All or Nothing (31 page)

“Not really. For a person with a contagious rash.”

“Or a venereal disease,” Murray contributed. Jen laughed, knowing this would not be Zach's image.

“Thanks a lot,” Zach said, sparing Murray a lethal glance. He winked at Jen. “I suppose that means you don't want to kiss it better?”

Jen felt herself blush. “Don't hold your breath.”

Zach grinned. “I just might.”

She went back to her tables with the change. She had a lot to do before leaving and was aware of Zach watching her the whole time. Kathy tried to chat him up, but he gave her only short answers, his gaze never straying from Jen. Lucy smiled at this and nodded at Jen with approval.

Funny how his presence made sense to everyone but Jen.

Just after one, she punched out. She got her coat and changed her shoes and hung up her apron. She phoned her mother and told her she'd be late because Zach had come to meet her, rolling her eyes when her mother insisted happily that she wouldn't wait up. Jen stuffed her tips into her wallet, liking that there was a good wad of them again, then tossed her backpack onto her shoulder and headed for the bar.

And Zach.

* * *

At Jen's suggestion, they walked to a new late-night coffee shop. Mulligan's was on Mass Ave., away from the tackiness of Central Square but not quite so trendy as those pubs closer to Harvard Yard. Jen liked how close the pub was to the T as it made her life simpler. She also liked how Murray had taken on an old pub, in a lovely building, and tried to give it new life with a new chef and a paint job. She was glad it was starting to work for him.

It was snowing, big fat flakes that rolled lazily out of the darkness. The snowflakes waltzed in the light of the streetlights and traffic was light. The hush—and the company—made Jen's sucker heart yearn for romance in a way that was entirely inappropriate under the circumstances.

At least, if she didn't want to get involved.

Once they turned down Lee Street, it was even quieter. The porch lights gleamed golden, the shadows were long but unthreatening. They could have been walking into a painting, one depicting a residential street in Europe decades before.

“It's like an old movie,” Zach said, echoing Jen's thoughts. He made a frame with his hands. “Check out this shot. You wouldn't be able to guess where it had been taken.”

Jen peeked into the frame he'd made with his hands. “Not with that old house on the right. It could be Paris.”

“You wouldn't be able to guess when, either.” Zach framed the virtual shot a couple of different ways. “Look. This way, I'd get that bit of wrought iron fence in the corner.”

Jen leaned against his shoulder and looked, proximity to him making her feel a tingle. “Too bad you don't have your camera. I'd buy a print of that shot.”

“You would?”

Jen nodded. “It would be evocative. I can imagine looking at it and seeing different bits of it each time.”

“Those are the best ones,” Zach said, shrugging as he put his hands back into his pockets. “When they came out.”

“It would come out,” Jen said with assurance.

Zach glanced at her. “How do you know?”

“You know what you're doing with a camera. Like that shot in your apartment, the Venice one.”

“You like that?”

Jen nodded, seeing no point in lying. “It's a great picture.”

He smiled at her and his eyes were dancing again. “Then it's too bad this one is going to get away.” He took her hand then and tucked it into his elbow.

She wasn't sure what to think of that, so she said nothing. It was intimate but not particularly sexy. It was a gentleman's gesture, the kind of thing he tended to do, and she tingled a bit from having her hand pressed against his side. Not a sexual gesture, then, but one that awakened sexual awareness in her. It was nice, though, walking along with him.

Nice and electric.

Zach stopped in the middle of the street and turned, looking up at the sky. “So, name the movie.”

“
White Christmas
,” Jen said immediately. “Where's Bing?”

“Right here.” Zach started to sing
White Christmas
, something that Jen realized she should have anticipated. She had a choice: she could be mortified, or she could join in for the chorus.

She went with option number two.

Zach had the gift of being able to keep pitch without accompaniment. Jen could keep pitch when she sang along with him, which worked. He moved straight to the chorus of
Blue Christmas
, falling to one knee in his Elvis impression, which made Jen laugh. He leapt onto a light standard and swung around it, doing a passable Gene Kelly,
Singing in the Rain
.

