All or Nothing (32 page)

Jen lifted her right hand and placed it flat on her left chest. To Zach's surprise, the shirt disappeared to nothing beneath her hand. The left side of her chest
was
flat, unlike the right side of her chest.

The breath left him completely.

“It's gone,” she said, her words hoarse. “That fills the space instead.” She lifted the knitted ball out of his hand, reached beneath her shirt and presumably put it back into her bra.

Then she appeared to have two breasts again.

For once in his life, Zach didn't know what to say.

Jen took a sip of her coffee, blinking fast. Her words spilled in an increasing torrent once they started. “I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I'm defective and you're right. I had cancer. I had a mastectomy. They cut it off.” Her throat worked. “And I might get cancer again...”

“That's why you knit a cherry,” Zach guessed, interrupting a speech that didn't promise to get more optimistic. He'd never had a date end in a complete emotional meltdown of the woman in his company and he saw no reason to start now.

Shit. A mastectomy. Didn't that only happen to older women? His mind stalled on the concept. He glanced at her chest, then looked away, knowing that she was watching his response avidly.

They cut it off...

Jen frowned into her mug. “I wasn't sure I'd live very long,” she said, her tone flat. “I didn't want to leave stuff half-done all over the place. It's terrible for people to have to go through everything and sort it out.” Her throat worked again.

“You met other people during your treatment, people who didn't survive,” he guessed again and she nodded emphatically.

“I wanted everything neat and tidy and organized. I didn't want to leave trouble for people. Loose ends in the knitting basket, that kind of thing.” She heaved a sigh. “I finished things for dead people, out of respect for them. It's not easy...”

“It couldn't be.”

She shook her head emphatically.

Zach watched her expression change, watched the shadows dance in her eyes. He couldn't imagine facing such fear in his own life. He couldn't imagine being given such a diagnosis, never mind how it would change his perspective and his life.

But Jen had gotten through it, she
had
survived, and it seemed very important to point out to her the merit of her achievement. “But the fruits keep getting bigger. You didn't finish that avocado in one go.”

“No.” She looked up, her expression wary. “I'm not dead yet, apparently.”

The conversation could have ended there, and maybe Jen would have preferred it to do so, but Zach wasn't letting this go just yet. “So, what are you knitting now?”

She exhaled shakily. “I made socks. For my mom for Christmas.”

“
Two
socks?”

A smile touched her lips. “She has two feet.”

He pretended to shiver in delight. “There's nothing sexier than an observant woman.”

“I'm not...” she started to argue, then gulped her latte.

And there was the crux of it. Zach heard the truth in what Jen didn't say.

She continued in a rush. “Anyway, I'm making a shawl for my grandmother now. I should get home and do some knitting before I go to sleep otherwise I won't get it done before Christmas.”

She might have reached for her coat, her confession over. She was so certain that his interest in her would be eliminated by this truth that Zach understood Steve's crime.

He couldn't let her go.

He settled into his chair as if he'd be there for the duration, knowing that the position of his chair blocked her exit. “So, how long ago was it?” he asked lightly.

She looked at him. “You don't want to know.”

“Actually, I do.”

“Two years since I was diagnosed.”

He watched her, seeing the barriers being erected, catching unexpected glimpses behind them, and understood a great deal more about Jen Maitland. “Let me guess: that was when this Steve guy dumped you?”

She nodded without meeting his gaze. “It doesn't matter.”

“Yes, it does. Just because he was an asshole doesn't mean all men are. It doesn't, in fact, mean that I am.”

She shrugged, unconvinced, sipped her latte and didn't look as if she was enjoying it. Jen looked, in fact, as if she'd like to bolt.

But there was one thing Zach had to say to her first, even if it didn't change anything. “I'm sorry that I said what I said about you waiting tables and having no dreams,” he said quietly and she stared at him. “I thought we had a lot in common, but the difference is that you had an excuse. I'm a loser, that was a fair shot, but you're a winner, Jen. You beat the worst bastard disease that there is. Don't forget that.”

