Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | A Million Little Things: An uplifting read about friends, family and second chances for summer 2018 from the #1 New York Times bestselling author

A Million Little Things: An uplifting read about friends, family and second chances for summer 2018 from the #1 New York Times bestselling author
Susan Mallery


#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR‘Warm, witty and romantic. The perfect feel-good read’ – Sarah Morgan on You Say It FirstZoe Saldivar is more than just single—she's ALONE.Zoe knows something needs to change…Living alone with her cat, Zoe must face up to the truth about her life. She has ended her long-term relationship, works from home, and is isolated from her baby-obsessed best friend. Zoe is more than just newly single. Zoe is alone.A new friendship and a surprise romance may offer Zoe the connections she is after, but they won’t come without their own complications!Praise for Susan Mallery:‘Susan Mallery never disappoints…. She is at her storytelling best.’ -Debbie Macomber, #1 New York Times bestselling author‘Heartfelt, funny, and utterly charming all the way through!’ Susan Elizabeth Phillips‘Mallery returns to Mischief Bay with another set of friends dealing with dramatic yet relatable turmoil, which she treats with compassion, discernment, and subtlety’ Kirkus Reviews on The Friends We Keep‘An engaging read to be savoured all the way through.’ Publishers Weekly on The Friends We Keep‘ highly original and fascinating page-turner you may lose sleep over. Mallery brings our inner lives to the surface and evokes deep emotions from her readers. You will fall in love with the girls of Mischief Bay.’ -RT Book Reviews on The Friends We Keep‘Mallery, a best-selling romance writer, can write a believable love story. But what makes this story remarkable is how strong and relatable the friendship between the characters is. This is a welcome return to Mischief Bay.’ -Booklist  on The Friends We Keep‘Once again, Susan Mallery has created an inviting world that envelops her readers' senses and sensibilities… Fans of Jodi Picoult, Debbie Macomber, and Elin Hilderbrand will assuredly fall for The Girls of Mischief Bay.’ -Bookreporter‘Fresh and engaging…the writing is strong, the dialogue genuine and believable. There's a generational subtext that mirrors reality and the complexities of adult relationships…filled with promise of a new serial that's worth following.’ -Fort Worth Star-Telegram on The Girls of Mischief BayThe third of Susan Mallery’s Mischief Bay series is full of warmth, laughter, and the dilemmas of family life. Perfect for fans of Debbie Macomber, and Jennifer Joyce.







From the bestselling author of The Girls of Mischief Bay and The Friends We Keep comes a twisty tale of family dynamics that explores what can go terribly, hysterically wrong when the line between friendship and family blurs...

Zoe Saldivar is more than just single—she’s ALONE. She recently broke up with her longtime boyfriend, she works from home and her best friend Jen is so obsessed with her baby that she has practically abandoned their friendship. The day Zoe accidentally traps herself in her attic with her hungry-looking cat, she realizes that it’s up to her to stop living in isolation.

Her seemingly empty life takes a sudden turn for the complicated—her first new friend is Jen’s widowed mom, Pam. The only guy to give her butterflies in a very long time is Jen’s brother. And meanwhile, Pam is being very deliberately seduced by Zoe’s own smooth-as-tequila father. Pam’s flustered, Jen’s annoyed and Zoe is beginning to think “alone” doesn’t sound so bad, after all.

Friendship isn’t just one thing—it’s a million little things, and no one writes them with more heart and humor than book club sensation Susan Mallery!


THE LOVE FOR SUSAN MALLERY’S BOOKS DOESN’T STOP!

“Heartfelt, funny, and utterly charming all the way through!”

—Susan Elizabeth Phillips

“The multilevel plot is rich with assumptions, expectations, and classic family dynamics, plus exceptionally well-developed and appealing characters. VERDICT: Funny, tender, moving...[a] pure delight and a rewarding read for romance and women’s fiction fans alike.”

—Library Journal, starred review

“5 Stars! The characters will have you crying, laughing, and falling in love... Another brilliantly well-written story.”

—San Francisco Book Review

“Once again, Susan Mallery has created an inviting world that envelops her readers’ senses and sensibilities. Fans of Picoult, Debbie Macomber, and Elin Hilderbrand will assuredly fall for The Girls of Mischief Bay.”

—Bookreporter.com

“[Mallery] will appeal to fans of women’s fiction, especially such friendship books as Karen Joy Fowler’s The Jane Austen Book Club.”

—Booklist

“Fresh and engaging... There’s a generational subtext that mirrors reality and the complexities of adult relationships...filled with promise of a new serial that’s worth following.”

—Fort Worth Star-Telegram

“Mallery enthralls [and] thoroughly involves readers in the lives of her characters as they face realistic, believable problems and search for their own happy endings.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Both heart-wrenching and warmhearted... A discerning, affecting look at three women facing surprising change and the powerful and uplifting impact of friends.”

—Kirkus Reviews


A Million Little Things

Susan Mallery







A MILLION LITTLE THINGS

© 2017 by Susan Mallery, Inc.

Published in Great Britain 2017

by HQ Digital, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

ISBN: 978-1-474-07103-1

Version: 2018-01-18


Contents

Cover (#ue39abd04-5a93-5564-9a00-9055b9eb6cb5)

Back Cover Text (#uaaa847ae-8a17-5fa5-9867-db515a2b0639)

Praise (#u22c7ab3c-3c04-5a4c-b116-9a71525a60af)

Title Page (#u0ac6174d-f88b-5976-b095-3f101950034c)

Copyright (#ua757d60a-6bd7-5258-b709-3fb5cc305db6)

Chapter One (#uf951b02b-19d1-59c8-83be-48b856ab970b)

Chapter Two (#ua65e6db1-84f3-5ef7-aa0c-a9c7cbfd7159)

Chapter Three (#uec9fb0c8-e3ce-5479-b2d6-4632e0aa5d51)

Chapter Four (#u6488d2fa-a959-58a9-b4a2-10bd31e57e27)

Chapter Five (#ue3c6b782-aba8-5020-a26b-4cfdc17f05cf)

Chapter Six (#ua2b40bac-f972-58ea-b3f9-e5a50ac5b840)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Reader’s Guide (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)

Suggested Book Club Menu (#litres_trial_promo)

Recipe (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#uc3d276f1-09e1-5fb7-98c5-992e2160db4a)

“My name is Zoe Saldivar and I just had stupid sex with my ex-boyfriend.”

As Zoe spoke, she carefully pulled on the rope dangling from the attic door in her ceiling. The mechanism was very stiff and if it snapped back in place too hard, the door would be stuck forever. Or so the building inspector had told her when she’d been in escrow for her house.

“Not that the sex was stupid,” she continued. “It was okay. I want to say I was drunk, but I wasn’t. I even knew better. And I do know better. I was weak. There. I’ve said it. I had stupid ex-boyfriend sex in a moment of weakness.”

The ladder lowered into place in the small hallway of her house. Zoe put her foot on the first step and then looked at Mason, her oversize marmalade cat.

“Nothing?” she asked. “You don’t want to offer any advice at all?”

Mason blinked.

“Is that disinterest or are you giving me a pass?”

Mason yawned.

“I can’t decide which is worse,” Zoe admitted. “The stupid sex or the fact that you’re the only one I have to talk to about it.”

She climbed the narrow, rickety steps up to the surprisingly spacious attic. So far she hadn’t put much up there—mostly because hauling anything large or heavy on those stairs was nearly impossible. But she had found a home for her luggage and the new seasonal flag collection she’d bought at a recent beach craft fair. Her mom had always loved celebrating every holiday and season. Now that Zoe had her own house, she wanted to follow suit.

She turned on the light and ignored the innate creepiness of being in an attic. This one was open and didn’t smell too musty. But hello, it was still an attic.

She moved the four-foot flagpole to the attic opening, then returned to pick out the “spring” flag she would hang. She held it up and smiled at the beautiful woven bouquet of brightly colored flowers.

“Perfect.”

Something creaked.

Zoe turned in time to see Mason heading up the stairs.

“No!”

The last thing she needed was to have her cat disappear into some dusty corner for several hours while she tried to coax him out.

Mason gave her his best green-eyed “who me?” stare before jumping into the attic.

He was a big boy. Eighteen pounds of muscle, and okay, maybe too many cat treats. Regardless, when he bounced, the stairs bounced, too. Then they rose with astonishing speed before snapping into place. The final thunk of the attic stairs coming to rest shook the house. Silence followed.

Zoe and Mason stared at each other before the cat strolled off to begin exploring, his tail held high. As if everything was fine. But she knew better.

Don’t close the attic door hard. It’s warped from age and humidity and needs to be replaced. If you let it snap shut, it’s going to get stuck.

The inspector’s words came back to her. Words she’d duly noted but hadn’t done anything about. She’d had her mind on things like painting and new window coverings. I mean seriously, they were attic stairs. How much could they matter?

Only they mattered now. A lot.

Zoe let the seasonal flag slip from her fingers. She crossed to the attic door and gave a little push. Nothing happened. She pushed harder, with the same result.

She was not a mechanical person. She could change a lightbulb and tell her computer to update with the best of them, but anything more complicated was challenging. She understood the concept of the attic stairs. She pulled a rope and the trap door opened. Stairs unfolded. When she was done, she pushed the stairs back into their folded position and they gracefully closed.

What she didn’t know was how to make that happen from the inside of the attic rather than the hallway. If she stood on the stairs and they opened, she would find herself tumbling down to the hallway below. That was unlikely to have a happy ending.

She knelt in front of the opening and put her hands on both sides of the stairs, then pushed down as hard as she could. There wasn’t even a hint of movement. She was well and truly stuck.

She shifted until she was sitting on the attic floor and tried to figure out what to do. Calling out for help was pretty useless. There was no one home—mostly because she lived alone. Sure she had friends, but they wouldn’t miss her for days. The same with her father. Her cell was downstairs and flagging down a neighbor would be challenging, what with the attic not having any windows.

She swallowed and told herself it wasn’t getting any hotter up here. That she was fine, and yes, she could breathe. Everything was okay. Something moved in the corner and she jumped, then pressed her hand against her suddenly thundering heart. Mason appeared. Was it just her or was he eyeing her in a somewhat predatory way?

“You are so not eating my liver,” she told him.

He smiled.

Zoe forced herself to her feet. If there was a problem, there was also a solution. She would find it. If worse came to worst, she would simply throw herself on the attic door and take her chances with the fall. Better that than dying a slow, painful death alone up here.

As she prowled the large space, she tried to think positively. She would be fine. This would be a great anecdote for later. But her brain kept supplying her with awful stories she’d read about people dying and not being found until they were mummified. Because no one noticed they were missing.

Which could very well happen to her, she thought, horrified at the realization. She lived alone. She worked from home. Her best friend was obsessed with her eighteen-month-old son and rarely called. Zoe could very easily end up liverless and mummified. She’d seen the pictures in science class. Mummified was not a good look on anyone.

Twenty minutes later she had collected her luggage, the flagpole, two old musty blankets and, oddly enough, a metal bow rake. The latter items had been left by the house’s previous owner. If James Bond could kill someone with a fountain pen, she could MacGyver her way out of the attic.

She placed the pole right by the opening and her smallest suitcase next to it. The blankets were being held in reserve in case she really did have to throw herself on the stairs and hope she didn’t kill herself when she landed. She would wrap herself in them to help break the fall. But first, a more sensible approach.

She stood with the rake head pressed flat against the opening. She pressed down as hard as she could. The door shifted slightly, then snapped closed. She rested for a second, then pressed down again, this time using her body weight for leverage. She felt the door give a hair, then half an inch, then a little more. She managed to kick the flagpole into the opening to hold it.

She straightened and shook out her arms. If she made it out of here, she was so going to have a serious talk with Mason. And maybe start working out. And get more friends. And one of those old people alert thingies.

When her arms felt less shaky, she went back to work. This time she got the door open enough to slide the small suitcase in the resulting space. The pressure dented the plastic, but allowed her to widen the opening.

Two suitcases and much swearing later, the attic door dropped to the open position and the stairs oh so gracefully unfurled. Mason trotted past her and made his way to the main floor, then looked up as if asking what was taking her so long.

“We are so having a talk about your attitude,” Zoe muttered as she followed him down the stairs. “And tonight, there’s going to be wine.”

* * *

Four days after the attic incident, as Zoe thought of it, she stopped by Let’s Do Tea for scones on her way to her friend Jen’s place. One of the advantages of working from home was that her time was pretty much her own. If she wanted to get her work done at two in the morning, no one cared. The downside, of course, was the fact that no one would know if she was mummifying in her attic.

No matter how many times she reminded herself that she’d figured out a way to escape and now was fine, she couldn’t shake the feeling of having stared down her own mortality—and blinked. Or maybe her general unease had nothing to do with attic near death. Maybe it was more about feeling so incredibly isolated.

All her old work friends had either relocated with the company to San Jose or found other work. Her dad was a great guy and local, but still her dad. It wasn’t as if they were going to go shopping together. She worked at home and rarely had a reason to leave. Somehow in the past few months, she’d kind of lost the concept of having a life.

Breaking up with Chad was a big part of that, she told herself as she walked to the bakery counter to choose her scones. Not that it hadn’t been the right thing to do. But now she was left at loose ends.

She picked out a dozen scones—buttermilk, blueberry and white chocolate chip—before returning to her car and driving the handful of blocks to Jen’s house.

The mid-March air was cool, the sky clear. The Pacific Ocean less than a half mile away kept the beach community of Mischief Bay regulated, temperature-wise. Even in winter, it rarely got below sixty, although it could be damp.

