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Dating for Two
Marie Ferrarella
It's all fun and games–until someone falls in love!Focused on building her toy company, Erin O'Brien didn't have time to think about romance, let alone act on it. Until she met handsome attorney Steve Kendall–and suddenly, pleasure became much more enticing than business! But she soon learned that the sexy lawyer had a second job–as a family man!A widower, Steve was willing to do anything to reconnect with his son. And the school Career Day was a perfect opportunity…and a fateful one. A certain quirky blonde toy designer instantly won the students' affection–and Steve's interest. Soon he finds himself wanting only one special woman in his life. But is it for his son's benefit, or to heal his own heart?


“Cooking relaxes me,” Erin explained.
“Funny, it has just the opposite effect on me,” he said.
“Your strengths obviously lie in other directions,” she countered.
Steve had to admit he appreciated the way she tried to spare his ego.
“If you don’t mind my asking, exactly what do you plan on making?”
“A frittata,” she said cheerfully. Combining a total of eight eggs in a large bowl, she tossed in a dash of salt and pepper before going on to add two packages of the frozen mixed vegetables. She would have preferred to use fresh vegetables, but beggars couldn’t afford to be choosers.
“A what?”
“Just think of it as an upgraded omelet. You have ham and bread,” she said, pleased.
“That’s because I know how to make a sandwich without setting off the smoke alarm,” he told her.
“There is hope for you yet,” she declared with a laugh.
Watching her move around his kitchen as if she belonged there, he was beginning to think the same thing himself—but for a very different reason.
* * *
Matchmaking Mamas: Playing Cupid. Arranging dates. What are mothers for?
Dear Reader (#ud78c2854-2805-567a-9b9c-56616451582d),
Many articles have been written about the really difficult world of the single mother. But more and more I am beginning to see a new phenomenon emerging: the single dad. I see single fathers with one, two and sometimes three kids in tow, shopping in the grocery stores, looking haggard in the mall or on the street, going to or from stores while attempting to keep children in line—mainly by distracting them.
What started me thinking along the lines that this story eventually took was a letter from a single father to an advice columnist. He wanted to know where to find maternal-minded women. He had a small son and he wanted not just a wife but a mother for his boy (which I found extremely sensitive). She gave him some decent-sounding advice (none of which I could use in my story), but the seed was planted. I started thinking about all those fathers I’ve been seeing and wondering if they were married and if they weren’t, and what did they do to try to fill not just one void, but two? Because, in essence, when a single father goes out on a date, he’s really dating for two: himself and his child.
Since I am master (mistress?) of this universe I’ve created, my single dad’s problems are solved by those three wonderful matchmaking mamas, Maizie, Theresa and Cecilia. Come and read their latest success story.
Thank you for reading and, as always, I wish you someone to love who loves you back. You have that, you have everything!

Best,
Marie
Dating for Two
Marie Ferrarella


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MARIE FERRARELLA is a USA TODAY bestselling and RITA Award-winning author who has written more than two hundred books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com (http://www.marieferrarella.com).
To Allison Carroll for displaying concern over and above the call of duty. Thank you.
Contents
Cover (#u9f5a8aa0-c4f9-5a0a-997f-ad4c2de8f9bf)
Introduction (#ud2486267-f284-594f-95c2-f3444e25f95c)
Dear Reader (#u0ba1bf2d-1cb9-5380-bc86-74e611347794)
Title Page (#u9f44739d-acfc-5519-b71b-c60a38a35002)
About the Author (#ub206cc14-9946-500c-8748-03c23d8acde9)
Dedication (#u1c93215e-72e6-5f5e-a679-b08b9ae11bef)
Prologue (#ulink_f222493b-fed6-58b2-a7e6-6dd67a432e3a)
Chapter One (#ulink_c00f95f8-f4f5-520e-b4ae-0a356c4685d6)
Chapter Two (#ulink_5c25575e-1da3-571b-9cd1-33830c118570)
Chapter Three (#ulink_7483b55a-6d2f-570f-8e75-a9daa3886ee8)
Chapter Four (#ulink_6d71694c-a99b-53b2-9647-82d6d803b11e)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ulink_e0ca2040-73c2-52fa-b247-a4b559f77c22)
That was the third time Maizie Sommers had caught her client staring off into space in the past half hour.
Eleanor O’Brien had come to the real-estate agency that Maizie owned several weeks ago. The middle-aged, sweet-faced woman wanted to downsize her lifestyle, replacing her thirty-year-old two-story house with a more space-efficient condominium. Maizie had given her the benefit of her expertise, instructing her on how to present her home to its best advantage. The crash course had definitely paid off. There were already several buyers not just interested in Eleanor’s house but ready to make an offer.
Eleanor had decided to hold off accepting one until after she’d found a condo that caught her attention.
But today, apparently, her attention was elsewhere. Maizie had taken her to three different condominiums today and she had the impression that her client was there in body, but her mind seemed to be a hundred miles away.
Initially, she had politely ignored Eleanor’s preoccupation. But there was no sense in showing her these homes if she wasn’t really seeing them.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you seem rather lost in thought,” Maizie told the petite woman with the frosted blond hair. “You know,” she went on tactfully, “we don’t have to see these condos right now.”
Maizie wasn’t just pretending to be thoughtful of her client’s sensibilities—she really was concerned. She’d taken to Eleanor in these past few weeks and she prided herself on being a people person first, a Realtor—something she was exceedingly successful at—second. Or third if she counted the vocation she really had a passion for—matchmaking.
While she made her money being a Realtor with a very successful track record of matching the right person to the right home, her heart was even more firmly entrenched in her matchmaking endeavors, something she did on a joint basis with her two very best friends, Cecilia and Theresa, both accomplished businesswomen in their own chosen fields. Friends since third grade, the women enjoyed bringing happiness into people’s lives by matching them up with their soul mates. So far, that track record was stellar.
“If there’s anything I’ve learned in my years of selling homes,” Maizie went on as her client looked at her quizzically, “if you miss out on one, no matter how perfect it might seem, another one will be by soon enough—sometimes when you least expect it.”
Eleanor O’Brien laughed softly to herself. “That sounds like a slogan for a dating service, not a real-estate office.”
Maizie found it interesting that the first thing on her client’s mind was a reference to dating. Was that what was bothering the woman? Something to do with dating? Maizie’s radar was instantly engaged.
She linked her arm through Eleanor’s, subtly guiding the woman back to the condo’s front door. “Why don’t we take a break and go somewhere for a cup of coffee—or tea if you prefer—and you can tell me what’s really on your mind.”
For a moment, Eleanor looked torn between thanking her—coupling it with a protest that she was fine—and taking her up on her offer.
As it turned out, it was a very short internal debate. The woman’s need for a friendly ear to talk to won out.
“Well, if you’re sure that I’m not taking you away from anything else—”
Maizie flashed what one of her friends had referred to as her “disarming” smile. “You’re not,” Maizie assured the other woman.
Eleanor nodded just as they reached the door. “Then yes, I think I’d like that.”
Maizie smiled. “I know just the place.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, seated at a table for two in a family-friendly restaurant near Maizie’s office, Eleanor leaned in and asked her, “Do you have any children, Maizie?”
Maizie felt a sudden rush of maternal pride, the way she always did when she thought of her only child, Nikki. “As a matter of fact, I do,” she replied. “I have a daughter.”
Eleanor’s eyes met hers as she asked, “Is she married?”
Maizie smiled. She liked to think that her daughter was her very first real success story. Because Nikki had been so very caught up in her career—she was a pediatrician—her daughter had had no private life she could call her own. That was, until inspiration hit and Maizie had deliberately sent one of her clients, a widower with a toddler, her way. The rest, as people like to say, was history—and the beginning of a very gratifying matchmaking sideline.
