You Dropped a Blonde on Me (34 page)

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Authors: Dakota Cassidy

Tags: #Romance, #Fiction

BOOK: You Dropped a Blonde on Me
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“Big weenies,” Maxine confirmed, contrite.
Campbell finally cracked a half smile. It wasn’t the uber grin that made her belly quiver, but it was a start. “The biggest.”
A glance at the kitchen clock told her she had to make haste. “I really, really have to go or I’m going to be late, and I can’t afford to be late today, but I hope you’ll accept my apology. I mean that. Maybe you could drop by the dance Friday night, and I can bow and scrape some more. There’ll be lots of Mitch Miller . . .” She enticed him with a smile.
His eyes remained unreadable, his lips unmoving.
“You’re still mad.”
“I’m still something. I just can’t pinpoint what.”
Maxine rolled her eyes. “That sounds like something a woman would say.”
Campbell’s eyebrow cocked upward, but his tight jaw loosened just a bit more. “You should know.”
Maxine chuckled, throwing the letter in her purse. “That’s fair. I owe you a hissy fit or two.”
“Which leads me to a question. Why would I come to a dance
you
invited me to? So you can avoid me like I have the clap? In case you’ve forgotten, you hadn’t returned a single one of my phone calls before that little incident in the diner, and Houdini could have learned a thing or two from you the way you magically disappear whenever I’m even in the same twelve-mile radius. If you weren’t interested, you could have just had the balls to say as much. I fully comprehend the word no.”
It took effort, but she forced her eyes to capture his, letting her fingers brush his knuckles. “It’s not that I’m not interested. I am.”
There. The truth. She’d thought about it well into the wee hours of the morning. Either she had to indulge Campbell’s interest in her and see what she could see, or she was going to man-up and tell him it was a no-go. When the no-go part of the equation popped up, and her reaction to it was a twinge of deep regret in the depths of her heart, she’d decided things had to change.
“Then what is it, Max? Because the on again, off again thing, the freaking out without any warning, and the avoiding me at all costs will eventually either drive me insane, or drive me to Home Depot where I’ll buy a wood chipper to dispose of your body.”
Her sigh was shaky. “It’s that I’m so used to living my life in total panic mode, I don’t know how to find any other gear but high. I panicked after my argument with Finley. It made me realize I’m a shitty judge of character, Campbell. I realized he’d never call the police on me because as much as he’d like to make me out to be some lunatic, he’d never risk the possibility a judge might actually give him full custody of Connor. For all his showy efforts to get Connor to come back home, Finley knew he’d never do it. What’s worse is, he doesn’t really want Connor to do it. It’s always just some big show so he can tell everyone he tried to do the right thing. It’s so Fin can tell everyone crazy, unstable Maxine’s brainwashed his kid to keep Connor from him. How could I have been so wrong about a man I was married to for almost half my life?”
Campbell’s jaw twitched, but he let her curl her fingers around his. “I’m unclear how that applies to me.”
“I know this sounds crazy, but if I was so wrong about a man I thought I knew intimately, how could I possibly expect to make sound decisions about one I’ve only known for a couple of months?”
“And now?”
“Now I think I’d like to find out if my decision-making skills have improved.” She fluttered her eyelashes and let her lips lift in a flirtatious smile. The freedom of all this communication had its benefits. She felt lighter already. Even if Campbell opted out, she’d at least taken the chance on not just sharing her fear but making the first move.
Campbell didn’t respond, and that was only fair. It had taken her three weeks to come to her senses.
“Anyway, you think about the dance, where I’ll humble myself appropriately. Oh,” she said, grinning up at him and placing a hand on his chest, remembering the feel of him beneath her fingers, “and there’ll be
cake
. Mrs. Lipknicki’s making her apple strudel bundt cake. She’s a retired caterer, you know. Not a treat to be missed, if you ask me.”
“I’m not opposed to bundt cake,” Campbell said, making sure she heard the reluctance in his voice.
“I’ll save you a piece.” Maxine’s face grew serious, her heart thudding in her chest. “I really hope you’ll come, Campbell,” she whispered, experiencing a bit of her own reluctance when she turned to grab her purse and leave before she knocked him down and begged him to give her a second chance.
As Maxine jumped into her mother’s car, she caught sight of her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright.
In those eyes with the beginnings of crow’s-feet at the corners was a hint of pride that she’d taken charge of her feelings, owned them, admitted what had scared her off, and had then set about making a move on a man she desperately wanted to experience—full throttle.
A tingle of anticipation fluttered low in her belly, the tingle of new beginnings and independent woman.
Her metaphoric pom-poms shouted a rah-rah-sis-boom-bah.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
 
Note from Maxine Cambridge to all ex-trophy wives: The wistful strains of “Moon River” + smokin’ hot man can = “Some Enchanted Evening” Sometimes, it’s okay to be the captain of your own Love Boat. Taking control of your desires is sexy, ladies. This may require more take charge than you have in you at this point, and that’s okay. But if you ever get the chance to steer your own ship—ahoy, matey!
 
