Читать онлайн книгу «A Shocking Request» автора Colleen Faulkner
A Shocking Request
Colleen Faulkner
NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS HAD GRANT EXPECTED THIS.His late wife, Ally, speaking on a memory videotape she'd left behind, was actually suggesting he start dating."Date?" Grant thought aloud. "Who would I date? Who wants a widower who lives on a principal's salary and has three daughters?"Clearly anticipating his reaction, Ally said into the camera, "I know you're going to sit around for weeks saying you wouldn't know who to ask if you wanted to go on a date. I've thought this out, too."She leaned forward in the chair. "Jenna," she said softly. "I want you to date my best friend, Jenna. And, Grant, I think you'll fall in love with her."
“So your kind of man doesn’t have to leap from burning cars, tunnel under mountains or drive motorcycles off cliffs?”
“Nah, I prefer a man who is a little more…subtle about his masculinity.” Jenna smiled up at Grant. It had been a long time since she had flirted with someone.
“My kind of hero can make dinner, sweep the floor and help children do homework, all at the same time,” she said.
Grant halted on the sidewalk and turned to face her. “Well then, hey.” He lifted his hands, palms up. “I can do all of that and then some.”
“I know you can.” She glanced at him, suddenly feeling shy. “I’m sorry, Grant,” she said, avoiding his smoldering gaze. “I didn’t mean to—”
To her surprise, he caught both of her hands and gently pulled her toward him, their bodies almost touching.
“Jenna,” he whispered, as he completed the motion and drew her into full contact against his warm, strong chest. “I want to kiss you….”
Dear Reader,
Brr…February’s below-freezing temperatures call for a mug of hot chocolate, a fuzzy afghan and a heartwarming book from Silhouette Romance. Our books will heat you to the tips of your toes with the sizzling sexual tension that courses between our stubborn heroes and the determined heroines who ultimately melt their hardened hearts.
In Judy Christenberry’s Least Likely To Wed, her sinfully sexy cowboy hero has his plans for lifelong bachelorhood foiled by the searing kisses of a spirited single mom. While in Sue Swift’s The Ranger & the Rescue, an amnesiac cowboy stakes a claim on the heart of a flame-haired heroine—but will the fires of passion still burn when he regains his memory?
Tensions reach the boiling point in Raye Morgan’s She’s Having My Baby!—the final installment of the miniseries HAVING THE BOSS’S BABY—when our heroine discovers just who fathered her baby-to-be…. And tempers flare in Rebecca Russell’s Right Where He Belongs, in which our handsome hero must choose between his cold plan for revenge and a woman’s warm and tender love.
Then simmer down with the incredibly romantic heroes in Teresa Southwick’s What If We Fall In Love? and Colleen Faulkner’s A Shocking Request. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll fall in love all over again with these deeply touching stories about widowers who get a second chance at love.
So this February, come in from the cold and warm your heart and spirit with one of these temperature-raising books from Silhouette Romance. Don’t forget the marshmallows!
Happy reading!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
A Shocking Request
Colleen Faulkner
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Donna Clayton.
Thanks for being so willing to slide over on the bench.
You’re a true friend.
COLLEEN FAULKNER
had romance writing encrypted in her genetic code. Her mother, Judith E. French, is also a bestselling historical romance author. Whether through genes or simply karma, Colleen began her writing career early. She published her first historical romance at the tender age of twenty-four. Since then she has sold twenty-three historical romance novels, five contemporary romances and six novellas.
Colleen resides in southern Delaware with her husband of twenty years, the couple’s four children, a Bernese mountain dog named Duncan and a Siamese cat named Xena. When she’s not writing, Colleen enjoys playing racquetball and volleyball, coaching girls’ softball and coed soccer and, of course, reading.
Dear Reader,
I can’t tell you how excited I am to be publishing my first Silhouette Romance novel. In the last fifteen years, I’ve written two dozen historical romances, so writing a modern-day love story was quite a challenge. In writing A Shocking Request, if there’s one thing I learned, it’s that romance and love are the same no matter where in time they take place.
A Shocking Request came about when a group of friends and I were talking over coffee about our families and what we would do if we discovered we were dying. All of us realized we would be concerned not just for our children, but for our husbands, too. We all agreed that, out of love, we would want to give our spouses permission to date, fall in love and marry again. Laughing, we agreed we would like to pick out the perfect woman to mother our children and love the man we loved. Some may think that A Shocking Request is a sad story, but it’s not. It’s a story of joy. It’s the story of a man and woman who find love after great loss and proves to us once again that love really can conquer all.
Contents
Chapter One (#u28d14ca9-e4db-5d02-afec-5b72ddabfc98)
Chapter Two (#u3d95d651-6d6a-55fc-99bb-7823f881a7ee)
Chapter Three (#u1556e983-990d-55aa-a671-c08603674bdd)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“Happy anniversary, Happy anniversary, Happy anniversary…Happy…Happy…Happy,” Grant sang aloud to himself. He had no idea when he had heard the tune, but knew it was from a Flintstones cartoon. He tapped his foot as he waited for the noodles to boil and when they were done, he drained them in the sink. A little milk, a little margarine, that yellow packet of powder that was supposed to be cheese, and voilà, he had an anniversary dinner fit for a…
Fit for a widower on his wedding anniversary, he thought as he dumped the entire pot of macaroni and cheese into a big chili bowl. He grabbed a spoon and the glass of Chardonnay he had poured himself and carried it into the den, shutting off the lights behind him. In the dark, Grant set down his feast and picked up the videotape he had left on his chair.
“Watch two years after I’ve been gone,” it read in his wife’s neat, floral handwriting. Ally had made a whole box of these tapes, “just in case.” Most of them were for their daughters. Each tape was labeled with the child’s name and the occasion for which she was to watch it. The next tape in the box was for Hannah’s sixteenth birthday, which was four months away.
It was another two weeks until the anniversary of Ally’s death, but Grant thought it would be okay if he watched a little early. It was their wedding anniversary today, and he thought he deserved it. He popped the tape into the VCR and turned on the TV.
Grant sat in his favorite chair, the one Ally had reupholstered for him in green-and-blue plaid for Father’s Day three years ago. He hit Play on the remote and sat back to watch the TV in the darkness as he ate his mac and cheese and drank his wine.
The screen filled with light and Grant couldn’t resist a bittersweet smile. He had come to terms with his wife’s death, but seeing her like this still made him sad…and happy at the same time.
