Still the One (14 page)

“No thanks. I need to get to work.”

“Me, too.” A beep sounded on Zack’s BlackBerry. “That’s a reminder that I have a conference call in five minutes.” He poured
some coffee into his cup.

“I left Gracie a note that I’d be home around noon. I’ll take her to lunch and talk to her about getting a job.”

“Great.” His blue eyes settled on her, making her feel distinctly
un
settled. “So… what are you doing this evening?”

Why did he want to know? “Nothing special.”

“Do you usually have plans?”

Her pulse skipped crazily. “Why are you asking?”

“Well, you didn’t answer Gracie’s question last night. I was wondering if you had a beau.”

Katie felt her face grow warm. “Beau? Wow. I didn’t know people from Las Vegas used such courtly Southern language.”

“It’s the live oaks and magnolias,” he said, grinning over the rim of his coffee mug. “They make me wax poetic.”

“There you go again. I thought the only waxing going on in Vegas was the cosmetic kind.”

He laughed. His laugh was even more sensual than his smile. “So do you?”

“Do I what? Wax?”

He grinned again. “Well, that wasn’t the question, but I can’t say I’m not curious.”

Katie’s face heated even more.

“I’ll put that question aside for another time, but I’d love an answer to the one on the table.”

“Which is?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No. I haven’t really dated anyone since…” Her mouth went dry. She fiddled with her wedding ring.

His gaze went to it. “Since your husband.”

She nodded, stilling her hands.

He finished his coffee with a quick swallow. “He was a lucky guy.”

“I was the lucky one.” She needed to turn this around. “So what about you?”

“Am I lucky? Always. Although you know I don’t really believe in luck.”

She remembered. He believed in random chance and personal skill. Zack believed in working the odds. “I was asking if you’re
in a relationship.”

He grinned. “You know better than that.”

“Right.” He’d explained it all that summer: He didn’t believe in emotional involvement. He believed in mutual exchanges of
companionship and sex, like some kind of fair-trade barter system.

“So you’re still operating on the ‘love is like a meal’ principle?” He’d said that relationships should be enjoyed like a
good dinner; when it’s over, just walk away from the table, remembering only how enjoyable it was.

“You know it.”

“Well, silly me. I thought maybe you’d experienced some emotional growth in the last eighteen years.”

He grinned. “Nope. Not a bit.”

His involvement with Gracie indicated otherwise. Still, Katie would be a fool not to take him at his word. She headed toward
the door.

He followed her. “Why don’t you and Gracie plan on coming here for dinner?” he asked. “At, say, seven? The beds are supposed
to be delivered later this morning, so Gracie can stay here if she wants.”

“Okay.”

He opened the door for her. She brushed against his arm as she walked out, and an unwelcome shock of sexual awareness shot
through her. The man was like an electric coil, she thought as she stepped out onto his wide porch.

Well, once burned, twice wary. She was older and wiser, and she knew enough about Zack to keep her distance.

With Coldplay blaring on her iPod, Gracie danced around Katie’s living room. She loved to dance, but she didn’t want anyone
to see her, because she wasn’t very good at it. Besides, if people saw you dancing, they thought you were all bubbly and happy
and crap like that.

She’d awakened an hour and a half earlier to find herself alone. She wandered into the kitchen and found Katie’s note, along
with the muffins. After eating two of them, she chugged a glass of milk and promptly set about snooping through the house.

It was a pretty boring place. The only things of real interest she’d uncovered were a drawer of sexy lingerie in Katie’s bedroom
and a vibrator in her bedside table. Those were pretty funny.

The rest of the place was just normal stuff, except for one thing: It looked like a guy still lived here. A man’s belongings
sat on one of the nightstands as well as on top of one of the dressers. Half of Katie’s closet was filled with men’s clothing,
and one of the two dressers in her bedroom was filled with men’s underwear and T-shirts and jeans. Fishing stuff sat in the
hall closet, along with a man’s coat and boots. And pictures of her husband—it was the same guy as in the wedding pictures,
so it had to be her husband—were everywhere: in the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, even the bathroom. It was kinda
creepy. Oh, and that urn on the fireplace. If it was what Gracie thought it was, it was beyond ick.

The song was getting to the good part. “You are…,” Gracie sang. She twirled around and then stopped short. Damn—Katie was
standing in the doorway, smiling at her.

Shit. She yanked out the earpieces. She didn’t want Katie to think she was thrilled to be staying with her or anything. She
immediately dropped her shoulders into a slouch and eyed Katie warily. “What are you doing here?” Which was totally stupid,
because Katie lived here.

Thank God Katie didn’t choose to point that out. “I brought you lunch.” Katie dropped a white paper bag on the dining table.
“I don’t have a lot in the fridge, and I thought you might be hungry.”

“Oh.” Truth was, she was starving, the muffins notwithstanding. “Thanks. I guess.”

“No problem.” Katie moved into the kitchen, turned on the faucet and washed her hands, then opened a cabinet and took out
two glasses. Placing them on the counter, she opened the fridge and pulled out the milk.

Gracie watched her, twirling the lock of hair above her ear. “Do you come home for lunch every day?”

“Not every day.” Katie put the milk back in the fridge and closed the door. “Did you sleep okay?”

That was a lame-ass question. The sort of thing a mom would ask. On the other hand, it probably wasn’t worth getting into
a snit over. “Not too bad.”

Katie carried the glasses to the table. Gracie followed her. “So what is there to do in this podunk town?”

“Well, Zack said you might be interested in finding a part-time job.”

Gracie shrugged. She kinda liked the idea. It sounded grown up and independent. Besides, she liked staying busy, and she liked
knowing what she was supposed to do. “Maybe.”