“It's not raining,” Jen said through her laughter.

“Picky, picky. C'mon. Be happy with me.”

“Why?”

“Why not? Being unhappy doesn't make the world a better place.”

“Being happy doesn't keep bad things from happening.”

“No, but nothing keeps bad things from happening. Why not enjoy life until they do?”

It made treacherous sense as a philosophy.

“Besides, I'm glad to see you.”

“You are?”

“I am.” Zach seized Jen's hand and spun her around on the empty street, then caught her close. Jen barely managed to breath, she was so aware of him and the sparkle of his eyes. “Can you foxtrot?”

“No.”

“Doesn't matter. Follow my lead, try to look like you know what you're doing, and no one will know the difference.” He leaned close to whisper, his breath on her ear making her shiver. “Most people can't foxtrot, after all.”

“A damn shame,” Jen said solemnly, then gasped when he dipped her, spun her and turned her. They danced back across the street in something that might have been a foxtrot and Jen realized she'd never done anything so silly in her life.

“You're making up the steps,” she accused, when the variations showed no underlying pattern.

He gave her an arch glance. “I told you that most people can't foxtrot.”

“Including you?”

“Where would I have learned to foxtrot? I was born eighty years too late.”

Jen had thought that a few times herself, but didn't have a chance to say as much. Zach had changed to a waltz and had caught her close. She could waltz and so apparently could he. They swirled down the street, as light on their feet and graceful as snowflakes, and he hummed something vaguely familiar in her ear.

Because her heart was pounding far more than it should have been, because she liked being caught against his chest and because she couldn't guess what he'd do next—or because she could guess and wasn't sure she'd be able to resist another killer kiss—Jen pushed him away in front of the coffee shop.

There was snow in his hair and on his eyelashes and he didn't push away very easily. He was smiling at her in a way that could make a woman believe the whole world spun around her and her alone.

“You're crazy,” she said, trying to break the spell.

Zach tried to look rueful and failed it. “It's been said before. You need fresh material,
honey
.” He winked then kissed her quickly, before putting his hands on her shoulders and bundling her toward the light of the shop. “What's your poison tonight? I'm thinking a decaf latte would be the way to go.”

“Hot chocolate for adults,” Jen agreed.

Zach smiled as he held the door for her. “Cinnamon, cocoa or chocolate sprinkles?”

“They don't put chocolate sprinkles on lattes.”

“They will if you grovel.”

Jen paused beside him, knowing that was something she'd like to see. “Chocolate sprinkles then. Show me how it's done.”

Zach laughed. “Anything for you,” he said. His tone was light but his eyes weren't dancing the way they had been. He was watching her carefully and Jen found herself snared by the seriousness in his gaze. She swallowed, wanting very much for him to mean what he said. He smiled slowly and brushed his fingertips across her cheek, launching that army of goose pimples. “Honey,” he said softly and Jen found herself blushing.

She hurried past him, not knowing what was going to happen and not really caring. She could feel herself falling head over heels in love, didn't really want to stop but knew it would be stupid not to stop.

It was one of Jen's favorite coffee shops even though it hadn't been open long. It was a little funky independent place with cozy corners and excellent coffee, run by a woman who could have been Natalie's long lost sister. They never hassled anyone for lingering long over coffee and knitting (as Jen had, many a time) and always greeted regulars with a smile. She'd never been there at night and was amazed at how the low lighting made it seem mysterious and magical.

She sat, chin in her hand, and knew she'd remember this night for a long time. The snow and the mood in the coffee shop made her think of black and white pictures and old movies, of glamour and nostalgia and vintage dresses with hand sewn satin trim. She knew, with curious conviction, that she could have said as much to Zach and he wouldn't have laughed at her.

He would understand and, quite probably, agree.

