The Chance
Page 6
Author: Robyn Carr
There was a fire ablaze in the hearth, cozy furniture complete with pictures and hangings on the walls, throws on the chair and sectional sofa, a panoramic view of the bay out of the back windows, flowers on the table and wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. Something was simmering on the stove and Laine used an oven mitt to pull something out of the oven.
“Wow?” she asked.
“It’s so...domestic,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, looking around. It was earth tones with splashes of lavender and blue here and there. And there was some red but just some, not much. Welcoming. Warm.
“It’s a home,” she said with a laugh.
“I know, but aren’t you single?”
“I am.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve only seen you out for a run and you said you do computer research. The only girlfriend I’ve had in the past few years was that web designer. I don’t think she knew where the kitchen was. And she was allergic to housework. But she loved her computers.”
Laine took off the oven mitts and grabbed her purse. “If I’m going to live here, it’s going to be comfortable. And I like to cook. Not all the time, but it relaxes me. I’m having company for dinner tonight, but I also do this for myself. What happened to the girlfriend?”
“She dumped me for a computer programmer. I bet they live in squalor and are either thin from starvation or getting fat on take-out.”
He saw a framed picture of Laine with a man—a very good-looking man. They appeared so happy. Then there was a second picture on the sofa table, a picture of two little girls. For a second he felt almost sick. She couldn’t have lost her family! That would be too cruel.
She found her credit card and presented it. “My nieces,” she said. “You don’t seem to be too traumatized. About the computer girl.”
She didn’t explain the man, but that was all right. He swiped the card and presented the screen for her to sign. “We probably weren’t right for each other anyway. The biggest thing we had in common was that we worked a lot.”
“Well, what drew you together? Ever ask yourself that?” She scrawled her name across the small screen.
“A friend. You know—one of those friends who can’t stand to see a single man on the loose and has to do something to hook ’em up. Don’t friends do that to you?”
“No,” she said. “Apparently none of my friends were ever concerned.”
“Never married?” he asked.
She just shook her head. “I haven’t dated that much. I travel a lot in my job.”
“But you do computer work. How do you travel for that?”
“No one likes sending people to training, seminars, leadership workshops or temporary duty to other divisions like the government does. To me, the computer is a tool. I’m no more fascinated by it than that. When I’m not working overtime or on the road, I have other interests. I’ve always liked to cook. It reminds me of my mother, who loved to cook.”
“Wow.”
“You’re getting turned on.” She put her card back in her purse. “You just met a woman who likes to cook and live in clean environs and you’re actually getting turned on.”
“No, I swear...”
“Yes, you are! I think you’d marry me right now if I’d promise to love, honor, vacuum and cook.”
“Seriously, no...”
“It’s because you live in a motel. And probably because none of your friends are trying to fix you up,” she said. “You’re looking for a domestic.”
“Hey, I am not. I’m a good cook, too. Very good. In fact, I’ll be happy to cook for you....” He stopped and rubbed a hand around the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I’d have to borrow your kitchen, however.”
She laughed.
“I’ve been renovating and updating the station. From early in the morning to late at night...”
“You’re welcome to join us tonight, if you like. It’s just my friend Devon, her fiancé, her three-year-old and her friend, Rawley.”
“Thanks, that’s very nice, but I don’t want to intrude.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “I’ll probably run into you at the diner or something. Let me know if the car is unsatisfactory in any way.”
“Can I give you a lift back to the station?”
“Nah, I like the walk. Have a nice evening.”
He walked outside, into the brisk, moist air. He took a deep breath.
Not only had finding a woman been the last thing on his mind, but he also thought it made perfect sense to avoid such attachments in a little town like this, a town where he needed to make a living, needed to be respected by his friends and customers. He really couldn’t risk things like romantic drama. Plus, the only female who really had his attention was Ashley, his seventeen-year-old daughter. And he was making a real effort not to dominate her time—she was a high school senior and had better things to do. Besides, he needed little more than work, peace of mind, a little time with Ashley and an opportunity to watch her complete her growth into a fine young woman.
But then he noticed Laine. And damned if all those resolutions started to grow weak.
* * *
Laine had a very nice dinner with her friends. Spencer brought his son, Austin, a polite and funny ten-year-old. She got the biggest kick out of Rawley, who did very little talking, but was constantly finding things to point out to Mercy. He asked if she wanted her doll to sit at the table with them, prompted her to scrape up red sauce onto her garlic toast, asked if she had drawn any pictures of him lately and wanted to know what movies she’d been watching on her hand-me-down portable DVD player. To the adults, he didn’t have that much to say unless he was asked a direct question.
Two days later she ran into Eric in the diner. True, she thought she might and timed the end of her run specifically for that purpose. And of course he asked about her little dinner party and if her car was running all right. Two days after that she saw him walking into the deli and she decided it was time to get a pint of Carrie’s fabulous crab salad. He asked how her car was running. Two days after that she saw him in the diner again and he asked her what she’d been cooking lately and...how the car was running.