There she was, his Ally, sitting right here in this very chair. Her knees were drawn up and she was barefoot, wearing shorts and a tee. She wore a ball cap to cover her baldness from the chemo, but she looked great. She didn’t look like a woman who was dying of breast cancer that had metastasized throughout her body.
“Hi ya, Grant,” she said smiling.
“Hi ya,” he whispered setting the bowl of macaroni and cheese down. He couldn’t resist smiling back.
“Well, I guess if you’re watching this tape, I’ve been gone two years.” She met his gaze, and he could almost feel her in the room. “Because I know you,” she said wagging her finger at him. “And you would never cheat. You would never break the seal on this tape until you were supposed to.”
“That’s what you think,” he said under his breath. “Two weeks early, so there.” He felt a silly impulse to stick his tongue out at her.
“Anyway,” she said, almost as if she was conversing with him, hearing him reply. “I hope you’re doing okay. I hope the girls are happy, healthy.”
“They’re fine,” he said softly, unable to take his gaze off her. She had been so beautiful, his Ally, with her blond hair, practical short pixie haircut and hazel eyes. After the cancer and the mastectomies, she had worried that he would no longer think she was beautiful, but that hadn’t been true. He had loved her, loved her body, right until the moment she drew her last breath. Even now…
“The reason I made this tape is that I’ve been worrying about you, Grant,” she continued. “I don’t mean that I’m worried about whether or not you’re taking care of the girls. I know how capable you are. You’ve got the laundry done.” She began to count off on her fingers.
“Folded and placed in baskets labeled with each girl’s name,” he murmured.
“You’ve probably got homemade meals in the freezer, labeled and everything.” Ally laughed.
He laughed, too. Ally knew him so well. Last night they had eaten spaghetti and meatballs. The sauce had come from the freezer in a disposable container with the date labeled in permanent marker.
“You’ve probably got the garage cleaned out, the rugs vacuumed. The girls’ rooms are probably neater than a pin—even Hannah’s—and I know what an accomplishment that is.”
Grant slid up in his chair drawing closer to the TV, as if somehow he could be closer to Ally. He missed her so much.
“And I know you still drop off the dry cleaning every Monday and pick it up on Wednesday on the way home from Becka’s violin practice.”
“Thursday,” he said. “Mrs. Jargo had to change the lesson to Thursdays because she has her hair done on Wednesdays now.”
“And I know the girls’ homework is done on time, birthday gifts for parties are bought and wrapped and ready to go on the right day. I even know you probably got Jenna to make Halloween costumes.” Again, that warm smile, that smile that seemed to envelop him like one of her hugs. He felt a tightness in his chest. He missed her hugs.
“But…” she continued as she pointed at him, “that’s not what I’ve been worried about. I’ve been worried that you aren’t taking care of yourself. Sure, I know, you get your hair cut every three weeks, your teeth cleaned every six months and you always iron your shirts on Sunday nights while you have family movie night. But what about you, sweetie? You’ve got to be lonely.” She paused. “And I know you don’t know what to do about it.”
Grant held his breath, wondering where she was going with this.
“So I have a plan,” Ally said, perking up. “And I know you’ll go for it because I know how much you like plans. How much you need plans.”
Grant shifted in his chair. A plan? She had a plan for what?
“The reason I didn’t tell you this before…when I was still here, was because I knew you wouldn’t listen to me. You wouldn’t be able to deal with it. But now time has passed, sweetie. I’ve been gone two years and it’s time for you to move on with your life. You deserve to be happy.”
Grant didn’t like the sound of this. A part of him wanted to hit Rewind on the remote and just watch the beginning of the tape again. But he couldn’t help himself. He had to hear what Ally had to say now.
“I think it’s time you start dating,” she said looking him right in the eyes.
He jerked back in the chair.
She put up one hand. “I know, I know. You can never love anyone like you loved me. You don’t want anyone else. Don’t need anyone else. Well, I’ve got news for you, Grant. We all need someone. And if the roles were reversed right now, if I was sitting in that plaid chair listening to you say these words, I might not like it.” She paused. “But I would know you were right.”
Grant just sat there, staring at the screen. Never in a million years had he expected this.
Ally wanted him to date other women? He couldn’t believe she was saying these things, couldn’t believe she would leave a tape to tell him this. But that was his Ally, all right. She was a planner just like him.
“Now,” she continued. “I know this is going to be hard. Hard for you, hard for the girls. But give it a chance.”
“Date?” Grant mumbled. “Who would I date? Who wants a man who lives on a principal’s salary with three girls?”
“I know, I know,” she said almost simultaneously with his thought. “Who would date you, a teacher with three girls?”
“A principal,” he told Ally proudly. “I got the principal’s job last year when George moved to Maine.”
“So…” Ally said carefully. “I’ve thought this out. I know you’re going to sit around for weeks saying no one would date you. Saying you wouldn’t know who to ask if you wanted to go on a date. I’ve got that planned out, too.”
She stretched out her thin legs, and leaned forward in the chair. “Jenna,” she said softly. “I want you to date Jenna. And, Grant, I think you’ll fall in love with her.” This time it was Ally’s smile that was bittersweet. “I think you’ll fall in love with her and marry her. I want you to marry her.”
Grant grabbed the remote control, certain he had not heard right. Jenna? Ally’s best friend, Jenna? Ally wanted him to go out with Jenna? Had she really said marry?
He fumbled with the remote. Hit Pause, cursed under his breath because he never cursed aloud, and then finally found Rewind. He rewound the tape a little.
“Jenna,” she said again. “I want you to date Jenna—”
He had heard correctly.
“…I think you’ll fall in love with her and marry her. I want you to marry her.”
Grant started to hit Rewind again when he heard the back door open. He glanced up at the clock on the built-in bookshelves beside the TV. It was eight o’clock. Almost bedtime for the girls.
He heard five-year-old Maddy’s sweet little voice, and he clicked the VCR off, then the power to the TV.
“Dad? Dad you here?” came his eleven-year-old Becka’s voice.
He could hear light switches clicking on. Light from the kitchen suddenly poured into the hallway, reaching the den.
Grant got to his feet, torn between what Ally had said on the tape and his daughter’s voice. “Here. I’m in here.” He gripped the molding around the doorway as he stepped into the hall.
“Daddy!” Maddy ran into his arms. “Jenna got me another roll of gauze. You know I need gauze to wraps legs and stuff.”
Grant gave pigtailed Maddy a big hug. She smelled of chocolate syrup and baby shampoo. He still used it on her hair because it didn’t sting her eyes. Maddy wanted to be a vet when she grew up and she was always caring for patients, animate and inanimate. Every stuffed animal in the house had yards of gauze, tape, even toilet paper, wrapped around arms, legs and heads. His oldest daughter, Hannah, said it freaked her out to go into Maddy and Becka’s room at night and see all of the animal mummies.