She turned onto Jen’s street, then pulled into the circular drive. The big, one-level ranch-style house sprawled across an oversize lot. The landscaping was mature, the roof on the newer side. In the land of escalating home prices, especially in this neighborhood, Jen and her husband, Kirk, had hit the housing jackpot.

Zoe wrinkled her nose as she remembered that good fortune had come at a terrible price. Almost two years ago, Jen’s father had suddenly passed away. Jen’s mother, Pam, had given the house to her daughter and moved into a condo. Zoe would guess, given the choice, Jen would rather be back in her small apartment and have her dad around. Zoe knew she would give anything to have her mother with her again.

“That whole attic thing has pushed me into morbid land,” she murmured as she got out of the car. “Time for a mood shift.”

She walked to the front door and knocked softly. A bright yellow hand-painted sign above the doorbell warned My Baby Is Sleeping.

A few seconds later, Jen Beldon opened the door. “Zoe,” she said, sounding surprised. “Was I expecting you?” Jen, a pretty brunette with hazel eyes, groaned. “I was. I’m sorry. I’m a horrible friend. Come in.”

Zoe hugged Jen, then held up the box. “I bring terrible food that neither of us should be eating, so that makes me a bad friend, too.”

“Thank God. Lately all I want is carbs. The more, the better.”

Jen led the way into the big, open kitchen. She put water in a kettle, then set it on the stove. After collecting a teapot from a cupboard, she scooped loose tea into a strainer.

“The days go by so fast,” she said. “I can’t seem to keep track of where I am, timewise. There are always a thousand things to do.”

Jen wore a baggy T-shirt over black yoga pants. She had on white socks but no shoes. There were dark shadows under her eyes, as if she hadn’t been sleeping, and the extra weight she’d gained carrying her eighteen-month-old son, Jack, was firmly in place.

“Kirk’s so busy at work. I know he’s happy, but his hours are erratic. And don’t get me started on his partner.”

“Still making you nervous?” Zoe asked sympathetically.

“Every single day. The man is a walking, breathing cowboy. He has no regard for the rules. I don’t know why he hasn’t been disciplined or fired.”

Six months ago Kirk had left the relative safety of the Mischief Bay Police Department for a detective position at the LAPD. His partner was a reckless old-timer named Lucas. Jen lived in fear that Lucas was going to lead Kirk into dangerous situations.

Zoe put the scones on a plate and set them on the table. She collected butter from the refrigerator, along with milk for the tea.

She glanced at her friend. “Should I ask about Jack?”

Tears immediately filled Jen’s eyes. Her friend looked away, then back at her. “He’s the same. Bright, happy, loving. I just wish...”

The kettle began to whistle. Jen turned and snapped off the heat, then poured the boiling water into the teapot.

Zoe took her place at the table and held in a sigh. Jack was a sweet baby who had reached every milestone exactly when he was supposed to. Rolling over, sitting up, crawling, reaching for objects. The only thing he hadn’t done was talk. He rarely vocalized, instead getting his point across in other ways.

Jen had grown increasingly worried over the past few months, convinced something was wrong. Zoe didn’t have enough experience to offer an opinion, but as every specialist Jen had been to had said Jack would talk when he was ready, she thought maybe her friend was making herself crazy over something that might not be a problem.

Jen poured the tea, then brought the baby monitor from the counter to the table and took her seat. “I’m still doing a lot of home testing with Jack,” she said. “He does so well on nearly everything. I think he’s bright. He’s not regressing, at least not that I can see. I have another specialist I’m going to take him to next week.” She sighed and reached for a scone. “Maybe it’s nutritional.” She waved the scone. “I’d never let him have this. I’m so careful with his diet.” She sighed heavily. “I just wish I could sleep. But it’s hard. I worry.”

“Of course you do. You have a lot going on.”

“Tell me about it. I had to let the cleaning service go. They were using a spray cleaner. Can you believe it? I told them they could only use steam and those special cloths I bought. What if the fumes from the chemicals are affecting Jack’s development? What if it’s the paint on the walls or the varnish on the floors?”

“What if he’s fine?”

Zoe spoke without thinking, then wanted to call the words back. Jen’s gaze turned accusing and her mouth pulled into a straight line.

“Now you sound like my mother,” she snapped. “Look, I know it’s not a big deal to you, but Jack is my child and I’m his only advocate, okay? I know there’s something wrong. I just know it. If you had children of your own, you’d understand.”

Zoe had been looking forward to her chocolate chip scone. Now she found herself unable to take a bite.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I only meant to help.”

“You didn’t.”

She waited, wondering if Jen was going to apologize for her snipey remarks, but her friend only continued to glare at her.

“Then I should go,” Zoe said quietly. She rose and started for the door.

Jen followed her. Before Zoe walked out of the house, Jen touched her arm.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to hear that Jack’s okay from one more person. He’s not and I seem to be the only one who sees that. I’m drowning and no one sees it. Please understand.”

“I’m trying,” Zoe told her. “Do you want me to come back next week?”

“What?” Jen’s eyes filled with tears again. “No, don’t say that. You’re my best friend. I need you. Please come back. We’ll do better next time. It’ll be great. Promise?”

Zoe nodded slowly. The words were there, but they weren’t best friends anymore. They hadn’t been in a while.

“I’ll see you then,” she said and made her way to her car. When she was driving away she realized that she’d never had the chance to tell Jen about what had happened to her in the attic or anything else that was going on.

Everything was different now, she thought. There was no Chad. Jen was slipping away. Zoe felt as if she was living in total isolation. If she didn’t want to die alone, then she was going to have to make some changes in her life. Step one, she told herself, find a handyman to fix her attic stairs. Step two, get her butt out of the house and make new friends.

* * *

Jennifer Beldon knew that every mother thought her child was special, but in her case, it was genuinely true. John Beldon, who was named after his late grandfather and who went by Jack, was handsome, happy and oh, so bright. At eighteen months old he could walk and run, albeit unsteadily. He could stack large blocks, understand words like up or down or hot. He could laugh, point to objects she named, recognize the sound of his father’s car pulling in the drive and kick a ball with surprising accuracy. He was careful with his grandmother’s very odd and delicate little dog and even washed his hands himself—sort of—before meals.

What he didn’t, couldn’t or wouldn’t do was talk.

Jen sat on the family room floor with Jack across from her. Classical music played in the background. The rug was organic cotton and plush enough to provide a little protection when there was a tumble. Sunlight streamed through steam-cleaned windows. As far as the eye could see, the nose could smell and the lungs could breathe, there were no chemicals of any kind.

She held up a simple drawing of a spider. Jack clapped and pointed. The second drawing had all the spider parts, but they were put together incorrectly, creating more of a random pattern than an insect. Jack frowned and shook his head, as if he knew something wasn’t right. She showed the spider drawing a second time and got a happy grin.

“You are a smart boy,” she said cheerfully. “Yes, that’s a spider. Good for you.”

Jack nodded, then patted his mouth with his palm. She immediately recognized the signal, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was eleven-thirty.

“Are you hungry?” As she asked the question, her stomach growled. “Me, too. I’m going to make lunch. Want to watch?”

Jack laughed and crawled the short distance between them. Once he reached her, he stood and held out his arms for a hug.

She pulled him close and let the warmth of his little body comfort her. He was such a good boy, she thought, her heart overflowing with gratitude. Smart, loving, sweet. If only...

She pushed that thought away. The day was going well. She would focus on that and deal with the rest of it later.

She rose and together they headed for the kitchen. Jack made a beeline for the small activity table set up in the corner by the pantry. There were all kinds of things to keep him busy while she cooked. A giant pad of paper and chubby, nontoxic crayons, a blue-and-green “lunch box” that played music and talked about the various items he loaded in it. She’d wanted to put in a small play kitchen, but Kirk had objected. When she’d pointed out that it was perfectly fine for boys to cook, he’d insisted on equal time, with a play workbench, and even though their kitchen was large, it couldn’t hold both toys and still leave room for her.

She carefully pulled the gate closed behind her, so Jack couldn’t go exploring without her, then plugged her phone into the small speaker docking station. After starting Pandora, she scrolled to one of their favorite stations.

“In the mood for disco?” she asked with a smile.

Jack looked at her and grinned.

The Bee Gees’ “You Should Be Dancing” started. She moved her hips. Jack did the same—kind of—he was a little awkward, but still pretty coordinated for his age. She began stepping from side to side, moving backward toward the sink. Jack laughed and clapped his hands. She spun twice and he did the same.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting down to their meal. She’d pulled Jack’s high chair close. Disco music still played from the overhead speakers.

His lunch was a small portion of tender chicken and a cauliflower-potato fritter modified from a recipe she’d found online. She used an air fryer to make sure it wasn’t greasy, with eggs and a bit of organic cheddar acting as a binder. She made them smaller than the recipe called for so they were the perfect size for him to pick up. While Jack was pretty good with a spoon, she found that the meal went better when he could simply pick up everything on his plate.

She had leftover salmon from the night before and a couple of crackers. She probably should have made herself a salad, but it was so much effort. Kirk would tell her to buy one of those premade bags, which probably made sense, but seemed a little wasteful to her.

“Today is Wednesday,” she said between bites. “It’s nice that it’s so sunny outside. We can go for a walk later and see the ocean.”

Everything she’d read said to be sure to talk to Jack as if he were capable of understanding. Just because he wasn’t talking didn’t mean he wasn’t hearing. She was careful to always use complete sentences and plenty of specific nouns. Lulu, her mom’s pet, wasn’t just a dog. She was a Chinese crested. Food was specific, too. Bread, apple, rice cereal. The same with his toys.

Every second he was awake, she knew where he was and what he was doing. She was always looking for opportunities to stimulate his brain, to help him grow. She knew all the warning signs of autism and except for his inability to speak, Jack didn’t have any of them. But there was a reason he didn’t talk and a thousand things that could still go wrong. That reality kept her up at night.

After lunch, Jack carefully carried his plate back to the kitchen. She took it from him and put it on the counter, next to hers. She drew the gate shut again and turned off the music. Because a child had to get used to quiet, as well.

She plugged in her earbuds and, as she did every day after lunch, tuned into the police scanner app. It was the usual barrage of chatter. Two officers being sent to investigate possible domestic abuse. Someone checking in with dispatch to see if they wanted breadsticks with marinara. She glanced at the counter to make sure she’d put all the food away. Seconds later, her entire body went cold.

The words came too fast for her to follow what was happening, but enough of them got through. Two detectives. Shooter. Officer down.

Kirk! Panic flooded her, making her heart race. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t catch her breath. Even knowing she wasn’t having a heart attack didn’t stem the growing sense of dread. Her chest was tight and even though she was inhaling, she couldn’t seem to get air into her lungs.

Crackers are a tasty snack.

The singing voice from Jack’s toy cut through the growing fog in her brain. She glanced at her son, who pushed the square of plastic crackers into the lunch box, then laughed.

She hung on to the counter and told herself to stay calm. If Kirk was the injured officer, she would be getting a phone call. A squad car would show up to take her to wherever it was family went in times like this. In the meantime, she dialed Kirk’s cell, but it went right to voice mail—as it always did when he was working.

She desperately wanted to turn on the TV, but couldn’t. Jack couldn’t be exposed to the news. It was too violent. She didn’t know what memories he might retain. Besides, everything she’d read or heard said to limit television at his age.

She carefully scraped the food into her composting bin, then put the plates in the dishwasher. She wiped down the counters, all the while listening to the scanner. There were no details, just more jumbled information. No mention of names. Just a repeat of what she’d heard before.

When the kitchen was clean, she reluctantly took out her earpieces. She didn’t want to wear them in front of Jack. He needed to know she was paying attention to him. She was still having trouble breathing and was wracked by occasional tremors. Going to the beach was out of the question now. She had to stay home in case the worst had happened.

Jen took Jack into the backyard. She kept the slider open so she could hear if someone came to the front door. She had her cell phone in her pocket. For an endless hour, she played with her son, all the while waiting anxiously for some bit of news from Kirk. About one forty-five, they headed inside, where she gave Jack a light snack of pumpkin dip with a quarter of a sliced apple. When he was done with that, they went into his room to begin his afternoon prenap ritual.

She pulled the curtains shut while he picked out which stuffed animal he wanted with him. Winnie the Pooh usually won and today was no exception. She helped Jack take off his shoes, then got him into bed. She sat next to him and turned on the night-light/music box she played every afternoon. The familiar music made him yawn. One story later, he was already asleep. Jen turned on the baby monitor, then slowly backed out of the room. Once the door was closed, she ran into the family room and turned on the TV.

All the local stations were back to their regular programming. She switched over to CNN but Wolf Blitzer was talking about an uptick in the stock market. She raced to her desk and waited impatiently for her laptop to boot, then went to her local affiliate’s website and scanned the articles.

She found one on the shooting, but it hadn’t been updated in thirty minutes. There was no news beyond a suspect shooting at two detectives. The suspect had been taken into custody. There was no information on a downed officer—which meant what? No one had been shot? They didn’t want to say anything until family had been notified?

She tried Kirk’s cell again and went right to voice mail. She told herself he was fine. That he would be home soon. She needed to get moving, to tackle all the chores that piled up during the day. Jack’s nap was only about an hour. The quiet time was precious.

Only she couldn’t seem to move—mostly because her chest hurt and she still wasn’t breathing well. Panic loomed, threatening to take her over the edge. She needed her husband. She needed her son to start talking. She needed someone to keep the walls around her from closing in.