She liked that Zach was a gentleman without seeming to realize what he did. He opened doors, he kept a finger under her elbow, he insisted on getting her coffee and helping with her coat. Jen knew her mother would have gone wild over some implicit sexism in these gestures, but she liked it. She knew Zach didn't think she was too weak to take off her own coat. To have him do it made her feel feminine and treasured; it made her feel as if they were a couple. She didn't feel taken for granted.

She felt treasured.

She felt that he
was
glad to be with her.

That was kind of nice. She sat and watched him as he ordered and liked a lot more than his manner toward her. She liked his sense of humor and that he apparently had no shame. He wasn't afraid to take chances, but he wasn't as unreliable as he liked people to believe.

He teased the woman behind the counter and Jen heard herself gasp when the woman put chocolate sprinkles on the lattes.

She liked that Zach did whatever he said he would do, and also liked that if he didn't say what he was going to do, then anything was pretty much possible. She felt good in his company in a way that didn't bode well for the future well being of her sucker heart.

This wasn't a good sign. She didn't even know what he wanted to negotiate yet. Maybe she'd been tricked. Maybe she was just opening herself to another heartache. Maybe she should bail now before she got in even deeper.

Then she realized that there was one sure-fire way to end this thing with Zach, one way to be rid of him for good. It wasn't the kind of thing she usually did, but it would work.

He'd be gone if she told him the truth.

Especially if she told him in a way that couldn't be misinterpreted.

* * *

Zach picked up the pair of double decaf lattes, their foam sinking under the corona of chocolate sprinkles, and turned to carry them back to the table. He could feel Jen watching him and was still trying to think of a good way to ask her about Christmas. She hadn't picked up the clue from the choice of songs, though it had seemed a brilliant opening at the time.

It didn't help that he wasn't particularly fired up about going to Grey Gables himself, much less facing the prospect of a Coxwell family dinner. It would be easier if Jen went with him, as he might then have one ally at the table.

Or he might not.

He glanced up as he crossed the floor and caught her eye. She looked a bit tired, which he could understand after the busy night at the pub. He was glad she'd agreed to come out with him when she could have gone home to bed. That was a good sign.

The next sign was less good. Instead of returning his smile, Jen reached into her shirt and pulled out what looked like a striped ball. She put it on the table in front of her, a challenge in her gaze.

Zach would have taken her challenge on principle, if he'd had a clue what it was.

He reached the table and put down the two big cups, glanced at the ball. It was knitted in pink and purple stripes that swirled around it. It was kind of flat on the bottom side, and had a round pink pearl of a button where the swirls came together.

Like a cherry on top.

“No wonder Roxie loves you,” he said, going with a joke. “You carry dog toys in your clothes.”

Jen didn't smile. She shook her head minutely and was as serious as a heart attack. “It's not a dog toy.”

Zach sat down, sensing that he was on thin ice but not really knowing why, much less what to do about it. “I'm not going to make any jokes about you playing fetch.”

Jen just looked at him. Zach would have guessed that she was nervous, although he couldn't imagine a reason why this knitted ball would spook anyone.

For lack of a better option, Zach picked up the knitted ball. It was warm, presumably from being in Jen's clothes, which surprised him a little. He could smell that faint scent that she had herself, the clean smell of soap mingled with Jen's own skin. That scent shorted his circuits a little bit, just the way Jen did, but he forced himself to concentrate on the ball.

To keep his eye on the ball, as it were.

This was important. The ball was soft but heavier than he'd have expected. He turned it in his hand and was mystified. He propped his elbow on the table and held the ball between them. “Okay, I'll bite. It's not any kind of fruit I know.”

“I'd guess not.”

“What is it?”

Jen took a deep breath. Her gaze flicked away from his for only a second and she licked her lips before she spoke. She was really nervous, more nervous than he'd ever seen her. “It's a prosthesis,” she said, her words softer than usual.

Zach was unable to immediately think of a body part of this particular shape, much less one that Jen was missing. “For what?”