“Hey, Dad, Jenna found me some knee socks to match my uniform,” Becka said, dropping a department store bag on the kitchen table.
“Hey ya, Dad.” Hannah walked into the kitchen through the back door.
Last in the door was Jenna. Grant had seen Jenna a thousand times, maybe a million. They had been friends since their freshman year of college. Jenna had introduced Ally to him at a football tailgate party. But suddenly he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Jenna was nothing like petite, blond Ally. Jenna was tall with long red hair that Ally had always said was strawberry blond. She wasn’t heavy, but she wasn’t thin either. Curvy, that was a good word. Jenna was curvy with hips and breasts. Ally had always had a very athletic build, even after bearing and breastfeeding three children.
Jenna’s eyes were green. Green with brown speckles. Her face was freckled and her mouth was…well it was sensuous, full pink lips, a tongue that darted when she spoke fast. And it seemed that Jenna was always talking fast.
“Hi,” she called from the doorway, carrying in more bags. “Sorry we didn’t get in sooner, but Becka needed the socks, Maddy wanted the four-inch gauze, not the two-inch, so we had to go to three drugstores and—”
“It was my fault, Dad.” Hannah walked past him, giving him a peck on the cheek as she went by. “I wanted that new Chili Peppers CD and Jenna ran me all over town looking for it.” She stopped in the hallway. “I’m going up to finish my homework. ’Night, Dad. ’Night, Jenna, thanks.”
Becka rummaged through the bags Jenna was laying on the table, grabbed two, heaved her backpack onto her shoulder again, and walked by him. “Homework’s done, ’night, Dad. ’Night, Jenna. Thanks for the cool stuff.” She waited in the kitchen doorway. “Come on, Maddy. It’s jammy time if you want Daddy to read the next chapter of Harry Potter.”
“Harry Potter,” Maddy said, a bandaged moose tucked under her armpit. “I love Harry. I’m going to marry him.”
“You can’t marry him,” Becka said leading her sister down the hall. “It’s like Dad. You can’t marry your father, and you can’t marry a make-believe person in a make-believe book.”
Grant lifted his gaze to look at Jenna as he realized they were the only two left in the room. She was opening the refrigerator. “I stopped and got milk because Hannah thought you were low.” She slid the gallon of skim milk onto a shelf and closed the door. She was wearing a dark purple raincoat over a sweater, long, flowered skirt and boots. Her hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, but little wisps had escaped the rubber band to curl around her face. For some reason, those curly wisps suddenly fascinated him.
Jenna met Grant’s gaze. “You okay?” she said softly.
He glanced at the floor feeling silly. “I’m okay.”
“You sure, because I know…” She took a breath and then went on. “I know it’s your anniversary. That was why I thought tonight might be a good night to get this shopping over with.” She started for the door.
He walked toward the door to see her out, Ally’s words tumbling in his head.
Date Jenna? Ally wanted him to date Jenna. She wanted him to marry her.
She opened the door. “Well, if you don’t need anything else, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
He shook his head. “I mean, no, I don’t need anything else. Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He offered a sheepish smile, having no clue what he was thinking or why he felt such confusion.
“’Night,” Jenna said.
“Good night,” he called.
Grant locked the back door, flipped off the lights again, and went upstairs to tuck his two youngest girls into bed. He read the next chapter of the fourth book in the Harry Potter series and then kissed his girls good-night. As he passed Hannah’s closed door, he called, “Good night.”
“’Night, Dad.”
Downstairs, Grant went to the dark den again. Light from the hallway illuminated the table beside his chair and the cold macaroni and cheese. He sat down and took a sip of the wine. He stared at the dark TV screen.
Ally wanted him to marry Jenna? The thought was ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous. It was preposterous.
And then he thought of what else she had said. About him, about the way he was living.
He was lonely. He hated to admit it, but Ally was right. He was lonely and he missed his wife in a million ways, but mostly he just missed her being here. He thought that his job and his daughters would be enough to make him happy or at least content, but they weren’t. He’d known that for months now. Something was missing from his life. Someone.
Grant didn’t know how long he’d sat in the dark staring at the TV when he heard footsteps on the staircase.
“Dad?” Hannah called.
“In here.”
She stuck her head in the doorway. Hannah was pretty like her mother with silky blond hair she wore pulled back in a short ponytail and hazel eyes that sparkled when she laughed. “You sitting in the dark again?” she grumbled.
He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
“Thinking about Mom?” she said in a quieter tone. “I know. I was thinking about her today, too. It was your anniversary.”
Grant was touched that she remembered. “I miss her,” he said, realizing that he didn’t feel the same sadness he had once felt when he talked about Ally. It seemed that what people said was true. Most of the pain and sadness had passed. Now there were just a lot of memories in his head that made him smile.
Hannah leaned in the doorway. “Me, too.” She glanced up. “But you know, Dad, she’s been gone two years. You think maybe it’s time you stop sitting in the dark by yourself at night, pretending she’s here.”
He got up and walked into the hallway, through to the kitchen. She followed him. “I don’t pretend she’s here,” he said. “I just like the quiet.”
“Well, whatever.”
She hung in the kitchen doorway, and he wondered what was with teens and doorways. Hannah could never just walk into a room; she always had to stand in the doorway, as if she feared she might have to make a quick escape. What would he do when Becka turned thirteen? Would his two daughters share doorways or would they have to have their own?
Grant reached into the refrigerator and pulled out the gallon of milk Jenna had brought. He’d have to remember to include this in the reimbursement for all of the other things she’d gotten for the girls tonight. She’d been doing these things since before Ally’s death, when Ally had gotten too weak to take the children out. Once in a while, Jenna would just herd them all into her car and head for a mall, or a movie, or something. It was a nice break for him, and the girls loved her.
“So what I was saying, Dad…”
He poured himself a glass of milk, not sure he wanted to hear what Hannah had to say, but listening anyway. He knew parents who would give their eyeteeth for their teenaged daughters to voluntarily offer their opinions on anything. To be able to have conversations with them that didn’t involve shouting or accusations. But something told him that the direction Hannah was headed with this conversation wasn’t somewhere he was ready to go yet.
“I think you should think about dating.”
Grant knew he must have stood frozen for a moment because the glass almost overflowed with milk. He caught himself and capped the gallon container. So that was where she was headed. “Date? Me?” He laughed.
