Turnabout's Fair Play (32 page)

As quietly as he could, he tore the page out. Pulling two magnets off the side of the refrigerator, he hung the note on the front, right over the water dispenser, where she wouldn’t miss it.

At the front door, he paused and turned to look back. He could barely see the bump her head made on the arm of the chair. “Good night, LadyNelle.”

His gaze fell on the note on the fridge.

Gawain + Ragnelle

The names of their two favorite characters contained in a heart.

Jamie + Flannery

That was the note contained in his heart. He prayed it was in hers, too.

Chapter 22

F
lannery pulled her pinky finger away from her mouth when she realized she was chewing the nail. Ever since Jack had brought the habit to her attention, she’d cut down on the physical display of her nerves. But sometimes …

A large, aggressive-looking black car pulled up to the curb. Black with tinted windows. That’s what he’d told her.

Taking a deep breath, she slipped her sunglasses on and stepped out into the hot morning sun, reflected as it was off the glass building behind her and the concrete and asphalt of the city sidewalk and streets. One thing about summer—city dwelling seemed to make her only too aware of just how hot it got in Nashville.

The driver’s door of the car swung open, and Jamie—dressed in tan cargo shorts and a light-blue T-shirt with ankle socks and athletic shoes that showed off his toned, tanned lower legs—jogged around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. The
back
door.

“Good morning.” His shameless grin made her only that much more nervous.

Until she peeked into the car. Big Daddy turned and looked over his shoulder. “Morning, darlin’.”

She straightened and pinned Jamie with the glare that usually made editors and graphic designers squirm and agree to her deadlines no matter how tight. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Just get in the car.”

With one more glare, she climbed in, her twill khaki shorts sliding easily on the smooth leather seat. Jamie closed the door behind her. The cool, dim interior of the car made her shiver from the contrast to the heat outside. She pulled her glasses off again.

“Big Daddy, where are we—”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell.” Her grandfather exchanged a conspiratorial grin with Jamie. She didn’t really like either of them right now.

Granted, she wasn’t necessarily a morning person. And even after getting up around ten last night and moving from the chair to the bed, her neck still hurt. Caylor’d been telling her about the absolutely fabulous massage therapist she’d found—she treated herself to a massage at the end of each semester as well as each time she finished and turned in a novel to her publisher. Flannery pulled out her phone and made a note to be sure to get the name and number from Caylor and set an appointment. She deserved it, after all the extra time she’d been putting in at work so far this summer.

In the front, Jamie and Big Daddy talked about some cutthroat game of cards they’d played—though it didn’t sound like any card game she’d ever heard of. Familiar landmarks rolled by as Jamie drove down Broadway, angling toward Vanderbilt and then slowing as the road narrowed in Hillsboro Village.

When he put on his turn signal to turn onto Acklen Avenue—right in front of the church—Flannery leaned forward, as far as the seat belt would allow. “Where are we going?”

“Ten seconds and you’ll see.” Jamie smiled at her through the rearview mirror.

Two blocks up, he turned left into a tree-shaded parking lot.

“Hillsboro Village Assisted Living.” She hadn’t been here since her early twenties, when the college group from the church took on the senior center as their volunteer project.

Big Daddy opened her door for her and offered her his hand. Though she didn’t need it, she took it and continued to hold it as they followed Jamie into the building.

Red, white, and blue bunting, streamers, and balloons hung from every corner of every wall and desk and countertop in the place.

Maureen met them near the reception counter and introduced Flannery and Big Daddy to several of the staff and the center’s director. Flannery filed each name away, grateful for their name tags on a day when she would be meeting dozens of new people.

A large contingent from the church’s senior adult group gathered in the front lobby, and after a few minutes—with Big Daddy and Maureen introducing Flannery and Jamie to everyone they hadn’t yet met—the director led them back to the community room.

“We need help setting up chairs in rows to face the stage, and tables along the back for food. And for those who can’t do that kind of heavy lifting, we could use your help with arts and crafts in the dining hall.”

Jamie and Flannery joined the nursing staff and a few other younger volunteers in setting out chairs, while Maureen and Big Daddy joined the group going to the dining hall.

“I suggested to Cookie that your grandfather probably shouldn’t be doing much vigorous activity today.” Jamie pushed a cart stacked high with heavy wood-framed upholstered chairs to the end of a half row already set out.

Flannery spun, watching her grandfather as he disappeared into the other room. “Why? What’s wrong?” She started toward the dining hall.

Jamie grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward the stack of chairs. “He says it’s allergies—that it always happens around this time of year. He’s just having a little trouble with catching his breath and his stamina.”

As a fellow seasonal allergy sufferer—probably inherited from him—Flannery could sympathize. But worry chewed at her enough that she spent the first few minutes of helping Jamie set out chairs praying for her grandfather.

“You…um…so are you surprised that this is where I wanted to bring you?”

Startled, she almost tripped over the chair she’d been pushing to the end of the row. Jamie stood there, hands in his pockets, rocking from heel to toe, deep lines between his brows, bottom lip pulled completely into his mouth. Wow, he was even cute when anxious.

