Gillian's Do-Over (27 page)

“Do you suppose that was because of big man Mo sitting next to you? I saw him giving
Trudi the eye a couple of times.”

Gillian sipped her tea.

“What I can’t figure is why Queen Trudi—does she ever lower her nose? It looks like she peers at everyone as if from a high throne.”

Gillian reached for a napkin.

“Why she would throw over that nice-looking ex of hers—”

“Parker,” Gillian added.
Nice-looking. Just plain nice.

“Him. For that
behemoth of a man with the awful name. I kept trying to figure out why he and Parker looked so much alike—at least in the face. Finally figured it out. They have similar hairstyles and noses.” Lauren snorted tea out her nostrils and reached for a napkin to dab up the droplets decorating her plate. “He reminded me of one of those awful alien creatures the boys loved to play with when they were about eight.”

Gillian
laughed. “Different strokes for different folks, I guess. At least, it’s over. The wedding, anyway.” She sighed.

“What’s on your mind? You look like you’re thinking hard about something.”

“Hmm hmm.”

“Let me guess. Mo was giving you the eye while you were leaving the ceremony. I’m guessing he’s got
marriage on the brain—to you.”

Gillian blushed. “Oh, Lauren
, get real.”

“Your cheeks tell me I hit that particular n
ail on the head.”

“
He didn’t mention getting married, at least not to me.” She reached for her spoon again and stared at the little wavelets it created in her teacup. Anything to avoid meeting Lauren’s eyes.

When the silence became heavy with
unasked questions, Gillian slid her spoon onto the saucer and straightened in her seat. “I told him I like him as a friend. Nothing more.”

“
Why didn’t you dance with him at the wedding, Gilly? He’s an excellent dancer.”

She shook her head.
“You know I had too much to do, felt I had to ride herd on the Queen Bee.”

Lauren chuckled
and reached for another cracker. “And because there’s no spark.”

Gillian
glanced at Lauren, whose cheeks were a becoming shade of pink. “And I refuse to pretend that I want to be more than his walking friend.”

“
So you told Mo you won’t settle for second best, not that he is. But … you know … no spark.”

“Not even a flicker.” The only sparks she’d felt recently had got her into major trouble with Matt. Sparks she definitely needed to extinguish.

Lauren’s gaze seemed to pierce Gillian’s chest and settle in her heart. “Good,” Lauren replied brightly.

Gillian peered at her neighbor. “I seem to recall
you
were the one who said Mo was a great catch: a doctor, local, rich, available.”

It was Lauren’s turn to blush.
“And
you
were the one who said you’d never get serious unless there was electricity.” Lauren pressed forward and reached for another cracker.

“Yes,
and both parties have to feel it.” Gillian sighed quietly. Too bad the sparks she felt were one-sided.

“
And the man who generates them in you … hasn’t asked you out, isn’t what you would consider available,” Lauren air-quoted.

Gillian nodded. “
Bingo.”

Lauren refilled their teacups. Her cheeks pinked up again. “I have a question for you,
Gilly.” She twisted her fingers, suddenly looking unsure.

“Ask
away. Depending on what it is, I may or may not answer.”

“Would you mind … if … I went dancing with Mo? If he asked me?”

Gillian gulped her tea and set down her cup as she glanced at Lauren. “You mean …?” She grinned. “He makes sparks in you?”

Lauren’s face
now resembled a beet. She nodded. “I guess you could say that.”

Gillian laughed, stood up and hugged her longtime neighbor and best friend. “Go for it, honey!”

Chapter 17

Two weeks
after Quinn’s wedding, Gillian scrutinized her hand sketches, mulling over the best labels to use before bringing the completed note cards to
Cammie’s Closet
. “New Love,” Gillian murmured to herself, as she labeled the pair of hands clutching each other. She looked at her sketch of the plump hands of a small child, with dimples indented above each little knuckle. “Next Generation,” she wrote. She labeled the hand with wedding rings foremost in the sketch, “After the Wedding.” She paused at the sketch of a man’s hand. Matt’s hand.

Her pulse skidded upward as she recalled when she had drawn
it. The scar on his finger was distinctive. If he ever saw this sketch, she suspected he would recognize it as his.
I’ll have to get his permission.
She’d been meaning to call his office after Ursula had left a message. She set the sketch aside and looked over the others. The one of Wade’s hand, not nearly so distinctive, clutching the mast with an edge of sail in the background, would also work. “Playtime,” she wrote. After going through the rest of the sketches, she reached for her phone.

“Good afternoon, Ursula. This is Gillian
Griffiths.”