“I didn't call you a loser.”

“Close enough.” Zach decided a brief change of subject might let her find her equilibrium again. “I haven't lived with a lot of focus, shall we say, until lately. I didn't know what I wanted to do.”

“Not until you weren't busy annoying your father anymore.”

He smiled and turned his cup on the table. “Pretty much. That day I met you, when I had lunch with my old buddies, I realized that I didn't want to be like them. I didn't want to have the pursuit of money be my goal, because it's a crap goal.”

“Money's a good thing...”

“But it's not the only thing.”

“You can only say that because you have lots.”

“No, I don't. I've been careful with what I had and I won't starve to death anytime soon, but money didn't keep my family from being the largest group of screwed-up individuals on the east coast. It didn't make anyone happy. So I'm thinking that happiness is worth pursuing, not money, and am hoping that the money part takes care of itself.” He met her gaze steadily. “You have to promise to not tell anyone this.”

The barest smile touched her lips. “That you don't think money is so hot?”

“That I've been thinking profound thoughts about life, the universe and everything. It'll destroy my reputation as a cavalier, selfish pleasure-seeker.”

“You're not a cavalier selfish pleasure-seeker.”

“Damn! I thought I had you fooled!”

She smiled openly at that. “You blew it yourself, by making that deal for your mother's welfare.”

“Mmm. There was that. It had to be done, though.”

“Even at your own expense?”

“She's my mom, Jen. It's my job to take care of her.”

She smiled beautifully then, smiled just for him, and his heart started to pound. “I registered to go back to college after Christmas,” she said, her manner defiant. Zach wondered whether she was defying him, his expectations or the cancer.

He felt a tenderness for her that shocked him to his core.

He wanted to protect her from everything, from the world and jerks like Steve and even from cells splitting in unauthorized ways. He wanted to stand beside her and hold her hand and watch her triumph over every obstacle.

He nodded and sipped his coffee, knowing that they'd entered a full truth zone. “Is going back to school what you want to do or what people expect you to do?”

“I wanted to finish my B. Comm.”

“Why?”

She inhaled and fixed him with a look, daring him again to disbelieve her. She half-laughed and shook her head. “Okay, I've never told anyone this.”

“So, it'll be fair. One from me and one from you.”

“Right.”

“I'm ready.”

She glanced around, as if someone might overhear. There was no one else in the cafe but the woman cleaning up behind the counter. “I always wanted to open a knitting wool store, with workshops and a place to knit and lots of wool,” Jen confessed in a low voice. “I want to make a refuge for knitters, a place they can just be, where they can relax and knit and maybe heal a bit from the pressures of the world.”

Zach smiled and sipped his own coffee.

“Don't laugh at me!”

“I'm not laughing at you. I'm thinking you'd be great at it. I can see you in an old house with pine floors that are polished smooth.” He narrowed his eyes and refined his vision, sensing that she needed to know that he could see it, too. “There'd be big comfy chairs and rugs worn a bit, so you wouldn't have to worry about spilling anything on them. Warm and welcoming, like your mother's kitchen. Maybe you could have some old leather armchairs, you know how soft they get? And the color gets worn.”

“Not leather,” she said, her words carried on the barest breath.

“Right. Let's kill innocent polyesters instead. Or maybe you could have the chairs upholstered with kilims or Navajo rugs? That would be funky and cozy, and kind of tie into the whole wool thing.”

“It would,” she agreed with a smile.

“There'd be piles of wool, with little signs about the pros and cons of each kind. Hand-written signs.” Zach gestured with one hand. “Tips from Jen for the uninitiated.”

“Yes,” Jen breathed.

”And there'd be knitters chatting and working at all hours of every day. You'd have to throw them out at night so you could go to bed. Maybe there'd be some plants in the window, because it would face south, right? All that sunshine.”

