The Love Series Complete Box Set (139 page)

Figuring I’ll come up with something if I keep myself occupied, I decide to tackle my bedroom today as far as painting goes. In my days as a firefighter, I did a lot of side jobs on my off days as a painter. There is something so calming about being left alone in a bare room with a can of paint and a brush, knowing you are going to transform it into something beautiful. Having been in many houses over the years, I’ve seen so many different styles and tastes—most of which I don’t care for. I like a simple, clean, modern style.

But as I stand before the hundreds of paint swatches lining the wall of the local Home Depot, I can’t pick a single color that isn’t boring. For the second time in as many days, Joe is right. My life is the epitome of beige.

Raking a hand through my hair, I actually consider ditching the job, but then I’ll actually have
nothing
to do. That thought alone motivates me to just pick a fucking color and get on with it. I grab a few swatches and laugh at myself as I stand there actually considering the differences between “Totally Taupe” and “Supreme Sand.” So when the sales clerk walks over to ask if I need any help, I let him give me some advice. As he thumbs through a few catalogues, I find a picture that actually looks like a room I wouldn’t mind living in. It’s masculine and fresh without being over-the-top manly.

After he mixes up the paint and I get a few small supplies, I feel reinvigorated and motivated—and not just to paint my room. A few ideas popped into my head about our date tomorrow night and about getting in touch with her today. Never having been a hopeless romantic, even I have to say that I’m proud of myself for my little plan. I just need to do one last thing while I’m here and then I’m good to go.

I make a few other stops on the way home, to get what I need for Lucy and for our date tomorrow. Smiling the entire time, I feel like a fool—but for once, I’m a happy fool.

Chapter Fourteen

February 14, 2013

“I had a nice time, Aaron.” Twisting in the seat of his Benz, I unbuckle my seat belt as he parks in the driveway behind my car. Ever since the break in, I try to park in the driveway as often as I can, just to make it look like I’m home.

Placing his hand over mine catches me off guard. It’s warm, but in a smarmy, sweaty kind of way—not at all comforting, like Evan’s. That’s pretty much all I’ve done all night—compare Aaron to Evan. So far, he isn’t measuring up.

“I want to see you again,” he says determinedly, not even asking. Come to think of it, I don’t think Evan actually asked me about wanting to see me this weekend, but there wasn’t anything creepy about Evan’s request. Aaron is all about the creep factor.

“Oh, I’m not sure. I have plans tomorrow night and then Saturday with my friend.”

I’m also changing my phone number and probably moving as well. You know, just in case you’re really persistent.

“Cancel them,” he demands, no please or anything.

“I can’t. Tomorrow night has been set in stone for weeks. It’s my daughter and she’s away at college so I really can’t.” I flat out lie and don’t feel bad about it at all. At the last minute, I half-heartedly add, “I’ll call you if anything changes, okay.” He moves his hand from mine, a disappointed look on his face—one that I don’t really care about.

Stepping out of his shiny, fancy car—one that he talked about for a full fifteen minutes over dinner tonight—I have to restrain myself from shaking off the creepy-crawly feeling that slithers all over my skin. He pulls out of the driveway before I even reach the front steps, clue number, oh I don’t know, twenty-seven, that Aaron is a grade-A asshole.

Linda is so getting an earful on this one. I know exactly what she’s going to say too.
He’s your age; he has a good job and he’s hot. What else do you want, Lucy?

Linda needs to seriously re-evaluate her standards. Sure, Aaron has money—which he talked about
all night long
—but money apparently does not equal class. There will most definitely
not
be a phone call to him in the near future—of far future for that matter.

As I open the storm door, I’m surprised to see a red gift bag hanging on the knob of my front door. When I get inside, I unload the contents and pull out the card, though I already have an idea of who it’s from. It’s one of those “blank inside” cards so the only thing printed in there is a note from Evan. I trace my fingers over the bold print.

Lucy,

I just wanted to drop off a little something for you today to let you know that I was thinking about you. I’m not sure what time you’ll be getting in (I hope not too late), but you can call me if you’d like. I’d still really like to see you tomorrow night. If it’s okay with you, I’ll pick you up at eight?

I know you’re supposed to give your girl flowers on Valentine’s Day, but you’re something different—in a good way. Anyway, I can’t wait to see you.

Sweet dreams ;) yes, another winky face.

Evan xx

Tearing through the paper, I actually laugh aloud as I reveal a box of The Little Mermaid Band-Aids. There’s a note taped to the front—“Look inside.” Wrapped around the brightly colored bandages, is a weathered index card with faded writing scribbled across its surface. It’s a recipe card for chicken francaise—a very old card, splotched with a few stains, sauce that bubbled over as the recipe lay on the counter. Surged with emotion, I pull out my phone and call him immediately.

“Hi.” He picks up on the first ring.

“Hey.” I drop down into the couch, kick off my shoes and trace the lines of the card in my hand. “I got your gift. It’s so . . . sweet.”

“Yeah? I didn’t know . . . I mean, I know we’re not . . . I’m glad you like it. It was my grandmother’s.”

I could tell it was old, but this is too much. “Are you sure? I mean if it’s something
that
special, then you should have it.”

