Still the One (17 page)

It was a dark moonless night, and the air was thick with heat and humidity and mosquitoes. The roar of an approaching car
drowned out the hum of tree frogs and cicadas in the cypresses beside the road. To Katie’s alarm, the car passed her, ground
to a squealing stop, then backed up along the shoulder.

She was considering running into the woods when Zack lowered the electric window. “What are you doing?”

“Going home.”

“Are you nuts, walking alone at night?”

She tilted up her chin, her pride injured. “No.”

“Get in.” His voice had been tight and abrupt. He leaned across the seat and threw open the passenger door.

She scrambled in. He glared at her. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Someone like those two assholes—or worse—could
have stopped.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “It’s flat-out stupid.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t have any choice. My mother didn’t show up.” He let out a low oath.

She thought he was cursing her mother. “She’s not that bad. She means well. She just…” A hot tear rolled down Katie’s cheek.

“Oh, hey.” He reached out and flicked her tear away with his thumb, his eyes instantly remorseful. “I’m sorry. I just… It’s
just a screwed-up situation.” His hand stayed in her hair, and his gaze locked on hers. The air in the car suddenly seemed
to crackle and buzz. His thumbs, calloused from working on marine engines and shuffling cards, ran down her cheek. The sandpaper
texture of his skin somehow made the gesture all the more tender.

For the first time in her life, she felt cared about and special. Her heart floated out of her chest and over to him, where
it made itself at home. She was certain he was going to kiss her. She started to close her eyes, and then he dropped his hands.

“You get off work at what… nine?”

She nodded.

“From here on out, I’ll drive you home.”

His thumbs moved over her cheeks now. She should say something, she knew she should, but words wouldn’t form in her brain,
much less in her mouth. The pads of his thumbs stroked her face, the touch soft and insistent as it moved toward her lips.
She parted her lips to speak, but nothing came out. The ache in her groin grew deeper, hotter, stronger—a living thing, taking
her over.

He dipped his head. His lips touched hers in a soft, barely there kiss. She must have moaned because she heard it, although
she wasn’t aware of making any sound. She wasn’t aware of anything but the feel of his hands moving down her back, the sweet
heat surging between her thighs, the taste of his lips. He pulled her forward and his mouth moved over hers, hot and possessive
and hungry and demanding. She fit herself against him and felt the shockingly hard proof of his desire. She moaned again,
aching for him. He cupped her bottom, picked her up, and held her against the refrigerator.

She was on fire, ablaze. Her hands roamed down his back to palm his muscular buttocks. She wanted to…

The doorbell rang. She opened her eyes, feeling as if she was coming out of a daze. Oh, God—what was she doing? Her face burning,
she dropped her hands and struggled to get her feet on the floor.

Zack pulled back and blew out a reluctant sigh.

“Hey, that’s probably the pizza,” Gracie called from upstairs. “Aren’t you going to get the door?”

Zack cleared his throat, stepped back, and adjusted his jeans. Pulling his shirt down over his fly, he tugged his wallet out
of his back pocket and strode toward the door, leaving Katie leaning against the counter, wondering what the hell had just
happened.

“He kissed you?” Bev’s painted-on eyebrows flew toward her hairline, which was currently a flattering shade of Warm Sand Dune,
thanks to Katie’s color application last Wednesday.

“Yeah.” Katie pulled a stack of white towels out of the dryer in the back of her salon and set them on top of the washer.
She’d lain awake much of the night thinking about it. “It just kind of happened.”

“Oh, my!” Bev fanned herself, as if having a hot flash. “What happened next?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“The pizza arrived, Gracie came into the room, and we sat down and ate.” It had been an awkward meal. Katie struggled to act
as if nothing had happened. Fortunately, not much had been required of her. Zack and Gracie were busy discussing cars, debating
the merits of each brand and model. Katie was grateful that they’d carried the conversational ball. Since the bedroom furniture
had arrived, Gracie was staying the night with Zack. Katie left immediately after helping clear the table.

