Romance on Mountain View Road (12 page)

He thought back to high school. He'd avoided school dances like the plague. (Maybe it had something to do with way back in middle school, when Lissa had gone to the eighth-grade dance with Danny Popkee—who knew?) He couldn't dance. He didn't have the gene for it.

That night he went to bed and dreamed he was at the Icicle Falls High reunion. All the attendees were dressed to the nines but him. He'd opted for a pair of purple polka dot boxers. While everyone was shaking their booty out on the dance floor, he was pacing along the edge of the crowd, trying to get Lissa's attention. She was out in the middle of the floor with Rand. He was dressed like a matador and Lissa wore a slinky black dress and was twining her legs all around him.

At last they finished and when Jonathan went out on the floor to join them, all the faceless onlookers cheered. “Go, Jon,” someone called.

He strutted up to Lissa in his polka dot boxers, showing off pecs that would have put the Incredible Hulk to shame. Like the hero in the romance novel, Jonathan held out a hand to her and said, “Dance with me.”

Instead of cooperating like a proper heroine, she cocked an eyebrow. “Do you know how to tango?”

“Well, no,” he admitted.

“West Coast swing?”

“Uh, no.”

“East Coast?”

“No.”

“Any coast?”

He shook his head. “My sister offered to teach me, but I didn't take her up on it.”

“You should have,” she said. “Now take your polka dots somewhere else. I don't waste my time on men who can't dance.”

Suddenly he was no longer in polka dot boxers. He was wearing a clown suit and had a big red nose. Rand reached over and pinched it. “You always
were
a clown. That's why I stopped hanging out with you when we hit middle school. That's why Lissa doesn't want you.”

“And you can't even dance,” she said. “Your sister offered to teach you but would you let her? Noooo.” She gave his red clown nose a pinch, making it honk.

“I can dance,” he insisted. Next thing he knew, he was on the roof of Icicle Falls High, tap-dancing in his clown outfit. And his entire class was standing below, watching him.

“Look at that clown,” called Feron Prince. “He thinks he can dance. He should've let his sister give him a lesson.”

Jonathan tapped all the harder, shuffling away in his big, red clown shoes. But then he tripped over one of them and off the roof he sailed, heading for the pavement below. “Lissa!”

He woke up with a gasp right before he went splat. “It was only a dream,” he told himself.

But maybe his subconscious was trying to tell him something.

If he had any doubts left, the email he got the following morning confirmed what his subconscious had said.

Hi, Jonathan! I guess we're supposed to send pictures to you for the class reunion website. (Why am I not surprised you're in charge of that? You always were a tech genius!) Anyway, here's mine. It was taken at the hot-air balloon festival in Albuquerque. My hair doesn't look so good, but hey, what does that matter when you're having fun? Email back and let me know what you've been up to. It feels like forever since I've seen you.

Lissa

That was encouraging, but the P.S. at the end struck fear into his heart.
And you better save me a dance Saturday night!

A dance. With Lissa. Crap! His sister was right. He grabbed his cell phone and called her. “Is that offer of a dance lesson still good?”

Chapter Nine

A
dam wasn't giving up. He and Chelsea could work this out. He'd go over to the house after work. No bribes this time, no so-called romantic gestures, just the two of them having a heart-to-heart talk, getting things straight once and for all.

He pulled up in front of the place and found her out in the yard once more, this time watering the roses. She was talking to some man Adam had never seen before. The stranger looked like he was somewhere in his forties and was wearing cargo shorts and a
T-shirt. He was short and wiry with a tan, an average face, thinning hair and Ray-Bans propped on his head. Beady eyes. He had beady eyes. Who was this tool and what was he saying to make Chelsea smile?

Adam got out of the SUV and walked over to where they stood, making sure he sent off intimidating vibes with every step.

At the sight of him, Chelsea's smile disappeared. “Adam.”

“Hi, Chels.” He gave the stranger a tooth-baring smile. “I'm Adam Edwards.”

“Dennis McDermott,” the man said, and stuck out his hand.

Adam took it and squeezed. Firmly.

His rival grimaced.

“Dennis just moved in next door,” Chelsea explained.

“Our new neighbor, huh?” Adam said. “Good to meet you.”
Not.
“Where'd you move from?”

“Other side of the mountains, Bellevue.”

Adam nodded and wished old Dennis had stayed on the other side of the mountains. “It's a long commute.”

Dennis shrugged. “I work from home.”

Which meant old Dennis the Menace would be around all the time, popping over for friendly chats with Chelsea.

“Makes life easy,” Dennis continued.

It sure made putting the moves on another man's wife easy. “Yeah, I'll bet it does.”

“I can pretty much set my own schedule,” Dennis added.

Don't even think of scheduling in my wife.
“You got a family?”

“Not here. I'm divorced. My kids are in college. I'm pretty much on my own,” Dennis said, and smiled at Chelsea.

Yeah, well, you're gonna stay that way, pal.
“Chels, I need to talk to you.”

Chelsea frowned. “Now is not a good time.”

