The Lure of Love (19 page)

“But you told
me you don’t have anything to say.”

“I didn’t the
last time we talked, but I do now.”

“I’m not
following you.”

“I’d like to
write about violence in hockey, and how it’s getting out of hand.” She paused.
“It would be controversial, if nothing else. I mean, everyone has an opinion on
the subject.”

“That’s for
sure. A blog like that would have everyone split right down the middle.” Claire
could hear the enthusiasm building in her friend’s voice. “I think it’s a great
idea. Are you okay with making it anonymous?”

“For sure. As
a matter of fact, I’d like anonymity written into any agreement we make. For
example, if I write about Cam’s situation, I’d like to blog about it as if I
don’t even know him. It would be much more effective that way.” She had a
sudden idea. “I could use the thread of Cam’s story to tie in with any future
blogs. It wouldn’t always be about him of course, but I could report on his
progress now and then. It could make the issues seem more personal to the
reader. You know, want them to come back and follow the story.”

Zoey laughed.
“You sound like a blogger already. Are you sure you haven’t done anything like
this before?”

“Quite sure.
I have no idea how I’ll find the time, but I’d like to do it.”

“Hey, look on
the bright side. There’ll be some extra money for that trip you’d like to
take.”

“Call me
crazy, but I hadn’t even thought about the money aspect.”

“You’re crazy
all right. Listen, I’ll talk to the editor and get back to you.”

The week that
followed passed in a blur. Between visiting Cam, work, and meeting with the
newspaper about the blog, Claire could scarcely remember what day it was. She’d
hammered out a loose agreement with the newspaper, aiming for one blog per
week.

She sat down
at her computer and stared at the screen. She’d heard of writers not being able
to come up with anything, but her problem was the opposite. She’d read a lot
about hockey violence over the past few days and those facts combined with
Cam’s story made it difficult to choose where to start.

It was
important that she get it right because the newspaper had surprised her,
informing her that if there was as much interest in the blog as they
anticipated, they might hire someone to write from the opposing side.

“That’s all I
need,” she muttered to herself. “Some macho idiot whose idea of a good time is
going to a fight to see if a hockey game will break out.” But she acknowledged
that a well crafted opposing view would bring more attention to the issue.

Her opening
salvo was critical. She may not be an experienced writer, but she knew that she
had to grab the reader’s attention with her first sentence. With a groan of
frustration she got up and walked to the window. The sun had burned off the
morning mist and the ocean glittered with reflected sunshine. Maybe what she
needed was a walk to clear her head. Just a short walk along the seawall and
then she’d come back inspired and make a fresh start.

It was sunny
but cool. She pulled on a turtle neck sweater, a pair of sweats and a fleece
jacket. Her oldest, most comfortable walkers completed the outfit.

It seemed as
though half the population of the West End had decided on a walk, but that
didn’t surprise her. Vancouverites knew enough to take advantage of days like
this.  Who knew when the next one would come around? The constant hum of
traffic faded into the background as she made her way along the seawall, past
the yacht basin. Seagulls swirled overhead, their cries blending with the clink
of rigging against metal masts. She smiled and walked closer to the railing. If
Zoey were here, she’d be on her case for checking out the boats instead of the
men jogging past. She glanced out of the corner of her eye.
Especially that
one
. She couldn’t see his face very well, hidden as it was by a hoodie, but
he was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved like an athlete.

Forget it,
she told herself as he jogged past.
I’m not interested in him or any other
man
.

So why had
her heart ratcheted up at the sight of him?

You’re
pathetic
she told herself and pushed away from the railing to continue her
walk.

She didn’t
see it coming…literally. One moment she was walking along, trying to focus on
the blog and the next she was sprawled on the pavement.

The biker
stopped, but remained on his bike. “Hey, you should watch where you’re going,”
he said angrily.

“Me? Look
who’s talking. You’re not supposed to be riding a bike along here.” She pulled
herself up into a sitting position. “There are bike lanes for people like you.”