“Yes, you. Why not?” She lifted one shoulder draped in a thick sweater. “I don’t know, Dad, you’re still cute in a geeky kind of way.”
He put the milk back into the fridge with a smile. “Well, thank you.”
She exhaled. “You know what I mean. In a dad way.”
He grabbed his glass of milk and leaned against the counter. “Hannah. Look at me. I am a geeky kind of guy. I’m not rich. I’m the principal of a school, for heaven’s sake, and I’ve got three daughters to raise. Who in her right mind would want to go out with me?” He lifted his glass to take a drink.
Again, she raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know. How about Aunt Jenna?”
She said it just as he took a big swallow of milk. He choked, snorted and thought maybe he had inhaled some milk.
“Dad? You okay?”
He choked again and tried to suck in a lung full of air. “Okay…I’m fine,” he managed.
She laughed. “Careful there. Milk consumption can be a dangerous thing.”
You’re not kidding, he thought, grabbing a napkin out of the holder on the counter to wipe his mouth. He couldn’t believe Hannah had suggested he date Jenna. Was this some kind of conspiracy between her and Ally? He knew it couldn’t be and yet…
“Well, I’m headed for bed,” Hannah said interrupting his thoughts. “Geometry test tomorrow, first period.”
“You study?” he called after her as she disappeared into the hall. He was a principal now, but he had been a teacher first. Once a teacher, always a teacher.
“Yes, Dad,” she called. “’Night, Dad.”
“’Night, hon.”
Grant finished his milk, rinsed out the glass and placed it in the dishwasher. Then he poured some soap in and hit Wash as he did every night before he went to bed. He turned out the kitchen light, headed for bed, then veered into the study as he realized he had left Ally’s tape in the VCR. He wouldn’t want one of the kids to find it. He meant to retrieve the tape, but when he got into the den, he had to watch it again. And again. It ended shortly after the marrying Jenna part. Ally just said that she loved him and that she couldn’t have picked a better person to love him and their girls than Jenna.
Grant always went to bed by eleven. He brushed his teeth, folded his clothes and put on a pair of boxers before climbing into bed. But for the first time in his life, he fell asleep in front of the TV.
He fell asleep thinking of Jenna.
Chapter Two
Lights flickered on upstairs in Becka and Maddy’s bedroom in the front of the cape cod as Jenna backed her Honda out of Grant’s driveway and onto the street. “’Night sweeties,” she murmured. “Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.” She chuckled. “Don’t let the weird dad bite is more like it.”
Jenna knew it was Grant’s and Ally’s wedding anniversary today. She knew they would have been married sixteen years if it hadn’t been for Ally’s death from breast cancer. That was why she had taken the girls with her after school and done the dinner out and shopping thing. To give Grant a chance to be alone. Cry a little if he wanted to. The man certainly had the right.
She had expected him to be out of sorts at the very least when she brought the girls home, but what she had not expected was for him to be acting so strangely. What was with him tonight? Why had he looked at her in such an odd way?
Jenna crossed Route One, the main road through the southern Delaware beach communities and headed for her small neighborhood on the ocean side. Her two-bedroom cottage, left to her by her grandmother, was only four blocks from the beach. Over the years, real estate agents had tried again and again to get her to sell, or at least turn the house into a rental during the summer months. Houses like hers brought in an incredible amount of money June through August, she was told. But Jenna wasn’t interested in money. She was interested in having a comfortable home to live in and providing a safe, happy environment for her sister, Amy.
Jenna turned onto her own street. The sky had grown dark, but the streetlamps illuminated the sidewalks and the small, older homes that lined both sides of the street. Seashell Drive was one of the streets that consisted mostly of year-round residents. Here, everyone knew their neighbors and no one had to worry about late-night partying next door in the summer. It was a nice place to live.
Jenna pulled into her driveway and grabbed her soft leather backpack that served as a purse as well as her book bag. She had some work to do for the kindergarten class she taught. She, Ally and Grant had all started at the Starfish Academy as teachers, then Ally had gotten sick and had to give up her job. Last year, Grant had been named principal when their principal had taken a job elsewhere. Jenna loved her job. She loved the school. She loved her students. And having Maddy Monroe this year just made it all the better.
Jenna let herself into the house with her key and flipped on the living room lights. The cottage was small with just a living room that also served as the dining room, a small galley kitchen, two bedrooms, a bath and a laundry/mudroom. What made the house, though, was the back porch, which her grandfather had closed in with glass panels. Even in the middle of the winter, it was warm and cozy on the sunporch, and plants thrived there as if living in a greenhouse. Beyond the porch, in the backyard, was a well-groomed garden of flowering plants, stone paths and dribbling water fountains that was Jenna’s pride and joy. Even now, in September, when the days were growing short, the garden was alive with late-flowering plants, fresh herbs and even a tiny patch of peas.
Jenna tossed her backpack onto the couch and went back out the front door. At the house next to hers, she tapped on the door and walked in, knowing she was expected. She could hear the TV going and the sound of a familiar newscaster’s voice as he reported on unrest in the Middle East.
“Your turn,” Jenna heard eighty-three-year-old Mrs. Cannon say. “One more roll.”
“But I haf to go. Bedtime,” Amy answered.
Jenna and Mrs. Cannon had no trouble understanding Jenna’s twenty-six-year-old sister, but she knew there were others who did. Amy’s speech was gruff and halting, but it just took a little patience to follow what she was saying. Amy, born with Down’s syndrome, was mentally handicapped and had been Jenna’s responsibility since their mother died just after Jenna received her teaching degree from the University of Delaware.
“Jenna?” Amy looked up, bright-eyed and happy to see her sister when she walked into the living room. Amy and Mrs. Cannon were playing Yahtzee on the coffee table in front of the couch. The TV was on in the background, the sound of guns going off, low but audible, but no one seemed to be paying attention to the news show.
“I won. I won,” Amy said, awkwardly waving her score sheet at Jenna. “Look, Jenna, I won the game.” She beamed at her partner. “Mrs. Cannon says I’m a good Yahtzee player.”
The gray-haired woman began to clean up the game. “You’re the best I’ve seen,” she said, obviously genuinely pleased to have Amy there.
It was an arrangement that seemed a gift from God to Jenna. Mrs. Cannon no longer drove and spent most of her time home alone, so she loved having Amy for company. And Jenna was fortunate to have Mrs. Cannon here to keep an eye on Amy whenever she needed her.
“You ready to go home?” Jenna asked her sister. “It’s almost nine and I have homework to do.”