“Thanks for wrapping this up for me, Denise. It’s appreciated. Hopefully, I’ll have all the pieces of the puzzle in place soon, and I can be done with this.” Adam dropped his BlackBerry on the hotel bed and ran his hands through his hair in frustration after his conversation with his secretary. He couldn’t concentrate on his original purpose for being in Riverbend to begin with because of a wildly sexy woman with dark eyes and a laugh that made his heart pound like some teenager’s.
Damn this woman for making him crazy. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. He couldn’t keep his thoughts from her. He. Couldn’t.
And damn it, he had a fucking cat to let out of the bag. A big one. One that could change everything, and he wanted to share that with Len. He wanted to share a lot of things with Len.
Yet her staunch insistence that they do absolutely nothing more than wring each other dry of all their bodily fluids was so crystal clear, most times, he was almost too hesitant to even ask her something as simple as how her day had gone.
At first, when he’d arrived in Riverbend, he’d been in semi-agreement that they should keep things strictly related to the bedroom. He wasn’t typically into that kind of thing, but when their chemistry had exploded over that first drink, Len had managed to change his mind. Little did he know, after that first encounter, she’d leave him with a lingering ache in his gut he’d never experienced in forty-three years.
Besides, most women never really meant they didn’t want a commitment—not to the degree the average male looking for no-strings-attached sex did. He’d gone along with it for a time, certain he’d work her out of his system, do what he came to do, and go back to the city. Maybe they’d even end up friends when this all came to pass.
Ironically, that wasn’t working out. The more time he spent with Len in the sack, the more he wanted to find out how she lived her life out of it. What her favorite food was. If she liked ketchup or mustard on her hot dogs—if she even liked hot dogs.
Instead, he had a woman who wouldn’t share the simplest of details about herself and her life. A woman who was displaying all the signs of preparing to run when he pressed her to allow him to date her rather than just meet him illicitly at his hotel.
But did that stop him from coming back for more? No. Every opportunity he could grab to get away from his office and make a trip to Riverbend he took like some love-starved, abandoned puppy.
Maybe this thing with Len was just a case of his ego and winning. He liked to win.
But that wasn’t what his gut was telling him.
for that matter, his heart.
 
Two days later, after another long day of last-minute details for the dance, Maxine dropped her mother’s phone back into its charger with a disappointed grunt.
“No luck?” Connor asked.
“Nope. No one at the nursing home even remembers Grandma Dorothy. The staff’s changed hands so many times and they definitely don’t remember a pink letter.” What Dorothy could have meant in that letter had troubled her all day long. That she’d known about Finley’s indiscretions, as she’d called them, made her cringe. Maxine had taken as many precautions as she could to keep their sordid affairs from her, and she’d known all along anyway.
Connor put a hand on her shoulder. “You look really pretty, Mom.”
Maxine smiled up at him. Wow, a compliment from Connor was rare. She glanced down at her Target dress, bought on sale for twenty-two bucks, and smiled again. She’d
earned
this dress, and the shiny periwinkle pumps to match it. It felt like it was worth a million bucks. She gave Connor’s hand a pat. “Thanks, honey. I guess I’d better go.” She rose, smoothing the swirly length of material around her legs and tightening the tie of her halter dress around her neck.
“Do you think we’ll ever know what Grandma meant in the letter?”
Maxine paused, a fleeting memory of Dorothy’s smiling eyes flashing in front of her. “I don’t know, kiddo. But it was so good to get something like that from her when things have been looking so glum. It was kinda like she knew we needed a bit of cheering up, huh?”
Connor smiled with his own fond memory in mind, Maxine was sure. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”
“All right. I’m out,” she said, blowing him a kiss. “Wish me a troll-free night, eh?”
Her mother had offered her a ride to the rec center, but Maxine decided to walk. A moment to catch her breath was in order. A silent wish for Campbell’s presence was in order, too. She’d had a difficult time focusing today when he came to mind.
What had Len said the other night at the diner? There was only so much she’d put up with before she couldn’t put up with any more of her ridiculous behavior. The phrase haunted Maxine. Len loved her—she was willing to go the extra mile. Campbell didn’t even like her right now. Why would he bother to even give an extra inch?
Shaking her head, Max tried to put the fear she’d screwed up for good aside in favor of the dance. Her hand fluttered in a nervous gesture over the silky material of her skirt, thankful Grace had offered to man the battle stations just long enough to give Maxine the opportunity to go back to her mother’s to shower and change.
This dance was so important. She’d worked day and night for over a month and a half to make every detail as magical as she could within her budget.
If the village board liked her first big event, it would only serve her best interests. Keeping the seniors happy and active, doing things they enjoyed was her first priority, according to the board.
If it flopped . . .
She shook her head as she rounded the corner past the clubhouse. No flopping allowed. Maxine Cambridge knew how to entertain. She’d never thrown a party or charity event that hadn’t left her on the society pages. Surely she could manage a small dance for three hundred or so seniors.
She ticked off details in her head in time with the clack of her heels on the pavement, praying her ex-Broadway stage lighting engineer, Sal Antonetti, had arrived an hour early as promised to have the lights ready to greet everyone.
The hill leading to the rec center was steep, making her once more regret not taking that spinning class. Almost ten months without even an attempt at Pilates had left her soft.
A twinkle of lights caught her eye when she reached the top of the rise, and then her breath caught, too.
Lights were strung on each of the ornamental topiary trees leading to the front door of the center, winding around the rich green leaves. They winked in a glow of muted white under the fading purple and orange sun. Each tall oak tree was graced with the same effect, making the front of the center, and the bit of back patio she could see behind it, look like a fairy tale would begin at twilight.

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