Her putting him down in front of another man made Adam bristle. “This won't take long,” he said. “Dennis probably has some unpacking to do, anyway, right?”

“Oh, sure,” Dennis said reluctantly. “Nice talking with you, Chelsea. I'll be seeing you.”

There was a depressing thought.

“Nice meeting you,” Chelsea said, giving the invader a warm smile. As soon as he'd started back across his lawn, though, it disappeared. She glared at Adam and said in a low voice, “That was rude.”

“What? Wanting to have a serious conversation with my wife?” He nodded in Dennis's direction. “When did he move in?”

“Just this weekend.”

“And he's already putting the moves on you. Did you tell him you were married?”

“No.”

He didn't like the way she said that or the look on her face. “Chels.”

She didn't stay to listen to what he had to say. Instead, she turned her back on him and started walking to the house.

“Hey,” he protested, following her. “I'm trying to have a serious conversation here.”

Ignoring him, she bent to turn off the hose. There was a sight that did a man's heart good. It was all he could do not to reach out and pat that nicely rounded little butt. How long was it going to be before they had sex again? It already felt like a million years.

“Chelsea, we need to talk.”

She stood up and the look she gave him made him feel like a little kid about to get scolded by his mom. He hated when she looked at him that way. “First you act like a caveman, then you try to bribe me. Now, all of a sudden, you're ready to talk? Adam, you don't really want to fix what's wrong between us. You just want this over so you can move back in.”

“Of course I want this over.” Who wouldn't?

It had been the wrong thing to say. She scowled at him as if he'd told her she was fat. “I don't want to talk to you until you've done some serious thinking,” she said sternly. Then she went into the house—his house!—and slammed the door.

He let out a growl and marched back across the lawn. What was it going to take to get through to her? And how much time did he have before Dennis the Menace moved in on her?

Which he would. The beady-eyed little weasel would have no qualms about fishing in another man's pond.

Adam shot a look to the house next door. The garage door was open and Dennis was standing there, pretending to unpack boxes. He waved at Adam.

Adam gave him a curt salute in return. He used all four fingers, even though the creep only deserved one, the middle one.

He went by Safeway on the way home and picked up a six-pack of beer and some chicken from the deli. Then he drove to Jonathan's to log in another night on the blow-up bed.

He walked into the house expecting Jonathan to be there and was perturbed to see it was just him and Chica, the one-dog welcoming committee. Not that he was in any mood to talk about this latest humiliation, but coming home to an empty house after what had happened made him feel even worse, like a man nobody wanted.

“Where's your master?” he asked.

Chica barked and wagged her tail.

Well, somebody was glad to see him. “Why can't my wife be more like you?”

He went to the kitchen, Chica prancing along beside him. He tossed her one of the dog treats Jonathan kept in the cupboard, then opened a beer and sat in the living room, trying to process what was happening to him.

Two beers and a chicken leg later, he gave up. Women. Who could understand them?

* * *

Jonathan had survived dinner at his sister's, thanks to the fact that Neil had barbecued burgers. Now it was time for his first dance lesson.

“We'll start with the nightclub two-step because that's easy,” Juliet said.

Easy for her, maybe.

“The man always starts on his left foot. So, you're going to step back on your left foot at an angle, then shift your weight to your right foot and bring your left foot back up. Like this,” she said, and demonstrated, counting as she moved. “One and two. Then you do the same thing with the other foot. One and two. See how simple that is?”

Well, it
looked
simple. He tried it. Okay, not so bad.

“Now, here's how you hold her.”

Holding his sister, this was weird.

“And don't let your hand drift down to her butt,” Juliet cautioned.

No danger of that right now.

“Okay, let's try the step again.”

So far so good. Maybe he
could
learn to dance.

Then Juliet added one more step and he was lost. If only there was an algorithm for this.

“Jonathan, you're losing your hold,” she scolded. “Here, I'm going to have Neil help us.”

“Oh, no,” he protested. But she was already calling her husband.

“I need you to show him how to lead,” she said once Neil had entered the room.

“Oh, come on, babe,” Neil protested. “I'm trying to watch the game.”

Jonathan had a flashback to grade school when the kids were picking teams for softball and he was always the last one chosen.
“Oh, come on. Why do we have to take Jonathan?”
He felt his cheeks sizzle and wished he'd just looked on the internet to see how to do this.

“Family comes before baseball,” Juliet insisted.

Neil frowned. “I hope you learn fast,” he said to Jonathan, upping his stress level further.

“No, I suck at this,” Jonathan grumbled.

“We all do when we start,” Neil said, making him feel somewhat less embarrassed. “So, the one thing you gotta remember is that you have to be a strong lead if you want a woman to follow. Otherwise, she won't know where to go.” He elbowed Jonathan. “It's about the only place left in the world where a man has any control.”

Juliet frowned at him. “So not funny.”

He ignored her. “Like this.” He grabbed Jonathan and demonstrated.

Great. Here he was, dancing with a guy.

“Okay, now try it with Jules.”

And...back to dancing with his sister. He was pathetic.