Maizie never brought up what she thought of as her “true calling” unless the situation warranted it. However, she was beginning to get some very specific vibes from the woman sitting across from her that this just might be the case.
“Yes,” she told Eleanor, “as a matter of fact, she is.”
Eleanor sighed wistfully. “You don’t know how lucky you are. I have a daughter—Erin—and I don’t think she is ever going to get married.”
“By choice?” Maizie asked as she studied her client. After all, there were women who were quite happy not having to take a husband’s choices into consideration whenever they wanted to go somewhere or do something.
“By attrition,” Eleanor replied sadly, then attempted to backtrack. “I suppose I’m being selfish. I should just be grateful that I still have her.” Seeing Maizie’s questioning look, Eleanor realized how enigmatic that had to sound. She was quick to explain. “When Erin was seven years old, she came down with a form of cancer.” She closed her eyes, revisiting that painful time. “We came very close to losing her a number of times. She lived close to two years at that wonderful, groundbreaking children’s hospital in Memphis. During that time I almost wore out my knees praying.
“And then one day, all traces of her cancer miraculously disappeared and I got my little girl back. I can’t describe the joy her father and I felt.” Tears shimmered in her eyes as she relived what she was saying. “That’s why I feel so guilty wanting more.”
“But?” Maizie prodded, sensing the woman needed just a little encouragement to continue.
Eleanor inclined her head. “But I would love to see her married with children of her own.”
“She doesn’t have a steady boyfriend?” Maizie guessed, just to make sure that wasn’t the problem.
“She doesn’t have any boyfriend,” Eleanor answered with a heartfelt sigh. “She’s too busy.” Maizie’s client pressed her lips together. “Even her choice of careers is selfless and I know I should be happy she turned out this well—”
Maizie had been in the same place herself once, so she felt justified in interrupting her client. “You have nothing to feel guilty about. It’s only natural to want to see your daughter with someone special in her life, someone she can lean on.” Inspired, Maizie’s mind began going in several different directions at once. “What does your daughter do for a living?”
“She owns a toy company called Imagine That,” Eleanor said with no small pride. “She sells the kind of toys that you and I had as children—the kind that need imagination instead of batteries to make them come alive. Twice a year she takes a whole truckload of toys and brings them to the local children’s hospital. Erin says it’s her way of ‘giving back.’”
Maizie nodded her head, impressed—as well as eager to help. “She sounds like a wonderful person.”
“Oh, she is,” Eleanor said with feeling. “And I desperately want her to know the joy of holding her own child in her arms.” Again guilt rose its head within her. “I suppose I’m being selfish....”
“Not at all.” Maizie waved away the sentiment. “I’ve been exactly where you are.”
Eleanor looked at her with surprise. “You have?”
Maizie nodded her head. “Absolutely.”
“Did you do anything about it?” Eleanor asked, lowering her voice as if they were discussing a possible conspiracy. It was obvious that she was searching for some sort of advice or at least encouragement.
Maizie smiled over her cup of coffee. “Funny you should ask,” she began. She saw the hopeful expression that came into the other woman’s brown eyes. She signaled the waitress, and she told the young woman when she approached, “We’ll need to see two menus, please.” This was going to take some time, she decided. Then, turning back to Eleanor, Maizie got down to business. “Have I got a story for you.”
Chapter One (#ulink_bc95575b-00fd-526c-a756-3d2b0cba7cb6)
“There you go,” Steven Kendall said as he handed Cecilia Parnell the monthly check he had just written out to her company. “And it was worth every penny,” he freely admitted to her. “The job done by your house-cleaning service would even pass my mother’s stringent inspection, and trust me, my mother has always been a very tough little lady to please,” Steve attested.
Time and distance gave him the ability to look back at that part of his life fondly, although at the time, living through it as a teenager had been exceedingly difficult for him.
Cecilia smiled at the young business-litigation lawyer. He’d been a client of hers for a little more than a year now and she had never known him to be anything but cheerful. It was literally a pleasure doing business with the man, especially since he took no exception with what could be seen as an idiosyncrasy: she liked to be paid in person.
Cecilia laughed softly. “All my clients should be as difficult to clean up after as you and your son,” she told him. “And just because I don’t mention it, don’t think I’m not grateful that you don’t mind indulging me and maintaining this personal aspect of the process.” She tucked the check away into one of the many zippered compartments within her rather large hobo purse. “I know most young people your age prefer going the digital route—your internet bank account communing with my company’s internet bank account—but I must say that I really do like the personal touch.” She flashed a self-depreciating smile at Steve. “I know that must seem hopelessly old-fashioned to you.”
The woman’s words struck a familiar chord. “To tell you the truth, Cecilia, I could do with a little more ‘old-fashioned’ these days.”
Something in his voice caught her attention. “Oh?” Cecilia gave him her best motherly smile as she set down her purse again. “You are my last stop of the day, which means I’m free after this, so if you need a friendly ear to talk to, I can certainly stay awhile.”
Her maternal smile took in Jason, Steve’s seven-year-old, as well. The boy spared her a marginal glance before getting back to what had become his main focus during his waking hours when he was home: killing aliens that popped up on the family-room TV monitor.
“It’s not often that I find myself in the company of two such handsome young men,” she went on to say.
For a moment, Jason’s attention was diverted—an unusual occurrence these days, Steve noted. “Is Mrs. Parnell talking about us, Dad?” he asked.
A sliver of hope went through Steve. Maybe Jason was finally coming around. Mentally, he crossed his fingers even as the boy went back to vigilantly guarding humanity against the alien threat.
“Well, you, at least,” he told his son. He doubted that Jason even heard him. He was back to playing his video game.
“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, now, Steven,” Cecilia told him. At her age, her words could be seen as complimentary rather than flirtatious, which allowed her the freedom of not having to watch every word she said. “You are a very good-looking young man—which leads me to wonder why you’re here, talking to me, instead of going out. It is Friday night and unless my memory fails me, this is considered prime dating time for unattached men of your age bracket.” She glanced at Jason. “If you need a sitter, as I’ve already said, I am available,” she offered, knowing that the woman who watched Jason until Steve came home from the office had just left for the day.
“No, thank you. I don’t need a sitter and your memory is very sharp, Cecilia.” He knew that the woman was aware of his particular situation. Rather than feeling as if she were invading his privacy, he was touched that she cared enough to be concerned about him. “I’ve decided to back away from the dating scene for a while.”
Cecilia frowned slightly. She’d taken a personal interest in the young widower and his son. She couldn’t help herself—he seemed as if he needed just a touch of mothering since his own mother lived some distance away in another state.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Steven, but didn’t you just reenter the dating world a couple of months ago?”
Cecilia formed it as a question, but she knew perfectly well what his answer to that was. After two years of doing nothing but working and spending time with his son in an effort to shut down the sharp pain he’d felt over losing his wife, Julia, to uterine cancer, the personable lawyer had given in to his friends’ entreaties and started dating again.
What had gone wrong? she wondered.
And how could she help?
“Technically, you’re not wrong,” Steve told her. He walked into the kitchen and opened his refrigerator. He took out a bottle of orange juice and poured himself a small glassful. “I did reenter the dating world, although it was more like four months ago than just a couple. In any case, now I’ve decided to un-reenter it.”
Of the three lifelong friends, Cecilia had always been the most soft-spoken one. But being around Maizie and Theresa had caused her to be a little more aggressive in her approach toward people, a little bolder when it came to speaking her mind. Prior to their foray into the matchmaking world, she would have never had the nerve to say what she said now.
“If you don’t mind my asking, why would you do that? You’re in the prime of your life and heaven knows, a good, solid man like you would be the answer to many a lady’s prayer.” When he looked at her in surprise, she quickly added, “I have a couple of good friends who bend my ear about their children’s inability to connect with the right person.”
