One of These Nights (29 page)

Jason was the only one who could decide whether to take another big risk. And whether he could take it with her.

Since it wasn't in her not to fight, though, Zoe tried one more time.

“I asked you to be with me on Saturday night because I'm happy with where I am, not because I'm unhappy. I have everything I want in this little town. I dreamed of a place like this. I know we're different people, Jason. I never thought that was a bad thing. But I'm not interested in spending all my time worrying that everything I do or say is going to get me compared to some woman I've never met who hurt you in ways that are, frankly, not my style.”

“I know,” he said. “And I know you're not her, Zo. That's one of the only things I'm positive about right now. I just need to make sure I'm not setting us both up for something that's not going to make either one of us happy in the end.”

She thought about it, nodded, and resigned herself to the facts. She wanted him. And he didn't know what he wanted much past the overwhelming desire to not get hurt again. All she could do was give him the space to figure it out.

“Come on,” she said. “I'll take you home. I need to get at a few last-minute things for Saturday, and you . . . well, you let me know what you decide. I'll be here.”

So would he, she realized as Jason gave a nod and headed for her car. The Cove was home for them both. He would never be very far away. The question was whether he would remain as he always had been—stubbornly, eternally just out of her reach.

S
aturday was a madhouse, and Zoe had never been so glad for the distraction.

“Why is this here? This isn't supposed to be here! Aaron, you don't get to change everything at the last minute. We worked this out weeks ago. And would you . . . oh my Lord, come here.” She clicked across the floor in her mile-high heels, loving the way they looked and already regretting the state of her feet in the morning. Aaron rolled his eyes skyward and allowed her to straighten his bow tie, which he was rocking with an electric blue vest that matched the streak in his hair. He looked fantastic.

“I'm going to throw up,” he announced. “Do you mind if I just do it in one of the potted plants? I won't bother anybody.”

“No,” Zoe said. “Meaning no, not in the potted plants, and not anywhere else. I've got medicine in the office if you want something to settle your stomach. I drank about half of it, but you're welcome to the rest.”

Aaron grabbed her face and planted a noisy kiss on her lips. “Thank God. I may live after all. Where's Ryan? He was supposed to be here early. . . .”

Zoe looked around and saw his boyfriend dashing in the door looking slightly panicked. The man looked good in a suit, she thought, watching as the two of them came together in a quick embrace. Ryan looked too worried about Aaron to be shy, for once, his suit jacket stretching across his broad shoulders as he looked him over. “Are you okay? You sounded like you were going to pass out on the phone. Do you need to sit down?” He turned his head to fix Zoe with a reproachful glare. “Why is he standing up?”

“Because it's harder for him to tell everyone how close he is to death if he's sitting down,” Zoe said. She patted Ryan's shoulder and fixed her gaze on Aaron. “It's on my desk. Take it or I'll make you take it.”

“Yes,
ma'am
.”

She clicked away, scanning the shifting crowd for any sign of a tall, dark-haired figure possibly sporting a slight limp. It was stupid to get herself worked up this way when she seemed destined for disappointment. He hadn't said much on the way home the other day, and Jake had taken him to get his cast off yesterday. She'd had so much to do at the gallery that Zoe suspected that was more out of concern for her, but it had still hurt. That he hadn't called to give her a report afterward hurt more.

Should have told him how I felt,
she thought for the hundredth time. But would that really have done anything? She'd said plenty. If that hadn't been enough, nothing would be. And he needed to figure this one out for himself. Besides . . . those were words she'd never said in a relationship. Maybe it was old-fashioned, or just plain chicken, but she didn't really want to say them unless she was pretty sure she was going to hear them back.

Wherever he was with things, she didn't think Jason had quite made it there yet.

She looked at her watch and then around at the gallery. This was one dream that had come true for her, at least. The lighting was perfect, dim and intimate, and Aaron's sculptures were displayed on pedestals she'd had brought in for the occasion. A couple of the guys who played in a band that often performed at Beltane Blues were set up in a corner, and there was a bartender and an hors d'oeuvres selection that, thanks to the pink liquid she'd been chugging, made her stomach growl just thinking about it. Emma Henry, whose organizational skills had been behind most of this, was speaking to the handful of cocktail staff who stood ready to circulate. She caught Zoe's eye and gave her a thumbs-up—and the seal of approval from Emma was about the highest praise Zoe could think of. They really were ready. The rest of her friends stood in a group, ready to enjoy Aaron's success with him.