“Sunnyside Assisted-Living Villa is looking for help,” Katie said. “I’m working out there this afternoon, and I thought you
might want to come with me.”

“Assisted living? You mean a place where old geezers live?”

“Well, I doubt they think of themselves that way.” Katie sat down in the same chair she’d sat in at dinner. “But yes, it’s
mainly for elderly people—although they have a physical-rehab wing for people who are recovering from injuries or surgeries.
My mother-in-law broke her leg and needed knee replacement surgery, and she’s staying there for a few weeks. When she gets
out, she’s going to stay here with us until she’s well enough to go back home to New Orleans.”

“So it’s basically a nursing home.” The chair squeaked on the hardwood floor as Gracie pulled it out.

“Not exactly. Most of the residents are completely independent and rent small apartments.” Katie picked up the white bag.
“Others need some help.”

“You said you’re working there? I thought you were a hairdresser.”

“Well, Sunnyside has its own little beauty salon. Another stylist and I take turns going out there three or four times a week.
The residents are some of our most loyal clients.”

“What do you do—dye their hair blue?”

Katie grinned. “Not as blue as yours.”

Gracie smiled, then abruptly caught herself. She was
not
going to like Katie.

Katie pulled out two wrapped sandwiches and handed one to Gracie. “I hope you like turkey po’boys.”

Gracie took a bite. The tang of spicy mustard filled her mouth. She wanted to say something negative to cancel out grinning
at Katie’s comment, but the sandwich was delicious and she didn’t want to stop eating it. She decided to dis the job. “I don’t
think I want to work at a retirement home. I’m not changing anyone’s Depends.”

“Why not? It would be good practice for the baby.”

Her mouth fell open in horror. She put down the sandwich. “You’re not serious.”

Katie grinned. “You’re right. I’m not.” She unwrapped her sandwich. “Actually, I think they’re looking for someone to help
the recreation director. You could come with me and find out.”

Gracie started to say no, just on principle, but the truth was, she didn’t want to just stay here all day. “Why not? Anything
beats hanging around this shrine to your dearly departed.”

A flicker of hurt shot across Katie’s face. Aw, hell. Treating Katie badly didn’t feel nearly as good as she’d thought it
would.

Katie gave one of those I’m-gonna-smile-even-though-I-feel-bad smiles that her mom used to give her when Gracie turned nasty.
“I made an appointment for you to see an obstetrician next week.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Her name’s Dr. Greene. She’s really nice. I hope you’ll like her.”

Gracie liked the idea that the doctor was a woman. The old dude she’d seen before had been awful. “Does she do ultrasounds?”

Katie nodded. “She has a machine in her office.”

Gracie was dying to see her baby. Maybe if she saw it, it would seem real. As it was, it was hard to believe she wasn’t just
getting fatter and fatter. “So do you think she’ll do an ultrasound?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I’d imagine so.”

Annette had just swung her leg out of the bed when Dave appeared in the doorway. For a moment, the room seemed to spin. Probably
the pain meds, she told herself, clutching her pajama shirt across her chest. “What are you doing here? I told you not to
come back.”

“I needed to see you.”

“Well,
I
don’t need to see
you.
”

“Methink the lady doth protest too much.”

Arrogant SOB! How dare he presume to tell her what she needed or wanted? “That was always the problem with you,” she spat
out. “You never listened to me.”

“I didn’t?”

“No. You just heard what you wanted to hear.”

“Gee.” He rubbed the top of his head. “I’m sorry.”

The remark was as uncharacteristic as it was unexpected. Annette narrowed her eyes, looking for signs of sarcasm, but didn’t
find any. Dave always had excuses and explanations and long reasons to justify why he was right and she was wrong. This must
be a new tactic, part of a new, clever campaign to get back in her good graces. Well, it wasn’t going to work. “It’s too late
for sorry.”

He sank down in the faux-leather recliner and somberly nodded his head. “I understand why you feel that way. I was a total
ass, and I want to make it up to you.”

“Then go away, and stay away.”

His mouth curved into a winsome smile. “I don’t think you really mean that.”

Annette straightened her spine. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because you’re all stiff and prickly and angry-looking—the same way you used to get when you gave me the old silent treatment.”
He grinned. “Remember the time you didn’t speak to me for four whole days?”

“It was five.”

“Yeah. I had to sleep on the couch, and the springs dug into my back like knives. What had I done that ticked you off so much,
anyway?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No.”

That figured. He never remembered the things he did that made her angry, and Annette could never forget. “You used the money
I’d saved for a new washer and dryer for a new set of golf clubs, and you didn’t even discuss it with me.”

“Oh, yeah.” He had the nerve to grin.

“It wasn’t funny,” Annette said. “It’s still not. It was as if I was a junior member of the marriage, and you had all the
power.”

“I would have sworn it was the other way around,” Dave muttered.

Annette wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No. You said something, and I want to know what it was.”

Dave sighed. “You always had these lists of chores and jobs—mow the lawn, repair the window, pick up toothpaste.”

“I needed help! I was doing all the work in the marriage—all the cleaning, all the cooking, all the grocery shopping and errands—not
to mention everything involved in raising our son. And I was holding down a job at the same time!”

“I know, I know.” He settled into the chair beside the bed. “But it seemed like there was never any time for fun.”

“And that was all my fault?” She put her hand on her chest.

“No.” He ran a hand down his jaw and shifted his weight in the chair. “No, it wasn’t. Look—I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to
argue with you or to blame you for anything, Annette. I take full responsibility for screwing things up. I was a jerk.”

Dave never apologized. That had always been one of their problems. Hearing him apologize now, when it was too late to make
any difference, made her heart throb as badly as her leg.