Although accurate, her explanation was a little dated. Up until several years ago, she, Maizie and Theresa would get together at least once a week for a friendly card game and a session of seeking mutual comfort regarding what they all viewed as the plight of their unmarried daughters. It was at one of these sessions that Maizie first decided that they needed to do more than just talk, lament and worry. They needed to take a proactive approach to their daughters’ situations.
Since all three of them had businesses that allowed them to interact with a broad spectrum of people, they decided to make use of that and find husbands for their daughters, setting them up without either parties involved realizing that they were being set up.
They succeeded so well that they just continued dabbling in the matchmaking business even after they ran out of their own offspring.
Now every time she or one of her friends came across a single person without a significant other at least in the wings, the wheels in their heads began turning.
The way they were doing right now.
About to walk out of the kitchen, Steve remained where he was and lowered his voice. He didn’t want Jason to overhear.
Once he began talking, Cecilia understood why.
“I’m not cut out for this anymore,” Steve confided in her.
The man was handsome, intelligent and sensitive. If ever a man belonged out in the dating world, looking for his soul mate, it was Steve.
“But why?” she asked sympathetically, her manner quietly urging him to unburden himself.
“All the women I’ve gone out with in these past few months have been very attractive. Not only that, but for the most part, they were also smart, funny, motivated career women,” Steve told her.
So far, there seemed to be no problem. However, she was well aware that life was seldom just smooth, untroubled sailing.
“But?” Cecilia supplied the missing word she could hear in his voice.
Steve flashed a weary smile. “But as soon as they knew I had a son, they all reacted in one of three ways. Some were upset that I even had a son and ended the evening, saying there was no future for us. Others equated having children with being fitted with chains, something they made clear they wanted no part of. And the ones who were open to the idea of kids equated having a child with having a cute pet—not the way I view Jason,” he told her with feeling.
Steve sighed and confessed, “Absolutely none of these women were even remotely what I’d consider to be ‘mother material.’ I guess when I entered the dating arena, my situation was rather unique.” Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he told her. “I’m not just dating to date—I’m actually dating for two. Any woman I see socially has to be willing to not just see me but to take Jason into consideration, as well. He’s part of my life. A very big part of my life,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the boy, who was now deeply engrossed in his game. “Since none of the women seemed willing to see it that way, I’ve decided to take an indefinite break from dating.” And then a smile filtered into his eyes and he said, “Unless, of course, you’d like to go out with me. Tell me, Cecilia, what are you doing for the rest of your life?”
Cecilia laughed and shook her head. “Getting older, dear,” she replied, patting his cheek, “but that was a very sweet, ego-boosting thought on your part and I’m flattered.”
She paused for a moment, debating something. She looked over toward Jason. The boy was lying on his stomach, ignoring everything around him and focused completely on the learning video on the monitor. His thumbs were all but flying across the controller in his hands.
When Steve had opened the refrigerator, she’d had occasion to look in. It hadn’t been a promising picture. Which was what prompted her now to ask, “When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”
“That all depends,” he replied.
That was a strange answer, Cecilia thought. “On what?”
Steve grinned. He would have been the first to admit that while he was very successful in his chosen field and liked to dabble in a number of different “hobbies,” cooking was definitely not among them, unless burning food could be considered a hobby.
“On how broad a definition of the term home-cooked you mean. If you mean a frozen dinner warmed up in my home microwave, then my answer is yesterday. If, by chance, you mean something out of the oven that didn’t come out of a package from the frozen section of the grocery store, then my answer would have to be the last time my mom came to visit, three months ago.”
Cecilia nodded. “That’s what I thought. Let me see what I can come up with,” she told him. She pushed up the sleeves of her blouse and opened the refrigerator again.
Granted, he was hungry, but there was such a thing as imposing and he didn’t want to ruin the relationship he had with this woman. He liked talking to her.
“I can’t have you do that,” Steve protested, stepping in front of her and attempting to close the refrigerator again.
She cheerfully moved him aside and got back to foraging. “Consider it a bonus for being such a good client.”
Maizie, Cecilia thought as she got down to business, was going to love this guy.
* * *
“What’s his name again?” Maizie asked that evening as she, Cecilia and Theresa got together.
It was an impromptu meeting. Cecilia had called both of her best friends the second she had gotten into her car. She’d just left Steve raving about the casserole she had made out of the odds and ends that she had found in his refrigerator and his pantry. Even Jason had been moved to say something positive after being made to pause his game and come to the table to eat.
At that point she was feeling particularly good about the plan forming in her head.
All she needed was help from “the girls.”
They met at Maizie’s house within the hour.
Maizie was currently sitting in front of her laptop, ready to try to get as much information as she could about this potential candidate that Cecilia felt seemed overdue to find love again.
“His name is Steven Kendall,” Cecilia told her, then spelled out his name carefully.
“You know him—do you think that Steven might have a page up on Facebook?” Maizie asked, already pulling up the site.
“I don’t know about Facebook,” Cecilia replied. “He seems friendly enough, but he is a rather private person when he’s not working.”
“What does he do?” Theresa asked.
“He’s a lawyer specializing in business litigation and—” Cecilia got no further.
“A lawyer?” Maizie echoed. It wasn’t so much a question as it was a triumphant declaration. “That means he’s probably got a photo and a profile online with his law firm.”
Pulling up a popular search engine, Maizie lost no time rapidly typing in the man’s name. She leaned back in her chair as Steve’s photograph and minibio came up on screen. She was clearly impressed.
She emitted a low whistle and said, “Not bad, Cecilia. Not bad at all.”
Curious, Theresa leaned in over Maizie’s shoulder to get a look at the man. “Not bad? If I were ten years younger, I’d give him a tumble myself.” She glanced up to see the skeptical, amused looks on both of her friends’ faces. “Oh, all right, twenty years,” Theresa corrected.
“Better.” Maizie laughed. “Besides, I’ve already got someone for him,” she told Theresa as well as Cecilia. When Cecilia had called her, she hadn’t had a chance to tell either of her friends about Erin O’Brien yet, but she quickly filled in the details now.
Finishing, she looked back at the lawyer Cecilia had brought to her attention. Her smile was wide and infinitely hopeful. “If you ask me, this seems like a match made in heaven. She’s a toymaker who loves children and he’s a widower with a child who by definition loves toys. It doesn’t get any better than this.”
Neither of her friends disagreed. “But how do you suggest we go about bringing these two made-for-each-other people together without them knowing it was a setup?” Theresa, ever practical, asked.
Maizie chewed on her lower lip for a moment as she gave that little problem her undivided attention. “The difficult we do immediately. The impossible takes a little longer,” she said, reciting an old mantra.
“That’s Maizie-speak for nobody goes home until we come up with a plan for them to meet,” Theresa said with a sigh, bracing herself for a long night.
Maizie patted her friend’s hand as she rose to her feet. “You know me so well. I’ll put up a pot of coffee,” she told her friends before crossing to the kitchen.
* * *
Erin O’Brien hung up her phone, still a little bewildered at exactly how Felicity Robinson had gotten her name, much less her phone number. But then, she supposed in this day and age of rampant nonprivacy, anything was possible for someone with a reasonable amount of tech savvy if they were determined enough. And if there was one thing she had come away with from this conversation, it was that the assistant principal of James Bedford Elementary School certainly sounded extremely determined.
“Guess what,” Erin said to the friendly-looking stuffed T. rex on her desk, one of several that she owned. The T. rex had been the first toy she’d ever made, and the original, now rather shabby for wear, was locked away in a safe. “We’re going back to school. Seems that somebody wants me to talk to a roomful of seven-year-olds about how I got started making toys.”
She cocked her head, giving the T. rex a voice in her head and having him make up excuses for why they couldn’t go. The T. rex embodied her insecurities. He always had. It had been her way of dealing with them as a child.
