Almost Like Love (5 page)

As much as she’d enjoyed doing the show, it had been pretty demanding. She’d sometimes wished she had a little more free time to explore other projects.

Well, now she did. Not by choice, of course, but still.

She should have seen the writing on the wall. Her ratings had been slipping this season, especially after the network had changed her time slot. But even though she should know better by now, she’d stupidly assumed that the Emmy they’d won the previous year and the glowing reviews the show always received would carry more weight with the network execs.

Just how naive was she, anyway? She hadn’t seen the cancellation coming any more than she’d predicted Chris’s infidelity. Because she was a person who always tried to stick with things, she’d expected the network and her fiancé to stick with her.

But, damn it, she wouldn’t let this change her. She’d learn from the experience and move on, but she wouldn’t give up her values and ideals. She just needed to find a better home for them, that was all.

And she needed to learn how to protect herself a little better.

This weekend she’d think about what she wanted to work on next, and Monday she’d start making calls to set up pitches. She wouldn’t feel sorry for herself, and she wouldn’t let the grass grow under her feet. She’d get right out there and make something happen.

Unfortunately, she didn’t find the inspiration she was looking for. None of her old project ideas seemed to get her creative juices flowing.

Maybe she needed a new project. Something fresh and exciting. And maybe she should get away from TV for a while. She could pitch a graphic novel or a children’s adventure story to a publisher, or—

The phone rang, and she picked it up absently.

“Ms. Meredith? There’s a car here for you.”

Damn. Was it five o’clock already?

“I’ll be right down.”

She’d planned to put on a little makeup and choose the perfect outfit—something flattering while also appropriate for babysitting. There’d been masculine approval in Ian’s eyes the night before, and she didn’t want to look so crappy today that he would decide her appearance in the club had been just an aberration. That wouldn’t be good for her ego.

But now she didn’t have any time.

Oh, well—maybe the best way to look like she wasn’t trying too hard was not to try too hard. She kept on her jeans and vintage X-Men tee shirt, pulled her hair back in a ponytail, and headed out.

Ian knocked on his nephew’s door and waited for the quiet “come in” before he turned the knob.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s almost five o’clock. Kate will be here soon.”

Jacob looked up from his computer and nodded. “Okay.”

Ian waited a moment to see if he’d say anything else, but he didn’t. He just blinked behind his wire-rimmed glasses and smiled politely.

“Okay,” Ian echoed after a short silence, retreating back into the hall and closing the door behind him.

His sister Tina, Jacob’s mother, had died in a car accident eleven months earlier. Ian still couldn’t think of it without a spasm of pain.

Jacob’s father, Joe, had been killed in Afghanistan before Jacob was born. Ian and Tina had never known their father and their mother had passed away, so except for Joe’s parents, Ian was the only family Jacob had left.

In her will, Tina had named Ian her son’s legal guardian. He had been humbled by his sister’s trust in him and was determined to do right by his nephew.

It was a resolution easier made than kept.

His nephew had always been a quiet boy, and the two of them had never really connected. But since Jacob had come here to live, he’d been more than quiet. He’d been silent and withdrawn.

For the first few months, Ian had respected Jacob’s obvious desire to spend his free time alone, figuring that was his way of dealing with his grief. Ian made it clear he was ready to listen if Jacob wanted to talk, but beyond that, he didn’t push his nephew to interact with him.

But when the school year began, Ian started to worry that Jacob’s behavior was more than a normal response to the loss of a parent. If his nephew had mouthed off or acted out, Ian would have known better how to deal with him. But he’d never been around a kid who was so . . . remote.

In the fall, Ian pushed him to try out for his school’s soccer team—or any sports team. Jacob had refused, politely but firmly. Ian took him to games—baseball, football, basketball—but Jacob always brought a book along. When Ian tried to talk him into going to the park to toss a Frisbee or a football around, Jacob always turned him down.

As Ian grew more worried, he wondered if he should take his nephew to see a therapist. Not only to help him deal with his mother’s death, but in case he had Asperger syndrome or something on that spectrum.

Whatever was going on with Jacob, Ian felt out of his depth. They’d been living together for almost a year and nothing had changed. Jacob’s grades were good, and his teachers spoke highly of him, but they also noticed that he kept to himself and seemed to have little interest in making friends.

The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Hart? Kate Meredith is on her way up.”

“Thanks, Harvey.”

What he’d told Kate was true: he hadn’t had many options for Jacob tonight. The agencies he’d called were booked up, the two young people in the building he trusted to babysit were busy, and his closest friends would be at the wedding.

But he hadn’t called Kate only as a last resort. Other factors—ones he wasn’t all that eager to admit to—had been part of his decision.

There was the fact that if Kate were over here, she wouldn’t be at a nightclub, hooking up with a stranger. And if Kate were over here, he’d get to see her again.

He told himself that desperation was the main reason he’d called her and that anything else was a minor factor at best. Then he remembered their conversation and found himself smiling.

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised at the price Kate had demanded for helping him out—not money, but a concession that people could be unselfish. That was the naive, idealistic Kate he knew.

He was looking forward to seeing her again and putting her back in the box he’d always kept her in: charming but infuriating, and definitely not someone he was interested in sexually.

Last night had been unsettling for both of them. It would be good to get back on more familiar footing, but with a little more civility and mutual respect between them.

There was a knock on the door, and he went to open it.

He’d planned to give Kate an easy, friendly greeting—something that would make it clear that the previous night’s interaction had been an anomaly, the consequence of alcohol and her bad day.

But when he opened the door and saw her standing there, the words died on his lips.

She didn’t look anything like the sexy vixen of the night before, but it didn’t matter. His body reacted the same way—hardening and tightening, his heartbeat quickening.

