Right Next Door

  “Will you offer me a cup of coffee?” Alex asked instead.

  The man was full of surprises. Just when she was convinced he was about to berate her for behaving like an utter fool, he casually suggested she make coffee. Perhaps he often confronted emotionally insecure women who left him nonsensical messages.

  “Coffee? Of course…come in.” Pleased to have something to occupy her hands, Carol hurried into the kitchen. Once she’d added the grounds to the filter and filled the coffeemaker with water, she turned and leaned against the counter, hoping to look poised. She did an admirable job, if she did say so herself—at least for the first few minutes. After all, she’d spent the last thirteen years on her own. She wasn’t a dimwit, although she’d gone out of her way to give him that impression, and she hadn’t even been trying. That disconcerted her more than anything.

  “No, I don’t understand,” Alex said. He opened her cupboard and took down two ceramic mugs.

  “Understand what?” Carol decided playing dumb might help. It had worked with Bambi, and who was to say it wouldn’t with her? However, she had the distinct notion that if she suggested they try out a hot tub, Alex would be more than willing.

  “I want to know why you won’t have dinner with me.”

  Carol was completely out of her element. She dealt with pregnancy and birth, soon-to-be mothers and terrified fathers, and she did so without a pause. But faced with one handsome single father, she was a worthless mass of frazzled nerves. Fearing her knees might give out on her, she walked over to the table, pulled out a chair and slumped into it. “I didn’t exactly say I wouldn’t go out with you.”

  “Then what did you say?”

  She lowered her gaze, unable to meet his. “That…something came up.”

  “I see.” He twisted the chair around and straddled it. The coffeemaker gurgled behind her. Normally she didn’t even notice it, but now it seemed as loud as the roar of a jet plane.

  “Then we’ll reschedule. Tuesday evening at six?”

  “I…I have a class…I teach a birthing class to expectant parents on Tuesday evenings.” Now that was brilliant! Who else would attend those classes? But it was an honest excuse. “That’s where I’d been when my car broke down in the parking lot of the restaurant where I met you…last Tuesday…remember?”

  “The night I helped you,” Alex reminded her. “As I recall, you claimed you wanted to repay me. Fact is, you insisted on it. You said I’d missed my dinner because of you and that you’d like to make it up to me. At first it was going to be a home-cooked meal, but that was quickly reduced to meeting at a restaurant in separate cars, and now you’re canceling altogether.”

  “I…did appreciate your help.”

  “Is there something about me that bothers you? Do I have bad breath?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Dandruff?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Nothing,” she cried. She couldn’t very well explain that their one meeting had jolted to life a part of her that had lain dormant for years. To say Alex Preston unsettled her was an understatement. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him from the moment he’d dropped her off at the house. Every thought that entered her mind was linked to those few minutes they’d spent alone in his car. She was an adult, a professional, but he made her forget everything—except him. In thinking about it, Carol supposed it was because she’d married so young and been widowed shortly afterward. It was as though she didn’t know how to behave with a man, but that wasn’t entirely true, either. For the past several years, she’d dated numerous times. Nothing serious of course, but friendly outings with “safe” men. One second with Alex, and she’d known instantly that an evening with him could send her secure, tranquil world into a tailspin.

  “Wednesday then?”

  Carol looked warily across the kitchen, wanting to weep with frustration. She might as well be a good sport about it and give in. Alex wasn’t going to let her off the hook without a fuss.

  “All right,” she said, and for emphasis, nodded. “I’ll see you Wednesday evening.”

  “Fine.” Alex stood and twisted the chair back around. “I’ll pick you up at seven.” He sent her one of his smiles and was gone before the coffee finished brewing.

  Once she was alone, Carol placed her hands over her face, feeling the sudden urge to cry. Closing her eyes, however, was a mistake, because the minute she did, her mother’s whispered words, reminding her of how good lovemaking could be, saturated her thoughts. That subject was the last thing Carol wanted to think about, especially when the man she wanted to be making love with was the one who had so recently left her kitchen.

  Abruptly she stood and poured herself a cup of coffee. It didn’t help to realize that her fingers were shaking. What was so terrific about men and sex, anyway? Nothing that she could remember. She’d been initiated in the backseat of a car at eighteen with the boy she was crazy in love with. Or the boy she thought she was in love with. More likely it had been hormones on the rampage for both of them.

  After she’d learned she was pregnant, Carol was never convinced Bruce had truly wanted to marry her. Faced with her hotheaded father and older brother, he’d clearly regarded marriage as the more favorable option.

  In the last of her three years with Bruce, he’d been drunk more than he was sober—abusive more than he was considerate. Lovemaking had become a nightmare for her. Feeling violated and vaguely sick to her stomach, she would curl up afterward and lie awake the rest of the night. Then Bruce had died, and mingled with the grief and horror had been an almost giddy sense of relief.

  “I don’t want a man in my life,” she said forcefully.

  Peter was strolling down the hallway to his room and stuck his head around the doorway. “Did you say something?”

  “Ah…” Carol wanted to swallow her tongue. “Nothing important.”

  “You look nice,” Peter told Carol on Wednesday when she finished with her makeup.