“Get a life,
bitch.” He pushed off and rode away.

Claire shook
her head in disbelief. “Stupid ass,” she muttered.

“May I offer
you a hand, or would that make me a stupid ass too?”

She looked up
to see the man in the black hoodie. He had his hand out but it was his face she
was drawn to. How could someone be so appealing when their nose had obviously
been broken? His smile was dazzling. “Come on” he said, wiggling his fingers.
“At least let me help you up.”

She placed
her hand in his and a jolt of electricity zinged through her body. The
sensation was so unexpected she didn’t even notice the pain in her ankle. That
is, until she put her weight on it and almost collapsed. He caught her in his
arms and looked down into her eyes, his expression a mixture of surprise and
concern.

“You’re
hurt,” he said, still holding her.

Claire wanted
to tell him that if he kissed her, she was pretty sure the pain would
disappear. Instead, she pulled back and put her weight on her good foot. “I
must have fallen on it” she said, somewhat breathlessly, “but it’s not all that
bad.” She looked back toward her apartment building; she could see a slice of
it between the other buildings. “I can put my weight on it if I try.”

“Let me take
you home,” he said, supporting her easily. “My car is over there in the parking
lot.”

She frowned.
“Isn’t that a private lot?”

He grinned.
“Yes. Lucky for us, huh?” He kept an arm around her waist and they made their
way to his SUV, where he fussed over her, settling her in the passenger seat.

He’d pushed
back the hood of his sweatshirt and when he walked in front of the vehicle, the
sun caught his hair. So black it was almost blue, it covered his head in curls
and her fingers tensed as she imagined herself touching it. He looked up as
though he knew she’d been studying him and their gazes met though the
windshield. Rough stubble covered his cheeks and she discovered that his eyes,
which she’d originally thought were black, were a dark blue. She didn’t think
she’d ever seen anyone with eyes that colour.

He got into
the vehicle and turned to her. “Do you have to go right home?”

“No, I
thought I’d go dancing.” The words were out before she could stop them. What
was the matter with her? “Sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t know what made me say
that.”

He didn’t
seem to mind. “I’m just relieved that we don’t have to go dancing,” he said
with a wry smile. “But if your ankle really isn’t too bad I thought maybe we
could go for a coffee.” He looked into her eyes and her stomach did a little
flip. “Or a tea, perhaps. We could drive up to Prospect Point and grab some
takeout then continue around the park.”

Was he crazy
to think she’d go off with him? She couldn’t possibly.

“Okay,” she
said. “I’d like that.”

He smiled and
pulled out. Traffic through the park was busy as usual and they were swept
along. A few minutes later he pulled into the parking lot at Prospect Point.
“What can I get you?” he asked.

“A tea, I
think. Two milk, no sugar. And something to nibble on if they have anything
small. Chocolate chip cookie or something like that.” She dug in her purse.
“I’d like to pay, if you don’t mind.”

He gave her
an odd look. “No way.”

She gave in
gracefully. “Shall I limp over to one of those tables?”

He glanced at
the outdoor tables. “I’d rather stop farther along. There are a couple of
picnic tables overlooking the water.” He lifted his shoulders. “If you don’t
mind, that is.”

“I guess
that’s okay.” She studied him as he made his way to the counter. The line-up
moved quickly, and she noticed him chatting to several people as he waited. One
woman seemed to be taking his picture with her husband, and then he took their
picture. And then another couple got in on the act. Pictures were being taken
all around. He came back bearing a cardboard tray with two cups and a couple of
snacks.

“Were those
people taking your picture?” she asked.

He coloured.
“You saw that, did you? I offered to take one of them together and then
everybody was taking everyone else. They were Swedes, I think. They’re polite
people.” He handed her the tray. “No cookies, I’m afraid. But I got you a Rice
Krispie square and a package of Twinkies.”

“My
favourites,” she said. “Do I have to share?”

“Not really”
he said, “although I am rather partial to Twinkies and there are two in the
package.”