“Hello. You’re calling about coming to look over the trust documents?”

“Yes. Would Mr. Gordon be free tomorrow or the next day?”

Ursula’s fingers on her desktop sounded like miniature staccato bursts
, mimicking Gillian’s jumping pulse. “Let’s see. How about ten-thirty tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there. Thank you.”
I’ll just have to stay cool. Get in and get out.
Gillian hesitated then labeled the last sketch, the one of Matt’s hand. “Strength.” She hoped he would agree to her using it. If he refused, she would give him the master sketch. Maybe she would ask Mo about that sketch she’d made of
his
hand. But there was nothing particularly unique about it.
I can only hope what I already have will suffice.
Cammie had asked her to bring her note cards to the store by the end of next week. She’d have to prepare another sketch quickly if Matt said no.

Thinking about Mo’s hand brought to mind their
last dinner. More specifically, what had occurred
after
the dinner. At his house. On his couch.

“
You want a younger man.” His blue eyes dared her to contradict him. “You know men tend to slow down—in all the areas that count the most—as we age. I’m not the young turk I used to be.” He chuckled.

After a chaste kiss on her cheek
when he brought her home, Mo turned away. Over his shoulder, he grinned at her and added, “Your neighbor is a great dancer.”

“And she’d love
it if you asked her to be your partner,” Gillian encouraged. “Don’t you go to those Elks Club dances once a month?”

“Maybe I will.”

She opened the front door and closed it quickly, glad he didn’t wait for her to reply. She hoped Mo and Lauren would become a couple. Mo deserved a nice woman, and Lauren qualified.

Tomorrow
Gillian was going to see Matt. She set out the original sketch of his hand so she wouldn’t forget to secure his permission to use it.
I hope.
Hope what? That he would say yes? Or that she wouldn’t give herself away whenever he looked her way and her heart started thumping? She couldn’t seem to stop fantasizing about him. With her. In bed. Even when she forced herself to repeat his words from that day in the park when she’d thrown all caution to the wind and kissed him back.

The next morning, Matt opened his door for Gillian. He glanced at his desk. The trust was completed, the will now a part of the larger document. He straightened his tie, aware of the increase in his pulse as she angled past him toward the chair facing his desk. She seemed nervous, looking first at him and then out the window.

“Are you going to the park to sketch
after our meeting?” he asked when she placed a large envelope in her lap.

“Not today. I have an appointment to
talk to a printer, about making prints to sell.” She opened the envelope and pulled out a charcoal sketch, turning it in his direction.

Matt sat down.
A scar, like his. He glanced at his hand then back at the sketch. “It’s mine.”

She nodded, her mouth, tinged with pink lip gloss, thinned. “I drew it
at one of our first meetings. To try to keep my nerves under control.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “I want to include it in a series of note cards I’ve made. But I need your permission. The scar is unique. Others might recognize it. So …
I thought I should ask you … if …” She gulped and raised her eyes to meet his.

When he did not respond, s
he slipped the artwork back into the envelope and pushed her chair back.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

She stopped moving in her chair, her hair sliding forward against her cheeks, now pinker than her lips.

“We have an appointment. To go over the trust and your will.” He forced himself to sound cool, professional, when he ached to pull her into his arms, to show her how touched he was that she had asked his permission for something she had created.
A picture she owned, not him.

“Oh.” She sat back down in her seat. “Yes, we do.” She
set the envelope with her sketches next to her chair and placed her hands in her lap.

Matt handed her a copy of the completed trust. “
Please take a few minutes to read this through. Make sure it’s what you want. You’ll see that the issues mentioned in your original will have been incorporated.”

Her head bobbed slightly and she reached for the papers.

“I’ll get us some coffee.” Matt left her in his office, walked into the kitchen and waved off Ursula, who started in his direction.

“Why didn’t you ask me
?”

“No need. She’s going over the docs.” A spoon clattered onto the floor, evidence of his own nerves.
He needed the time to get his thoughts under control. His nether regions, too.

“Take some cookies with you, and these napkins,” Ursula ordered, her mouth curved upward. “In case you spill.” She chuckled.

Matt carried the tray into his office and arranged the mugs on his desk. When Gillian looked up from the papers, he motioned toward the plate of cookies. “Feel free.”

“Thank you.” She
nibbled a cookie in between quick sips of coffee. “I think you covered everything.”

“Good.” He couldn’t stop noticing her pulse beat
ing in the hollow of her neck. Was his own heart racing along at the same pace? Faster? But she was in a relationship. Off limits. And she was sure to think him some kind of unfeeling man if she suspected he wanted a woman—not just any woman, her—so soon after burying his wife. Less than two months ago.