Her eyes burned but she didn’t dare cry. If she started, she might not stop and that would frighten Jack. She didn’t want any of her craziness to rub off on him. She still remembered being little and having her mother always worry and how that had upset her.

She forced herself to stand. She had to plan menus for the next few days then create a grocery list. There was laundry and the sheets needed to be changed. She would just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Kirk was fine. He had to be fine. If he wasn’t—

She sank back into her chair and wrapped her arms around her midsection. She was going to throw up. Or maybe faint. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—

Her phone chirped, notifying her of an incoming text message from Kirk.

She straightened and grabbed her cell off the desk. Relief poured through her as she read and she sucked a lungful of air.

Hey, babe. Did you want me to pick up something at the grocery store? Sorry, but I can’t remember what you told me this morning. Love you.

Jen made a half laugh, half sob sound and typed back a response. Kirk was okay. Order was restored.

She stood and ran through her mental to-do list. Sheets, grocery planning and the list, if she had time. Then five minutes online looking for information on someone who could tell her why her little boy refused to talk.


Chapter Two (#uc3d276f1-09e1-5fb7-98c5-992e2160db4a)

“It’s not gonna happen.”

Pam Eiland allowed herself a slightly smug smile as she rolled her shoulders back to appear more in charge. Because she knew she was right. “Oh, please, Ron. You’re doubting me? You know better.”

Ron, the blond, thirtysomething plant guy and part-time coach of the UCLA volleyball team, shook his head. “You can’t grow bush monkey flower in a container. These guys like rocky soil, lots of sun and excellent drainage.”

“All three conditions can be created in a container. I’ve done it before.”

“Not with bush monkey flower.”

What was it about men? They always thought they knew better. One would think after nearly two years of her buying plants he swore wouldn’t grow in containers on her condo deck and then making them flourish, he would be convinced. One might think that, but one would be wrong.

“You said that about the hummingbird sage and Shaw’s agave,” she pointed out.

“No way. I totally told you Shaw’s agave would grow in a container.”

The man was incredibly intense about his plants. Intense and wrong. “I’m going to buy the bush monkey flower and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“You don’t even have a plan,” he complained. “You buy your plants based on the names.”

That was true. “When my grandson asks me about my plants, I want to be able to say they all have funny names.”

“That’s a ridiculous reason to buy a plant.”

“So says a man who doesn’t have children. One day you’ll understand.”

Ron didn’t look convinced. He collected the three one-gallon plants, shaking his head at the same time. “You’re a stubborn woman.”

“You’re actually not the first person to tell me that.” She handed over her credit card. “You’ll deliver these later?”

“I will.”

The words were more growl than agreement. Poor guy, she thought. He didn’t take defeat well. He would be even more crushed when she showed him pictures of the flourishing plants.

After returning her credit card to her, he tore off the receipt for her to sign, then he held out his hands, palms up. Of course. Because Pam and her regular purchases were not the real draw for Ron.

Pam opened her large tote. “Come here, little girl.”

A head popped out. Lulu, her Chinese crested, glanced around, spotted Ron, yelped with excitement then scrambled toward him. Ron picked her up and cradled her against his broad chest.

The tiny dog looked incredibly out of place against Ron’s How’s Your Fern Hanging T-shirt. Lulu was slim, hairless—except for the white plumes that covered the top of her head, her lower legs and tail—and wearing a pink sundress. The latter as much to protect her delicate skin as to make a fashion statement.

Ron held her gently, whispering into her ear and getting doggy kisses in return. It was an amazing thing, Pam thought. Lulu was a total guy magnet. Seriously—the more macho the guy, the more he was attracted to the tiny dog. Pam’s friends teased her she should put that power to good use. Which was not going to happen. She was old enough to be Ron’s...

She glanced at her plant guy. Okay, maybe not mother, but certainly his much older babysitter. Not that the age thing mattered. She wasn’t interested in any man. She’d lost the great love of her life two years ago. While she would never forget John, the sharpest pain had faded, leaving wonderful memories. They were enough.

Ron reluctantly handed Lulu back. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“She is.”

“You’re wrong about the bush monkey flower.”

“When I prove to you I’m right, I will mock you for your lack of faith.”

Ron flashed her a grin—one she was sure sent hundreds of coeds swooning. “We’ll see.”

Pam put Lulu back in the tote, slung it over her shoulder and headed out onto the sidewalk. It was mid-March. She was sure there was a massive snowstorm happening somewhere in the country but here in Mischief Bay it was sunny and a balmy seventy-two. There were skateboarders practicing their moves in the park, people on bikes and mothers out with small children.

For a second she thought about calling her daughter and suggesting she and Jack join Lulu and herself for a quick lunch. An excellent idea in theory, if not in practice. Because Jen would obsess about Jack getting too much sun or not the right food. She would also fuss about the table being clean enough, and then point out that it was wrong for Pam to bring her dog into a restaurant. And while Lulu was technically not allowed, she stayed in her tote and never made a sound. Which was more than could be said for a lot of the human patrons.

The point being... Pam sighed. While she would very much like to spend an afternoon with her grandson the same couldn’t be said about her daughter. Oh, she loved Jen. She would die for Jen or donate an organ. She wished her only the best. But—and this was something Pam hadn’t admitted to anyone but Lulu—since Jack had been born, Jen wasn’t very much fun.

She was obsessed with her child. Was he growing? Was he sitting up when he should? Did he maintain eye contact? Being around her was exhausting and stressful. And thinking that probably made her a bad person. She knew what it was to worry about kids. She’d been a bit of an obsessive mother herself. But nothing like this.

She reached into her tote and patted Lulu. “What do you suggest?” she asked her little dog. “Should we live with our flaws and go get ice cream?”

Lulu barked. Pam took that as a yes. She would, she promised herself, gird her loins and visit her daughter in the morning. But for this afternoon, she would enjoy the beach and the fun of repotting her bush monkey flowers. Later, there would be ice cream.

* * *

Off to later switch down.

Zoe wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t sure where to place the blame. A faulty translation program or human error. Either way, the message was getting lost. She glanced at the second document open on her large computer screen and began to type.

To turn off the unit, press down on the power switch. After thirty minutes in standby mode, it will shut off automatically. Because if you’re stupid enough to walk away without turning off an incredibly hot iron, we will do our very best to keep you from burning down your house. Personally I’m not sure you deserve that much consideration, but no one asked me.

Zoe allowed herself a brief fantasy that she would simply hit the send button. If only. Then she carefully and responsibly deleted the last two sentences and moved on to the next section of the instruction manual.

She translated more semi-English to the real thing. This week’s work was small appliances. The week before had been some high-tech medical equipment. That had been more challenging. It wasn’t so much that the original manuals weren’t written in English, it was that they’d been written by people who spoke in code and abbreviations. Technicians in hospitals were busy with pressing problems. They didn’t have time to figure out what they thought the instructions meant. They had to do their job and move on to the next patient.

Zoe made that possible. She translated manuals from their original gibberish to something easily understood. She knew that for the most part the average consumer never bothered cracking a manual, but if they happened to read one of hers, they would find easy-to-understand instructions written in a way that made sense.

She reached the bottom of the section, then rose to stretch. Too much computer time made her back stiff and her legs ache.

“Wasn’t I supposed to be getting more exercise?” she asked out loud, then turned to Mason, who was asleep on the old club chair in the sunniest corner of her small home office. “Did you not want to talk about it now? Should I point out I’m the only person who feeds you, and I’m the only one who loves you? So if something happens to me, you’re going to be swimming in regret.”

She waited, but Mason didn’t even twitch an ear. Right before she reached down to scratch him under the chin, he gave her a little murr of greeting and began to purr.

“Ha! I knew you were listening. And yes, I get how pathetic it is that we’re having this conversation.”

Her phone rang. Saved by the ringtone, she thought as she glanced at the screen, smiled and pushed the talk button.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Why don’t I ever see you? What are you hiding from me? Did you get a tattoo? Shave your head?”

She laughed. “Why does it have to be about my appearance? Is this a woman thing? Are you discriminating against my gender, assuming that we’re all about how we look? Women have brains, Dad.”

“Zoe, I beg you. No talk of female equality. It’s barely ten in the morning.” Her father chuckled. “As for your brain, I suspect you have too much of one. I’m checking up on you because I’m your father. Things are good?”

Zoe thought about “the attic incident” but decided not to mention it to her dad. He would worry and she didn’t need one more thing in her life. Well, truthfully she needed a lot more things in her life, but his worrying wasn’t one of them.

“I’m fine.”

“What’s going on?”

“Work.”

“And when you’re not working?” Her father sighed. “Please don’t say you’re hanging out with Mason. He’s a cat. He does nothing but sleep and eat.”

“Sometimes he poops.”

“Yes, and it’s a moment to be treasured by all of us.” There was a pause. “Zoe, are you getting out at all? You’re no longer going into an office and now Chad is gone. I’m glad you finally dumped him, but you’re young. You should be having fun.”

Uh-oh. She could hear the worry building up a head of steam. “Dad, I’m great.” She emphasized the last word. “And busy.” She desperately tried to think of something that would make her sound busy. “Oh, you know what? I’m having a barbecue next Sunday. You should come. It will be fun.”

“A barbecue?”

“Yup. At, ah, four. You can bring a date, assuming she’s age appropriate.”

Her father laughed. “We have different definitions of that.”

“Yes, we do and yours is icky.”

“I never dated anyone younger than you.”

“You don’t get points for that. Most people would tell you dating someone younger than me shouldn’t even be a consideration.”

“You know I gave up young women years ago. I’m not seeing anyone, but if I were, I promise she would be age appropriate.”

Zoe sank onto the floor next to Mason’s chair. “Dad, you haven’t had anyone in your life in a while. Why is that?”

“I want something more. I’ll know when I find her. Until then, I’m happily single.”

Zoe wondered when the change had occurred. If she had to guess, she would say it was when her mother had died. While her parents had been divorced for years, they’d always stayed friends. Her father had been nearly as devastated as Zoe by the loss.

“You need to get back to work, young lady,” he said. “I’ll see you next Sunday. Can I bring anything?”

She smiled. “The usual.”

“Tequila it is.”

* * *

Jen heard the garage door open and jumped to her feet. “Daddy’s home!”

Jack’s eyes widened and he clapped his hands together. For a brief, heart-stopping second, she thought he was going to say something. Anything would be great. She so wouldn’t care if Da-da was his first word. But he only laughed and got unsteadily to his feet before running toward the far end of the family room.

Jen was feeling a little giddy herself, but her excitement was more about knowing that her husband had made it safely through another day. His working for the Mischief Bay Police Department hadn’t bothered her very much. Nothing bad ever happened in the small, family-oriented beach community. But the LAPD was totally different. There were over eight million people in the metro area and some days Jen agonized that too many of them were after her husband.

Kirk walked into the house. He and Jack rushed toward each other. She watched as Kirk scooped up his son and swung him around. Jack squealed and held out his arms and waved his hands. Then Kirk pulled him close and they hung on to each other.

Seeing father and son together always filled her with love and gratitude. Jack took after his dad—both with red hair and blue eyes. Her two men, she thought happily. As long as Kirk kept coming home.

He kissed Jack’s forehead, then walked toward her. “How’s my best girl?” he asked before kissing her on the mouth.

“Good.”

She leaned into him for their ritual greeting of a family hug. Jack grabbed her hair and pulled her close. For several heartbeats, she allowed herself to feel only the perfection of the moment. This was everything she wanted, she told herself. They were all going to be okay.

Then Jack squirmed to be put down. Kirk stepped back and the spell was broken. He set his son down.

“How was your day?”

While there hadn’t been anything scary on the police scanner in the past few days, she’d still had her share of worrying about Jack. Her panic attacks were getting more regular, at least one or two a day. But she didn’t want to mention them to Kirk. He didn’t need to be concerned about her. Not when he could be shot at any second. Telling herself he was a detective and not a beat cop didn’t help her relax.

“Good. Jack and I went to the park and he met a little boy there. They played well together.” Something that made her happy. She didn’t want to put Jack into day care, but she didn’t have any friends with kids. She knew the importance of socialization for a child his age. She was either going to have to suck it up about day care or get him in a playgroup. But that wasn’t something she would worry about today.

Kirk headed for his study where Jen knew he would lock up his sidearm and badge in the small wall safe they’d had installed when Jack was born.

“I invited Lucas over for dinner,” Kirk called from the other room.

Jen glared in his general direction. No doubt her husband had deliberately waited until he was out of sight to share that nugget.

“Tonight?”

He returned, his smile winning. “Yes, for tonight. Is that okay?”

Okay? No, it wasn’t okay. It was never okay when Lucas came over, but it was so much worse when Kirk sprung it on her. She was a mess—she didn’t have on makeup or nice clothes and she honestly couldn’t remember if she’d showered that morning. She’d planned on a simple, healthy dinner, neither of which her husband’s partner would appreciate.

But Lucas was Kirk’s best hope at coming home alive every day. She drew in a breath and forced a smile. “It’s fine, although I doubt he’s going to want what I have ready for dinner.”

“He said he would bring steaks.”

“From where?”

Kirk looked blank. “The store?”

So just regular beef from an unknown source. Not the grass-fed, organic, certified meat she bought at a specialty store fifteen miles away.

“Wonderful,” she said between gritted teeth.

He moved close. “Honey, you don’t always have to have a family tree to eat a hamburger.”

There were a thousand different responses to that condescending statement. “I want to give Jack the best start possible.”

“I know and I appreciate all the work you do. But maybe it’s okay to lighten up now and then.”