“Oh, don’t give me that snooty face,” she said, addressing the dinosaur. “You’re a ham and you know it. This’ll be fun, you’ll see,” she promised, using almost the same words that the assistant principal had when she’d called her.
“Yeah, for you,” the high-pitched voice whined. “Because you’ll say anything you want through me.”
Erin leaned over her desk and pulled the stuffed animal to her. Affectionately dubbed Tex the T. rex, the stuffed dinosaur had been her start, her very first venture into the toy world. Imagination—a positive imagination—had been her crutch, her way of dealing with all the things that had been going on in her young world when life had consisted of machines that whirled and made constant noise at different frequencies while they measured every kind of vital sign they possibly could via the countless tubes that seemed to be tied or attached to her little, sick, failing body.
Even back then, though shy, she’d possessed an inner feistiness. She’d done her best to be brave so that her mother wouldn’t cry, but even so, Erin was firmly convinced that if she hadn’t invented Tex—her alter ego as well as her champion—when she had, she would have broken down rather than triumphed over the disease that had threatened to end her life more than once all those years ago.
Tex had started out as a drawing and was, for the most part, a figment of her imagination until she had given him life by utilizing an old green sock her mother had brought her.
Somehow he managed to stay with her—in spirit and in drawings—all the way through school. A while later, she decided to give Tex a better form. Her mother went to a craft store and bought green felt, and Erin had had stuffing. Armed with a needle and thread as well as a black Magic Marker, she brought the dinosaur to “life” one fall afternoon.
From that day forward, in one form or another, Tex had remained with her.
A chance comment from a child in an on-campus day-care center was ultimately responsible for her creating a friend for Tex—Anita. Anita was equally nonmechanical. Equally gifted with a soul via Erin’s imagination.
And suddenly, Imagine That was born.
“And now we get to tell a cluster of second graders all about you,” Erin told her stuffed animal with pride.
“Don’t forget the part where you would be nowhere without me,” “Tex” reminded her in that same high-pitched version of her voice.
“I won’t forget,” she promised, saying the words as if she were actually carrying on a conversation with another human being.
She indulged in the little charade mainly when none of her staff was around, so that they wouldn’t think she was losing her mind if they happened to overhear her in effect talking to herself. It helped her knock off steam when things got tense, but she could see how it might unnerve someone witnessing her exchanges with herself.
“We made it, Tex. We made it to the big time—or to the little time, if you will,” she augmented with a grin.
For once Tex said nothing.
But she knew what he was “thinking.” The very same thing she was. That they had truly “made it” in more ways than one.
Chapter Two (#ulink_e19f8913-f742-5836-8f56-03ff5beb28ca)
Steve hung up the landline phone in the kitchen and looked over at his son. Jason, as usual, was in the family room, his attention glued to the action on the TV screen.
“Did you have anything to do with this, Jason?” he asked.
“To do with what, Dad?” his son responded after he repeated the question a total of three times. As had become his habit, Jason was only half paying attention to anything going on outside of the video game he was playing. The game had become an all-important obsession for him, something he did with most of his waking hours unless his father made him do mundane things like eat and sleep and go to school. Aside from that, he could be found before the TV in the family room, defeating aliens and making the universe safe for another day.
He was not about to relax his vigilance, convinced that slacking off for even a second would bring about dire consequences. It could bring about the end of life as he knew it, as everyone in his world knew it. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Not on his watch. He’d already lost his mother; he couldn’t afford to lose his father or his grandmother, as well.
“I was just on the phone with your assistant principal,” Steve said, nodding toward the receiver he’d just hung up. “She asked if I’d speak to your class on Career Day.”
He sank down on the sofa. Jason’s thumbs were going a mile a minute on the controller. The TV monitor was filled with dying aliens that disintegrated into tiny purple clouds before vanishing altogether.
Steve couldn’t help wondering if his son had even heard him. “I didn’t know you had a Career Day.”
Jason shrugged, his small shoulders rising and falling in an exaggerated motion since he was lying on his stomach. “I guess so,” he mumbled.
Without Julia, his late wife, as a buffer, Steve had found himself groping around, trying to find his way in his son’s world. Every time he thought he was making just a tiny bit of headway, something would happen to show him that he hadn’t made any at all.
But he couldn’t give up now, because the next thing he said might be just the right words that would help him to get through to the boy. Above all, he wanted to keep their relationship open and honest—so he asked a lot of questions. But he didn’t get a great deal of feedback.
“She sounded desperate, so I said I’d do it. Is that okay with you?” he asked. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass his son, no matter how persuasive the woman on the other end of the line had come across.
“It’s okay, I guess,” Jason said with no real enthusiasm. Then, turning to look at him over his shoulder, his son added a provision to his agreement. “As long as you don’t kiss me around the other guys.”
Steve suppressed a grin. Now, that he could fully relate to and understand. He could remember how embarrassing parental demonstrations of affection could be at that age. “It’ll be hard, but I promise I’ll control myself.”
“Good.” Jason nodded. Going back to killing aliens, the boy asked absently, “Whatcha gonna talk about?”
“My career.” Then, because of the perplexed look on his son’s face when Jason turned toward him again, Steve added, “I’m a lawyer, remember?”
“I ’member,” Jason answered almost solemnly, then asked, “You gonna do some lawyer stuff for the class?”
There were times when he felt that Jason didn’t have a clue as to what he did for a living. Julia liked to say that he argued for a living. He supposed that was as apt a description of his profession as any. But he doubted that a group of seven-year-olds would understand the joke.
“I’m going to explain to your class what a lawyer does,” he told Jason.
“Oh.” It was clear that Jason didn’t seem to think that would go over all that well with his class—but he had a remedy for that. “Maybe you better bring treats, like Jeremy King’s mom did when she came to talk about her job.”
He honestly considered Jason’s suggestion. “Maybe I will bring treats since food seems to be the only thing that impresses people your age.”
The aliens still weren’t dying and the controller remained idle in Jason’s hands, telling Steve that he had his son’s full attention—at least for a half a minute more. “I like chocolate, Dad.”
“Yes, I know,” Steve said with as straight a face as he could manage.
And then the consequences of his affable agreement hit him. He was going to have to stand up in front of a classroom full of restless little boys and girls and try to hold their attention for at least ten minutes, if not more. Steve looked over toward the phone he’d just hung up on the wall. Maybe he’d been just a little too hasty saying yes.
Oh, he had no trouble standing up before an audience. Most of all, he was really apprehensive that he might inadvertently embarrass his son—which in turn might push the boy even further away from him than he was now. Seven-year-olds were sensitive and desperately wanted to blend in, not stand out, and having him in the classroom would definitely single Jason out.
“So you’re okay with my coming to your classroom?” he asked again.
“Uh-huh.”
Steve gathered from his son’s tone that Jason was once again clearly engaged in the business of knocking off tall, thin gray aliens and was a million miles away from him.
* * *
A few days later, Steve was still having second thoughts about talking in front of Jason’s class. Actually, his second thoughts were into their third edition at this point.
But if nothing else, he was well aware that it was too late to pull out. He had committed to this speaking engagement and he was nothing if not a man of his word.
It was a lesson he was trying to teach Jason and he knew if he bowed out at the last minute, aside from leaving the assistant principal high and dry, he would be teaching Jason that it was all right to give your word and then break it on a whim.
He might not be the world’s best father, but at least he knew that much was wrong.
Jason’s teacher, Mrs. Reyes, had placed two folding chairs in the front of the room, putting them a few feet away from her own desk. The intention was that the speakers wouldn’t feel as if they were “on” the entire time. Her aim was to afford the speakers a clear view of the classroom and its occupants, even while keeping everything at a safe distance.
Steve took his seat, wondering who else had been roped into this “sales pitch to seven-year-olds,” as he had come to think of the experience.