“And I haf to take a shower,” Amy told Mrs. Cannon, rolling her eyes. “Work tomorrow.”
Jenna smiled. Amy worked at the Starfish Academy, too, as an assistant custodian. Her sister loved the job and enjoyed getting up every morning to go to it. Hiring Amy had been a brilliant move on Grant’s part. Before her job at the school, Amy had been working at a shop that employed many mentally handicapped adults, but Amy had been bored there and hadn’t liked it.
At the Starfish Academy she could easily handle the work that mostly included sweeping floors, refilling paper products throughout the school and picking up the grounds. Not only did she like the fact that she was good at her job, but she loved the excitement of being there with the children. Everyone loved Amy at the Academy, and they made her feel as if she were a part of something. With no family left except a brother who lived in Oregon, Jenna and Amy’s family included the children and staff of the school.
“Thanks for having her over,” Jenna said, always careful not to imply that Amy needed to be taken care of. Amy had become very sensitive lately to her own independence.
“You know I love Amy’s company.” Mrs. Cannon slowly rose from the couch as Amy popped up off the floor. “Having her sweet face around keeps me young.”
“We can let ourselves out,” Jenna said, giving the elderly woman a peck on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” Amy said, giving Mrs. Cannon a sloppy kiss on her other cheek.
Mrs. Cannon smiled. “Good night, dearies. Lock the door behind you.”
“We will.” Jenna ushered Amy out the door, turned the lock, and pulled it soundly shut behind her.
Amy ran across the yard, leaping over a small azalea bush. “Cold out here.”
Jenna followed Amy across the yard. “Not cold, but chilly. It’s late September.” She pointed to the oak and maple trees that lined the street. “You see, the leaves are beginning to fall. Autumn is coming.”
“And we can cut pumpkins,” Amy said happily, clapping her hands.
“That’s right, and we’ll go to the orchard and pick apples and make applesauce.” She opened the door for Amy.
“And Halloween,” Amy squealed.
“And Halloween.”
“And we can get dressed up like ghosties and tell everyone ‘Boo.”’ Amy’s eyes were wide with the same excitement that Becka and Maddy had when speaking of Halloween, but that was okay because it was Jenna’s favorite holiday, too.
Jenna closed the front door behind them and clicked the dead bolt in place. “Go get your shower and hop into bed.”
“Will you read?”
Jenna glanced at her wristwatch. “Amy, it’s late.”
“Please?” Amy clutched her hands together. “Please, Jenna please. I’ll wash real quick.”
“Okay, but a real shower, Amy, with soap and shampoo. I’m serious.”
“All right.” Amy stomped off toward the bathroom. “I’ll be right back quick.”
Jenna reached for her backpack to take it to the dining room table where she would cut out apples and stems and worms from paper for her students for tomorrow. “Then just a short book.”
“Inside, Outside, Upside Down,” Amy chanted as she danced down the hallway, her short bobbed haircut swinging.
“Not that book again,” Jenna groaned. Amy loved the Berenstain Bears. “We read that one last night,” she called after her sister who had slipped into the bathroom. But of course, Jenna would read it again. She would do anything for Amy.
While she waited for Amy to finish in the bathroom, Jenna went to the dark kitchen to put on the kettle to make a cup of tea. As she leaned against the counter, she saw in her mind’s eye an image of Grant leaning against his counter tonight, looking at her. He’d had the oddest expression on his face, as if she were a stranger he had just met.
The teakettle whistled and Jenna shrugged as she turned to fill her teapot with boiling water. Men.
“Good morning, Catherine,” Jenna said cheerfully as she walked into the main office of the Starfish Academy the next morning.
“’Morning, Miss Cartwright.”
Jenna smiled as she passed Catherine’s desk on her way to the copy machine. Here at the Academy, every-thing was very informal between the teachers and administrators. Everyone on the staff called everyone else by their first name, even their principal, Grant. Everyone except Catherine Oberton who insisted on using the same titles the children used. She had been Grant’s secretary for more than a year, had known him for almost four, and still called him Dr. Monroe.
Jenna had punched her personal identification number and hit Print to make fifteen copies for her students as Grant came in from a rear door that led to the teachers’ workroom. There was a copier in there, too, but Katie McAllen was hogging it. She hogged it every morning.
“Good morning,” Jenna said to Grant.
He halted and looked at her with a deer-in-the-headlights stare. It was so funny that Jenna almost laughed.
“Grant?” she said. “You okay?”
He ran his hand down his red tie. Grant always wore a red tie, but this one had tiny flowers on it. “Fine, great.” He nearly tripped as he turned to pass her in the small room and the toe of his shoe caught on the corner of a box of paper. Jenna put out her hands to catch him—as if all one hundred and forty pounds of her was going to catch all one hundred and ninety pounds of six-foot-one Grant.
“Easy there,” she laughed, releasing her grip on his arm.
Grant’s face reddened. “Sorry. Excuse me.” He turned again to pass her, and this time made it successfully through the gauntlet.
Jenna turned to watch him retreat. What was going on with him? He was always so in control. Grant Monroe did not trip on boxes of paper. He never had a hair out of place. The man was a deity.
Grant walked into his glass-walled office, and Jenna turned back to the copier that was trying to eat her original. She punched Print again. She had to finish up and get to class. She could already see uniformed cherubs in blue and green kilts and white shirts with navy ties hurrying down the hall to make it to their rooms before the late bell rang.
Jenna walked through the main office and glanced at Grant. He was sitting at his desk, but his door was open. She walked behind Catherine’s desk and stuck her head in Grant’s office.
“You okay?”
He glanced up and his pen slid across the page, dissecting some school form that Jenna guessed did not need to be dissected with a black line. “Fine.”
“The girls okay?” she said slowly, watching him.
“Fine. Great.”
She didn’t believe him, but she had to get to class and she didn’t have time for twenty questions. “Okay then,” she said suspiciously. “Let me know if you or the girls need something.”
He had righted his pen and gone back to filling out the form, ignoring the black line that now cut the page into two nice triangles. “Sure thing,” he said, not looking up.
Jenna thought it was odd that he didn’t make eye contact with her. They had always been good friends, and after Ally died, they had seemed to grow closer. Grant wasn’t the kind of guy to cry on a friend’s shoulder or reveal his deepest, darkest fears, but he knew he could depend on her.
Jenna glanced over her shoulder as she exited the main office into the hallway, and caught him watching her….