Sure. Because it was always about her having to change, not other people. Kirk would let Lucas do anything he wanted. Jen knew he respected his partner, but there were times when she wanted to scream. Of course the need to scream wasn’t limited to Lucas.

“I need to go get changed,” she said. “Then figure out some sides for the steaks.”

“You look fine. Lucas won’t care.”

She was sure that last part was true. After all, she was far too old to interest him. But that wasn’t the point. “I’ll be right back.”

Fifteen minutes later she’d changed into jeans and a pretty blouse. After applying makeup basics, she’d pulled her hair out of its ponytail and brushed it. She needed highlights and a decent cut, but neither was happening today.

On her way back to the kitchen, she mentally reviewed the food in her refrigerator. She put away the free-range chicken she’d been marinating, then tested a couple of avocados for the salad. There was a bag of French fries in the freezer and organic frozen chicken fingers, because while Jack could eat ground meat, he wasn’t ready for steak.

Kirk had already started the barbecue and wiped down the patio table. She’d just collected plates to take outside when he stuck his head in. “Lucas is here.”

Jen mentally braced herself for the chaos that was to follow. Lucas was a larger-than-life character who dominated every room he entered. Despite her misgivings about him, from all that she’d heard, he had an excellent reputation on the force. He was a decorated veteran officer. He was also a completely selfish, egotistical man who didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself. And he was her husband’s partner, so there was no escaping him.

She walked out into the backyard. The gate was open and Kirk had walked out to greet his buddy. The incongruity of her handsome husband holding his toddler son and the ridiculously expensive two-seater convertible that pulled into their driveway was telling. Jen had no idea how Lucas could afford the Mercedes—it had to cost as much as he made in a year. Maybe more. But she hadn’t asked, mostly because she didn’t want to know.

She moved toward the gate. To do otherwise would signal her feelings and she didn’t want to make things awkward for Kirk.

Lucas was around fifty, slim and tan. His hair was white, his eyes a startling deep green and his smile easy. She’d never seen him in anything but jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and cowboy boots. When he was working he threw on a sport coat. She supposed most people would say he was good-looking. She thought of him as more dissolute. He lived hard, drank often and had a string of incredibly young women in his life. Jen disapproved of him on principle and getting to know him hadn’t changed her opinion at all.

“Hey, Jen,” he called out to her. He nodded at Kirk and winked at Jack who clapped happily. For reasons Jen couldn’t begin to understand, her son adored Lucas.

“I come bearing gifts.” Lucas walked around to the passenger side of his small car and pulled out a grocery bag, an Amazon box and a six-pack of beer. “Something for everyone,” he joked as he walked to the gate and handed her the packages.

She stared at the Amazon box and told herself it couldn’t be nearly as bad as she imagined—then hoped she wasn’t lying. He turned back to Kirk. Jack laughed, then flung himself at Lucas, fearless at the midair transfer.

“How’s my man?” Lucas asked, holding Jack comfortably. “High five.”

He held up his hand. Jack smacked his palm against Lucas’s, then laughed even more.

They went into the backyard. Lucas put Jack down and the toddler ran around, shrieking. Jen did her best not to roll her eyes. This always happened. Lucas overexcited the boy. Later, she would have trouble getting Jack to sleep.

Lucas took the Amazon box and the beer from her, then winked. A gesture of friendship or mockery? With him, she was never sure. He crossed to the built-in outdoor kitchen, opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle opener. After popping the top on two beers, he hesitated, then glanced at her.

“Did you—” he began.

“No. I’m fine.”

Like most pregnant women, Jen had completely given up alcohol, but even after Jack was born, she hadn’t gone back. She was too afraid her son might need her. She had to be alert and vigilant at all times.

Lucas stuck the rest of the six-pack in the minifridge, then drew a pocketknife out of his pocket. He slit the tape on the box and set it on the ground in front of Jack.

Her son squatted down and peered inside. Slowly, his eyes widened and his mouth turned up in delight. He pulled out a blue-and-white... Jen squinted. What on earth?

“That is a genuine B. Woofer guitar,” Lucas told him. He removed the packaging, then settled the strap on Jack’s small shoulder. The guitar hung down to his thighs.

“You hold it like this,” Lucas told him, placing his hands on the neck and body. “See these buttons? When you push them, they make music. They’re called chords. I’m sure your mom will teach you all about them.”

Jen listened in dismay as she heard a full chord being played by the guitar. Apparently every button was a chord. They could be played individually or together. While that would be an excellent way to learn music, the noise potential was terrifying.

“And over here?” Lucas pointed. “There are preprogrammed songs. A bunch of different ones. If you push the little dog button?” He winked at Jen again. “You get dog songs. Cool, huh?”

Jack looked unsure as he pushed the yellow button with the note on it. Sure enough a song began to play. His eyes lit up and he turned toward her, wanting to share the joy of the moment.

Jen smiled even as she looked at her husband and murmured, “I’m going to kill him.”

“It’s a great toy.”

“You’re not going to be stuck home with it.” She glanced back at the guitar. “Did he check out the age suggestions? That seems really advanced for Jack.”

Kirk put his arm around her. “Honey, let it go for now. Later you can check it for small parts. Lucas is a great guy and he adores Jack. That should be enough.”

Why? Why should it be enough? Why shouldn’t Kirk’s partner have to abide by the rules when he was at their home? Why did Lucas always make her feel like the most boring, traditional person on the planet? He was the frat boy, party guy and she was the house mother. It wasn’t fair.

She wanted to stomp her foot, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything. Instead she smiled tightly, murmured a quick, “Thanks, Lucas,” then escaped into the kitchen.

The bag of groceries he’d brought contained three massive steaks, a large container of blue cheese potato salad and, kind of surprising, two jars of organic toddler food. Root vegetables with turkey and quinoa.

Kirk walked into the kitchen. He took the jar from her. “See. He’s not all bad. You like this brand.”

“Maybe.”

Lucas walked in with Jack on his hip. Jen was grateful that the guitar had been left outside. She would put it away and bring it out only when Jack was rested. Teaching him about music would be good, she thought reluctantly. She was sure she’d read somewhere that music appreciation helped with math skills.

“Someone has a dirty diaper,” Lucas said, handing Jack to his father. “Uncle duty only goes so far.”

Kirk laughed. “I’ll take care of it.”

He reached for his son and carried him out of the room. Jen found herself alone with Lucas and unsure what to say.

“Thank you for the steaks,” she began. “And the salad and baby food.”

“I hope it’s the right one. I know you want him only eating good stuff, so I asked a lady at the grocery store.”

“Did you also get her number?” The words popped out before she could stop them.

Lucas leaned against the counter and raised an eyebrow. “She was married, Jen. I don’t date married women. Plus, she was too old.” His mouth twitched. “Probably thirty.”

“How depressing for you.” She faced him. “Why do they have to be so young?”

“They’re uncomplicated.”

“Whatever do you talk about?”

“Who talks?”

Her smile was involuntary. Fine—if he was going to sass her, she could sass right back. She folded her arms across her chest. “Great. So there’s six minutes filled. What do you do the rest of the time?”

He winked. “I share my life’s wisdom.”

“You’re full of crap.”

“Maybe, but I’m having a great time.” He lifted a shoulder. “One day they’ll stop taking my calls, but until then, it’s good to be me.”

“Don’t you ever get lonely?”

“Nope. That would require an emotional depth I don’t have.” He flashed her a winning smile. “Don’t try to reform me. It’s not going to happen. I like my life and don’t see any reason to change.”

Which was all fine and good, but she didn’t like that he was so different from her husband. What if he tried to lead Kirk astray? What if Kirk was intrigued by all those young possibilities?

She glanced toward the hallway, then back at Lucas.

“I don’t understand why you have to date twenty-year-olds, but that’s not my business. What I need to know is that you’ll take care of him. If something bad happens.”

Lucas’s smile faded. “You have my word, Jen.”

Which could have reassured her, only she didn’t know what his word was worth.


Chapter Three (#uc3d276f1-09e1-5fb7-98c5-992e2160db4a)

Mischief in Motion was a well-known Pilates studio in town. The storefront was light and bright and probably appealing to people who, you know, liked exercise. Zoe had done her best to avoid anything that would make her sweat so she’d never ventured inside. Until today.

Not only did she have to work on her muscle mass, as demonstrated by the attic incident, she wanted to see if Jen’s mom was still a regular. She and Pam had always gotten along, and Pam kind of reminded her of her own mother. These days, a little maternal TLC seemed like a good thing. And if a little Jen-focused advice was shared, as well, all the better. To be honest, Zoe had no idea what to do about her friend. They were drifting apart and she didn’t know how to make that stop.

Wearing her newly purchased discount store Pilates workout gear—aka black leggings and an oversize T-shirt, she went inside to register for the class.

There were four women there already, along with a perky redhead behind a small reception desk. Zoe had a brief impression of scary-looking equipment, too many mirrors and very fit clients. She thought of her own jiggly thighs and told herself that everyone would be so focused on themselves, they wouldn’t notice her at all. And if they did, they were probably too polite to say anything. Besides, she was here to get in shape and everyone had to start somewhere and—

“Zoe?” Pam spotted her and crossed the room. “What are you doing here?”

“I, ah, wanted to start working out some, ah, more than I am and I’d heard you mention the class so I thought I’d try it. Is that okay?”

Pam smiled, then hugged her. “Of course it is. I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you?”

“Good.” Zoe hugged her back, allowing herself a second to feel the Mom-goodness that flowed from Pam.

“Come on. Let’s meet everyone.”

Pam led her around the studio, introducing Zoe as, “My daughter’s friend and mine, too,” which made Zoe feel good. She did her best to focus on names and faces rather than trim thighs and killer abs. She would get there—eventually.

Nicole, the owner of the exercise studio, was an attractive blonde who couldn’t be thirty. Pam mentioned something about Nicole’s son and new husband. Talk about having it all, Zoe thought, determined to be inspired rather than depressed by so much success in one fit package.

The class started on time. By minute three, Zoe knew that she was going to die—right there on the wooden framed reformer. She would simply stop breathing or rip herself in two, by accident, of course.

Nicole offered her a kind smile. “It takes a little getting used to. Just do the best you can.”

Zoe nodded because she was too out of breath to speak.

It wasn’t that they were doing anything especially vigorous. Instead it was the slow and controlled movements that left her gasping. She was expected to hold positions for counts of ten, then lower slowly. Or stand on some stupid moving platform with straps whose only purpose seemed to be to kill her.

Fifty minutes later, she rolled off the reformer and onto the ground. Other people stood and maybe she would too, one day. But for now, she had to wait for her muscles to stop shaking.

Pam crouched next to her. “You okay?”

“No.”

Pam laughed. “I know it’s hard at first. Everything is confusing. You might want to try a few private lessons first, to get the basic movements down. The classes move at a pretty fast pace.”

“Uh-huh.” Wow—two syllables. Zoe was so proud.

She sat up, then pushed to her feet. Her thighs shook but she managed to stay standing.

Pam’s lips twitched.

“It’s okay,” Zoe said, still breathing hard. “You can mock me. I get it.”

“You’ll do better next time.” Pam put her arm around Zoe’s shoulders. “Do you have time for lunch? I’d love to get caught up.”

“Sure. That would be great.”

Pam plucked at her fitted black tank top. “We’re not exactly dressed for a restaurant. Let’s get takeout and go back to my place instead.”

“Perfect.”

As they collected their bags, a little dog popped her head out of Pam’s oversize tote.

“Lulu!” Zoe dropped to her knees, then winced as her leg muscles complained. Ignoring them, she held out her hands and the adorable hairless dog jumped into her embrace.

“Hey, you,” Zoe said, snuggling with the odd creature. Lulu was part canine, part fashionista, part alien and all rock star. Today she had on a white lightweight sweater with tiny purple buttons down her back.

Lulu gave her cheerful kisses, then settled in for a good cuddle.

“You bring her to class?” Zoe asked.

“I take her everywhere. She’s quiet and enjoys getting out. So what are you in the mood for, lunchwise?”

* * *

Pam’s condo was big and bright, with a view of the Pacific Ocean. The building style was modern, which could have clashed with Pam’s more traditional furniture, but the warm woods and comfortable fabrics blended nicely with the sharp edges and sleek design.

Pam lifted Lulu out of her tote before washing her hands and setting the small dining table by the patio door.

“It’s still a little cool to eat outside,” the other woman said. “We’ll do that next time.”

Zoe liked the sound of that—the promise of another meal together. She washed her hands, then helped by putting out napkins and taking the take-out cartons from Wok’s Up out of the bags.

“I have iced tea,” Pam said as she opened the refrigerator. “Diet soda, oh and that organic juice Jen likes Jack to have.”

“Iced tea is fine. Thanks.”

They sat across from each other. Lulu settled in her bed by the sofa.

“This is nice,” Pam told her as she reached for her carton of Honey-Spicy Shrimp. “I’m so glad you came to class today.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’re going to be sore. Drink a lot of water and take ibuprofen. It will help.”

“I promise.” No way Zoe was going to forget that. She wanted to be able to move in the morning. She glanced around at the condo. “This place is really nice. Do you like living here?”

“I do. It took me a bit to settle in. It was an adjustment for both of us.” She nodded at Lulu. “John and I lived in our house for over twenty years. But this is better. Manageable. I like being close to everything. Plus, now that I’m traveling more with my friends, it’s easier to leave a condo than a house.”

“I know Jen loves the house.”

After Pam’s husband had died, she’d moved into the condo and had given the large family home to Jen and Kirk. Zoe couldn’t remember all the details, but she was pretty sure that Pam had bought the condo from a girlfriend who’d gotten married and moved into her new husband’s place.