“He just acted as if nothing had happened?” Bev pressed.

“Yeah.”

“So—what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.” Katie picked up one of the towels and folded it lengthwise in thirds. “I’m just going to make sure it doesn’t happen
again.”

“Why on earth not?”

“It just seemed… inappropriate.”

“Because of Paul?”

Katie nodded, noticing the gleam of her diamond wedding-ring set on her finger.

“Oh, honey, Paul would want you to be happy again.”

“I know, I know. But head knowledge and heart knowledge are two different things.” Part of the problem, Katie thought guiltily,
was that she’d sometimes thought about Zack when Paul was around. Not often, but there had been moments when he’d crossed
her mind. Especially when she’d wondered about their child.

But she couldn’t explain that to Bev. Far better to keep things in the realm of the more pragmatic. “It’s not just a matter
of Paul.” Katie pulled out another towel. “It’s Zack. He doesn’t do long-term relationships.”

“Maybe he just hasn’t met the right girl.” Bev cocked an eyebrow. “Or maybe he met her, but he wasn’t at the stage of life
where he was ready.”

Katie shook her head. “No. His parents had a miserable marriage, and it really soured him on commitment.”

“Surely he knows that not all marriages are that way.”

She lifted her shoulders. “People know what they’ve grown up seeing. His aunt and uncle weren’t much better. His uncle cheated
on his aunt… with my mother, among other women.” She folded the towel. “He thinks that people who say they’re happily married
are deluding themselves or simply settling.” She placed the towel on top of the others. “Did you see what he said in the article
about America’s most eligible bachelors in
Cosmo
?”

She shook her head. “But I’m guessing you did.”

“I looked it up on the Internet a couple of days ago,” she admitted. At the time it had come out, she’d deliberately avoided
reading it—just as she’d avoided watching Zack on TV or reading tabloid articles about him. The truth was, even though she
was married to Paul, every time she thought of Zack, she always felt a little twinge of emotion.

Not that she hadn’t loved Paul with her heart and soul. She had. But she’d never told Paul the identity of the boy who’d gotten
her pregnant. He’d said he didn’t need to know, that it wasn’t important, but she had still felt, deep in her heart, as if
she were keeping something from him.

“So what did Zack say in the article?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘Love is just a more socially acceptable word for lust. The new wears off, and it burns itself out.
I don’t want to live my life trying to fan a flame out of cold ashes.’ ”

Bev’s lips quirked up. “You memorized it?”

Every single word. She lifted her shoulders. “More or less.”

“Wow, didn’t make too much of an impression, did it?” Bev reached for a towel. “You know, he doesn’t have to be Mr. Forever
to be good for you.”

“What?”

“He’s certainly fling-worthy.”

“Oh, come on, Bev.”

“Think about it. Maybe he’s not Mr. Long Term, but he’s a heck of a Mr. Right Now.” Bev snapped a towel. “I mean, who says
every romance has to be forever? Maybe you need a transitional romance.”

“A what?”

“A fling between forever-afters.”

“I don’t think there’s going to be another forever-after.”

“All the more reason to have a fling, don’t you think?”

Katie felt her back stiffen. “I don’t do casual sex. I’m not like my mother.”

Bev’s face flooded with dismay. “Oh, honey—I’m not suggesting you are. There’s a huge difference between dating a man for
a few months and sleeping with every guy in town.” She put her hand on Katie’s shoulder. “No disrespect to your mother intended.”

“None taken.” It was the truth, as painful as it was.

“This could be perfect for you, sweetie. You said he’s only here for a few months. And you wouldn’t be getting involved with
a stranger. In fact, this wouldn’t even increase your number.”

“My what?”

“Your number. The number of people you’ve slept with. This is a man you’ve had a child with, for Pete’s sake.”

“All the more reason not to get involved. If we’re going to be co-parents, we don’t need to complicate things.”

“It’s not like you’re going to be raising a young child together. Gracie is nearly grown.”