Claire fell
silent as they drove around the knob of land that was Stanley Park. His actions
were vaguely reminiscent of Harrison’s. He’d never wanted to go where there
were crowds of people. It wasn’t until later that she’d realized that he didn’t
want to be seen by anyone who knew his wife.

“Penny for
your thoughts.”

Startled out
of her reverie, she turned to face him. She couldn’t ask him point
blank…could she?

“I was just
wondering if you’re married.” Might as well get it over with.

“Me?” A
horrified look spread over his face. “Definitely not!”

The reply was
so emphatic it had to be the truth. She smiled to herself. “I apologize for
asking such a personal question, but when you said you didn’t want to stay at
Prospect Point it reminded me of someone.” She lowered her head. “Wow, I’ve
really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”

She could
feel him looking at her but he remained silent.

“I had a bad
experience with a married man. He never wanted to go anywhere if he thought he
might run into people.” She looked out the window. “I can’t believe I just told
you that.”

He nodded. “I
can see how something like that would make you cautious, but no, I can assure
you I’m not married.” He pulled off into a small parking lot. “See that picnic
table over there?” He pointed to a table sheltered by a thick hedge, but with a
view of the ocean. “Do you think you can make it that far? I’ll carry the
drinks over and come back for you.” He didn’t wait for her reply but took the
tray from her and walked it over to the table.

“Okay now,
we’ll take this part nice and easy.” He helped her from the vehicle and they
made their way to the table. “Sit sideways and put your leg up on the bench,”
he commanded. “I want to take a look at that ankle.”

Claire was
mortified by the condition of her old shoes, but she raised her leg.

“Can’t see
much,” he muttered. “Do you mind if I take off your shoe?”

She went to
pull back, but he had a firm hold on her calf. “I really should have a look.”

She watched
his hands as he rotated her foot gently back and forth. They were large as
befitted a man of his size. And yet they were gentle as he prodded around her
ankle. “Sore?”

“A bit, but
not as bad as it was.”

He slipped
her shoe back on, pulled up her sock and tied her shoe laces. His hair shone in
the sunshine and she wanted to reach out and touch it.

His hand
lingered for a moment. “Do you have to stand up when you work?”

“No, I’m a
graphic designer. I work from home.”

His eyes lit
up. “My kid sister’s a graphic designer. She works for a magazine in Toronto.”
He got up from the bench and moved around to the other side of the table. “My
name’s John, by the way.” He popped the lid on his tea and took a sip, watching
her over the rim.

“I’m Claire.”

He’d
positioned her so that she looked out over the ocean. Container ships dotted
the horizon. “I don’t know what it is about the ocean, but I love it.”

“Me, too.” He
turned and looked out, then turned back to her. “I grew up in Saskatchewan, so
living out here is a real treat.”

“The way you
were talking with all those people at the coffee place I thought maybe you’d
grown up around here.”

He retreated
into himself for a moment and then shrugged. “Just friendly chit chat.”

There was
something about the way he spoke, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“Here,” she said, pushing the Twinkies across the table. “You have the Twinkies
and I’ll have the Rice Krispie square. That is unless you’d like to share.”

His eyes
danced. “Sharing’s good.”

She tore the
sticky treat in half and accepted one of the Twinkies. “So, John. What made you
move from Saskatchewan to Vancouver?”

“Work.” He
took a large bite of Twinkie.

“What kind of
work?”

He swallowed,
and washed it down with a gulp of tea. “I sell sporting equipment.”

“Do you like
it?”

“I do, except
for all the travel.”

“So you
travel a lot?” She stopped abruptly. “You know, I’m beginning to sound like I’m
at one of those speed dating things.”

“Is that what
this is?” He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “A date?”

“No, not at
all.” Now she was getting flustered. “Listen, I’m not usually this nosy, trust
me. Do you think I could blame it on the ankle?”

There was
that smile again. “You could try.” He raised his cup and took a smaller sip
this time. “How about you? Are you from around here?”