“She does,” Pam said. “I’m glad it stayed in the family.”

Zoe scooped chicken fried rice onto her plate. “The garden is so pretty. I’d like to do something like that at my place. Maybe a few raised beds. I’m not sure.”

“Jen mentioned you’d bought a house. Are you liking it?”

“I am. It’s different. I’m responsible for everything, which is strange after always being a renter. But it’s good.”

Except for the killer attic, she thought.

Pam looked at her. “How are things otherwise?”

A simple question. The expected response was to say things were just dandy. Perfect. Happy. Or, you know, fine. Which was what Zoe planned to say. What came out instead was, “Everything is a mess.”

Pam’s expression turned sympathetic. “Tell me.”

“I just... I don’t know. I’m so confused.” She put down her fork. “Chad and I broke up a couple of months ago. Or rather I broke up with him. I feel good about the decision. It was the right thing to do.”

“But?”

“But it’s hard. We were together nearly five years.” She had the wherewithal not to mention how it had started, or the problems they’d had, instead adding, “He’s divorced, with two kids. I suddenly realized I’d met them exactly twice. Twice! He kept telling me that they needed to adjust, but I started to think he was really waiting for them to grow up and be on their own.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. I feel like I’ve wasted so much of my life on him. I’ve made choices because of him. Some were good, but some I’m really questioning.” She stared at her plate for a second, then looked back at Pam. “I bought my house thinking we would live in it together. I assumed that was where we were going. My house has three bedrooms. Three! I bought bedrooms for kids I’ve met twice. And my job—I’m not sure that was right. Quitting teaching. I make more money now, but I don’t love what I do. And I’m home alone all the time.”

She drew in a breath. “I had stupid breakup sex with Chad a few weeks ago and when it was over, I felt sick to my stomach. I’m done with him. Done. But I reacted out of loneliness. I want what everyone wants—someone to love, a family. I don’t want Chad back, but I resent the time I wasted. It was such a bad decision.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Pam told her firmly. “You loved him and believed in him. When you figured out what was wrong, you dumped his sorry ass.”

Zoe smiled. “Thank you for that.”

“You did. You moved on. Now keep moving on. Are you dating anyone?”

“No. I want to, but I’m kind of stuck. I don’t meet any guys. I was with Chad for so long, I’ve kind of forgotten what I’m supposed to do. I guess I could go to a bar or something.”

Zoe held in a shudder at the thought. “What’s worse than not dating is that I’ve isolated myself. I don’t know how it happened, but it did. Last week I got stuck in my attic. The door slammed shut and I couldn’t get it open. I didn’t have my phone with me. All I could think was that I was going to die and no one would miss me for weeks.”

Pam’s mouth twitched. “Weeks? Really?”

“Okay, days. But I could still be dead and Mason would eat my liver.”

“Mason is?”

“My cat.”

“Cats do love liver. Tell me about your work.”

“I translate manuals into readable English. Sometimes the translation from foreign languages is difficult to understand, or the manuals are written by people who are seriously technical. I take that gibberish and make it understandable.”

“So what don’t you like?”

“Being by myself all the time. The company relocated to San Jose. Because of Chad, I didn’t want to go. They offered to let me work at home rather than lose me and I said yes.” Zoe dropped her head to her hands. “I’m such a fool.”

“Do you want to go to San Jose now?”

“Not really. But I really miss being in an office.” She raised her head. “I think about going back into teaching, but I’m not sure.”

“What grade was it?”

“Junior high English.”

Pam winced. “That had to be tough.”

“I know, right? Sometimes I think about getting my master’s but I’m not sure about that either. I’m lost and confused and I miss my mom.”

Pam reached across the table and squeezed her hand, then released her. “Of course you do. How long has she been gone?”

“It was a year last month.”

“I’m sorry. It’s hard. For what it’s worth, the good memories are always with you.”

“Thanks. I like thinking about her. I always feel like she’s close by.” Zoe swallowed. “Sometimes I think she’s really disappointed in me.”

“She’s not,” Pam said firmly. “It’s not wrong to love someone. What gets us in trouble is when we make bad decisions based on that love. But you got yourself out of the relationship and you’re moving on.”

“I hope so.”

“Are you close to your dad?”

Finally a subject that wouldn’t embarrass her. “I am. He’s great, but you know, a guy. There are things I can’t tell him.”

“Sure, because then he’ll want to fix things, and possibly beat the crap out of Chad.”

Zoe smiled. “He could probably do it. My dad’s in good shape.”

Pam grinned. “There’s a visual for you to hang on to. For the rest of it, stop thinking and start doing. The next time a nice, appropriate man asks you out, say yes. Look into getting your master’s. Figure out if you want to go back to teaching or not. As for being alone too much, make plans with your friends. What do you and Jen do together?”

Zoe bit her lower lip. Talk about an awkward turn in the conversation. Jen was Pam’s daughter. Zoe couldn’t say that Jen had become...

Pam sighed. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“I doubt that.”

“Jen has become something of a killjoy.”

Zoe stared. “You know?”

“Everyone knows. I can’t decide if I feel sorry for her or if she needs a good smack on the back of the head. I worried about my kids, maybe more than most, but nothing like this. She is obsessed with Jack.”

“The not talking,” Zoe murmured.

“The organic food. The cleaning products. Every time I go over, she asks me the last time Lulu got a bath. The only thing wrong with her son is that she won’t leave him alone for five seconds. He’s not talking because he doesn’t have to.” She paused. “Is that too harsh?”

“Not to me.”

“Well, I can’t say any of that to Jen. She would never forgive me. You’re not going to rat me out, are you?”

Zoe made an X over her heart. “I won’t, I swear.”

“Good. Now, how do you feel?”

Zoe considered the question. “Better. I need to stop wallowing and start doing.” She leaned forward. “I’m having a barbecue on Sunday. Would you like to come?”

“I’d love to. What time?”

* * *

Pam parked her SUV, collected her tote and headed into the offices of Moving Women Forward. MWF was housed in a small business park on the edge of Mischief Bay, about three thousand square feet that had been donated by a former client. Because of the cramped and shared office space, Pam did as much work out of her condo as she could. But every week or so, she had a meeting at the offices, either with staff or clients.

She greeted their volunteer manning the reception desk, then walked back to Bea Gentry’s office.

Bea, the director of the organization and one of the women who had recruited Pam two years ago, was about Pam’s age. She dressed in pantsuits and always wore a cameo on her lapel. Bea’s oldest boy and Pam’s youngest son had been best friends through high school.

Pam sat across from her and let Lulu out of her tote.

“You’re looking smug,” Bea said by way of greeting. “What have you been up to?”

Pam laughed. “I’m shocked that it shows, but you’re right. I’m feeling very good about things. I might have found the right woman for Steven.”

“I can’t believe you’re even looking. My kids would kill me if I tried.”

“Not if you got it right. Besides, Steven needs me to meddle. He’s finally given up his flavor of the week, which is great, but he’s not getting serious about anyone either. It’s time.”

She knew part of the reason for Steven’s change in behavior had been the death of his father. John’s unexpected passing had affected them all. Pam had been stuck in a kind of grief that had threatened to overwhelm her, while Steven had taken over the family plumbing business years before he’d expected he would. At first the responsibility had weighed on him, but he’d quickly grown into the position and now was doing a great job as president of the company. Which meant it was time for him to find the right woman.

“I wouldn’t have gone looking for someone for him,” Pam said. “But if I happen to run into her, then that’s hardly my fault.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll remind you of that when you have a total disaster on your hands. Remind you and say ‘I told you so.’”

Pam laughed. “That’s not going to happen.”

Lulu finished exploring the room and trotted over to Bea, who scooped her up and held her close.

“How’s my best girl?” she asked in a soft voice. “I like the buttons on your sweater. It takes a very fashion-forward girl to pull that off and, of course, you do.”

Lulu gave her a kiss, then relaxed in her embrace. Pam supposed there were people who would say her dog was spoiled, and while that might be true, Lulu was a faithful companion who had been by her side every second after John’s death. The little girl had missed her dad as much as everyone else in the family.

Pam shook off the memories and reached into her tote. This time she pulled out a file. “Tell me about Filia,” she said, opening the folder.

“We helped her five years ago, to get her nail salon up and running, and now she’s thriving. I think you’re going to like working with her.”

Pam was sure her friend was right. Bea had always done a good job of matching clients with coordinators. Moving Women Forward had a simple mission statement—they were there to help female entrepreneurs. That was it. A simple, clear vision. If a woman wanted to start a business, MWF was there to offer advice on everything from what to expect start-up costs to be to how to get a business license. If a woman already had a business up and running, MWF would provide mentoring, assistance with figuring out how to do payroll, manage employees and inventory. There were even cash grants and loans available. The services themselves were provided free of charge, but the client had to be accepted first, and that wasn’t easy.

Over the past couple of years Pam had learned that a lot of people said they wanted to open a business, but not very many of them were willing to put in the hard work required to make it happen. MWF insisted that clients take the first steps on their own—to show they were serious.

“I have a few ideas,” Pam said. “Her plans are ambitious. Let’s see if she can put them into action.”

Pam worked for MWF as a volunteer mentor. She took on a handful of clients every year. She was their point person. If she couldn’t answer a question, she would find someone who could. If the client was applying for a grant through MWF, Pam helped with the paperwork, then was her advocate through the process.

Filia hoped to expand her nail salon into a day spa. According to her paperwork, the space next door to her salon would be available in a few months. The location was good and she was already at capacity with her nail salon. It seemed to be the next logical step.

“I’ll let you know how it goes,” Pam said. She stood and looked at her dog. “You want to stay with Bea?”

Lulu wagged her tail and gave a little woof of agreement.

“Then I’ll be back in about half an hour.”

“If she gets restless, I’ll take her for a walk,” Bea promised.

“Thanks.”

Pam walked down the short hallway to one of the small meeting rooms. Filia, a petite, dark-haired woman in her late thirties, was already there. She stood when Pam entered and offered a nervous smile.

Pam introduced herself and they shook hands. They both sat at a small, round table in the center of the room.

Pam left the file closed. There was no need to get into the weeds just yet. Better that she and Filia get to know each other.

“Bea tells me you want to expand your business. Tell me about that.”

Filia’s brown eyes brightened. “I started my nail business five years ago with two girls. Now I have fifteen. We’re open seven days a week. Walk-ins and regulars. A year ago, I started offering chair massages for clients, either before or after their nail appointments. Six months ago, I began selling a skin care line. It’s doing well.”

Filia leaned forward. “My younger sister moved in with my family two years ago. She went to school to be an aesthetician. She’s worked for a big spa for several months now. She would come work for me and maybe a couple of her friends. I know how I want the space next door to be. I have some of the money, but not enough. I need to get a loan.”

Pam nodded. None of this was new information. She also knew that Filia was married and that her husband worked as a gardener. They had a ten-year-old daughter. Both of them had a high school education, but they planned to send their daughter to college. It was the American dream in living color.

“The first thing the bank is going to ask for is a business plan,” Pam told her. “Do you know what that is?”

Filia nodded slowly. “I created one the first time I came here. I can put together an updated one for the new business.”

Pam opened the folder and pulled out several sheets of paper. “Wonderful. The bank will want to know that you can cover your bills, including payroll, and pay back the loan. Once you have the basics taken care of, they’ll look at whether or not they consider you a good risk.”

There was also the possibility of a low-interest loan from MWF, but Pam wasn’t going to mention that just yet. First she wanted to see if Filia was committed to do the work necessary to even apply for a bank loan. Not everyone was. But she had a feeling that the woman in front of her was going to be someone willing to do the work to get herself where she wanted to be.

Filia took the paperwork and looked it over. She smiled. “This is much more clear than the books from the library. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” Pam handed over a business card. “This is my contact information. Why don’t you take a week or so to get the first draft of the plan together? Once you have that, we’ll meet again and I’ll go over it with you.”

She would take as much time as necessary to get it bank-ready. Once Filia showed she was willing to do what had to be done, Pam would be with her all the way.

“Thank you for your help.” Filia clutched the paperwork tightly. “I’m going to make this happen. You’ll see.”

“I’m excited to work with you.”

“I feel the same way.” Filia smiled. “When my day spa opens, you can have the first facial.”

Pam laughed. “I can’t wait.”


Chapter Four (#uc3d276f1-09e1-5fb7-98c5-992e2160db4a)

“Do you think he’s warm enough?” Jen asked her mother as she pushed the stroller along the boardwalk. It was sixty-eight degrees, which wasn’t cold, but they were at the beach and there was a cool breeze off the ocean. She had on a light hoodie, but her mom was only in three-quarter sleeves.

“He’s fine.”

“I don’t know.”

Jen hesitated, then decided they were close enough to the carousel that she could wait to check on Jack. It wasn’t as if he was crying or anything.

There weren’t a lot of people hanging out at the Pacific Ocean Park, otherwise known as the POP. A few mothers out with their young children. A handful of businesspeople taking a late lunch. Most everyone else was busy with their lives. Midday walks at the beach were a luxury—one she should be grateful for.

Jen had read an article that said a spirit of gratitude could help with anxiety. At this point she was ready to try nearly anything. She was exhausted from checking on Jack a dozen times a night. Not that he woke up—she was the one springing out of bed to make sure the reason there was no noise from the baby monitor wasn’t that he’d stopped breathing.

She was tired of the vague feeling of impending disaster—a sensation that frequently blossomed into a full-blown panic attack. She hated the sense of being unable to catch her breath or knowing she was spiraling out of control and that in a very short period of time, she was going to lose it completely. So if gratitude would help, she was all-in.