“You’ll notice I’ve provided for changes should you want to add other persons as recipients of some portion of your estate.”

“Others?”

“A long-lost cousin.” He tried to smile and couldn’t pull it off. “Or a husband. If you marry again.”

“That’s not likely,” her tone cool.

Was she saying she wasn’t in a relationship after all?

“What makes you think I’d marry again?” she blurted, as if she’d read his mind.

“You’re
still young. Attractive. There’s always a chance you might.” Could she tell he hated the thought of someone else in her life? What would the boys think if they knew how his mind was wrapping around the idea of making her a part of
his
life? They’d taken off for the marina, intent on renting a fishing boat for the day.

As if he
’d conjured them up, he heard Wes’ deep voice in the reception area talking with Ursula. Something must have interrupted the fishing trip.

“Excuse me.
” Gillian’s voice hauled him back to the issues at hand. “You never said if I could use your picture. In my collection. If you don’t want me to, let me give you the original. So you’ll know I won’t use it, won’t copy it.” She reached down to extract the original.

“No.” His voice sounded too loud, too stern. Was that why she had leaned into her chair so quickly? “No,” he
repeated, quietly. “I didn’t mean … of course, you can use it. You created it. I’m honored that you thought you had to ask.” He stood up behind his desk. “I’m sure no one will recognize the hand as mine. And it wouldn’t matter if they did.”

Gillian’s face seemed lit from within when she smiled. “Thank you. I was so hoping you’d be okay with it.”

“You’re the artist. You own it.” He glanced down at the trust documents. “If you would sign and date these, and these copies, too.” He opened his door. “Ursula? If you’ll witness Ms. Griffiths’ signature on the trust. Wes, could you come in here please?”

“Yes, Mr. Gordon.”
Ursula appended her signature to the document.

His son
stood behind Ursula near Matt’s office door. “Wes? This is Ms. Griffiths. Would you be kind enough to witness her signature?”

“Sure, Dad.”

“Gillian, my elder son, Wes.”

Gillian shook his hand. “You look a lot like your father.”

Wes chuckled. “Everyone says that.”

“Thank you, son. I’ll see you later.”

Wes and Ursula left the room.

Gillian reached for the original documents.

Matt retrieved the copy. “Don’t forget your drawings.” He handed Gillian the large envelope. “I’ll have Ursula send you additional copies so you can share them with your family members. And others. Your physician, minister, accountant. Those people.”

“Oh. I didn’t think of that.”

“It’s always helpful for them to know your wishes. We will retain a copy here. In case you need others.”

“Thank you.” Gillian reached out to shake Matt’s hand, her touch again reminding him of the warmth of her hug in the park that day he’d been so down.

“It was my pleasure.” He paused and motioned for her to take her seat.

She did so, her eyes asking what was on his mind
now that the legal work was completed, now that he’d approved her using the sketch of his hand. He resumed his seat behind his desk.

He debated with himself
, then decided he had to know. “Gillian, I was wondering.” He took a quick sip of coffee. “Would you consider going to dinner with me—now that your legal work is done?”

She was staring at him, puzzled perhaps? Or was she confused, thinking he asked all his clients out to dinner?

“Not as your attorney. As a friend. Like you said once. In-the-park friends.” He was babbling, as if he’d never asked out a woman before.

“Oh.” She reached for her purse and stood up, spilling
the envelope of artwork that had been sitting on her lap.

He stood, came around his desk, and kneeled down to help her gather them up.
“If you need to think about it, that’s okay,” he said.

“Yes, that would be nice,” she finally replied, the color in her cheeks higher than before.

“Good. I’ll give you a call.”

She nodded and
walked out of the office.

After Gillian left, Ursula pointed in the direction of the stairs. “Wes said he’d wait for you upstairs.”

Matt
took the stairs two at a time. “Where’s Carl? I thought you guys were going fishing.”

“He ran into a buddy from high school and they took off. I decided I didn’t want to fish by myself, so I came home. Nice-looking client, Dad. Are they all that pretty?”

“No. Most are old and grouchy, kind of like me.”

“Too bad. Maybe you s
hould be more discriminating, only taking on the good-looking ones.” Wes smirked. Then he sobered. “I want to put flowers on Mom’s grave, if it’s okay with you.”

“Of course. I figured you
’d want to do that.” Matt’s heart began to thud. “Later today?”

“Maybe another day. Before
my leave’s up.” Wes stood next to the flat-screen television. “I’m still trying to get my head around that Mom’s gone.”