“No,” he says with finality. “It’s
because
it’s special that you should have it. Besides, I don’t need it. I know how to cook, remember,” he jokes, and even though I can’t see him, I can imagine the smile lines creasing at the corners of his oh-so-kissable mouth.

That brings me to his other gift, “The Little Mermaid, huh? Why is it that every guy has a thing for Ariel? Is it the bikini?” I prop my feet up on the coffee table and lean back, resting my head right next to where Evan sat last week. I swear I can still smell his cologne on the cushions, but maybe I’m projecting.

When he doesn’t say anything, except a few incoherent stutters, laughter seeps out of me, filling the room. “Oh, my God! You do have a thing for her!”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I have a thing for you.”

Stunned into silence, I try to absorb his words. On the one hand, it feels right; I know I am ready to feel these things—they are long overdue, after all. But on the other hand, we’ve only known each other for a little over a month, in which we’ve spent so little time together.

But even I can’t deny the pull between us—the physical and emotional charge that’s flickering life back into my hibernating heart.

The prospect of spending more time with him has never seemed more appealing.

Clearing his throat, he breaks the silence, “So how was the, uh, the date?” It sounds like it took a lot of effort for him to even say the word.

Opting for blunt honesty, I spit out the truth. “It was horrible.” I can’t see him, but I can imagine there’s a satisfied grin plastered to his face.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You can stop gloating over there in all your smugness.” If he were sitting in front of me, I’d be shaking my finger in his face, but I also can’t help from snickering.

“You’re right. I’m not sorry. I’m glad you had a crappy night. It means I get to give you the night you deserve.”

“Say more stuff like that,” I half joke, half beg.

“Now, who’s being smug, sweetness?”

“So, what actually is the plan for tomorrow?” I deploy the change-the-subject-and-dig-for-more-dirt tactic that I honed while raising Melanie and Maddy.

“Nope, sorry, Lucy. You’re just going to have to wait and find out. I’ll be there at eight, though.”

My heart flutters a bit just thinking about what he’s got up his sleeve. I know, from his kiss alone, that a night with Evan could never be anything other than boring. “Okay, eight it is.”

“Goodnight, Lucy.”

“Goodnight, Evan.” Before either of us kills the line, I quickly add, “I’m really happy I had a terrible night too.”

“Sooo. . . .” Linda drags out the word, her tone inflecting upward as she slides into the extra chair in my cubicle the next morning.

I ignore her, organizing a few papers for the Children’s Cancer research project I’m working on. I’m trying to raise some funds and donations to have a princess-themed ball in conjunction with The Cure-For-Kids Foundation for a seven-year-old girl. It’s about a month away and I have a lot of work left to make it the perfect night for Chloe—the guest of honor.

“Really? Nothing?” she prods again, digging for more information.

Clicking on a few screens on my computer, I pull up a spreadsheet with email addresses of potential donors. “Luce, it can’t be
that
bad.”

I swivel around in my chair so quickly I almost fall on my butt. “Oh, I assure you. It can and it was.”

Eyeing me over the rim of her coffee mug, she has the decency to at least appear apologetic. Eventually, she concedes, softening to the fact that she was in the wrong, yet again. “So what happened this time?”

“Um, well, to say it candidly, he was an ass.” I cross my legs primly and fold my hands on top of my knee.

She nearly spits out her coffee. “But he was so cute.”

I tap my bottom lip, considering what she’s just said before changing my answer. “Fine, then he was a cute ass, but an ass nonetheless.”

I give her the play-by-play for the night. About Aaron being a corporate investor in some huge name firm, one that he was “shocked” I’d never heard about. He was so materialistic and shallow that I’d be surprised if he had pictures of his cars in his wallet instead of his kids—kids who he had, but repeatedly made a point of stating how they lived with his useless ex-wife.

Knowing nothing about exes, but everything about being a mother, there was just something in the way that he talked about her that made me uneasy. A broken marriage or not, you don’t trash talk the mother of your children—unless you’re really that classless, which in this case, he was proving himself to be just that.

Ending the story with the real kicker, I tell Linda how Aaron didn’t even get out of the car to walk me to my door.

“You’re shitting me. You mean even after the whole break-in thing? What a dick!” She finishes the last sip of her coffee and places the mug on my desk, careful not to touch any of the paperwork.

“Unfortunately, no, I’m not shitting you. But I also didn’t tell him about the break-in. He really wouldn’t let me get more than two words in all night. He actually called Melanie ‘what’s her name’ at one point,” I sigh, more than exasperated at even just recounting the events from last night. “So listen . . .”

She doesn’t even let me finish my words before saying, “Well, then let’s hope this next guy,” she pauses, pulling a folded-up piece of paper out of her pocket, “is much better.”

Practically shoving it into my hands, I have to take it from her. I unfold what I now realize is an online dating profile. “I really don’t . . .”

“We talked about this. You deserve to be happy. There are lots of fish in the sea.” She waggles her brows suggestively.

There are only three words that are going to put an end to this ridiculousness, but just as I’m about to spit them out, she leans forward and asks, “When’s the last time you got laid?”

Not all that shocked by her crass, I play it cool. “I don’t know.” I pretend to count on my fingers.