It was perfect . . . except for one thing. And that, she was just going to have to do without. Zoe looked at her watch, heard voices coming up the path. Burying her hurt, she hurried back over to Aaron and gave him a brief, tight hug. He returned it, whispering in her ear, “Thanks for all of this, Zo.”

She blinked, eyes becoming suspiciously watery, and sniffed the tears back. Aaron could have shown at a much fancier venue than this, but he'd insisted. This was home, and no gallery but Two Roads would do.

“Oh, stop. You deserve all the good things headed your way,” she said, and gave him a brilliant smile before she hurried away to get things started.

Almost perfect,
she thought, letting herself believe that maybe he'd show up late.
Almost.

*   *   *

Jason tugged at his tie for the umpteenth time and pushed open the door to Two Roads. The music and chatter hit him like a wave, bright and cheerful, ready to wrap around him and pull him out of the chilly night air. He wanted to just let himself go and enjoy it, but he'd been tense since this morning.

I should have told her.

The thought had occurred to him with increasing frequency over the last couple of weeks, ever since she'd asked him to come to Aaron's show. At first, he'd just wanted to put off the decision. If he pretended it wasn't happening, it was easier to ignore. That wasn't his usual tactic for dealing with things, but this was a special case. Still, there was no ignoring something that was such a big part of Zoe's life. That she wanted him involved in it was a big deal, and Jason knew it. He'd been stubbornly clinging to the idea that he was taking this slow, that he could walk away if he needed to, ever since she'd walked into his house with a pot of oregano and decided to stick around. Actually, even longer than that if he was being honest with himself.

So here he was, with a fresh haircut, the suit he dragged out for the occasional wedding, and a boatload of anxiety. He hadn't been to one of these things in years. He'd had no reason, and even less interest. Still, if it had just been a local thing, he would have pulled out the go-to suit and come along happily enough.

This, though . . . it had the potential to be messy, and he wasn't sure he was ready to find out whether he'd come far enough to handle it. He figured he had a fifty-fifty chance at getting through the night unscathed. Maybe it would be fine. Maybe Vane Duvall would have no interest in an artist like Aaron. Maybe he'd come alone.

Or maybe Jason would have to find out firsthand just how much he'd changed in the last few years . . . if at all.

Despite the crowd, it took him no time at all to spot Zoe. The woman had a magnetic pull he seemed uniquely sensitive to. She stood in a small group, her back to him, wearing a little black dress and mile-high heels. Her curls were pinned up, though a few had been allowed to fall and kiss the nape of her neck. She was beautiful, with an added sheen of glamour that made her seem even more untouchable than he'd found her the first time he'd ever walked into the gallery. She'd probably laugh if she knew just how awestruck she left him sometimes. And here, she was clearly in her element.

Nervously, he flexed his hands and reminded himself that yanking on his tie again wasn't going to do anything but mess up the tie. It wouldn't make him any more comfortable.

Of course, if you'd told her you might feel like you had an ally in here. Dumbass.

But what was he supposed to say?
Hey, my ex-wife's affair started at an art show, and so things might get weird if I show up. Is that okay?

Except knowing Zoe, she would have said yes, then figured out a way to make it so. They would have been a unit in the face of whatever he might have to deal with. Instead, he felt very much on his own. He told himself that Zoe didn't need to be dragged into the smoking wreckage of his past. His baggage was no one's business but his own, and that was better for everyone.

Except it felt like self-serving bullshit, which he didn't have a lot of patience for.

“I knew you'd clean up well.”

He turned his head to find the man of the evening, Aaron Maclean, passing by with a small group of admirers in tow. The streak in his hair matched his vest, a look he somehow managed to make work for him.

“Yeah, showering occasionally does wonders,” Jason said with a grin. “Congrats on your big . . . thing.” He moved his hand around to indicate the room, but Aaron decided to take it the wrong way and started laughing.

“That's my compliment of the evening,” he said. “Thanks. I'm going to tuck that one away. It's a keeper.”

Jason shook his head. “You're welcome.”

Aaron left him with a quick pat on the arm. “I'm glad you came. Now, go show Zoe what you did for her, big guy. She's been watching that door like a hawk.”

It didn't make him feel any better about how he'd dealt with tonight. She'd worried . . . and why wouldn't she? He'd avoided her and generally been a pain in the ass without telling her why. Probably because he hadn't wanted to take a good hard look at why, either.