He didn’t have long to wait for an answer. No sooner had the question occurred to him than the classroom door opened and he heard a rather melodic, softly compelling voice say, “I’m sorry I’m late. I’m afraid my staff meeting ran over.”
“I’m just glad you could make it,” Mrs. Reyes said, smiling broadly at the owner of the voice. There was more than a measure of relief echoing in the teacher’s own voice.
Steve turned to look at the late arrival and found himself suddenly and completely captivated. The young woman, carrying what appeared to be a wide valise or case of some sort, was all swirling strawberry-blond hair, bright blue eyes and heartwarming smile.
Unlike him—he was wearing a light gray suit—she was dressed casually in a light blue summer dress that brought out her eyes even more than nature already had. To top off the picture, the woman had the best set of legs he’d seen since—well, he couldn’t quite remember since when.
“Hi,” the woman said to him as she took the seat beside his. Her eyes swept over him as she asked, “Are you giving a Career Day speech, too?”
“Yes.” Suddenly at a loss for words, all he could do was smile at her—and feel utterly inept. Something that had never happened to him before.
“What’s your career?” she asked in a deliberately low voice. She was intent on not distracting anyone in the classroom; however, the low timbre managed to distract Steve big-time. “Well, you’re in a suit, so it must be something important,” she assumed, then made a guess. “Doctor?”
He barely shook his head. The rest of him felt as if he had been frozen in place, trapped in her eyes. Who was this woman? “No,” he breathed.
“Lawyer?” was her second guess.
“How did you know?” There was no L on his forehead, no aura particular to lawyers. He couldn’t see her managing to figure it out on her second guess.
She smiled and he found himself even a little more captivated than he already was—if that was possible. “The old nursery rhyme. You know—rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief. Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief. You said no to doctor and you didn’t look like a chief, so I took a stab at lawyer.” That out of the way, she asked the next logical question. “What kind of a lawyer are you?”
“A good one,” he replied.
His own answer sounded almost flippant to him—and that just wasn’t like him at all. He was good, fair and dedicated. None of those attributes had any leeway for flippant.
“Ah, one with a sense of humor. That’s good,” she pronounced with a smile that for a moment rivaled sunbeams.
The next moment, she was leaning into him. “Which one’s yours?” she asked in a hushed whisper that at the same time seemed incredibly sexy to him, given the circumstances and where they were.
Could a voice in a second-grade classroom even be sexy? Steve couldn’t help wondering.
“That one over there, the towhead with the cowlick,” he told her.
It took her a second to find the child he was pointing out. “Very handsome boy,” she told him with a nod of her head. Steve knew what she’d just said was a standard reply and maybe it was just his imagination, but she seemed to mean what she said.
“Which one’s yours?” he asked, thinking it only fair to put the same question to her.
“Oh, I don’t have one in this class,” she replied.
He found that odd. Weren’t you supposed to have a kid in the room before you could address said class?
“Then—?”
As if anticipating the rest of his question, the woman beside him said, “The assistant principal thought it might be a good idea for me to come by today and address the class.”
Steve came to the only conclusion he could. The woman had to have a unique career.
“What’s your career?” he asked outright, unable to even venture a guess, especially not one that would involve a valise.
She opened her mouth, apparently to answer his question, when Mrs. Reyes spoke up and by the very act commanded that they all give her their undivided attention.
“Well, it’s my favorite Wednesday of the month again. Career Day,” she emphasized with feeling. “And first we will hear from Jason Kendall’s father, Steven Kendall, who is going to talk to you about what it means to be a business lawyer.” Turning toward him with a bright, welcoming smile, Mrs. Reyes said, “Mr. Kendall, the floor is yours.”
With that, Mrs. Reyes gestured around the classroom, in case he missed her meaning.
Steve rose and instantly became aware that his legs felt a little stiff. The last time he’d felt that, he recalled, he’d been in court, pleading his very first case. He’d won, but only by a hair, and while others might have become cocky because a win was a win, his win humbled him because he knew how close he had come to losing that first case.
It was then that he realized that things were decided by the whimsy of fate and although he was always prepared, always did his best, he never lost sight of that humbling lesson.
Coming before the class now—Mrs. Reyes had vacated her desk, so he stood behind that as he spoke—Steve remembered beginning, remembered his mouth moving as his brain raced from point to point, trying to hit all the points he’d jotted down for himself earlier.
He was acutely aware that while his audience of seven-and eight-year-olds all sat at their desks listening politely, not a single face in that audience looked the least bit interested, much less inspired by either his vocation or anything that he had just said to them.
Not that, he silently admitted, he had said anything terribly interesting or inspiring.
And certainly not very memorable.
When he was finished, applause came after a beat. Polite applause as if they had been coached to applaud anyone who appeared to have stopped talking. He was glad to reclaim his chair and sit down.
“And next we have Ms. Erin O’Brien.” Instead of announcing the next career, Mrs. Reyes smiled at her class. “You’re in for a treat,” she promised. “I think you’ll find Ms. O’Brien’s career very interesting.” Mrs. Reyes looked toward the next speaker, exchanging glances with her as if they had a shared secret. “Ms. O’Brien, the class is all yours.”
Rather than the young woman saying anything in response to Mrs. Reyes, another voice was heard. A muffled voice as befitting one that came from inside a suitcase.
“Hey, it’s dark in here, Erin. Lemme out.”
Erin’s hooded eyes covertly took in the room. Apparently, she had the entire classroom in the palm of her hand as children exchanged giggles and nervous glances with one another.
Erin looked at the valise on the floor next to her chair. She had a pseudoexasperated look on her face. “Tex, I told you to be on your best behavior.”
“This is my best behavior,” the voice coming from the valise insisted.
“If I let you out, you have to promise not to scare the children,” she warned.
“Children?” the voice asked, sounding very intrigued. “Tasty children?”
“That’s something you’re never going to find out. Now, do you promise to behave?” she asked.
The voice sighed. “Do I hafta promise?” Tex whined.
“Yes, you do,” Erin said, crossing her arms before her as she continued talking to the “occupant” of the valise. “I’m afraid if you want to come out, Tex, that’s the deal I’m offering. Otherwise, you’ll have to stay in the suitcase until we leave.”
There was another, louder sigh from the inside of the valise. Then the voice said, “Oh, okay, I guess. I promise.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Erin told the voice.
Snapping the locks open, Erin quickly took out the valise’s mysterious occupant. The latter turned out to be a large green dinosaur whose head was bigger than his body, in direct contrast to an actual model of a Tyrannosaurus rex.
This T. rex was also wearing a white cowboy hat, which was in keeping with his Southern twang.
Once in her arms, Tex did an exaggerated long visual sweep of the boys and girls seated at their desks. “I know I said I’d behave, but can I just nibble on that little one over there?” The puppet nodded vaguely to his left, pretending to drool.
“No, you cannot,” Erin insisted. “We came to talk to these nice kids.”
“You talk, I’ll nibble,” Tex said, leaning over as he eyed certain children.
Erin drew herself up and gave the dinosaur a very stern look. “Tex, do you want to go back into the valise? Think carefully now.”
The puppet hung his head, ashamed. “No, ma’am, I do not.”
“Okay, then no nibbling,” she pretended to order him sternly. Her eyes swept over the eager young faces on the other side of the room. As always, a feeling of gratification washed over her.
Tex, however, was ever crafty, ever hopeful. “Then how about—?”
She shot the T. rex down before he could mention a single name—she’d taken care to ask for a seating chart and the names of all the children when she’d agreed to giving a talk. Using names made everything ever so much more personal.
“No.”
The dinosaur was nothing if not persistent. “Not even—?”
“No,” she said emphatically, cutting the T. rex off before he was finished.
The children’s laughter grew with each interaction between the woman and her puppet. “Now remember why we’re here,” she told the T. rex.