“And about to have a child herself. We’ll be co-grandparents.”

“So? If he lives in Vegas and you live here, you’re not likely to see him all that often.” Bev closed the door of the dryer.
“I just don’t see the harm in it. You need to move on with your life, and a little fling might be just the thing to boost
you over the hump and onto the next stage of your life.”

The bell over the front door jangled.

Lulu pushed through the door. “Helloo!” She was wearing a leopard-print top and carrying her favorite orange bag. Her face
lit up when she saw Katie. “Sweetie, you’ve got to tell me everything. I can’t believe you had a whole secret life and none
of us knew it!” Lulu headed toward the chair. “This is so exciting. Start with Zack. Oh my gosh, he is
so
sexy.” She put her hands over her chest and rolled her eyes heavenward. “How do you know him? Where did you meet? And what’s
going on between you now?”

Katie’s heart sank. She knew she was going to have to explain the nature of their relationship to her friends, but she wasn’t
quite sure how, when she didn’t even know herself.

Katie sneaked out at noon and headed home. Gracie was still at Zack’s, which meant she had the place to herself. Going into
the master bedroom, she flipped on the light in the closet and turned to the men’s clothing hanging on the left side. A row
of pressed shirts, pressed trousers, and jackets stood like soldiers, next to a round electric tie rack that would spin at
the touch of a button—a gift Katie had gotten Paul their last Christmas.

Katie tugged her blouse off over her head and reached for one of Paul’s shirts. This time she selected an old black-and-gold
rugby shirt with the New Orleans Saints logo. She pulled it on, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric against her belly, enjoying
the feel of something that had been close to Paul’s heart close to her own.

Bending down, Katie reached for an old navy blue T-shirt on the shelf, carefully folded and tucked in a plastic bag. It was
the shirt that had been in the laundry basket the day he’d shipped out. She hadn’t washed it; instead, she’d pulled it out
and wrapped it up to preserve his scent. She’d learned, during his first tour of duty, how comforting it could be to have
something that smelled like him—something that would let her close her eyes and pretend, for just a moment, that he was simply
away from the house for a little while.

Carefully extracting the shirt from the bag, she lifted it and put it to her nose, inhaling deeply. Nothing. She drew in another
breath. The last few times, she could smell only the barest, faintest hint of Paul. Maybe not even that; maybe just the memory
of a hint. Now she didn’t even have that; now she just had a memory of a memory. The fact was, the shirt was starting to smell
like the cedar in the closet.

Oh, God—another loss. Before Paul had died, she’d thought that losing a loved one was a huge, single catastrophe. No one had
told her that grief was a series of little, cutting losses that nicked her heart every day. It wasn’t just sleeping alone
or having an empty chair at dinner; it was buying a quart of milk instead of a half-gallon, making one cup of coffee instead
of two, hearing a joke and having no one to share it with. It wasn’t just missing him; it was missing the scent of him on
the one remaining unwashed shirt.

Maybe her sense of smell was off today. Unwilling to admit defeat, she carefully refolded the shirt, tucked it back in the
plastic bag, and put it in the back of the closet, hoping the smell would be there the next time.

Reaching up to the top shelf, she pulled down a brown leather photo album etched with gold. She knew the pictures by heart:
Paul at the beach, buff and tan and smiling; Paul at Mardi Gras, ropes of beads around his neck; Paul at a Saints game, pumping
his fist in the air; Paul installing the kitchen cabinets in their house. Usually the photos set off a warm glow in her chest,
but today they failed to give her any feeling at all. She put the album back, then reached for his leather bomber jacket.
Pulling it off the hanger, she lifted it to her face and breathed deeply. It smelled like leather—not like Paul, exactly,
but he’d worn it, and when he’d worn it, he’d smelled leathery. It would have to do. She needed to feel a connection, a solid,
here-and-now sensory experience. She needed something that made Paul seem real, because more and more, he seemed like a figment
of her imagination.