One of These Nights (23 page)

The tears vanished from her eyes as though they'd never been there, blue turning hard and hot. “You can have whatever kind of dog you want. You can collect whatever kind of art you want, though I don't see anything that looks like it qualifies—I don't care
what
she said. I obviously don't fit in your life here, so until you can make some room for me again, I'll just get out of your hair. I already made my plane reservation a couple of days ago. I could see the way this was going to go. I'm always last with you.”

She walked stiffly past him, hurrying up the stairs to pack. He watched her go with a mixture of despair and resignation. “Mom, you know that's not true,” he said, but it was a halfhearted denial at best. It fell on deaf ears, because it always did. She would punish him with silence for a while, because she always did. And eventually, his father would place a quiet phone call, asking him to reach out, to make things right. And he would, because that was the way things worked in his house. Then all would be quiet until the cycle started again.

He couldn't fix it. Unbeknownst to her, he'd seen a therapist for a time at UMass to deal with some of his anxiety issues, and “you can't fix her” had been a recurring theme. He'd made as much peace with that as he was apt to. He just wished he had someone to stand beside him, maybe fill up some of the holes that had been left in him. Didn't seem like too much to ask.

He just wished he knew whether inviting another person in would leave him more alone than he'd started.

S
witching off date planning to get to know each other had seemed like a much cleverer idea before she actually had to come up with something. Now, as Zoe slumped at her desk and pored over her options, all she could do was come up with reasons why Jason might not like any of them.

She could tell herself her fears were unfounded, that it was stupid to worry about it, and that Jason had never acted like he hated being anywhere she was. There was still pressure. From herself. Because she was fun that way.

“Ugh,” she groaned, dropping her head to rub at the back of her neck, where tension was beginning to form a knot. It felt good enough to dig her fingers into the spot that she didn't bother to look up when Aaron's voice filled her office.

“Hey, did you want me to run that deposit over to the bank when I go or—Zoe Michaelina Watson, what are you obsessing about in here?”

She looked up at him, surprisingly professional in slim pinstriped slacks and an oxford shirt. Not even a week on the job, and he still seemed to be enjoying himself at the gallery. She was hopeful, despite the mischief he got up to, that he'd decide to stay on. So far, he was working out even better than she'd expected—and she'd never really had any doubt he'd be great. People loved him.

Well, except Marlis Pritchard, but the woman still bought his work.

“I'm not obsessing about anything. And my middle name is
not
Michaelina. Where do you even get this stuff?”

“It ought to be Michaelina,” Aaron replied, inviting himself in. “Place is locked up, everything's neat and tidy, and oh my God, why are you looking at that cheesy travel brochure for Harvest Cove?” His brow furrowed as he strode over to the desk, then leaned over to rummage through her small, sad stack of date possibilities.

“My personal space, Aaron. You're in it.”

“My sensibilities, Zoe. You've offended them,” he returned, then looked at her with one brow arched. “What is all this about? Is your family finally coming to visit?”

“I wish,” she sighed, flinging the small, laminated brochure she'd been staring at back onto the pile. Aaron picked it up, frowned at it, and then dropped it. After studying her a moment, his bright blue eyes narrowed.

“Hmm,” he said. “Do I need to go kick his ass?”

She laughed, still trying to work on her knotted muscle. “No. You might need to kick mine, though.”

That made him grin. “Yours? Never.” He moved behind her, swatted her hand away, and began to knead at her shoulders far better than she could manage herself. “Well, you're obviously a bundle of nerves. So why are you trying to find the dullest possible place you could take a date in the Cove?”

Zoe tried to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head. “Aaron, don't take this wrong, but I think I want to marry you. Just for your hands.”

“A Cole Porter/Linda Lee Thomas arrangement? We could make that work. Though you'll have to fight for me first. A sculptor's hands are in high demand,” he teased her.

“With good reason.” As her muscles loosened, she felt like her head might actually roll off her shoulders. She doubted it would bother her, if she even noticed. “Ryan Weston is a lucky man. You make sure he knows that.”

“Oh, believe me, I remind him regularly. Hey, I'm not giving you this massage for free, you know, no matter how much I love you. Information, please?”