Drooling again, the dinosaur eyed his potential snack. “You remember. I’ll chew.”
Erin gave the puppet her very best glare. “Tex, you’re impossible.”
“No, I’m very possible,” he assured her. “But I’m also just very hungry. Hear that?” He looked down at his midsection. A noise was heard. “That’s my tummy growling,” he protested. Instead of the rumbling of an empty stomach, an actual lion’s roar echoed through the classroom, bringing more giggles.
Steve had to admit that he was as captivated and as hooked as the children were, except that to them, the exchange between the strawberry-blonde woman and the dinosaur in her arms was very real, while he found himself enthralled by an extremely good ventriloquist who was very easy on the eyes.
He watched her lips—something he realized he became caught up in with great ease—and couldn’t really see them move, yet he knew that somehow, they had to because the exchange was so lively.
* * *
In the end, Erin gave, all in all, a very entertaining “talk.”
She had brought more characters with her, toys that had hitchhiked in the valise only to jump out—with a little help from her—in a semiorderly fashion when she called to them. Some of these characters spoke, some did not, but the running thread through all the toys she did display was not a single one of them required a battery, a power strip or even a windup key of any sort.
All they uniformly required, Steve discovered, was imagination. Imagination by the bucketload.
The other thing that the toys she’d introduced had in common was that each and every one of them—and she almost presented them as family—was initially her brainchild. Toys that came into being out of some childhood adventure or childhood need to keep the darkness at bay.
The young woman with the talking green dinosaur had created all the toys she’d brought with her, Steve thought. He found himself being more than a little impressed by her efforts, her creativity and her very real dedication to jump-starting children’s imaginations again. Moreover, though she didn’t come out and say it, he got the impression that Erin O’Brien had put together and built up her toy company all on her own, not an easy feat in this day and age.
He couldn’t help but admire her determination. A man could learn from a woman like that.
And so could a classroom full of energetic seven-and eight-year-olds.
Chapter Three (#ulink_aefe4c29-3426-5521-9e2f-531d8ef43cbe)
The woman really did have a way about her. While the second graders had listened to him politely, there had definitely been a certain lack of enthusiasm among them.
He didn’t really blame them. Very few seven-year-olds aspired to be lawyers—as a matter of fact, he doubted if there were any seven-year-olds who even remotely contemplated that. He would have had to have been something along the lines of an astronaut in order to have sparked their imaginations.
But the moment Erin O’Brien took center stage—even before her T. rex started “talking,” he saw a definite shift in the pint-size audience. They appeared to be hanging on her every word, anticipating something funny or just plain fun. It was almost as if they seemed to sense what she was about to do—entertain them by bringing make-believe into their world.
Steve found himself mesmerized by her, as well. But what really caught his attention was when he glanced in Jason’s direction and saw that his ordinarily solemn son’s face was animated, that he was taking in everything she said.
And when Tex requested “just a teeny, tiny taste” of one of the children in the audience, he was stunned to see Jason laughing. Actually laughing.
Jason hadn’t laughed since Julia had died.
Steve could feel his heart constricting within his chest. When he’d lost his mother, the light had simply gone out of Jason’s eyes. Not only that, but his entire personality had undergone a drastic change. He had become introverted, retreating into the world of video games. He’d completely stopped playing with his friends, stopped everything that even vaguely reminded him of a time when his mother was still around.
While it worried him, Steve was afraid to push the subject, afraid he might make things worse. His friends advised him to give Jason time.
But how much was enough? No one had an answer, least of all him.
And meanwhile, here Jason was, responding to a make-believe dinosaur and the woman who had given that T. rex life. It left Steve in utter awe. So much so that it took him a minute before he realized that Jason’s teacher was saying something to all of them.
“—and I would like to thank both Ms. O’Brien and Mr. Kendall for coming in this morning and taking the time to talk to us about what they do for a living,” Mrs. Reyes concluded.
The next minute, Erin was leaning into him, keeping her voice low as she prompted, “I think she wants us to stand up now.”
Like a pop-up toy on a three-second delay, Steve quickly rose to his feet. He managed to effectively cover up his chagrin. He’d been so wrapped up in his discovery and his thoughts about Jason that he hadn’t been paying attention to what the teacher was saying.
He flashed a quick smile at the older woman, who looked pleased. “Class, how do we say thank you to these two nice people?”
In response to her question, the children began to clap.
“Thank you for your attention,” Steve said, acknowledging their applause.
“Maybe next time, you’ll have some tasty snacks for me,” Erin said in her best Tex the T. rex voice.
The class clapped harder as they laughed and cheered.
“You certainly know your audience,” Steve told her in an aside.
“I was a kid once,” she said by way of an explanation. “Weren’t you?”
“I can’t remember,” he answered, tongue in cheek.
He noticed that the valise she had brought with her seemed to be bulging excessively despite the fact that she had brought samples of the toys her company put out and those were now safely in the hands of her audience. The valise appeared almost too bulky for her to handle.
“Here, let me help you with that,” Steve offered as he pushed open the classroom door so that she could walk out first.
“That’s okay,” Erin demurred, crossing the threshold. She switched hands, taking the valise into her left one in order not to bang it into him. “I’ve been lugging around Tex and his friends since before they had a toy factory to call home.”
Steve wasn’t about to take no for an answer. He closed the classroom door behind him and caught up to her in less than two strides. “Still, it would make me feel like a Neanderthal if I watched you struggle to your car with that.”
“You could try closing your eyes,” she suggested.
“This works better,” he countered, slipping his fingers deftly into the small space on the handle that she wasn’t currently holding.
Erin was about to pull the valise a little closer to her, telling him that she was fine and it was no big deal, but then she shrugged, deciding to surrender the suitcase rather than play tug-of-war with it.
She had to stop constantly trying to prove to the world that she wasn’t the sickly little girl anymore, she silently lectured herself. The voice in her head sounded oddly like her mother.
“Wouldn’t want you to feel like a Neanderthal,” Erin said as she let him take the valise. “I’m parked right out front.”
And then she remembered. “No, you’re not.”
The voice actually did seem as if it came out of the valise. Steve paused, looking from it to her. “Your suitcase is arguing with you?”
“Sorry, I do that sometimes when I’m nervous. Tex puts me on a more even keel,” she explained.
“You’re nervous?” he asked, amazed, thinking she was referring to having to speak in front of Jason’s class. “You certainly didn’t act like it.”
“That’s why I have Tex.” Actually, she’d been fine talking to the class. She related to children. Her problem was talking to adults. That made her nervous. But he did seem like a nice man. At least he hadn’t said anything about her behaving strangely.
“I just remembered that I’m not parked right out front—I had to park by the curb. The school parking lot was full when I arrived. They really should have more parking spaces,” she said as they walked out of the building.
Steve looked around. She was right. All the parking spaces in front of the school were filled with vehicles.
“I guess when they built the parking lot, they didn’t count on so many of the sixth graders driving,” Steve quipped.
He had a sense of humor. She liked that. “They must not be automatically promoting them to the next grade unless they can pass their tests.”
He pretended they were having a serious conversation and deadpanned, “I guess not.”
“My car’s right over there,” Erin said, pointing to a small, economical-looking white Civic that had seen its share of miles. She unlocked the driver’s-side door, then flipped a lever to unlock the other three.
She noted that Steve was still holding her valise. “You can put the suitcase right there,” she prompted, and then smiled when she caught the surprised look on his face. She could almost see what he was thinking. “You think my car should be fancier, don’t you?”
By the looks of it, the car was about seven years old or so and while it wasn’t dented, it did appear weathered.
“I just thought you looked more like the sports-car type.”
“Nope, not me. Besides, Jeffy runs very well,” she said, patting the car’s hood. “He was there for me when I needed him and I tend to be very faithful if something comes through for me.”