As Jenna walked out of the front office, it was all Grant could do to keep himself from lowering his head to his desk and pounding his forehead on it. He couldn’t believe he had tripped over that box in the copy room while gawking at Jenna. He couldn’t believe he’d let her startle him like that. He balled up the form he had been filling out, tossed it into the waste can beside his desk and grabbed another from a file in the drawer to his left.
Grant hadn’t slept well last night in the chair in the den. His entire night had been riddled by strange dreams—Ally and Jenna on the beach calling him. Ally sitting beside him in front of the bonfire he had built for them. An anniversary celebration. But, when he had turned to her to offer a glass of celebratory wine, it had been Jenna beside him. The dream had been so real that he could still feel her warmth at his side. He could still smell that slightly flowery-musky fragrance she wore that permeated everything around her, her car, her house and even her classroom.
The dream had made him feel badly. Not so much because Ally was gone, but because he was dreaming of another woman. Never in all of the years of marriage to Ally had he dreamed of being with another woman and it scared him. He and Jenna had done nothing in his dream, but there had been feelings between them. Desires.
His face growing warm, he jumped up from his desk. The late bell had just rung. It would be time to do the morning announcements in a minute, he thought, pushing aside thoughts of Jenna and the smell of her.
“The morning announcements,” Catherine, his secretary said, appearing at his side out of nowhere.
Grant glanced at Catherine with her tight chignon and wire-frame glasses. She was wearing a slim, dark skirt that fell well below her knees and a white blouse that tied in a big bow beneath her chin. It looked like something his grandmother wore. Though Catherine was the age he was, she always seemed much older to him. She would have fit perfectly with Grandma Cora’s generation, had it not been for her flirtatious manner.
“Thanks, Catherine. Have you got those attendance numbers I need?”
She batted her lashes. The gesture was so overt it was almost funny. Almost. “Putting them on your desk, Dr. Monroe.” She used the title, as if he were a world-famous heart surgeon who had gone to medical school for a zillion years rather than a guy who had gone to a local university at night to get his doctorate in education administration, while balancing a teaching job, a family and a new baby in the household.
Grant read the morning announcements over the intercom as he always did, ending with a quote from someone famous. Sometimes the quotes were serious, sometimes they were funny. Sometimes they applied directly to the pursuit of knowledge, and sometimes they applied to life in general, but everyone seemed to appreciate them.
The announcements over, Grant left the front office and Catherine’s adoring eyes to walk the halls as he did each morning. The remainder of the day was spent tending to his duties and thinking about what Ally had said about dating Jenna. Attending a parent-teacher conference and thinking about Jenna. Sitting at his desk pretending to be diligently at work, while thinking about Jenna.
It was three o’clock and the school day was almost over when he strode out of his office, having no real purpose whatsoever except to change the scenery. Maybe if he took a walk, he could get Jenna out of his mind. Get what Ally had said out of his head. All day he’d heard his dead wife’s voice in the back of his head like a never-ending audiotape.
Date Jenna. I think you’ll fall in love with her and marry her…fall in love and marry her.
The idea was utterly absurd, Grant knew that. The trouble was that at the end of the videotape, Ally had made him promise he would give it a try. She had asked him to promise her that he would at least try one date. When he’d heard Ally’s words, he had had no intentions of making any promises, verbally or otherwise. But the second time he watched the tape after the girls went to bed, the promise had just popped out of his mouth. Without thinking, he had said, “I promise.”
So, a promise was a promise. Obviously, that’s what the dreams were all about. That was why he couldn’t stop thinking about Jenna. Because he had promised his wife. The logical answer to the problem was to ask Jenna out, have a nice evening and then go back to his den and tell his dead wife face-to-face that there was nothing between him and Jenna but friendship. No spark. Ally understood “the spark.”
Grant found himself passing the nurse’s office, passing the library headed straight for the kindergarten and first-grade wing. Headed straight for Jenna’s classroom as if she were a magnet.
He rounded the corner, and nearly fell over Jenna, who was on her hands and knees on the floor of the hall, lining up wet paintings of what appeared to be apples…or maybe roundish fire engines.
Grant made a noise in his throat, caught off guard. He had almost stepped on her.
“Whoa,” she cried, glancing up, smiling. Jenna was always smiling.
“What are you doing?” He slipped his hands into his pants pockets, not because he wanted them there, but because he couldn’t think of anything else to do with them. Suddenly his arms were long, gangly appendages that seemed to serve no purpose but to make him look and feel awkward in Jenna’s presence.
She began to crawl along the floor, spreading out the paintings along the wall. “We were doing watercolor painting this afternoon. Nice huh?”
He glanced over her shoulder. “Nice.”
“Hey, I called about that software again, but I’m not getting anywhere. The guy said teachers can’t place the orders, only ‘the brass.”’ She glanced up at him. “Think you’re considered the brass?”
Today, she wore her golden-red hair in a ponytail the way his girls often did. It was the best hairdo he could manage when Ally had first gotten sick. He had branched out to pigtails, doggy ears and doorknobs, though ponytails were still his best ’do. But somehow the ponytail didn’t look the same way on Jenna as it did on his girls. On Jenna, it was almost sexy.
He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Leave the number in my mailbox.”
“Great.” She scooted along the floor, sliding more paintings against the wall, her fingertips tinted with wet red paint.
Inside the classroom, Grant could hear the children lining up to be dismissed. He could hear Jenna’s assistant, Martha, giving last minute reminders. If Grant was going to get this over with, he was going to have to do it now. “Um…” he said.
She didn’t seem to hear him. “Amy has soccer tonight. We didn’t find those Cliffs Notes for Hannah, so if you want me to, I can track them down tonight. I have a few errands to run anyway.”
“Hannah should not be using Cliffs Notes. She needs to read The Crucible. I read The Crucible in high school; you read it,” he heard himself babble. He stopped short, and took a deep breath. “Jenna, you want to go out to dinner Friday night?”
She glanced up at him, a soggy red paper in her hand with a name that resembled Anthony scrawled across it. She didn’t hesitate. “Sure. That would be nice.”
Jenna smiled and Grant relaxed. Hadn’t been so bad after all.
“Great,” he said. “Meet me at seven at that little French place you like?” He didn’t have the nerve to pick her up. That would, after all, make it a real date, wouldn’t it? “You know…separate cars in case I have to run home,” he explained.
“Sure. Works for me.”
The door to Jenna’s classroom opened, and kindergartners spilled out. “Oops, better get to the buses,” she said, getting to her feet.
Jenna went one way with her fifteen kindergartners, including his Maddy, and Grant went the other way. Only this time, his hands were in his pockets because he wanted them there, and he was whistling. He couldn’t remember the last time he had whistled.