She was wearing a pair of old, worn jeans that showcased her long legs, and a faded tee shirt she filled out impressively. She wore no makeup and her eyes looked a little tired, but they were still beautiful—dark blue and fringed with thick lashes.

As for those soft, full lips . . .

He cleared his throat. “Hi, Kate. Thanks again for doing this.”

“No problem. Do you need help with that?”

She was looking below his chin, and he realized she meant his bow tie, which hung loose around his neck.

“Uh . . . sure. Okay.”

It took her only about ten seconds, which was fairly impressive. He concentrated on keeping his eyes away from her cleavage.

She stepped back with satisfaction. “What do you think?” she asked, nodding towards the mirror that hung next to the coat rack.

He stepped in front of it, putting himself shoulder to shoulder with Kate. He knew he was supposed to be looking at the tie, but for a moment all he could see was the two of them.

When she wasn’t in heels, the top of her head was about level with his chin.

Perfect kissing distance.

She was smiling at him in the mirror, and he smiled back. “It looks great,” he said, even though he hadn’t so much as glanced at the tie. When he did, though, he found it was true.

“Do you moonlight as a valet?” he asked, as he gestured for her to precede him into the living room.

“I have three brothers,” she explained, looking around the big room. He’d hired someone to decorate when he’d first moved in, and it had turned out okay, if a little too beige for his taste.

He wondered suddenly what Kate thought of it. He had a feeling she wasn’t big on beige.

“Three brothers,” he repeated. “Older or younger?”

“One older, two younger,” she said, turning away from the window. “So, do you want to fill me in on the essentials? Emergency numbers, food preferences, bedtime?”

Jacob. Right. The reason she was here.

He took her into the kitchen and showed her around, pointing out the emergency numbers and other information on the refrigerator door.

“He’s a pretty quiet kid,” he said, using the phrases he always did when talking to a new babysitter. “He won’t give you any trouble, and he’ll probably spend most of the night in his room. Bedtime is nine o’clock, and he doesn’t have any food allergies. There’s frozen stuff in the freezer to microwave for dinner.”

Kate nodded. “Sounds good. Can you introduce me?”

“Sure.”

A minute later, he was knocking on his nephew’s door again.

“Come in,” came the subdued reply, and Ian led the way into the room.

“Jacob, this is my friend Kate Meredith.” He’d hesitated an instant before using the word
friend,
but figured it was better than
former coworker
.

“Hi, Jacob,” Kate said with a smile. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” Jacob said politely, turning in his desk chair to face her.

Unexpectedly, his eyes lit up. “Hey, the X-Men!”

His eyes were on Kate’s chest, and for one horrified instant Ian thought he was looking at her breasts. Then he realized it was the tee shirt that had caught Jacob’s eye.

Kate nodded. “Can you name the mutants?”

“Of course. Rogue, Wolverine, and Gambit.”

Kate’s eyebrows went up. “Impressive. Everyone knows Wolverine, and it’s fifty-fifty with Rogue, but Gambit’s usually a stumper.”

Jacob was grinning, something Ian didn’t see too often. “I named my cat Remeow LeBeau.”

Kate laughed out loud while Ian wondered what was so funny.

“I don’t get it,” he said after a moment.

It was Kate who explained. “Gambit’s one of the X-Men. His real name is Remy LeBeau. Get it? Remy, Remeow? It’s genius.”

Still feeling a little out of it, Ian nodded. “Very clever.”

“So where is Mr. LeBeau?” Kate asked. “Can I meet him?”

Jacob’s face clouded over. “This building doesn’t allow pets. When I moved here, I had to give him to my neighbors back home in White Plains. They send me pictures and stuff, though. Do you want to see one?”

“Sure.”

Ian frowned. One of the few times Jacob had shown any emotion in front of him was when he’d found out he couldn’t bring his cat to the city. He’d actually cried about it, and Ian had done his best to be comforting, although he probably wasn’t as sympathetic as someone who actually liked cats would have been.

He’d thought he hid his aversion pretty well, but maybe not. Jacob had never suggested showing him a picture of his pet.

Determined to seem interested now, he came up beside Kate to look at Jacob’s computer screen, which showed a big orange cat lounging on the back of a sofa.

“Oh, he’s beautiful,” Kate said. “I love orange cats. Mine’s a tuxedo.”

“Tuxedo cats are awesome. What’s his name?”

“Gallifrey.” Kate said the name with a note of challenge in her voice, as if to say,
Let’s see if you can figure that one out
.

Ian was glad the challenge wasn’t directed his way. The name Gallifrey meant nothing to him—but then, neither had Remeow LeBeau. These two were obviously engaging in some kind of geek-speak, and he didn’t have a decoder ring.

“Doctor Who’s home planet!” Jacob exclaimed. “That’s
awesome
.”

His nephew watched British television? Who knew?

Ian glanced at his watch. “I guess I should be going,” he said, even though he almost wished he could stay. It was rare to see Jacob this talkative.

Kate nodded. “I’ll walk you out.” She smiled at Jacob. “When I come back, we can talk about dinner, okay? Maybe you can help me pick something out.”

“Sure.”

As they walked through the living room, Ian said, “I have to tell you, Kate—I’ve never seen Jacob take to anyone that quickly. The truth is, I’ve been worried about him. I’m afraid he might have Asperger syndrome or something like that.”

Kate looked at him in surprise. “Asperger’s? I don’t think so. He’s probably just having a tough time dealing with his mother’s death, like you said before. That’s natural.”

Ian nodded. “I know. I’ve tried to help, but I haven’t made a lot of progress.” He paused at the door. “Anyway, it’s obvious I’m leaving him in good hands. Call me if you have any questions or if you need anything.”