She could tell he liked her. When he saw her, he brightened. His face opened up a little and she got a good view of that wide, white smile. He kind of leaned toward her to talk. He was starting to really piss her off! She was going to have to make the first move.
It had been ten days and five random meetings since he’d delivered her car. Then she ran into him again. She was going home from the diner, he was headed there. There was the usual small talk—weather, car, cooking—and she said, “This is getting really old, Eric. Why don’t you ask me out? Am I that unappealing?”
His eyes got round and his mouth fell open. “Huh?”
“Very eloquent, but for God’s sake, my car is running just fine, I don’t cook big meals every day but when it’s cloudy, dark and wet, I like soups, stews and casseroles, and I can tell you like me. I can’t tell how much you like me, but I’m sure I’ll get a fix on that in no time. So—we’re both new in town and we only have a few friends. You probably have more than I do, being in business and all, but since we get along, like each other, aren’t dating anyone else, why don’t we go out? We’ll just go eat something. Maybe we can talk about anything other than my car, like our hobbies or something.”
The look on his face was priceless. He was clearly stunned. “Sure,” he finally said.
“Friday night. And I’m not cooking for you. That hungry, desperate look you get in your eyes when you come face-to-face with my domesticity is alarming. I’m not looking for a man to take care of. Or one to take care of me, for that matter. But I wouldn’t mind getting out of the house for more than a run. And I haven’t been out on a date in so long... Well, you wouldn’t believe how long. I’ve been working. Then I’ve been... I’ll explain another time. So, Friday night?”
“Yes,” he said immediately. “Friday night.” Then he grinned hugely. “You asked me out on a date. You asked me.”
“I got very tired of waiting,” she said with a bit of superior impatience.
“I’ve never been asked out on a date before.”
She looked him up and down. Six-two, one-eighty and built, copper hair, the most enviable green eyes she’d ever seen, a little shadow of beard. Really gorgeous. Those eyes. God those eyes. “You big liar,” she said.
He shook his head and gave a shrug. “Not since the Sadie Hawkins dance in eighth grade.”
“But people fixed you up all the time,” she reminded him.
“That’s when you go to the same birthday party or wedding reception. That’s not a date. And if I liked the woman, I asked.”
She frowned in doubt. “Are you wearing contacts?”
He shook his head again, but he was still grinning like a fool. “A gift from my mother. So, do you like seafood?”
“I’m from Boston,” she informed him.
“I’ll find something. I’ll pick you up at six. Is seven too late for dinner? Because I have to—”
“Shouldn’t I pick you up? Find the restaurant?” she asked.
“Nah, you did the hard part, the asking. I’ll do the rest. And by the way, I’m glad you asked. Thanks.”
“Were you ever going to?”
“I think so, yes. I was being cautious. Not for my sake. For yours.”
“Hmm. You’ll tell me more about that at dinner.”
“Fair enough. And you can tell me about the exciting world of research.”
She shook her head. “I really want you awake on this, our first date.”
* * *
Laine was very good at not overthinking things; she rarely found herself dwelling. On the Friday of her date, she dismissed it from her mind and focused on other things—a computer search for the right new rug for in front of the fireplace in her bedroom. She read a few chapters from a book she’d been into, put in a call to Pax and did a load of laundry. She was highly trained and knew how to place focus exactly where she wanted it. She had proven herself disciplined long ago—it was especially important in deep cover.
She could manage not to think about the fact that she hadn’t been on a date in a year and a half. How the devil had it been that long?
She also added a layer of blue polish to her toenails. It was funny the things one missed during a deep-cover assignment. The first two she’d been on had been relatively short—two weeks in a clinic that was suspected of drug trafficking and then four weeks working in a trucker’s dispatch office trying to ferret out the human trafficking connection. But it was over six months in The Fellowship and what she’d really come to grieve was toenail polish, perfume and bath gel. Not to mention hair products. Just because Laine was an FBI agent and an expert markswoman didn’t mean she was a thug or a tomboy. No, sir. She was actually a girlie girl. Yes, she could throw a big guy over the hood of a car and cuff him. And yes, she’d been in some fights—not by choice, but hell, sometimes duty called. She was strong, tough, fearless and feminine.
Finally it was nearly time and she showered, blew out her hair and donned a pair of nice wool slacks, boots, sweater, jacket and long silk scarf. The boots had thin, high heels—Eric was a solid six-two. She could use a little lift.
Her first surprise when she answered the door was how well he cleaned up. She nearly laughed at herself. Had she expected him to arrive in his mechanic’s uniform and sensible lace-up boots? He wore dark jeans, a nice sweater, suede jacket and black cowboy boots. And his name wasn’t sewn anywhere on his outfit.