Chapter Three
“Daddy’s got a date,” Becka chanted from her perch on a stepping stool at the kitchen counter. She stirred the brownie mix rhythmically. “Daddy’s got a date. Daddy’s got a date,” she sang.
“I do not have a date.” Grant pulled the homemade chicken potpie out of the oven. He hadn’t made the crust himself; it was refrigerator dough. But he still made a pretty mean chicken potpie, if he did say so himself.
“Daddy’s got a date,” Maddy repeated from the kitchen table. She was busy making a splint for a stuffed cat’s tail. “What’s a date, Becka?”
“I do not have a date,” Grant repeated, pulling the corn muffins out of the oven.
“A date is when a man takes a woman to dinner or to a movie or something. Dad’s going on a date with Aunt Jenna.”
“I am having dinner with Aunt Jenna so we can talk in peace.” Grant shut off the oven and slipped the flowered hot mitts off his hands. Jenna was meeting him at the restaurant, but if he didn’t hurry, he was going to be late.
“Daddy’s got a date with Aunt Jenna,” Maddy sang, ministering to the stuffed tabby that rested on her dinner plate in front of her. “Daddy’s got a date with Aunt Jenna.”
“Be quiet both of you,” Hannah said, coming into the kitchen. She was munching on a handful of celery sticks. “You’re making Dad nervous. This is his first date.”
“Does no one in this house hear me? This is not a date.” Grant whipped off the red chef’s apron he always wore in the kitchen to protect his clothing and hung it on its hook in the broom closet. All he had to do was grab his suit jacket off the dining chair and he’d be ready to go.
He had considered changing clothes after work, perhaps into a polo shirt and khakis. Something casual. But that would suggest this was a date, wouldn’t it? And he didn’t want to give Jenna the wrong idea. This wasn’t really a date. It was just…he was just…fulfilling an obligation to his dead wife. That was all.
“Homework. Showers…” Grant began to tick off his mental list of reminders for Hannah who was baby-sitting tonight.
“No homework tonight, Dad,” Becka said. “It’s Friday.”
“Okay. But only an hour of TV,” Grant said looking at Hannah again. “No matter what these imps tell you.” He gave Becka a squeeze as he walked behind her. “And no matter what they try to bribe you with.”
Becka laughed and licked chocolate batter from her finger.
Grant leaned over Maddy to kiss the back of her head. “Bye, sweets. Be good for Hannah or I’ll tie you up by your socks when I get home.”
“Bye, Dada,” Maddy said sweetly. “I hope you have a good date with Aunt Jenna. Don’t kiss her too much.”
Hannah burst into laughter. Becka giggled.
Grant looked wide-eyed at his two older daughters as if to ask, “Where did she get that from?”
His girls just shrugged.
Grant shook his head. He wouldn’t ask, else he would certainly be late. He took a deep breath. His stomach was nervous and his forehead was slightly damp. This was a bad idea. Going out to dinner with Jenna was a bad idea and he knew it. He shouldn’t be out with a woman. He belonged here with his children. But it was too late. He ducked into the dining room, grabbed his gray suit jacket and headed through the kitchen. He would just have to go through the motions of the dinner. Try to be good company and get out of there as soon as was reasonably possible.
“See you later, girls. Lock the door behind me. I have my cell phone if you need me,” he said, checking to be sure it was on his belt.
“Have a good time. Be safe. No alcohol. No drugs. Use your head. And call me if you need me to come get you, no questions asked,” Hannah said, repeating the same thing Grant always told her before she went out the door. “Love you!”
“Love you, girls.” The words stuck in his dry throat as he went out through the laundry room into the garage. Inside his Explorer, he laid his jacket on the seat so that it wouldn’t get wrinkled. Before he backed out of the garage, he took a tissue from the box between the two front seats and wiped his brow. As he wiped it, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror.
Criminy, what was going on? Why was he so nervous? He looked petrified. He tucked the tissue into the garbage bag that hung behind the passenger seat and backed out of the garage and down the driveway.
It was just dinner with Jenna. Good old buddy Jenna. Jenna who he’d been friends with for a million years. Jenna who had been at his wedding. Been at the hospital for all his daughters’ births. Jenna who had stuck by him when Ally had gotten sick.
He was nervous because it wasn’t just dinner, no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise. It was a date, and he hadn’t been on a real date in twenty years. He was nervous because he was scared to death.
Jenna parked her car on the street and walked up the sidewalk to wait for Grant in front of the small French bistro just off Main Street. She was looking forward to dinner because the restaurant was so popular during the tourist months that no locals ever attempted to get in until the crowds thinned. She hadn’t eaten here since spring and it was one of her favorite restaurants.
She spotted Grant’s dark-blue SUV approaching up the street. She waved and checked her watch. Two minutes until seven. She smiled to herself. It wasn’t like her to actually be on time, but it was just like Grant to be early.
She waited on the sidewalk for him to get out of his car, lock the door, then check to be sure it was locked—just as she knew he would. She pressed her hand to her stomach. She had butterflies.
Dinner with Grant was giving her butterflies?
She couldn’t fathom why. She and Grant had shared hundreds of dinners together, before he and Ally had married, after the wedding, after Ally died.
But this dinner was different, and not just because he had asked her out to a restaurant rather than having her over to the house. It was something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Grant hadn’t acted like himself this week. Ever since the evening of his anniversary, he’d been acting oddly and it was somehow related to her.
“Hi,” he said, walking up the sidewalk, GQ handsome in his conservative gray suit, white shirt and red tie.
“Hi.” She smiled. She had changed from her school “uniform” of a long flowered skirt and blouse into a dress. After she had changed her clothes, she had wondered if that was mistake. Would Grant think she thought this was a date? Women only change after work for dates. They didn’t change for “just dinner with a friend.” In the end, she had left the dress on simply because she liked the green-and-blue floral pattern and the way the fabric felt on her skin.
“How are you?” Grant said, sounding awkward. He leaned over her and she turned her cheek for the perfunctory hello kiss. It had been a tradition between them for years and yet suddenly it seemed different. She felt her cheeks grow warm as he kissed her.
He was wearing cologne. She liked the scent that was musky, but not overwhelming. He normally only put cologne on after he showered in the morning. What was the cologne for? Her?
“Do we have reservations?” she asked as he opened the door for her.
“For seven, on the porch.”
She smiled. Of course they had reservations. Grant Monroe would never forget dinner reservations. Now she would forget reservations. She would show up fifteen minutes late because the cat got out. She would forget her purse. But not Grant. She had always admired his organizational skills. She had always told Ally that she could never live with the man, that he would drive her nuts, but she did admire him.