“Mmm. Sorry.” She tried to focus her thoughts at least enough that he wouldn't stop rubbing her shoulders. “Jason and I are taking turns planning dates. Kind of an extension of our crash course in getting to know each other, since we mutually decided to keep each other around. I'm up first, and I'm failing miserably. I mean, it's not like I can surprise him. He's
from
here. Not to mention he has this not-so-secret fear that I'm going to drag him to something, whether it's food or film, that requires subtitles.”

“So he thinks you're frighteningly classy, is what you're telling me,” Aaron said.

“It's almost flattering. Almost. But not quite.” She sighed and winced as Aaron found a hidden knot and went after it. “It isn't that I feel like I have all these mysteries about myself to unveil or anything. I just wanted to do something kind of special. Something me. But I'm so boring that's turned out to be kind of a problem.”

Aaron clucked at her. “You stop that. Your love of movies just means you have a rich inner life.”

Zoe smiled. “Ah, flattery. Please continue.”

“No, because you're missing what's right in front of your face, so along with being many lovely things you're also being kind of an idiot.”

“Hey.”

“Zoe.” Aaron's hands left her, and she made a small sound of unhappiness. He leaned on the side of the desk and looked down his nose at her with the same mixture of affection and impatience as a parent dealing with a child who was slow to catch on. “Think about it. Where is the most obvious place for you to . . . hit the reset button? I was going to say ‘start things off with a bang' but the way you sashayed into work last Saturday says you already took care of that.”

She laughed, eyes wide. “Aaron!”

“Is that a denial?”

“I . . . well . . .” She hated to let him win this, but she knew the truth was written all over her face. And so, of course, did Aaron.

“Moving on,” he said. “You already know the answer to this, Zoe. And it isn't at”—he picked up a brochure—“the Old Mill Apple Farm and Gift Shoppe. Which is a rip-off, by the way. You want good kitsch, you go three miles farther down the road to Jameson's. Charming without being insipid. And they make better cider doughnuts.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Zoe replied. He hadn't been here that much longer than she had, but the man obviously had his bearings better than she did. Of course, that was one of the benefits of being an extrovert, she supposed.

“Do, because now I feel like we should get doughnuts there this weekend. Saturday, maybe. We need to make this happen.”

She exhaled loudly. “If you do more than drop hints about this supposedly obvious thing that I'm missing, it's a date.” When all he did was stare at her, though, she assumed it had to be very obvious. Which was when the pieces clicked together. “Oh.
Oh.
That's an interesting thought.”

“You're welcome,” Aaron said. “So, did you want me to stop at the bank before I go and spread joy to the rest of the world?”

“Yes, that'd be great,” Zoe said. Then she laughed, shaking her head. “I knew there was a reason I hired you.”

“Well, I do make a hell of an ornament, but plenty of skill lurks beneath the beauty.” He smirked at her. “Now, toss the brochures and relax. I don't know Jason very well, but he doesn't strike me as the kind of person who'd be anywhere he didn't want to be. You think you don't know each other very well, but I bet you end up surprised at how much you
do
know.”

“Anything is possible,” Zoe replied, rolling her loosened shoulders. Maybe Aaron was right. The details were new, but Jason had been a constant in her life for so long that she hadn't even realized how much she'd come to count on his presence. Even, yes, to enjoy it, as purposely antagonistic as it had been. Maybe making this shift with him felt so natural because she'd always known that what had come before was just a game.

Just as she knew that both of them had stopped playing.

No pressure, though. Just planning an easy night out with a man I might want to keep around for a while. Like, forever.

Admitting it to herself—what some part of her had sensed the very first time she'd set eyes on him . . . or maybe not until she'd first opened her mouth to bicker with him—brought on a fresh wave of anxiety that threatened to undo all the work Aaron had just done. He noticed before he made it out the door. In an instant she felt herself enveloped in her friend's arms.

“Zoe Michaelina,” he admonished her, making her laugh, “you don't need me to tell you that he should spend every day just basking in his luck that you descended from on high to notice him. He should do that even if you took him to the Old Mill and made him look at overpriced knickknacks and eat stale strudel. Do you know they don't even make their own? They buy it frozen. I got suckered once, and never again. Anyway,” he continued, waving his hand dismissively, “stop worrying. You're perfect.”

“And what's he?”

“Treebeard.”

He was so perfectly deadpan that Zoe lasted all of three seconds before bursting into laughter. Aaron grinned, gave her a squeeze, and pulled away.