There was a fire ablaze in the hearth, cozy furniture complete with pictures and hangings on the walls, throws on the chair and sectional sofa, a panoramic view of the bay out of the back windows, flowers on the table and wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. Something was simmering on the stove and Laine used an oven mitt to pull something out of the oven.
“Wow?” she asked.
“It’s so...domestic,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, looking around. It was earth tones with splashes of lavender and blue here and there. And there was some red but just some, not much. Welcoming. Warm.
“It’s a home,” she said with a laugh.
“I know, but aren’t you single?”
“I am.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve only seen you out for a run and you said you do computer research. The only girlfriend I’ve had in the past few years was that web designer. I don’t think she knew where the kitchen was. And she was allergic to housework. But she loved her computers.”
Laine took off the oven mitts and grabbed her purse. “If I’m going to live here, it’s going to be comfortable. And I like to cook. Not all the time, but it relaxes me. I’m having company for dinner tonight, but I also do this for myself. What happened to the girlfriend?”
“She dumped me for a computer programmer. I bet they live in squalor and are either thin from starvation or getting fat on take-out.”
He saw a framed picture of Laine with a man—a very good-looking man. They appeared so happy. Then there was a second picture on the sofa table, a picture of two little girls. For a second he felt almost sick. She couldn’t have lost her family! That would be too cruel.
She found her credit card and presented it. “My nieces,” she said. “You don’t seem to be too traumatized. About the computer girl.”
She didn’t explain the man, but that was all right. He swiped the card and presented the screen for her to sign. “We probably weren’t right for each other anyway. The biggest thing we had in common was that we worked a lot.”
“Well, what drew you together? Ever ask yourself that?” She scrawled her name across the small screen.
“A friend. You know—one of those friends who can’t stand to see a single man on the loose and has to do something to hook ’em up. Don’t friends do that to you?”
“No,” she said. “Apparently none of my friends were ever concerned.”
“Never married?” he asked.
She just shook her head. “I haven’t dated that much. I travel a lot in my job.”
“But you do computer work. How do you travel for that?”
“No one likes sending people to training, seminars, leadership workshops or temporary duty to other divisions like the government does. To me, the computer is a tool. I’m no more fascinated by it than that. When I’m not working overtime or on the road, I have other interests. I’ve always liked to cook. It reminds me of my mother, who loved to cook.”
“Wow.”
“You’re getting turned on.” She put her card back in her purse. “You just met a woman who likes to cook and live in clean environs and you’re actually getting turned on.”
“No, I swear...”
“Yes, you are! I think you’d marry me right now if I’d promise to love, honor, vacuum and cook.”
“Seriously, no...”
“It’s because you live in a motel. And probably because none of your friends are trying to fix you up,” she said. “You’re looking for a domestic.”
“Hey, I am not. I’m a good cook, too. Very good. In fact, I’ll be happy to cook for you....” He stopped and rubbed a hand around the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I’d have to borrow your kitchen, however.”
She laughed.
“I’ve been renovating and updating the station. From early in the morning to late at night...”
“You’re welcome to join us tonight, if you like. It’s just my friend Devon, her fiancé, her three-year-old and her friend, Rawley.”
“Thanks, that’s very nice, but I don’t want to intrude.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “I’ll probably run into you at the diner or something. Let me know if the car is unsatisfactory in any way.”
“Can I give you a lift back to the station?”
“Nah, I like the walk. Have a nice evening.”
He walked outside, into the brisk, moist air. He took a deep breath.
Not only had finding a woman been the last thing on his mind, but he also thought it made perfect sense to avoid such attachments in a little town like this, a town where he needed to make a living, needed to be respected by his friends and customers. He really couldn’t risk things like romantic drama. Plus, the only female who really had his attention was Ashley, his seventeen-year-old daughter. And he was making a real effort not to dominate her time—she was a high school senior and had better things to do. Besides, he needed little more than work, peace of mind, a little time with Ashley and an opportunity to watch her complete her growth into a fine young woman.
But then he noticed Laine. And damned if all those resolutions started to grow weak.
* * *
Laine had a very nice dinner with her friends. Spencer brought his son, Austin, a polite and funny ten-year-old. She got the biggest kick out of Rawley, who did very little talking, but was constantly finding things to point out to Mercy. He asked if she wanted her doll to sit at the table with them, prompted her to scrape up red sauce onto her garlic toast, asked if she had drawn any pictures of him lately and wanted to know what movies she’d been watching on her hand-me-down portable DVD player. To the adults, he didn’t have that much to say unless he was asked a direct question.
Two days later she ran into Eric in the diner. True, she thought she might and timed the end of her run specifically for that purpose. And of course he asked about her little dinner party and if her car was running all right. Two days after that she saw him walking into the deli and she decided it was time to get a pint of Carrie’s fabulous crab salad. He asked how her car was running. Two days after that she saw him in the diner again and he asked her what she’d been cooking lately and...how the car was running.