Was she just talking about her car, or did she mean that in general? he wondered. The women he’d encountered lately all seemed to be interested in “newer, fancier, better.” Sticking with something reliable didn’t seem to be in their game plans. He was drawn to this woman with the funny voices.
“Do you name everything?” he asked.
“Mostly,” she answered seriously. “But only if their personality comes through—or the name fits.”
He had to admit he was intrigued. “And just how does Jeffy fit a Civic?”
“The letters in the license plate.” To prove her point, Erin rounded the car and pointed to the rear plate, a combination of numbers and letters. The letters read JFF. “JFF is very close to Jeff, which is close to—”
“Jeffy. I get it,” he concluded, then nodded, amused. “Interesting thought process.” Not to mention that she was a very interesting woman.
He realized that if they went their separate ways right now, chances were that he would never see her again. He didn’t find that acceptable.
Outside of his law practice, he was a fairly low-key, easygoing man who definitely wasn’t pushy, which was why he hesitated now.
Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and he’d heard Jason laugh earlier. That definitely deserved further investigation.
Steve caught the driver’s-side door as she was about to get into her car. She looked up at him quizzically.
“Listen, I cleared my morning because I wasn’t sure how long this Career Day thing was going to last, so I don’t have to be back in the office until after lunch. Would you like to go somewhere and grab a cup of coffee or tea or something?” Because she wasn’t saying no, he added, “There’s a great little French bakery/café not too far from here.”
Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Erin glanced at her watch. There were things she had on her agenda for this afternoon and ordinarily, she didn’t just go off with a man she’d met less than an hour ago. As gregarious as she seemed around the children, around adults she was an extremely shy person who struggled to sound as outgoing as she knew she was perceived.
For heaven’s sakes, it’s a café, not a sleazy bar in some rough neighborhood, a little voice in her head coaxed. Your mother’s always after you to get out more. This qualifies as “more” since you’re already out of the office. Go for it!
Steve saw her looking at her watch and hesitating. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I thought that since I didn’t have to be back until after lunch that you were free, too. You probably have to be somewhere right after your talk.”
He’s giving you a way out. Take it, she told herself. Take it!
Still...
“Well, not right after,” she allowed.
“Great,” he responded with a wide smile that she found instantly appealing. “Why don’t I just get my car and you can follow me to the café—unless you’d rather I drove you there.”
She liked the fact that he didn’t immediately try to dominate the situation. “I always loved multiple choice—I’ll follow you,” she decided, feeling better about having her car with her—just in case things didn’t go well. It was hard making a quick getaway if her car was two miles down the road.
“Stay right there,” he told her as he began heading toward his own car.
“Can’t very well follow you if you’re not there to follow, now, can I?” she called after him, amused.
“Right.” Still walking, Steve turned around so that his voice would carry to her. “Be right back,” he promised.
As he hurried off, all he could think was that if any of his clients had been privy to this less-than-suave behavior, they’d have second thoughts about having him represent them in anything, much less in a courtroom. But while his professional behavior was decisive, intelligent and sharp, the private Steve Kendall was not nearly as dominant or forceful as the public one.
Julia had spoiled him. They had been the proverbial childhood sweethearts—he’d known he wanted to marry her when he was all of thirteen years old, even though it’d taken him another eighteen months to work up the courage to steal a kiss.
That had clinched the deal—for both of them.
There had been no dating other girls, no oats, wild or otherwise, that he’d wanted to sow. All he’d ever wanted was to be Julia’s husband and the day he proposed, Julia confessed that she’d never even thought about marrying anyone else but him. They were made for one another. Consequently, he had never had to endure and suffer through the rigorous training camp known as dating.
That was why, he reasoned, he came up short now, why he just wasn’t any good at this whole dating-ritual thing. Even though he did his best to channel his professional persona into his private life whenever possible, he would be the first to admit, albeit only to himself, that he just didn’t really know what he was doing.
Small talk was particularly difficult for him.
But even though they had said only a few words to each other, Erin seemed very easy to talk to. And, far more important than his own comfort, he could see that she’d made an impression on Jason. Or at least, she and her T. rex had.
That made this an avenue he had to explore—for both Jason’s sake and his own.
Pulling up to where Erin was still waiting for him, he rolled down his window and said—needlessly, he realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth—“Okay, you can follow me now.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” She laughed, starting up her car. She fell into place right behind him.
* * *
The café he’d told her about was in the middle of a very small strip mall, nestled between a five-screen movie theater that guaranteed low admission prices for their slightly-less-than-newly-released movies and an art studio that prided itself on bringing out the budding artists buried within the five-to-ten-year-old students who attended.
It seemed like a nice area, she judged. Best of all, there was more than ample parking available, so when he pulled into a spot, she was able to park right next to him.
He got out of his vehicle and quickly hurried over to hers so that he could open the door for her as she started to get out.
Chivalry was not dead, she thought to herself. This was nice.
“It doesn’t look like much,” he told her as they crossed the lot to the front of the café, “but the pastries practically float off your plate and the coffee is the best around. I can’t speak for the tea, though,” he added, apologizing.
“That’s all right, I’m really a coffee drinker at heart,” she told him.
The scent of freshly brewed rich coffee mingling with the aroma of freshly baked cakes and pastries greeted them the moment Steve opened the door for her.
Erin could feel her mouth watering the second she walked in. Between the aroma and the display of baked goods just behind the glass that ran the length of the counter, she was a goner.
“Well, there goes my diet,” she cracked. “I think I gained five pounds just by inhaling.”
“What is your pleasure?” the older woman behind the counter asked politely.
Erin looked at the pastries, each one more tempting than the last. “One of everything,” she told the woman wistfully.
Though pleasant, the woman behind the counter looked as if a sense of humor was not part of her makeup.
“That can be arranged,” she said in a very serious voice.
Afraid that the woman would begin placing things on the tray that Steve had picked up and was resting on the counter right now, Erin quickly shook her head.
“Oh, no, no, I was just kidding, giving voice to a fantasy,” she explained. Taking a breath, she scanned her choices one last time and made up her mind. “I’ll have a cup of coffee and a cream-filled turnover.”
“Make that two,” Steve told the woman.
The dark-haired woman inclined her head. “As you wish,” she replied.
With a grand sweep of her hand, she indicated that they should move along to the center of the counter, toward the register. She met them there, delivering two cups of steaming, aromatic black coffee and two large cream-filled turnovers, each residing on its own plate. The woman carefully placed the plates one at a time on the tray, right next to the coffee.
She proceeded to ring up the sale. “Will that be together?” she asked.
“No,” Erin answered.
“Yes,” Steve said at the same time, his voice resounding slightly louder than hers. Taking out a twenty, he handed it to the woman.
“No, really, this isn’t necessary,” Erin protested, reaching into her purse.
The woman seemed to take no note of her, handing Steve his change. He slipped what she’d given him into the tip jar beside the register and picked up the tray. For the first time, the older woman smiled.
“You don’t have to pay for me,” Erin told him as he walked over to a small table for two to the left of the register.
Setting the tray down, he looked at her. “If you had asked me out for coffee, I would have expected you to pay for me,” he told her cheerfully, despite the fact that he really wouldn’t have allowed her to pay. The idea of going Dutch had never appealed to him and it wasn’t something he felt comfortable about doing. Certainly not when it came to something as insignificant as a cream-filled turnover and a cup of coffee. “Tell you what,” he suggested, sitting down after she had taken her seat. “You tell me what fantasy you were giving voice to and we’ll call it even.”
She looked at him, slightly confused. “What?”
“Back there, when that woman looked like she was more than happy to give you ‘one of everything,’ you stopped her by saying you were only ‘giving voice to a fantasy.’” As he spoke, he distributed the two cups of coffee and then the two turnovers. With the tray empty, he removed it and put it out of the way on the floor behind his chair. “Did you used to dream about pastries?”