But maybe not hopeless. She gave him an approving smile when they'd finished. “That was much better. A few more lessons and you'll be fabulous. Every woman at the reunion will want to dance with you.”

Neil looked surprised. “Is that what this is about? Wait a minute. Now I get it. That's why you joined the gym.”

Jonathan's cheeks burned once more. “I needed to get in shape, anyway.”

Neil shook his head. “Man, the things we do for women.”

Juliet patted his arm. “We appreciate it.”

“It's too bad a woman can't appreciate a guy for who he is,” Jonathan muttered.

“We do,” Juliet said.

“Yeah, right,” Jonathan sneered.

She grinned. “Okay, we've been known to drool over a nice set of pecs.”

“Seems kind of shallow,” Jonathan said.

“Yes, not like you men, who don't care at all what a woman looks like.”

“Busted,” Neil cracked.

“Seriously,” Juliet said, “everyone's attracted to a person who looks nice. That's how you get someone's interest at first, but good looks aren't enough to hold any woman. In the end we don't need a man who's perfect. We just want one with a good heart, someone we can build a life with. That's the most important thing.”

If that was the case, Lissa should have fallen for him years ago. “Then why am I learning to dance?” Jonathan demanded irritably.

“Because it's romantic.”

Jonathan remembered the latest book he'd read. Obviously, it was.

“And it's a sure way to get a woman to stop and take notice.”

He did need to get Lissa's attention, needed her to see him in a new light.

“Trust me on this,” Juliet said. “Being a good dancer gives you an advantage.”

“She's right,” Neil confirmed. “The man who can dance goes home with the girl.” He slung a casual arm over Juliet's shoulders. “It worked for me.”

Maybe if Jonathan practiced enough, and then had a good stiff drink the night of the reunion, it could work for him, too. He could dream, anyway. “Okay, show me that turn again.”

* * *

Kyle came to work on Thursday wearing his new clothes, walking tall and feeling like he could pose for the cover of
GQ.
And there, straight ahead of him, sat Jillian at her desk. For once she was alone. No women standing around, yakking at her, no other man flirting with her. Kyle picked up his pace, all the while rehearsing what he'd say to her.
Hey, Jillian, looking good this morning.

Maybe she'd notice that he was looking good, too. And taller. And maybe he'd ask what she was doing this weekend.

Just as he was almost at her desk the phone rang. He slowed down.

“No, he's not in yet,” she said, not even glancing in Kyle's direction. “May I take a message?”

Great. Now she was going to be writing down a message. Would she have time to talk with him? Out of the corner of his eye another obstacle appeared—one of the big bosses. This was not the time to wait for Jillian to get off the phone. Once again, Cupid was not playing for Kyle's team. He went to his cubicle, wearing a frown to accent his new duds.

“Wow, look at you,” Mindy greeted him.

At least someone around here was observant.

She scooted her chair a little farther back from her desk to check him out. “You seem taller.”

It was the shoes; but he shrugged as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

“I always wanted to be tall,” she said.

Him, too. “Being short's not so bad, as long as you're a girl.”

“Oh, I don't think being short is so bad when you're a man, either, as long as you're cute.”

Was she saying he was cute? He couldn't help smiling.

“And, I have to admit, if I hadn't been short I wouldn't have been as good a gymnast.” She grinned. “I'm death on the uneven parallel bars.”

He could imagine her flying through the air, wearing a leotard. It wasn't a bad picture. But it couldn't compare to the mental image of Jillian in a bikini, which he kept on display in the corner of his mind labeled Perfect Woman.

A little more chitchat and they both settled down to work. Well, one of them settled down. Kyle could hear Mindy's keyboard clicking away next to him and knew she was busy inputting data, her mind whirring on behalf of Safe Hands Insurance. He was inputting, too, but halfheartedly. Every few minutes, he kept peeking around his cubicle to see what was going on over at the receptionist's desk.

The first time he looked he saw—big surprise—Ted Darrow, with his butt planted on Jillian's desk, chatting her up. Darrow was such a predator. Why couldn't she see that?

Next time he looked, she was accepting a flower delivery. Some woman was going to get a call to come to the reception desk and collect her prize. But instead of picking up the phone and summoning someone to her desk, Jillian took the envelope from the arrangement and opened it. And smiled. So she was the lucky woman.

He scowled as he watched her unwrap the big, gaudy vase of red and orange flowers. Whoever sent them had probably paid an arm and a leg. It wasn't hard to guess who. Darrow, the desk-sitter.

Well, Kyle had brought her candy. Now might be a good time to mosey on over and mention that. He left his cubicle and walked casually past the other workers, just a man headed to the water cooler. He stopped and got a quick drink, stealthily looking toward the reception desk. No one there but Jillian. The way was clear. Finally.

He sauntered on over, said a smooth “Hi, Jillian” and planted a butt cheek on the desk in true Darrow fashion. Unfortunately, his landing wasn't as smooth as he'd expected. Even as she squeaked, “Watch out!” he made contact with the flower vase.