Lulu trotted along at Pam’s side. The little dog had on a T-shirt that proclaimed her Queen of Everything. In Lulu’s case, that was probably true.

“You gave her a bath this week, right?” Jen asked, knowing Jack would want to play with the dog after he rode the carousel.

“I did because she gets a bath every week. You need to stop asking me that.” Pam’s tone was annoyed.

“I’m just checking.”

“Monitoring. You’re monitoring.” Her mother shook her head. “I can’t wait for you to have another baby.”

A second child? Jen felt her chest tighten. “Why would you say that?” How on earth could she manage? She was barely hanging on with Jack. There weren’t enough hours in the day. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t worry twice as much. She would explode—or maybe just shrivel up like an old, dead bug.

“You wouldn’t have time to ask if I’d bathed Lulu.” Her mother offered a sympathetic smile. “You need to get out of your head more, Jen. Everything’s fine. You’re suffering for nothing.”

“That’s harsh.”

“I don’t mean it to be. I wish you could believe me.”

About Jack, Jen thought resentfully. That was what her mother meant. Pam wished Jen would stop worrying about her son not talking. Like that was going to happen. There was something wrong with Jack and everyone’s lack of belief didn’t change the truth.

“You worried, too,” she said, knowing she sounded resentful. “All the time. Dad was forever calling you on it.”

Her mother smiled. “I did worry, but you take things too far.”

“I don’t.”

“If you say so. On another topic, I saw Zoe a couple of days ago.”

The unexpected statement had Jen blinking at her mother. “My friend Zoe?”

“That’s the one. She came to a class at Mischief in Motion, and then we had lunch. She’s so sweet. I can’t believe she locked herself in the attic. That had to be terrifying.”

“What are you talking about?” Jen asked.

“Zoe accidently got stuck in her attic. The door’s sticky and slammed shut. I would have freaked out, that’s for sure. She didn’t tell you?”

“Um, no, she didn’t mention it.”

Jen wanted to ask when this had happened and why she didn’t know about it. Except she knew the answer to the second question. She didn’t know because she and Zoe weren’t talking very much anymore. Certainly not on the phone. They rarely went out together. Zoe still dropped by most Thursdays, but her last visit hadn’t gone very well.

Guilt pressed down on her. Yet one more thing she was supposed to fix. Just not today, she told herself.

“So, Mom, where are you and your girlfriends going next?” she asked brightly, hoping for a change of topic.

“We’re doing a long weekend in Phoenix in a few weeks, then my cruise in June.”

“Where’s the cruise?”

Pam sighed softly, making Jen wonder how many times she’d already asked that same question. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested, she told herself. She was busy. She couldn’t be expected to remember every detail of her mother’s life.

“Northern Europe,” Pam told her. “We start in Copenhagen and spend two days in St. Petersburg. There’s a day trip to Moscow.”

“That will be interesting.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Jen glanced down at Lulu and felt another stab of guilt. No doubt she should offer to take the dog while her mother was gone. Lulu was comfortable in the house and relatively well behaved. Only it was one more thing that Jen didn’t have time for. Plus the dog would go to the bathroom out in the yard and then Jen would have to clean it up. There were germs to consider and it was all so exhausting.

They reached the carousel. Pam put Lulu in her large tote while Jen got Jack out of his stroller. Her son clapped when he saw the wooden horses circling round and round. He pointed.

“The blue one,” she said. “I remember.” The blue horse was her son’s favorite.

They purchased tickets and waited for the carousel to stop. Once they reached the blue horse, Jen set Jack on the painted saddle and carefully strapped him into place. She stood on one side while Pam took the other. A minute or so later, the carousel began moving. Jack laughed and waved his arms.

“How is Kirk?” her mother asked.

“Good. Okay. I wish he hadn’t joined the LAPD, but it’s done now.”

“What about his partner? Is he improving with time?”

“I wish.” Jen grimaced. “Lucas is a character, and not in a good way. He’s got to be fifty and his latest girlfriend is twenty-two. Whatever do they talk about?”

Pam raised her eyebrows. “I doubt they’re talking.”

“Oh, Mom.”

“Don’t ‘Oh, Mom’ me. I’m not kidding. Lucas and Kirk have stressful jobs. People deal with stress in different ways. That’s his. Or are you concerned about something else?”

“He’s a cowboy. I worry he’s going to get Kirk into a bad situation. Or a dangerous one.”

“I thought he was a good detective.”

“He is. He’s well respected. Kirk was really happy when they were assigned together. I just think he’s a bad influence. All those women. Kirk’s married.”

“You think Lucas will try to influence Kirk into—” She glanced at Jack. “You think he’s pushing Kirk to have an a-f-f-a-i-r?” She spelled the last word.

“I don’t know. I hope not.”

“Kirk wouldn’t do that.”

“Not every guy is as great as Dad.”

“Is Kirk giving you reason to think he would do that?”

Jen wished she hadn’t started down this path. “Not exactly. It’s just, he’s busy and I’m busy. We have Jack. Things are different now.”

Her mother turned to face her. “Jen, are you and Kirk having regular sex?”

“Mom!” Jen glanced around, but they were pretty much by themselves on their side of the carousel. “We can’t talk about that here.”

“Why not? This is important. You can’t let life and work and the baby come between you and your husband. Women show love through words and actions. Men are different. For a lot of them, sex is an expression of love. In a marriage, sex is bigger than a man having needs. Of course he does, but without lovemaking, there’s often no way for him to demonstrate how he cares. You both need a strong, vigorous sex life.”

“Stop, I beg you. I don’t want to have this conversation with my mother.”

“You’d better be having it with someone.” Pam looked at her. “This is serious.”

“I know.”

“Your father and I always had a great sex life.”

Jen squeezed her eyes shut. “Stop. You have to stop. No one wants to know this. I can’t handle thinking about my parents’ sex life.”

“Fine, but just know this. Sex is an important part of any successful marriage. Don’t forget that. Kirk sure hasn’t.”

“Fine. You’re right. I get it. Can we please talk about something else?”

Her mother hesitated, then nodded. “I have a new client at MWF. I like her a lot.”

“That’s nice. What kind of business does she have?”

Pam talked about a nail salon, but Jen was only half listening. Part of her was still weirded out, thinking about her parents doing it. But the rest of her was more concerned about what her mother had said about men and sex. She and Kirk weren’t doing it much at all. Between his job and Jack and her being tired all the time, they’d fallen out of the habit. To be honest, she didn’t even miss it. But what about Kirk? What did he think?

Damn Lucas, she thought. Damn him and all those young women. She knew he was giving her husband ideas. She just knew it. If she didn’t want to lose her husband to some young bimbo, she was going to have to do something. The question was what.

* * *

Four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon, Zoe sat in the shade of her patio and stared at her backyard. She’d always imagined the space with raised plant beds—the kind that would allow her to grow fruits and vegetables. But she had no idea where to place them or how to install them. She supposed she could ask some gardener person, but it seemed like the kind of project she should do herself.

Her phone rang. She glanced at the number and didn’t recognize it.

“Hello?”

“Zoe? It’s Steven Eiland, Jen’s brother.”

The information took a second to fall into place. Steven was also Pam’s son. Zoe had met him several times, including Jen’s wedding, where Zoe had been the maid of honor and Steven had been the best man.

“Oh, hi,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I was talking to my mom and she mentioned you’d bought a house. Congratulations on that.”

“Thank you.” Why on earth would Pam be talking to Steven about her and her house? Before she could ask, he answered the question.

“She told me your attic stairs are sticking and thought I might be able to help with that. I’m actually in the neighborhood. Mind if I stop by and take a look?”

The unexpected request caught her by surprise. She hesitated before saying, “Uh, sure. That would be nice. Thank you.”

“Great. I have the address. See you in ten.”

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

She hung up. That was odd—sweet of Pam, but strange. Still, Steven worked in the family plumbing business. No doubt he’d been raised to be handy. If nothing else, he could explain how big the job was going to be and what she should expect to pay when she hired a handyman. At least that way she wouldn’t have to worry about being screwed by someone.

She scrambled to her feet and called for Mason. Her cat was lying in the sun and didn’t bother so much as flicking an ear in her direction.

“I know you heard me,” she told him. “Let me be clear. I won’t be letting you in the house fifteen seconds from now.”

The tip of his tail curled slightly. She had a feeling that was feline for “No one believes that. Least of all me.” Sadly, he was probably right.

Zoe went into the house and wondered what she should do to get ready. The stairs were where they always were and it wasn’t as if she kept a bunch of stuff in the small hallway. Steven would have clear access to the attic.

She knew Pam was behind his offer to help. Talk about a sweet mom-thing to do. Jen was so lucky to have Pam in her life. Zoe allowed herself a couple of minutes of missing her mother, before hearing a knock at the front door.

She opened the door, prepared to greet Steven. After all, she’d known him for years. He was her best friend’s brother. She knew Steven was a couple of years younger than Jen, worked in the family business and that he always had a different woman on his arm. Beyond that, she didn’t know much of anything about him.

Now, as she looked into his blue eyes, she realized that what she’d apparently forgotten was how good-looking he was. Had he always been so tall? So muscled? Had his smile always been so sexy?

“Hey, Zoe. How’s it going?”

She was aware of the sunlight kissing the top of his head and way he filled her until-this-moment-perfectly-big-enough doorway. He had on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She was in ratty cutoffs and an oversize T-shirt that might or might not have stains. Dear God, she hadn’t even bothered to comb her hair! Or shower!

“Um, good,” she said as she stepped back to let him into the house. She’d always been on the short side and next to him, she felt positively dainty. As he moved past her, she caught a whiff of something yummy—like soap and pine and man. Her stomach clenched, her heart rate increased and she had the strangest need to start babbling.

She was saved from the latter by a very loud meow emanating from the back of the house. Steven glanced in that direction.

“Someone’s unhappy.”

“It’s Mason. Let me go let him in.”

She headed for the kitchen and reached for the screen door on the slider. Mason looked up at her and meowed again, his tone implying he’d been trapped outside for days.

“You’re not as charming as you think,” she told the cat.

He sauntered in and headed directly for Steven. Most men she knew didn’t like cats. Chad had always avoided Mason as much as possible and had complained about the ever-present cat hair. By contrast, Steven held out his fingers to be sniffed. When Mason rubbed the side of his face against Steven’s hand, Steven scooped him up and held him close.

“Hey, big guy,” he said, offering chin scratches. “How are things in the cat world?”

“You like cats?”

Steven smiled. “I like all animals, but cats have that cool factor. Dogs are all about the pack. Cats make you earn it.”

“And Lulu?” she asked, her voice teasing.

Steven shuddered. “I don’t know what to make of her. It’s not the weird spots and wild hair I mind so much as the wardrobe. My mom spends way too much time planning what that dog’s going to wear.” He set Mason on the floor. “I’ll admit it. I’m a guy who doesn’t get dog fashion.”

“A forgivable flaw.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He nodded toward the hallway. “Want to show me the problem stairs?”

“Right this way.”

She started to get the step stool so she could pull them down, but he waved her away. “I can reach.”

He drew down the stairs, and then pushed them up in place. After doing that a couple of times, he ran his hands along the edges.

“The wood is warped,” he told her. “Probably from age and a couple of our wet winters. When wood swells, it doesn’t always go back to its original shape when it dries out. A little sanding should take care of the problem. I can do it for you, if you’d like.”

“Really? That’s all it is?”

She was aware of them standing close together in the narrow hallway and did her best to keep from nervous babbling. And failed. “I’m so happy to hear that. Did your mom mention I got trapped in the attic when the stairs slammed shut? I didn’t have my cell phone with me and kept thinking I was going to die up there and Mason would eat my liver. I would end up being one of those sad stories you read about on the internet.” She made air quotes. “Single woman dead for eight months before anyone noticed.”

Steven pushed the stairs back up into place before he turned to her. “Single? I thought you were involved. With that guy you were always with. What was his name?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Chad. We broke up a few months ago.” No way she was going to mention the stupid sex. It was one thing to confess all to Pam, but that wasn’t the sort of thing one admitted to a guy like Steven.

“You still dealing?” he asked.

The question surprised her. “No. It was my idea. I realized I’d wasted way too much time on him.”

“Good.”

A single word, but there was something in the way he said it. Or maybe it was how close they were standing or how tall he was. Zoe was once again reminded of her lack of Lulu-like fashion and possibly uncombed hair.

“I can fix the stairs,” he told her. “Go back to my place and get a sander. It won’t take long.” He smiled. “Or we could go grab a drink and I could get my sander another time.”

Her bare toes curled just the tiniest amount. “A drink would be nice. Give me five minutes to change.”

She darted around him and headed for her bedroom. Once the door was closed, she allowed herself a three-second victory dance, then ripped off her shirt and shorts.

She stared at the choices in her closet. Since working at home, she hadn’t had to worry about what to wear. She mostly wore jeans or shorts with a T-shirt. She didn’t want to put on any of her sensible teaching clothes, which left her eyeing her date dresses.

“Not a date,” she whispered. “But still nice.”

She settled on a red short-sleeved dress with a flattering V-neck. The style was simple—a modified A-line that followed the curves of her body. The color was deep and good for her. She slipped it on, then raced into her bathroom.

She applied mascara, blush and lip gloss, then brushed out her hair. She had a natural wave to her dark hair. Most of the time she fought it, but right now she didn’t have time. She added a little volumizing spray, then went back into the bedroom where she put on hoop earrings and slipped into four-inch taupe heels.