“There. That's the
right
way to end the day. I'll leave you to plot the details of . . . tomorrow night, I'm guessing? This sounds like a Friday night kind of thing.”

Zoe nodded. “That's what we picked. I haven't seen him much this week. I thought maybe, you know—” She didn't say it, knowing she didn't have to. Aaron snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Things that move too fast are always the most fun. Quit trying to put on the brakes and just enjoy it. It's not like avoiding him is going to make you any less crazy about him.”

She didn't bother to deny it. “No,” she said, glad for the understanding, even if she still had no idea where things with Jason were heading. This gallery was the biggest risk she'd ever taken, and she'd done a full year of research before she'd even begun looking at property here. This thing with Jason felt like taking a risk on a similar scale, but with no research, and no safety net. And she was free-falling.

It wasn't in her nature to enjoy a ride like that—but if the choice was between trying to find some pleasure in the wind rushing through her hair as she hurtled downward or walking around with the kind of stress that would eventually manifest in a migraine, she guessed she might need to start making more of an effort to achieve the former.

There were far better ways to end up in Jason's bed, as she'd learned. Maybe she'd even discover a few new ones. The thought put a smile on her face.

“My work here is done,” Aaron announced. Then he winked at her and headed out the door. “Call you about Saturday. And to get the scoop.”

“I'll be waiting for it,” she replied. Then she gathered up the brochures and dumped them in the wastebasket. There was nothing she could show Jason in the Cove that he hadn't seen . . . but she could show him those things in a new way, the way she saw them.

She thought of him here, giving her that slow smile, and she finally allowed herself the feelings that she'd been pushing away all week. She missed him terribly. She wanted him near her, solid and real and comforting. So she did what any intelligent, confident, independent, scared-to-death-she-was-falling-in-love woman would do.

She put in a call, turned out the lights, and headed out to sweep her man off his feet.

*   *   *

Jason was sitting in a camp chair in the backyard, leg propped up while he watched Rosie wander around and sniff the grass, when he heard his name being called.

“Out back,” he said, and heard the slider open.

“There you are. Enjoying the peace and quiet?”

“You know it.”

There was a pause, then the quiet sound of Jake's footsteps on the grass as he approached. “Ooh, new sweatpants? Sexy.”

“Nice to see you, too. Jackass.” Jason turned his head to smirk at his cousin, watching him squat down to greet Rosie when she bounced over to say hello. He wouldn't say so, but he was glad for some company this afternoon. The peace in the wake of his mother's angry exit had quickly turned into something more like oppressive silence. These past few years he'd savored the quiet at home. But just lately, all it did was rub his nerves raw. Worse, every day that passed without Zoe appearing to give him a hard time—hopefully with her arms wrapped around him while they sparred—made him less certain she was going to. Their phone conversations had seemed normal enough, but . . . maybe he'd been wrong.

Worse, maybe she'd decided she had been.

He took a sip of his soda and tried not to be morose. It was an unfamiliar effort for him, but this time it seemed worthwhile.

Jake dragged another camp chair over and situated it across from him. He seemed to be in a great mood, as usual . . . but Jake would openly admit he had a lot in common with his dog, who never met a day he wasn't excited about.

“You look comfortable,” Jake said. “I helped myself to a soda.”

“You always do. And yeah, as comfortable as it gets with the cast. Doc said yesterday I'm healing well, at least. Should come off right on time.”

“Good. Bet they miss you at work. Manda Rudecker brought Horace in today, and she said Pete complains about you being gone so much that she's starting to wonder if she should be jealous.”

Jason chuckled. “Yeah? Maybe I shouldn't have invited him to stay and play some
Battlefield
with me and Kato last night, then. I don't want to be called a home wrecker.”

Pete had driven him to his doctor's appointment and stuck around, which had led to Kato being called, steaks being grilled, beer being consumed, and Kato rolling off his couch this morning to slink home and nurse his hangover—which would probably take no time at all. Sometimes Jason missed being in his twenties. He'd also been missing his friends. He might be picky about his people, but that didn't mean he didn't have any. Getting together with them once a week to do something stupid was part of his routine and had become a lifeline after the broken leg. Last week hadn't worked out, for obvious reasons, so it was nice to get back to normal. Well, what passed for normal.

“I think you're clear as long as you do eventually go back to work so Pete quits complaining. It's the unrequited longing that's getting to her.”