She could tell he liked her. When he saw her, he brightened. His face opened up a little and she got a good view of that wide, white smile. He kind of leaned toward her to talk. He was starting to really piss her off! She was going to have to make the first move.
It had been ten days and five random meetings since he’d delivered her car. Then she ran into him again. She was going home from the diner, he was headed there. There was the usual small talk—weather, car, cooking—and she said, “This is getting really old, Eric. Why don’t you ask me out? Am I that unappealing?”
His eyes got round and his mouth fell open. “Huh?”
“Very eloquent, but for God’s sake, my car is running just fine, I don’t cook big meals every day but when it’s cloudy, dark and wet, I like soups, stews and casseroles, and I can tell you like me. I can’t tell how much you like me, but I’m sure I’ll get a fix on that in no time. So—we’re both new in town and we only have a few friends. You probably have more than I do, being in business and all, but since we get along, like each other, aren’t dating anyone else, why don’t we go out? We’ll just go eat something. Maybe we can talk about anything other than my car, like our hobbies or something.”
The look on his face was priceless. He was clearly stunned. “Sure,” he finally said.
“Friday night. And I’m not cooking for you. That hungry, desperate look you get in your eyes when you come face-to-face with my domesticity is alarming. I’m not looking for a man to take care of. Or one to take care of me, for that matter. But I wouldn’t mind getting out of the house for more than a run. And I haven’t been out on a date in so long... Well, you wouldn’t believe how long. I’ve been working. Then I’ve been... I’ll explain another time. So, Friday night?”
“Yes,” he said immediately. “Friday night.” Then he grinned hugely. “You asked me out on a date. You asked me.”
“I got very tired of waiting,” she said with a bit of superior impatience.
“I’ve never been asked out on a date before.”
She looked him up and down. Six-two, one-eighty and built, copper hair, the most enviable green eyes she’d ever seen, a little shadow of beard. Really gorgeous. Those eyes. God those eyes. “You big liar,” she said.
He shook his head and gave a shrug. “Not since the Sadie Hawkins dance in eighth grade.”
“But people fixed you up all the time,” she reminded him.
“That’s when you go to the same birthday party or wedding reception. That’s not a date. And if I liked the woman, I asked.”
She frowned in doubt. “Are you wearing contacts?”
He shook his head again, but he was still grinning like a fool. “A gift from my mother. So, do you like seafood?”
“I’m from Boston,” she informed him.
“I’ll find something. I’ll pick you up at six. Is seven too late for dinner? Because I have to—”
“Shouldn’t I pick you up? Find the restaurant?” she asked.
“Nah, you did the hard part, the asking. I’ll do the rest. And by the way, I’m glad you asked. Thanks.”
“Were you ever going to?”
“I think so, yes. I was being cautious. Not for my sake. For yours.”
“Hmm. You’ll tell me more about that at dinner.”
“Fair enough. And you can tell me about the exciting world of research.”
She shook her head. “I really want you awake on this, our first date.”
* * *
Laine was very good at not overthinking things; she rarely found herself dwelling. On the Friday of her date, she dismissed it from her mind and focused on other things—a computer search for the right new rug for in front of the fireplace in her bedroom. She read a few chapters from a book she’d been into, put in a call to Pax and did a load of laundry. She was highly trained and knew how to place focus exactly where she wanted it. She had proven herself disciplined long ago—it was especially important in deep cover.
She could manage not to think about the fact that she hadn’t been on a date in a year and a half. How the devil had it been that long?
She also added a layer of blue polish to her toenails. It was funny the things one missed during a deep-cover assignment. The first two she’d been on had been relatively short—two weeks in a clinic that was suspected of drug trafficking and then four weeks working in a trucker’s dispatch office trying to ferret out the human trafficking connection. But it was over six months in The Fellowship and what she’d really come to grieve was toenail polish, perfume and bath gel. Not to mention hair products. Just because Laine was an FBI agent and an expert markswoman didn’t mean she was a thug or a tomboy. No, sir. She was actually a girlie girl. Yes, she could throw a big guy over the hood of a car and cuff him. And yes, she’d been in some fights—not by choice, but hell, sometimes duty called. She was strong, tough, fearless and feminine.
Finally it was nearly time and she showered, blew out her hair and donned a pair of nice wool slacks, boots, sweater, jacket and long silk scarf. The boots had thin, high heels—Eric was a solid six-two. She could use a little lift.
Her first surprise when she answered the door was how well he cleaned up. She nearly laughed at herself. Had she expected him to arrive in his mechanic’s uniform and sensible lace-up boots? He wore dark jeans, a nice sweater, suede jacket and black cowboy boots. And his name wasn’t sewn anywhere on his outfit.