She walked back into the living room and found Steven on the sofa with Mason. The cat was stretched out, kneading a pillow while Steven rubbed his face. Both males looked at her. Mason gave her that slow I-love-you blink while Steven quickly rose to his feet. His eyes widened slightly.

“You look great.”

“Thank you.”

“That was fast.”

“I didn’t do that much.”

He motioned to the door. She picked up her bag and led the way, carefully locking the door behind her.

“Olives okay?” he asked.

“Sounds perfect.”

Olives was a martini bar near the business district in town. While tourists sometimes wandered in, the place was mostly frequented by locals. Zoe hadn’t been in ages. Back in the day, she and Jen had often gone there for drinks and to talk.

Steven parked his Mercedes SUV and walked around to her side to open her door. The polite gesture surprised her until she reminded herself that not every guy was Chad, and wasn’t that nice to know.

Once inside, they found a small corner table. Their server came over. Zoe ordered a lemon drop while Steven chose a vodka martini.

“You didn’t say shaken, not stirred,” she said when their server left.

“Bond and I are different kinds of guys.” He leaned forward and smiled at her. “What are you up to these days? Last I heard, you were teaching at the same school as Jen, but you left.”

“I did. I’d been working part-time as a manual writer. They offered me a full-time position after a particularly difficult week of teaching, so I said yes.”

Which was all true, if not the complete truth. She’d also quit her teaching job on the foolish assumption that she and Chad were going to be married and starting a family. Working from home would have given her time to be a stepmom to his kids. But none of that had come to pass and she was living her post-Chad life now.

“What’s the best part about what you do?” he asked.

“Good question.” She thought for a second. “That I help people. Most consumers never read the instructions, but a few do and every now and then someone really needs to understand how to work an appliance or troubleshoot it. When they do, I’m going to help them.” She smiled. “Some of my work is for medical equipment manufactures. I’m guessing those people really do read the whole manual.”

He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “You do realize that no man is going to read the manual.”

She laughed. “I’m very aware of your gender’s many flaws.”

“Hey, that’s not a flaw. We’re born with intuitive knowledge.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

Their server returned with their drinks and the small plate of bruschetta they’d ordered.

“What’s the part you like least?” Steven asked.

“I’m by myself all the time. I didn’t realize how much I would miss people, but I do. I want to wander down the hall and talk to a coworker. When I was a teacher, I felt like all I did was talk to people, but now, there’s no one.” She sipped her drink. “Mason can be very charming, but he’s not much of a conversationalist.”

“I got that vibe from him. He’s the strong, silent type of cat.”

She smiled. “He’ll appreciate that you got that.”

“Any regrets on leaving teaching?”

She had plenty of regrets but they were mostly about Chad. “There are things I miss, but I’m not sure I want to go back. I like my job—I just wish it were different.” She looked at him. “What about you? Do you like what you do? You’re in the family business, so I’m not sure you could leave, but still.”

“I’d always known I was the heir apparent and I was okay with that. I just didn’t expect to have to take over so soon.”

Right. Because his dad had died. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. I miss Dad every day. He was a great guy. For a while I wasn’t sure I could do it—run the company like he did. Then I figured out I wasn’t supposed to. That I had to run it like me. Either we made it or we didn’t.”

“You made it.”

His dark gaze settled on her face. “You can’t know that.”

“I kind of can.” She held up one finger. “Jen would have mentioned if you were destroying the company.” A second finger went up. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who would let himself fail. Not with something so important. It’s more than your family’s business. The company has what—a couple dozen employees? You certainly weren’t going to put all those people out of work.”

He looked both proud and a tiny bit uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, things are moving in the right direction.”

“Your dad would be proud of you.”

“That’s what my mom tells me.” His expression turned serious. “When he died, it was a shock for all of us. I wasn’t surprised by that, but I didn’t expect his passing to change me as much as it did. I guess I’d taken him for granted.”

“It’s a kid thing,” she pointed out. “We assume they’re always going to be there for us.”

He nodded. “When I was little, I was happy that my parents were so connected. They were a unit. There was no playing one against the other. As a teenager, I was embarrassed by how close they were. It wasn’t cool. But later, it was the best. How they loved each other. Jen, Brandon and I worried that Mom wouldn’t be able to go on, but she’s pulled it all together.”

“She has. Pam is amazing.”

“If I agree, you have to promise not to tell her.”

Zoe laughed. “Because she can’t have too much power?”

“You know it.”

“I will keep your secret, but you owe me.”

“Will fixing the stairs make us even?”

“It will.” She lightly touched his arm. “I really appreciate you helping out with that. I have to tell you, when I got locked in the attic, I totally freaked out.”

“Sure. Who wouldn’t?”

He was nice, she thought happily. Honorable. When his family had needed him, he’d stepped up—even though he’d been suffering himself.

“Handyman skills and you like cats,” she said, her voice teasing. “Why isn’t there a Mrs. Steven Eiland waiting for you somewhere?”

He sipped his drink. “Charming answer or real answer?”

“Real answer.”

“I was pretty popular in high school and college.”

“Ah. Why have one when you can have them all?”

“Pretty much. It got to the point where Mom wouldn’t let me bring a girl home. She didn’t want to start to like her only to have us break up in a week or two.”

“You lasted a week? That is so impressive.”

“You’re mocking me. Here I am, baring my soul, and you’re making fun of me.”

“I am.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Deal with it.”

He chuckled. “My folks kept bugging me to settle down. Or at least go out with someone for a month, but I never saw the point. Then my dad died and everything changed. At first I didn’t have time to date the way I had, but when things calmed down at work, I found I didn’t want to. I want what my parents had. The kind of love that lasts.”

He looked at his mostly untouched drink. “Sorry about that emotional dump. I want to blame the vodka, but I haven’t had enough. Either you’re really easy to talk to or I’m turning into a woman.”

“Do I get to pick?”

“Sure.”

“You’re not turning into a woman.”

“I’m glad,” he told her.

“Me, too.”

For a second they simply stared at each other. Zoe found herself wanting to scoot her chair closer to his. She certainly wanted to keep talking to him. He was nice, kind, funny and he had a heart. Oh, yeah, there was the really sexy thing, too. Talk about the perfect guy. Was it possible her luck had changed?

“I’m having a—”

“Would you like to—”

They spoke at the same time. “You go,” Steven said.

“I’m having a barbecue this Sunday. A few friends, nothing too formal. Want to come?”

“I would.” He smiled. “I was going to ask if you wanted to stretch drinks into dinner.”

She smiled back. “I would.”

They stared at each other. She felt the tension crackling between them—something she hadn’t experienced in what felt like forever.

“I should probably warn you that I also invited your mom to the barbecue, along with my dad.”

“Parents. Interesting. I can handle it if you can.”

“I’m up for the challenge.”


Chapter Five (#uc3d276f1-09e1-5fb7-98c5-992e2160db4a)

Jen backed out of Jack’s bedroom and quietly closed the door. Later, just before she and Kirk went to bed, she would open it again, so she could hear him if he started crying. A backup plan, in case the baby monitor failed.

Instead of joining Kirk in the family room, she took a quick detour to their bedroom where she brushed her teeth, combed her hair and made sure the light makeup she’d applied earlier hadn’t gotten all smudgy under her eyes. She debated changing into something provocative, but wasn’t sure what to say if Kirk noticed.

Not that she didn’t want him to notice. That was the point of her carefully planned evening. She’d been unable to stop thinking about what her mother had said a few days ago—about Jen and Kirk having a healthy sex life.

The truth was they didn’t. Since Jack had been born, they rarely made love. She was usually so stressed she couldn’t summon the enthusiasm, and in the past few months, Kirk had stopped asking. That was the part that made her the most nervous. How much of it was his being busy with his new job and how much of it was Lucas talking about his twenty-two-year-olds? Not that she was going to ask. Instead she would deal with the problem.

She went into the family room and found Kirk already sitting on the sofa, watching a basketball game. Instead of sitting in her usual seat at the other end, she settled closer to him. He smiled at her.

“Jack asleep?”

“Uh-huh. I start the music box and he’s usually out in seconds.”

“Best baby gift ever?”

She laughed. “Certainly one of the top ten.”

He looked back at the game. The Lakers were up by six. Jen shifted so that her oversize shirt fell off one shoulder. She’d put on her sexiest bra, with the lacy strap. Hopefully the visual would—

“You okay?” Kirk asked. “You’re fidgeting. Does your back hurt?”

“No. I’m fine.”

She sighed silently. So much for her sexy move. She turned to him, prepared to snuggle closer, only he’d leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his gaze intent on the television.

“Come on, come on! Don’t blow it. Pass the ball. Pass it!”

Kirk had entered the game zone. She had a couple of choices. She could try to be less subtle, maybe kiss him or something, or she could simply accept it wasn’t going to happen tonight. The danger with the first choice was he could give her that absent smile that said he wasn’t the least bit interested. Not that she’d seen it very much, but the threat was always there.

In her head she knew that the best response would be to simply tell her husband what she was thinking. That she was very much in the mood. Considering how long it had been, he would probably turn the TV off so fast her head would spin.

But saying that didn’t guarantee the outcome and while her head was very clear on the mature, straightforward action, the rest of her was less sure. What if he wasn’t interested in her that way anymore? What if there was a twenty-two-year-old? What if...

“I’m going to go pay bills,” she said, rising from the sofa.

“Okay. Is there ice cream for later?”

“Uh-huh.”

She walked into the study and sat behind what had been her father’s desk. According to her mother, her parents had gone at it, right up until her father’s death. They’d been married over thirty years. How on earth had they managed to keep the spark alive that long?

She wasn’t sure if the problem with her and Kirk was circumstantial or something more. To be honest, she didn’t think she wanted to risk asking that question either.

* * *

Late Sunday morning, Zoe checked on the chicken marinating in her refrigerator. She’d decided to go simple with the menu for her barbecue. Grilled chicken, an assortment of salads, pinto beans cooked in a Crock-Pot—the recipe compliments of her mother—and desserts from Let’s Do Tea. The drinks were equally simple. Sun tea, beer and margaritas made with Saldivar tequila.

Her father’s family had emigrated from Mexico four generations ago. Over the years there had been plenty of non-Hispanic spouses until the Saldivar family was just like most in Southern California. A little bit of this, a lot of that, with a sprinkling of I-have-no-idea thrown in. But the family business—Saldivar tequila—kept them connected to Mexico.

The agave plants were grown in Mexico, but the company was headquartered in Southern California. The liquor was exported all over the world. She’d been at least twelve or fourteen before she’d realized that liquor didn’t just mean tequila.

Her father and his brother had been raised to be in the family business. Her uncle ran the company, her father acted as the spokesman until just a few years ago. While Zoe enjoyed a margarita as much as the next person, she’d had no desire to join the family firm. Her cousins were doing just fine without her.

A little before eleven, her father showed up.

“I came early to help,” he said as he hugged her, then passed over a bag of limes. Mariposa, his papillon, trotted in on his heels.

Miguel Saldivar was about six feet tall, with thick, graying hair and a trimmed beard. A lot of her friends had gone on and on about how handsome he was—which Zoe didn’t get. To her, he was just her dad.

She bent down and scooped up Mariposa. The small dog relaxed in her embrace and offered a doggy kiss.

“How’s my girl?” Zoe asked. “Are you keeping Dad in line?”

Mariposa wagged her tail.

“I have a friend with a little dog,” she said, thinking of Pam. “You two could have a playdate.”

“Mariposa doesn’t hang out with dogs,” her father said. “She’s a people person, not a dog person.”

Zoe thought about pointing out that Mariposa wasn’t a person at all, but why go there?

“You came alone?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “No beach bunnies trailing behind.”

“You’re disrespectful. Where did I go wrong?”

She traded him the dog for the limes and started for the kitchen. “Maybe it was the time you showed me the pictures of you at the Playboy mansion.”

“That was a hundred years ago.”

“I was twenty. Most of the girls there were my age. It was a little creepy.”

Her father winked. “You’re jealous.”

“Of the bunnies? No. They’re not my type.”

“There were handsome men there, I’m sure.”

“Not interested in a guy who wants them. A ridiculous standard, I know, but there we are.” She put the limes on the counter. “I was thinking of serving vodka tonics to everyone,” she said, knowing the statement would cause a quick change in topic.

As if on cue, her father crossed his arms over his chest and his gaze narrowed. “Zoe Elizabeth Saldivar, don’t ever joke about that.”

“Oh, Dad.” She crossed to him, raised herself on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “You have got to work on your sense of humor.”

“I have an excellent sense of humor. Where do you think you got yours?”

“From Mom.”

He grumbled something under his breath, then washed his hands. She got out a couple of small bowls. One would be for the lime juice. The other was for Mariposa. Heaven forbid his precious girl drink out of a cat bowl. Speaking of which...

Zoe left her father squeezing limes. She went into the living room and found Mariposa and Mason lying together in a patch of sun. The marmalade cat was about five pounds heavier than the papillon, and far more sturdy. Still, the two were friends. As Zoe watched, Mason tucked his head into the dog’s chest so Mariposa could wash his ears.

“You two are weird,” she announced before returning to the kitchen.

Miguel continued to squeeze limes. While he sliced, Zoe strained the liquid before pouring it into a large measuring cup. When her guests arrived, her father would make margaritas by the pitcher.

“How are things?” he asked.

“Good.”

“You seeing Chad?”

“I told you, we broke up.”

“You broke up before and took him back.”

“Not this time. We are totally done.”

“Good. I never liked him.”

Her father had liked him just fine, until she’d dumped him. Which, she thought with a smile, was the sign of a good dad. Now he would dislike Chad forever.