His weaker leg ached, but in a way that reassured him because he was actually using it again. Jason moved through the people, casting a few glances at the sculptures on display. People stood around them, admiring, discussing, sipping their drinks, and eating tiny hors d'oeuvres. It wasn't his scene—he'd been honest with Zoe about that. But it wasn't as pretentious as he'd expected.

That seemed to be a trend lately.

He came up behind her and slipped an arm around her waist, ignoring the rest of the group she was with. They were no one he recognized and no one he cared to know. He'd come here for Zoe, and the instant she responded to him, melting into his touch before she even turned, he knew he'd made the right choice tonight. He spoke softly into her ear.

“The place looks amazing. Not as good as you, though.”

Her smile could have lit the entirety of the Cove. “Hey,” she said. “You came.” And in front of everyone, she slipped her arms around his waist and gave him a long, lingering hug that could leave no doubt in anyone's minds about what the nature of their relationship was. He tried to relax into it, but his nerves were practically crackling. She must have felt his tension, because when she pulled back to look up at him, there was a crease between her brows.

“What's wrong?” she asked quietly.

“It can wait,” he replied, and hoped the hand he brushed down her back was reassuring enough. She didn't look convinced, and her expression said they'd be discussing this later—but for the first time, he wanted to talk about it. Words weren't his strong suit, though, and the ones he needed to say didn't belong here. Not in the middle of something she'd worked so hard on, on a night she deserved to enjoy. Zoe turned back to the group she'd been speaking with to introduce him. She left her arm around his waist, a small but protective gesture that gave Jason his first real smile of the night. They'd come a long way in a short time, and Zoe had no problem clearly staking out her territory. In this case, it was him.

Who would have thought?

“Everyone, this is Jason Evans. He's a park ranger here in the Cove, and he's also a patron of the gallery.”

There was a flurry of interested commentary that Jason had to struggle not to find patronizing. He knew people didn't see him and think “art,” but he didn't really enjoy being a novelty item. Still, he answered people's questions until the conversation turned and he was allowed to lapse back into silence.

Slowly, the tension he'd been carrying around began to leave him. The music was good, people seemed happy—the gallery was fairly thrumming with good vibes, and the crowd was dotted with locals, several of his friends among them. Jake and Sam were here, and Shane had somehow finagled himself an invite. He always did. Jason even caught a glimpse of Big Al Piche, wearing parachute pants and an REO Speedwagon shirt, holding an entire tray of miniature quiches and having an animated conversation with a tall, thin man in sunglasses as he popped them, one by one, into his mouth. They looked like they were talking about one of the paintings on the wall, but given that it was Big Al, they could just as easily have been discussing the relative merits of sweaters made out of pet hair. Or the finer points of nuclear physics.

One could never be sure. But at least he was wearing pants.

Zoe was warm where her body touched his, and the contact between them was more of a comfort than he'd expected. She didn't seem to want anything from him—no attempts at conversing about artists or styles he was unfamiliar with, no being pressed to make friends with people who couldn't have been less interested in him if they'd tried, and vice versa. No pressure to be someone he wasn't for the benefit of the crowd.

All she seemed to want was him.

Zoe had tried to tell him that, but Jason hadn't really understood that she'd meant it. Not until now. It was humbling. It was wonderful. And it made him feel even worse about holding back, making her worry.

He was a grown man. It shouldn't be so hard to wrap his head around the fact that he was finally enough for someone, just as he was.

“I'm going to go grab a drink. Do you want anything?” He kept his voice low, breathing in the warm, spicy vanilla of her perfume after he asked. She shivered just a little at his breath on her skin, and he gave her waist a gentle squeeze. He had plans for getting her out of that little black dress later on.

“No, I'm good,” she said. Her hand brushed his as he pulled away, then turned to head for the small bar that had been set up.

He was waiting for the bartender to fix his water and lemon—he wasn't interested in drinking tonight—when a soft, familiar voice spoke behind him.

“Jason?”

He froze. The bartender set down the glass, offered him a smile, and turned his attention to another guest. He could feel her there, waiting, so Jason forced himself to turn around.

“Hi, Sara. How've you been?”

*   *   *

Zoe waited, glass in hand and half listening to Evan Marcel tell one of his rambling stories that usually ended in egregious name-dropping. She liked Evan, really . . . she liked almost everyone who was here tonight, some of whom she hadn't seen since her Atlanta days. But the show wouldn't have been the same without Jason, without his solid, comforting presence beside her. Whatever had been wrong the last few days seemed to have lifted, and she could see him beginning to relax and enjoy himself.