“Yeah—a little. But it’s a good surprise. I used to volunteer here when I was in high school and college—and I’ve been meaning to get back. But you know what they say about good intentions.”

A slow smile softened his features—what she could see of them around the mustache and beard. He’d trimmed it, but she’d really much rather see his dimples. She gulped a couple of deep breaths. Beard or no, the temptation to kiss him grew greater each moment she was with him.

Especially after seeing the note this morning.

Gawain + Ragnelle
.

She’d taken it off the refrigerator and had been about to file it—to protect it, she told herself—in the lockbox with all the notebooks from yesteryear. But as she knelt there by the box in her closet, she thought about what the note represented.

Past pain.

Secrets.

Humiliation.

Embarrassment.

Personal joy.

Relaxation.

Contentment.

Fun.

Acceptance.

Love.

She’d put the note right back on the fridge. If she had time this week, she’d get over to the craft store and find a frame for it, because it did need to be protected.

Jamie + Flannery
needed to be protected. Not
Flannery
. That’s how she’d entered—and ended—every relationship she’d had since high school. No matter what, protect herself from getting hurt.

Her knees gave out a little when she gave in to the urge to take a break and stand back and watch Jamie work. For all that he’d been an office-job guy, he must have spent a lot of time at the gym. His arms bulged with muscles as he lifted three and four chairs at a time from the stacks. Even with his T-shirt untucked, she could see enough of his shape to know that he had a trim waist.

How could a guy who looked like that—like some of the worst world-class jerks she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting—be the kind, caring, funny, self-deprecating dork (to use his own word) she’d always told herself she’d someday fall for?

Jamie finished setting out the chairs in his stack then turned and looked around the room. The creases between his brows vanished, and the corners of his mouth drew up into a smile—no, not just
a
smile,
her
smile, the one he gave just to her—when their eyes met.

A wave of euphoric dizziness almost pulled her into its undertow, and she grabbed the edge of the table behind her.

She loved him. She barely knew him. But she loved him. Enough that she’d do anything he asked of her, especially change her last name to O’Connor.

Jamie enjoyed getting to see Flannery in action. And the girl could move. Her lithe figure belied her strength, as she held her own against the burly orderlies in the physical labor of getting the community room set up.

Once the director deemed they’d put out enough chairs, she asked for help in decorating the space—hanging bunting, draping streamers, and blowing up balloons.

“I’ll do the balloons.” Flannery eyed the ladder a maintenance man carried into the high-ceilinged room, chewing on the nail of her pinky finger. Not fan of heights, huh? He’d file that away for future reference.

“Oh, I wouldn’t ask volunteers to go up on the ladder—staff only. Cuts down on liability. But do as many balloons as you can. What we don’t use for decorations in here, we’ll tie to the residents’ wheelchairs and walkers or give to the kids who come out to visit this afternoon.

Jamie offered to be a spotter, holding the base of the ladder steady while the guy at the top jiggled it around as he worked. He handed up tools and supplies as needed and helped move everything around the room.

They’d just reached the last corner when high-pitched laughter caught Jamie’s attention. It sounded like Flannery…but not. He exchanged a curious glance with the maintenance guy—two rungs up with heavy bunting hanging across the entryway to the dining hall.

Jamie turned. Three orderlies stood in a semicircle around Flannery, who—at that very moment—put a balloon up to her mouth and inhaled. She said something in a cartoonishly high voice, and all four of them laughed.

He didn’t know whether to join in the laughter or go pull her away. Couldn’t she see the three men were smitten with her?

“You’re a lucky man.” The maintenance guy tapped Jamie’s shoulder.

“I’m—what?” Tearing his gaze away from Flannery, he looked up.

“I’ve seen the way that gal looks at you. It’s not very often that a fella finds a woman who’ll look at him as her one and only, and that’s the way she looks at you. It’s easy to tell y’all have been together a long time, too. Not many would feel comfortable letting other men try to get their woman’s attention. But when you’re confident she loves you, and you alone, there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” He pointed to Jamie’s left side. “Now, hand me that hammer.”

With a man’s safety depending on him, Jamie had no choice but to steady the ladder, turning his back on Flannery. The laughter died down, replaced once again by the steady rhythm of balloons being filled and tied off.

That was just it, wasn’t it? He’d fallen, and fallen hard, for Flannery. But he really didn’t know her all that well. He knew her deepest, darkest secret—or at least, he hoped she didn’t have any others—but he didn’t even know her birthday or exactly how old she was, though he assumed within a year or two of his own thirty-five.

His new weekend roommate could be a fantastic source of all that kind of information—Jamie just needed to figure out how to get it without interrogating her grandfather.

They’d been e-mailing back and forth almost daily through the fansite—but not sharing anything personal. Through regular e-mail, several days lapsed between messages and responses—though she’d e-mailed him a couple of times a day since lunch Friday.

Cookie had told him that she’d fallen in love with his grandfather through the letters they wrote back and forth while James lived in Atlanta and Cookie was in college and nursing school. Could he and Flannery be doing the same thing—only with a compressed timeline due to the speediness of electronic mail?