“Good energy,” she agreed.

“And hey, if there was some knitted fruit hanging from the tin ceiling, who's to quibble?”

Jen smiled and nodded and Zach didn't think he imagined that a tear fell. “Yes,” she whispered, her throat working. “Yes, just like that. So, if I get my B.Comm., then I can do a business plan and get a loan from the bank.”

“That's a pretty long-term plan,” he felt compelled to observe.

“I know.” She gulped some coffee then reached for her backpack. He saw that it frightened her to even speculate so far into her own future and he wanted, desperately, to give her a guarantee that no one ever got. “It's late. I have to go.” She might have run, but Zach reached out and put his hand over hers. She halted, stared at him, fearful of what he would say.

It was, however, time for some truth.

“I don't know anything about what you went through, Jen,” he said softly, never looking away from her eyes. “And I don't want to be presumptuous about how easy or how hard it might have been.”

“You could never know...”

“No. I know.” He swallowed and frowned, letting his thumb slide across the back of her hand before he met her gaze again. “But if losing your breast was the price of you being here tonight, drinking coffee with me, then I'm really glad you paid it.”

“But I'm ugly now. I'm scarred...”

“Whoever told you that was blind and stupid too,” Zach said, interrupting her. “And just for the record, you could give me Steve's surname so I could go deck him one of these days.”

“I wouldn't want you to get another shiner.”

“He wouldn't have a chance to touch me.”

She shook her head, tears falling into her lap as she looked down. “You haven't seen it. You don't know.”

“I don't care. You're beautiful and that's that.” He squeezed her hand beneath his own. “It doesn't even matter how I frame a shot of you, Jen. It's beautiful, every time.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with doubts. He held her gaze, let her see that he wasn't lying to her, and slowly the skepticism faded away. “You're lying to make me feel better,” she whispered.

Zach shook his head and let his fingers tighten over hers again. “Nope. I can't lie about beauty. It's part of the code.”

“You never followed anyone else's code.”

“This one's all mine.”

To his astonishment, her smile broke free. There were still tears on her lashes, but she smiled at him. She turned her hand beneath his, so that their palms were together, so that their fingers entwined.

He waited, let her decide what she wanted to do, even though he had a favorite choice from the options available.

“Don't you live near here?” she asked hesitantly.

Zach grinned. “Close enough. Roxie's been asking after you, you know.”

She looked across the coffee shop, then nodded once, such uncertainty in her expression that another onslaught of tenderness made Zach catch his breath. He stood and drew her to her feet. He pulled her close, sensing that she needed his touch, and kissed her again. When she looked up at him, he touched her cheek. “No lie, Jen.”

“I know,” she murmured with such conviction that his heart clenched. “Let's go. I could use a Roxie-fix.”

“Everyone needs a little dog spit in their life, now and then.”

“Or a lot of dog spit.”

“Or a lot.” Zach helped her with her coat and they left their lattes on the table, then walked hand-in-hand through the falling snow. There were no words for this moment and Zach didn't mind one bit.

* * *

It had been so easy.

Too easy
, a voice had murmured in Jen's thoughts, but she had ignored it. It was easy to go home with Zach, easy to imagine how they would tangle together, easy to think about what kind of a lover he'd be.

And if he only wanted sex, well, maybe Jen could live with that. (For the moment, at least.) Because the truth was that she wanted sex, too.

Sex with Zach.

Now.

They walked in silence to his apartment, the world around them painted in spinning white. She changed her analogy: it wasn't so much like an old movie as stepping into an Impressionist painting. Or being lost in a dream that she didn't want to end. This was a world she wanted to remain in, this was a moment in time that she wanted to last clear through eternity. There was nothing in it that mattered, nothing but the presence of the man beside her.

He'd been so sure.

Zach's fingers were tight around hers and their arms brushed as they walked together. It wasn't that cold and there wasn't much wind.