Miguel eyed her. “You’re happy without him?”

“I am, I swear.”

“If you start to get lonely, let me know. I’ll find you a nice guy.”

“I’m so going to pretend you didn’t just say that. I don’t need my father finding me dates.”

“Why not? I have great taste. I married your mother.”

“Yes, and then you left her. Stay out of my love life and I’ll stay out of yours.”

“It’s a deal. Now tell me who’s coming to this party of yours.”

* * *

Pam arrived at Zoe’s a little after one. The house was small but charming. This block had yet to see too much change, which she appreciated. Too many of the older streets in town had been turned into McMansions—huge houses on tiny lots. She preferred the older style of the original bungalows.

There were already several cars in the driveway, so she parked down the street and walked back to the house, passing Steven’s SUV. With luck, her plan was working. She looked forward to spying on the two of them. Surreptitiously, of course. Steven needed a woman in his life—but the right kind. From what Pam knew about Zoe, she was sweet and caring. Chad had been a disaster, but Zoe had recognized the problem and walked away before any harm was done.

Pam walked up to Zoe’s partially open front door. She knocked once and let herself in. Through the back windows, she could see people milling around Zoe’s pretty backyard. There was a covered patio, several large trees and an expanse of grass. She started for the sliding door at the back of the living room, only to be stopped by the rapid approach of a tiny barking dog.

Pam immediately set her plate of brownies on the coffee table before dropping to her knees and holding out her fingers to be sniffed.

“Look at you,” she said in a soft voice. “You’re a beautiful little girl, aren’t you?”

The dog had big brown eyes and huge ears. Her face was multicolored, with splashes of white, brown and black, while the rest of her was mostly white.

She sniffed Pam for a second, before giving her a quick kiss. Pam rubbed the side of the dog’s face a few times until she collapsed onto the carpet and exposed her belly.

“Ah, Mariposa, you’re supposed to make them work for it, my love. Not give it away for free.”

The words, spoken in a low, melodious male voice, had Pam looking up. Her gaze settled on a tall, broad-shouldered man with very handsome features.

“You must be my daughter’s friend Pamela. She told me about you. I’m Miguel Saldivar, Zoe’s father.”

Pam blinked. Wowza. The voice, the face, the voice—they were all so appealing.

Miguel held out his hand. It took Pam a second to realize he was helping her to her feet. What on earth? She was perfectly capable of... Oh, right. He was being polite because nice men did that sort of thing. John had. He’d always been so considerate and polite.

The unexpected reminder of her late husband caught her off guard. Pain and longing sliced through her until she found it hard to breathe. Her reaction was as sudden as it was powerful. Miguel immediately crouched beside her.

“Pamela? You are not well?”

She forced a smile. “I’m fine. Is this little girl yours? She’s beautiful.”

Miguel stared into her eyes for a second. She had a feeling he was debating whether or not to accept the change in topic.

“She is. Mariposa is very spoiled, as you’ve already seen.”

He held out his hand and she put her fingers on his palm. Together they stood.

He was taller than she’d first realized, with broad shoulders and a trim physique. She would guess he was only a few years older than herself. There was something about him, she thought absently. Almost a memory. As if they’d met previously.

Before she could ask about that, she heard a familiar laugh and turned to find little Jack running toward her. His arms were outstretched as he barreled into her. She caught him and pulled him up in the air.

“There you are,” she said happily. “I’ve been waiting to see you.”

Jen and Kirk followed. She greeted her daughter and son-in-law, then turned to find Miguel had gone into the backyard. Pam looked back at Jen and noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Pam asked.

Jen shrugged. “I’m okay. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Pam pressed her lips together to keep from saying something she would probably regret. While she appreciated that Jen was an attentive parent, her daughter was making herself sick with worry about things that were never going to happen. Or at least were unlikely to. She was in a constant state of alert about Kirk getting injured on the job. While being a police officer was certainly dangerous, Kirk was now a detective. He had experience and a partner. As for something being wrong with Jack...

Pam told herself not to go there. She didn’t want to fight with her daughter, but she couldn’t help worrying about her. Jen was making things harder than they had to be. Pam had a feeling that whatever Jen had shared, there was so much more she wasn’t saying. Jack’s first few years were supposed to be wonderful, not terrifying.

They all went out to the backyard. Zoe had set up tables in the shade. There was a play area for the kids and a drinks station.

Zoe came over to greet them. She tickled little Jack and thanked them all for coming.

“Have I met your father before?” Pam asked her. “He looks familiar.”

Zoe grinned. “He was the face of Saldivar tequila for years. You’ve seen him in magazine ads and on TV.”

“Of course. I should have remembered.”

Jen took Jack and set him on the ground. He ran toward two other children and Jen followed. Kirk went with her. Zoe leaned close to Pam.

“My father is very charming. He can’t help it. Just so you’re warned.”

“Don’t worry. I promise not to be swept off my feet by him.” She appreciated the information—not that she was interested or anything, but the man was very appealing. She linked arms with Zoe. “All right. Introduce me to your friends. I want to find out what the current slang words are. I’m sure mine are all outdated.”

The afternoon was sunny and warm. Pam enjoyed chatting with everyone. She took charge of Jack during dinner so Jen and Kirk could hang out together. Sometime after, she found herself sitting in a beach chair on the lawn next to Miguel.

He eyed her glass of iced tea. “You don’t like margaritas?” he asked. “I made them myself.”

“I like them just fine and I had one earlier. But I have to drive home.”

“A cautious woman. Interesting. Tell me, Pamela, what do you do?”

She thought about correcting him—she always went by Pam. But there was something about the way the more formal version rolled off his tongue. It was nice, she told herself. Fun.

“I volunteer with an organization called Moving Women Forward. They support women entrepreneurs. I’m a mentor. I also take care of my grandson and spend time with my friends. I travel a few times a year, that sort of thing.”

It wasn’t a life that would change the world, but it was a very good one and she knew she’d been blessed.

“What about you?” she asked. “Zoe mentioned you’d worked in the family business. As the spokesman.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Did she? I’m retired now. My nephew is younger, which has an appeal, I suppose. But he’s hardly more handsome.”

Pam laughed. “I’m sure that’s true.”

Miguel winked at her. “You’re going to hear stories about me.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. That I’m charming and fickle when it comes to women.”

“You’re saying neither is true?”

He touched his hand to his chest. “You wound me. Of course I’m charming. As for the women, perhaps years ago. After my divorce. I had a modest amount of fame and I might have used it to my advantage.”

She would guess that was quite the understatement. “And now?”

“I have learned to appreciate different things. Maturity and wisdom bring their own kind of beauty.”

Pam did her best not to snort. Talk about a line. Sure, it was a good one, but still. “Miguel, I promise I will only believe the good things about you.”

“I appreciate that.” He glanced around the backyard. “This reminds me of when I was in Rio many years ago. One of our distributors invited me to his home for a birthday party for his youngest daughter. She was turning seven and the whole family was there. So many generations celebrating together. I fear we are losing that.”

“I know what you mean. I appreciate getting to hang out with at least two of my children, but not enough people do.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Three.” She pointed to Jen and Steven. “Brandon is in San Francisco.” She smiled. “If I say he’s a doctor, will you accuse me of bragging?”

“I promise I will not.”

“Then he’s a doctor. Brandon was one of those kids who makes you want to bang your head against the wall. If there was an easy way and a hard way, he would find the impossible way. But he’s doing great now.”

Miguel studied her. “You were a good mother.”

“I like to think so but you can’t possibly know one way or the other.”

“I have a sense about these things. There is a determination about you. Whatever the problem, you would have seen it through to the end.”

A lucky guess, she told herself, slightly surprised he would have figured that out about her.

“You are out of iced tea.” Miguel rose and reached for her glass. “I’ll be right back.”

Pam watched him go, appreciating the view. Yes, he was a very interesting man. Charming and—

Steven dropped into the empty seat. He angled toward her. “Mom, you have to be careful. With Miguel. You’ve been talking to him for a while. Zoe’s told me all about him. He’s a player. I know he’s charming and all that, but it’s superficial.”

“Oh, dear God.” Pam stared at him. “First Zoe and now you? How incompetent do you think I am?”

“Not incompetent,” Steven said hastily. “Just, you know, inexperienced. You were married to Dad for a long time and you’re not used to...” He seemed to be searching for the right word.

“The ways of the world?” she offered dryly.

“Uh, sure.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Mom, I love you and I don’t want you to get hurt. You know, thinking that Miguel is really—”

She stared at him. “Go on.”

“Um, nothing.”

“You don’t want me thinking that Miguel could possibly be interested in me? Is that it? Because I’d like to point out he’s several years older than me, so it couldn’t possibly be an age thing. Are you saying I’m not attractive enough? You think your mother is ugly?” She supposed it was wrong to torture him like this, but seriously, he’d started it.

Steven nearly whimpered. “Mom, I’m just—”

“Oh, I know what you are and what you’re thinking. That I’m so pathetic I would think that Miguel was actually interested in me. That I’m so unsophisticated and backward that I would be swooning over the first man to bat his eyelashes at me. Let me tell you something, Steven Eiland. You and your generation didn’t invent sex. I was doing it years before you were born. And while I might have been happily married for thirty years, I’m not an idiot. I understand exactly who and what Miguel is. Now, unless you want me to start talking about all the things I know that you don’t—when it comes to what goes on between a man and a woman—I suggest you hightail it back to the other side of the party.”

Steven swallowed and stood. “Yes, ma’am.”

He disappeared at a pace just fast enough to let Pam know the message had been received. Honestly, what was with young people today?

Miguel returned with a full glass of iced tea. He put it down on the small table next to her. “Everything all right?”

She smiled at him. “Things are pretty great right now.”


Chapter Six (#uc3d276f1-09e1-5fb7-98c5-992e2160db4a)

The party started to wind down some time around seven. By seven-thirty, nearly everyone had left. Pam carried serving dishes into the kitchen and set them on the counter.

“That was a lot of fun,” she said cheerfully. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“My pleasure.” Zoe looked at the last of her guests, still talking in her backyard. “I should do this more often. I had such a good time.”

Pam leaned against the counter. “Did you talk to Jen at all?”

“A little. Why?”

“I don’t know. I worry about her. She’s so caught up with Jack. It’s one thing to be a good mother, but another to stop having a life outside of your child.”

Zoe didn’t want to step on any toes, but Pam had started the conversation. “She’s different,” she admitted. “Since having Jack. I love her and would do anything for her, but I sometimes wonder how interested she is in our friendship.”

“That makes me sad.” Pam pressed her lips together. “If she was happy spending every second with her baby, I would be fine with it. But she’s so stressed, all the time. I just...” She looked at Zoe. “Maybe we should talk to her. The two of us. Tell her that we’re worried.”

Zoe took a step back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Jen isn’t going to take it well. She’s going to assume we’re ganging up on her.”

“Not if we start by telling her we love her. She needs to hear the truth from people who care about her. I’ll text you some dates and times. We’ll figure out when we’re both available and Jen is home. While Jack is napping would probably be best. I don’t want her distracted.”

Pam hugged her, then waved as she left the kitchen. “I’ll be in touch. Bye.”

Zoe held in a groan. She had a bad feeling about confronting Jen. Interventions went well when they were in a movie or on TV but she doubted real life was that tidy. She was running low on friends—she didn’t want to lose one of the few she had left. But she also didn’t want to offend Pam.

“You’re looking serious about something,” Steven said as he came into the kitchen and set a pitcher of iced tea on the counter. “Everything okay?”

“Just deep thoughts.” No way she was going to drag him into this, she thought. Getting caught between his sister and his mother was the definition of a rock and a hard place.

“That’s the last of the drinks from outside,” he told her. “What else can I do to help?”

“You’ve done enough.”

Not only had he been attentive to her friends, he’d kept serving bowls filled and drinks topped up.

She smiled. “You’re an excellent kind of guest to have.”

“My mom taught me to be handy.” He started to say something, then seemed to change his mind. “Mason survive Mariposa?”

“He actually likes her. He always has, which is good. I would hate for my dad’s dog to see my cat as a living chew toy.”

“I’m pretty sure Mason could take care of himself. He’s a smart guy.” He picked up a half-full bottle of chardonnay. “One more glass?”

“Sure.”

She pulled two glasses out of the cupboard and he poured, then they both went into the living room and sat on her sofa. There was a single lamp on in the corner, but otherwise the room was dim. Zoe briefly thought about turning on more lights, but decided against it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in the semidark with a handsome, charming man. Chad didn’t count because he’d turned out to be a total mistake. Which meant it had been years and years. She was due for some handsome-man-in-the-dark time.

“Your dad’s nice,” Steven said.

His tone was completely neutral, but she had a feeling he wasn’t as calm as he acted. She decided to test the waters.

“He spent a lot of time with your mom today.”

“I noticed. I hope she didn’t...” He set his glass on the coffee table. “I tried to talk to her about him.”

Zoe felt her eyes widen. “Wow. How did that go?”

“Not well. She told me—” He cleared his throat. “That doesn’t matter. I hope he doesn’t hurt her.”

“Wouldn’t they have to get involved for that to happen?” she asked gently. “Steven, you’re sweet to worry, but there are a million steps between tonight and that. Yes, my dad was a bit of a player when he was younger. But less so now. And he’s not a bad guy. When my parents got divorced, it was the most civil, friendly marriage dissolution ever. He and my mom stayed friends. The three of us were together when she died and he was as sad as I was.”




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/suzen-melleri/a-million-little-things-an-uplifting-read-about-friends-fami/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.