He meant it as a joke, in the same vein that he’d asked her about naming inanimate objects. He hadn’t really expected her to answer his question seriously.
“All the time,” Erin told him with a heartfelt sigh.
“You weren’t allowed sweets as a kid?” he asked. The guess arose out of his own childhood, when one of his friends—Billy—had parents who wouldn’t allow him to have any candy, cake or cookies. Billy’s snacks were all painfully healthy foods, such as nuts, fruits and carrots. The second Billy was out of the house, he made up for it, scarfing down as many sweets as he could get his hands on. He’d had a serious weight problem by the time he was twenty.
Erin, on the other hand, looked as if she was in danger of blowing away if she lost as little as five pounds.
“Oh, I was allowed sweets,” she told him. “I just couldn’t keep any of them down.”
He took a sip of his coffee before venturing, “Allergies?”
Erin broke off a piece of the turnover and savored it before answering, “Chemo.”
“Chemo,” Steve repeated, stunned. “As in chemotherapy?”
“That’s the word,” she acknowledged, nodding her head. Even now, more than twenty years later, the very sound of the word brought a chill down her spine. She always had to remind herself that she had conquered the horrible disease, not the other way around.
He felt as if he had opened his mouth as wide as possible and inserted not just one foot but both. “I’m sorry, Erin. I didn’t mean to bring up any painful memories.”
She smiled at him, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “You didn’t. I was the one who brought up the memory—you just asked about it.”
How did he extract himself without sounding clumsy—or callous?
“Are you all...better?” Well, that certainly was neither suave nor warm, he upbraided himself. “I’m sorry. This is none of my business—”
“That’s all right,” she assured him. “I don’t mind answering. Too many people act like you’re some kind of alien creature when you have cancer. They don’t know what to say, so they don’t say anything at all—and they just disappear out of your life. As to your question, yes, I’m all better, thanks for asking.
“And it wasn’t all bad,” she confided. “Being that sick made me appreciate everything I had, everything I was able to enjoy after I got out of the hospital. Besides, if it wasn’t for that whole experience, I would have never met Tex.”
“Tex,” Steve repeated, drawing a blank for a second. And then he remembered. “That would be your stuffed dinosaur, right?”
“Hey, who’re you calling stuffed?”
The high-pitched voice caught him off guard and he automatically looked around to see where the voice was coming from before he realized that Erin had projected it.
Erin tried hard not to laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes still dancing with amusement. “I just couldn’t resist. Tex has been such an integral part of everything I do, at times I have to admit I almost feel he’s real.”
“That makes two of us,” he told her.
Even so, Steve was only vaguely aware of her apology. What he was far more aware of was that Erin had placed her hand on his wrist while she was talking to him.
The second she’d touched him, he had felt an instant connection with this animated, unique woman.
Chapter Four (#ulink_fdf75ae8-de5e-574e-b9a1-a43321699b99)
His interest engaged and heightened, Steve found himself wondering things about her. A great many things. For starters, he was intrigued by the wording she’d used in referring to the puppet that had created such a hit with the class.
“Just how did you ‘meet’ Tex?” Steve asked. Then, before she could begin to answer, he quickly added, “And if you don’t mind, I’d rather you told me the story instead of hearing it from Tex.”
Instead of taking offense, the way he was afraid she might, Erin laughed. “Sure. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable by using his voice,” she apologized.
He didn’t want her to think he was humorless. “I’m not exactly uncomfortable,” he told her, searching for the right way to explain just what he did feel. “I guess I just feel a little strange having a conversation with a suitcase—especially when the suitcase is still out in your car,” he pointed out.
“Well, at least you’re not hoarse from shouting,” Tex’s voice told him. And then Erin flashed a very endearing chagrined expression. “Sorry, I just couldn’t resist one parting comment.”
“Maybe you’re missing your true calling,” Steve speculated.
She wasn’t sure where he was going with this. “And that would be?”
“Stand-up comedy with Tex and those other toys you brought with you.” And that reminded him of something else. Sitting across from her like this had all sorts of thoughts as well as questions popping into his head. “By the way, that was very generous of you.” When she raised her eyebrows quizzically, he elaborated, “Bringing enough toys for the whole class.”
Erin raised one shoulder in a shy, dismissive shrug he found startlingly appealing. “It’s actually a little selfish of me.”
“Just how do you figure that?” Steve asked.
To her it was as plain as day. “Easy. I get back a lot more than I give. There’s nothing greater than seeing the joy bloom on a kid’s face and knowing that you were partially responsible for putting it there.” Before he could respond, she quickly changed the subject, returning to a previous comment he’d made. “And as for your suggestion about doing stand-up comedy, I do get to satisfy that whim twice a year when I pay a visit to CHOC—Children’s Hospital of Orange County.” Erin was quick to spell out the full name in case he wasn’t familiar with the facility or its common abbreviation.
“Twice a year?” he echoed. She really was serious about bringing joy to children, Steve thought. “Let me guess—around the holidays.”
“Obviously nothing gets past you,” Erin teased.
“You were going to tell me how you and—” Steve lowered his voice without realizing it “—Tex met.”
Erin stared at him. “Why did you just do that?” she asked with a laugh.
“Do what?”
“Lowered your voice before saying ‘Tex.’”
The second she said it, he realized she was right. He’d lowered his voice automatically, the way he would have if he were talking about Jason with the boy close by. Steve had no choice but to laugh at himself and the situation.
“Because now you have me acting as if that puppet of yours is actually real,” he confessed.
She took it as a compliment in part and smiled her thanks. “Then I guess I do owe you that explanation. I created Tex to keep me company. When the doctor diagnosed me with cancer, I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it was scary enough to frighten my poor mother. She tried not to let me see, but she did a lot of crying. Then someone told my dad about that famous children’s hospital in Memphis. My mother lost no time in getting me in. My dad stayed back home working while my mother flew out with me.
“The people there were all very kind,” she recalled with fondness. “But treatment is a long, frightening process when you’re a little kid. I missed my friends back home. They sent messages and we stayed in contact for a few weeks, but that didn’t last long and little by little, it stopped.” She shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I felt like they forgot all about me. I wanted a friend who would always be there for me whenever I was scared or lonely—my mother told me I would never be alone as long as I had my imagination.”
“Smart lady,” he commented.
Erin smiled. “She is—when she’s not being a mother hen. Anyway, I was really into dinosaurs, so I created Tex. At first he was just one of my thick green socks that I drew a face on with a laundry marker. Then my mother got some green felt, and I bought sequins and pillow stuffing in a craft store. I sewed him by hand at my bedside and drew in his features.” She smiled as she remembered the early prototype. She still had him locked away in a box in her closet. “Tex wasn’t very pretty but he was very, very loyal, which was all I wanted.
“I held on to him when they took me in for my treatment sessions.” Despite the amount of time that had passed, the memory was still very vivid in her mind. “And he never left my side no matter how sick I got. After a while, I really did start thinking he was real. Since I couldn’t go anywhere, I created some fantastic adventures for us in my head. All that helped get me through some of the darker times,” she told him, trying to make the whole experience sound less of an emotional roller coaster than it actually had been. After all, she wasn’t trying to elicit his pity just to fully answer his question.
“After I miraculously got better, I started to think about other kids who had to go through what I did. Other kids who might have felt abandoned, lonely and scared. I wanted to help them get through it, just the way Tex helped me. That desire never left me, so while I was still in college, I came up with the idea of creating a whole line of stuffed dinosaurs that didn’t do anything but look loving. And with each stuffed toy, I’d include a little book of adventures that the toy and the child who got that toy would have. I donated the first hundred I made to a local hospital’s children’s wing.”
He could easily see her doing that. He had clients who would have had heart failure over the mere suggestion of giving away their product like that. She had an extremely large heart, he couldn’t help thinking.

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