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling at him. Her attitude toward this evening out with Alex had improved now that she’d had time to sort through her confused emotions. Jim’s father was a nice guy, and to be honest, Carol didn’t know what had made her react the way she did on Sunday. She was a mature adult, and there was nothing to fear. It wasn’t as though she was going to fall into bed with the man simply because she was attracted to him. They’d have the dinner she owed him and that would be the end of it.

  But, as much as she would’ve liked to deny it, Alex was special. For the first time since she could remember, she was physically attracted to a man. And what was wrong with that? It only went to prove that she was a normal, healthy woman. In fact, she should be grateful to Alex for helping her realize just how healthy she was.

  “Where’s Mr. Preston taking you?” Peter asked, plopping himself down on the edge of the tub.

  “Actually I’m taking him, and I thought we’d go to Jake’s.” Jake’s was a well-known and well-loved Portland restaurant renowned for its Cajun dishes.

  “You’re taking Mr. Preston to Jake’s?” Peter cried, his voice shrill with envy. “Are you bringing me back anything?”

  “No.” As it was, she was stretching her budget for the meal.

  “But, Mom—Jake’s? You know that’s my favorite restaurant in the whole world.” He made it sound as though he were a global traveler and connoisseur of fine dining.

  “I’ll take you there on your birthday.” The way she had every year since he was ten.

  “But that’s another five months,” Peter grumbled.

  She gave him what she referred to as her “Mother Look,” which generally silenced him.

  “All right, all right,” he muttered. “I’ll eat frozen pot pie for the third time in a week. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I won’t.”

  Peter sighed with feeling. “You go ahead and enjoy your étouffée.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She generally ordered the shrimp d
ish, which was a popular item on the menu.

  Peter continued to study her, his expression revealing mild surprise. “Gee, Mom, don’t you have a heart anymore? I used to be able to get you with guilt, but you hardly bat an eyelash anymore.”

  “Of course I’ve got a heart. Unfortunately I don’t have the wallet to support it.”

  Peter seemed about to speak again, but the doorbell chimed and he rushed out of the tiny bathroom to answer it as though something dire would happen if Alex was kept waiting more than a few seconds.

  Expelling a sigh, Carol surveyed her appearance in the mirror one last time, confident that she looked her best. With a prepared smile on her face, she headed for the living room.

  The instant she appeared, Alex’s gaze rushed to hers. The impact of seeing him again was immediate. It was difficult to take her eyes off him. Instead, she found herself thinking that his build suggested finely honed muscles. He was tall, his shoulders were wide and his chest solid. Carol thought he was incredibly good-looking in his pin-striped suit. His face was weathered from working out of doors, his features bronzed by the sun.

  So much for the best-laid plans, Carol mused, shaking from the inside out. She’d planned this evening down to the smallest detail. They would have dinner, during which Carol would subtly inform him that she wasn’t interested in anything more than a casual friendship, then he’d take her home, and that would be the end of it. Five seconds after she’d walked into the living room, she was thinking about silk sheets and long, slow, heart-melting kisses.

  Her mother was responsible for this. Her outrageous, wonderful mother and the softly murmured Italian words that reminded Carol she was still young and it was time to live and love again. She was alive, all right. From the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, she was alive.

  “Hello, Carol.”

  “Alex.”

  “Mom’s taking you to Jake’s,” Peter muttered, not bothering to hide his envy. “She can’t afford to bring me anything, but that’s okay.”

  “Peter,” she chastised, doubting Alex had heard him.

  “Are you ready?”

  She nodded, taking an additional moment to gather her composure while she reached for her jacket and purse. Glancing at her son, she felt obliged to say, “You know the rules. I’ll call you later.”

  “You don’t need to phone,” he said, making a show of rolling his eyes as if to suggest she was going overboard on this parental thing.

  “We’ll be back early.”

  Alex cupped her elbow as he directed her to the door. “Not too early,” he amended.

  By the time they were outside, Carol had bridled her fears. Her years of medical training contributed to her skill at presenting a calm, composed front. And really, there wasn’t a reason in the world she should panic….

  They talked amicably on the drive into downtown Portland, commenting on such ordinary subjects as the weather, when her car would be fixed and the approach of summer, which they both dreaded because the boys would be constantly underfoot.

  Alex managed to find parking on the street, which was a feat in its own right. He opened her car door and took her hand, which he didn’t release.

  Since Carol had made a reservation, they were immediately seated in a high-backed polished wood booth and greeted by their waiter, who brought them a wine list and recited the specials of the day.

  “Jim tells me you’re buying him a truck,” Carol said conversationally when they’d placed their order.

  “So he’d like to believe.”

  Carol hesitated. “You mean you aren’t?”

  “Not to the best of my knowledge,” Alex admitted, grinning.

  Once more, Carol found herself fascinated by his smile. She found herself wondering how his mouth would feel on hers. As quickly as the thought entered her mind, she discarded it.

  “According to Jim it’s going to be the latest model, red with flames decorating the sidewalls.”

  “The boy likes to dream,” Alex said, leaning back. “If he drives any vehicle during the next two years, it’ll be because he’s impressed me with his grades and his maturity.”

