I came over yesterday, I realized who you were because
. . . Paisley looks like you.” He paused, looking a bit embarrassed. “I’ve seen
you plenty but never really went out of my way to say anything. I probably
should have come over to introduce myself after helping Paisley.”

“It’s all right,” Liz said, watching him. “Thanks for
helping her when she needed it.”

His mouth lifted into a smile. “It really is remarkable how
much she looks like you,” he said.

“I guess it’s better than looking like her drugged-out drummer
father,” she said.

Sloane’s eyebrows lifted, and he leaned against the sink,
arms folded. “Sounds like we both have a history.”

“Don’t I ever,” Liz said, then clamped her mouth shut,
blushing. Did she just say that? “I mean . . . I meant . . . Yeah, I have a
history, which is why I live by myself now.”

“Far away from drummers?”

“And gamers.”

“Gamers?” His face tightened. “Oh you mean like
Call of
Duty
?”

“
Halo,
Grand Theft Auto,
you name it. I mean,
if you like that kind of stuff, that’s totally fine with me.”

Sloane smiled. “It doesn’t sound like you’re fine with it.
But don’t worry, I’m not a gamer.”

“Or a druggie-drummer?” She laughed at herself. It was
better than dying of embarrassment, which she felt about ready to do right now.

“So your ex-husband was a gamer too?”

“My
second
ex-husband,” Liz said in a quiet voice.
She was ready for the look of disbelief on his face. Everyone was surprised
she’d been divorced twice by the age of thirty. “Like I said, I have a
history.”

He shrugged, apparently recovered from his shock. “You
probably have a hard time keeping the men away, so you have to eventually
choose someone.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she tilted her head. “Did you
really just say that to me?”

Sloane chuckled. “I guess I did. I’m not always the most
eloquent person. But . . .” he straightened and grabbed the tool box and old
pipe from the counter, “I’m probably more eloquent than a druggie-drummer and a
gamer.”

He moved past her and walked out of the kitchen. Liz stood
there for a second. What had Sloane just said? What did it mean?

She followed him out to the door, where he turned, his hand
on the knob.

“Life’s tough as a single mom,” Sloane said. “I watched what
my aunt went through—she sacrificed so much.” He paused. “If you need anything
else, feel free to call me anytime.”

Her mouth almost fell open as he pulled open the door and
left. Her mind was still spinning by the time she shut the door and leaned
against it. Catching her breath.