  “Oh, Alex,” Carol said with a sigh, “you don’t know how relieved I am to hear that. For weeks, Peter’s been making me feel as though I’m an abusive mother because I’m not buying him a car—or, better yet, a truck. Time and time again he’s told me that you’re buying one for Jim and how sharing the Ford with me could damage his self-esteem, which might result in long-term counseling.”

  Alex laughed outright. “By the way,” he added, “Jim isn’t Jim anymore, he’s James.”

  “James?”

  “Right. He noticed that his learner’s permit listed his name as James Preston, and he’s insisting everyone call him that. Actually, I think he came up with the idea after I spoke to him about driving and his level of maturity. Apparently, James is more mature-sounding than Jim.”

  “Apparently,” Carol returned, smiling. “Well, at least if Peter does end up having to go to a counselor, he’ll have company.”

  Their wine arrived and they both commented on its delicious flavor and talked about the quality of Walla Walla area wineries.

  Their meal came soon after. The steaming étouffée was placed before her, and she didn’t experience the slightest bit of guilt when she tasted the first bite. It was as delicious as she remembered.

  “Have you been a nurse long?” Alex asked, when their conversation lagged.

  “Eight years. I returned to school after my husband was killed, and nursing was a natural for me. I was forever putting Band-Aids on my dolls and treating everyone from my dog to my tolerant mother.”

  “Next time I have a cold, I’ll know who to call,” Alex teased.

  “Oh, good. And when I’m ready to put the addition on the house, I’ll contact you,” Carol told him.

  They both laughed.

  The evening wasn’t nearly as difficult as Carol had feared. Alex was easy to talk to, and with the boys as common ground, there was never a lack of subject matter. Before Carol was aware of it, it was nearly ten.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, sliding from the booth. “I told Peter I’d check in with him. Excuse me a minute.”

  “Sure,” Alex said, standing himself.

  Carol was in the foyer on her cell, waiting for Peter to answer when she looked over and saw that Alex was using his own cell phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Peter, it’s Mom.”

  “Mom, you said you were going to phone,” he said, sounding offended. “Do you know what time it is? When you say you’re going to phone you usually do. James is worried, too. Where have you guys been?”

  “Jake’s—you knew that.”

  “All this time?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, sweetheart, the evening got away from us.”

  “Uh-huh,” Peter said and paused. “So you like Mr. Preston?”

  Carol hedged. “He’s very nice,” she murmured.

  “Do you think you’ll go out with him again? What did you guys talk about? Just how long does it take to eat dinner, anyway?”

  “Peter, this isn’t the time or place to be having this discussion.”

  “Were there any leftovers?”

  “None.”

  Her son sighed as if he’d actually been counting on her to bring home her untouched dinner—a reward for the supreme sacrifice of having to eat chicken pot pie, which just happened to be one of his favorites.

  “When will you be home? I mean, you don’t have to rush on my account or anything, but you’d never let me stay out this late on a weeknight.”

  “I’ll be back before eleven,” she promised, ignoring his comment about the lateness of the hour. Sometimes Peter forgot who was the adult and who was the child.

  “You do like Mr. Preston, don’t you?” His tone was too smug for comfort.

  “Peter,” she moaned. “I’ll talk to you later.” She was about to replace the receiver when she heard him call her nam
e. “What is it now?” she said sharply, impatiently.

  He hesitated, apparently taken aback by her brusqueness. “Nothing, I just wanted to tell you to wake me up when you get home, all right?”

  “All right,” she said, feeling guilty.

  She met Alex back at their table. “Everything okay at home?” he asked.

  “Couldn’t be better.” There was no need to inform Alex of the inquisition Peter had attempted. “What about Jim—James?”

  “He’s surviving.”

  “I suppose we should think about getting home,” Carol suggested, eager now to leave. The evening had flown by. At some point during dinner, her guard had slipped and she’d begun to enjoy his company. There’d been none of the terrible tension that had plagued her earlier.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Alex said with enough reluctance to alarm her. He’d obviously enjoyed their time as much as she had.

  They had a small disagreement over the check, which Alex refused to let her take. He silenced her protests by reminding her that she owed him a home-cooked meal and he wasn’t accepting any substitutes. After a couple of glasses of wine and a good dinner, Carol was too mellow to put up much of an argument.

  “Just don’t let Peter know,” she said as they walked toward the car. Alex held her hand, and it seemed far too natural, but she didn’t object.

  “Why?”

  “If Peter discovers you paid, he’ll want to know why I didn’t bring anything home for him.”

  Alex grinned as he unlocked his car door and held it open. He rested his hand on the curve of her shoulder. “You will make me that dinner sometime, won’t you?”

  Before she realized what she was doing, Carol found herself nodding. She hadn’t had a chance to compose herself by the time he’d walked around the front of the car and joined her.

  Neither of them spoke on the drive back to her house. Carol’s mind was filled with the things she’d planned to tell him. The things she’d carefully thought out before-hand—about what a nice time she’d had, and how she hoped they’d stay in touch and what a good boy Jim—James—was and how Alex was doing a wonderful job raising him. But the trite, rehearsed words refused to come.