The hostess showed them to a table for two on the closed-in porch. There were fresh flowers on the linen-covered table and a candle. Grant pulled out Jenna’s chair for her and then took his seat across from her.
Jenna accepted the menu from the hostess and smiled up at her. “Thanks.”
“Your waitperson will be with you in a moment,” the hostess said, backing away.
“So,” Grant said, opening his menu.
“So,” Jenna repeated. Then she peered at him from behind the menu like a kid pretending to be an adult. He was looking at her, too. She laughed. “This feels weird,” she said.
He got a strange look on his face. “Bad weird? I didn’t mean for you to feel uncomfortable. We could have gone somewhere else.”
She laughed. Grant was nervous! She was amused, and oddly touched at the same time. And more than a little curious. Definitely curious. He had never been nervous around her before. What on earth was going on inside that organized head of his? What was he up to? Why had he asked her out to dinner? Jenna wanted to just ask him, but knew better. Grant, like most men, was not good at expressing his feelings. She knew him well enough to know she’d just have to be patient.
Jenna smiled and went back to looking at the menu. “So were the girls upset about you leaving?”
“Nah,” he pshawed. “They were going to have my chicken potpie for dinner and then watch as much TV as they can squeeze in before they spot my headlights coming up the driveway.”
“Mmm, I love your potpie, too. And Goosebumps is on the Nickelodeon channel tonight. I don’t blame them for being tickled.”
The waitress came to the table, introduced herself and poured water into their glasses. “Would you care for a cocktail?”
Jenna glanced over the menu at Grant questioningly.
“Go ahead. You can have anything you want,” he said.
She made a face. “Of course I can have anything I want. I’m over twenty-one and I have the wrinkles to prove it. My question is, what are you having?”
“I don’t know.” He lifted one broad shoulder.
“Well, do you want a beer? Wine? Iced tea, what?”
He met her gaze hesitantly and lifted a dark brow. “Maybe wine?”
“Wine it is.” She looked to the waitress who waited patiently. “We’ll have the house Chardonnay.”
“Bottle or glass?” the young woman asked.
“Just a glass.” Jenna wrinkled her nose. “First date,” she said jokingly. “I wouldn’t want to lose my inhibitions and make a fool of myself, would I?”
The waitress laughed and walked away to get their wine.
Jenna glanced across the table to see Grant staring at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t embarrass you, did I? I was just kidding.” She couldn’t read his thoughts for the life of her. “About the date I mean.”
“It’s all right,” he said softly.
The look on his face told her it was.
“I like your wisecracks,” he went on, surprising her by actually offering his thoughts without her having to pry them out of him.
“How long have I been hearing you make those jokes?” He set aside his menu to look at her. Really look at her.
His total attention made Jenna feel strange to the tips of her toes. Warm. Comfy. Had Grant always been this attractive?
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Colleen Faulkner
NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS HAD GRANT EXPECTED THIS.His late wife, Ally, speaking on a memory videotape she'd left behind, was actually suggesting he start dating."Date?" Grant thought aloud. "Who would I date? Who wants a widower who lives on a principal's salary and has three daughters?"Clearly anticipating his reaction, Ally said into the camera, "I know you're going to sit around for weeks saying you wouldn't know who to ask if you wanted to go on a date. I've thought this out, too."She leaned forward in the chair. "Jenna," she said softly. "I want you to date my best friend, Jenna. And, Grant, I think you'll fall in love with her."
“So your kind of man doesn’t have to leap from burning cars, tunnel under mountains or drive motorcycles off cliffs?”
“Nah, I prefer a man who is a little more…subtle about his masculinity.” Jenna smiled up at Grant. It had been a long time since she had flirted with someone.
“My kind of hero can make dinner, sweep the floor and help children do homework, all at the same time,” she said.
Grant halted on the sidewalk and turned to face her. “Well then, hey.” He lifted his hands, palms up. “I can do all of that and then some.”
“I know you can.” She glanced at him, suddenly feeling shy. “I’m sorry, Grant,” she said, avoiding his smoldering gaze. “I didn’t mean to—”
To her surprise, he caught both of her hands and gently pulled her toward him, their bodies almost touching.
“Jenna,” he whispered, as he completed the motion and drew her into full contact against his warm, strong chest. “I want to kiss you….”
Dear Reader,
Brr…February’s below-freezing temperatures call for a mug of hot chocolate, a fuzzy afghan and a heartwarming book from Silhouette Romance. Our books will heat you to the tips of your toes with the sizzling sexual tension that courses between our stubborn heroes and the determined heroines who ultimately melt their hardened hearts.
In Judy Christenberry’s Least Likely To Wed, her sinfully sexy cowboy hero has his plans for lifelong bachelorhood foiled by the searing kisses of a spirited single mom. While in Sue Swift’s The Ranger & the Rescue, an amnesiac cowboy stakes a claim on the heart of a flame-haired heroine—but will the fires of passion still burn when he regains his memory?
Tensions reach the boiling point in Raye Morgan’s She’s Having My Baby!—the final installment of the miniseries HAVING THE BOSS’S BABY—when our heroine discovers just who fathered her baby-to-be…. And tempers flare in Rebecca Russell’s Right Where He Belongs, in which our handsome hero must choose between his cold plan for revenge and a woman’s warm and tender love.
Then simmer down with the incredibly romantic heroes in Teresa Southwick’s What If We Fall In Love? and Colleen Faulkner’s A Shocking Request. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll fall in love all over again with these deeply touching stories about widowers who get a second chance at love.
So this February, come in from the cold and warm your heart and spirit with one of these temperature-raising books from Silhouette Romance. Don’t forget the marshmallows!
Happy reading!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
A Shocking Request
Colleen Faulkner
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Donna Clayton.
Thanks for being so willing to slide over on the bench.
You’re a true friend.
COLLEEN FAULKNER
had romance writing encrypted in her genetic code. Her mother, Judith E. French, is also a bestselling historical romance author. Whether through genes or simply karma, Colleen began her writing career early. She published her first historical romance at the tender age of twenty-four. Since then she has sold twenty-three historical romance novels, five contemporary romances and six novellas.
Colleen resides in southern Delaware with her husband of twenty years, the couple’s four children, a Bernese mountain dog named Duncan and a Siamese cat named Xena. When she’s not writing, Colleen enjoys playing racquetball and volleyball, coaching girls’ softball and coed soccer and, of course, reading.
Dear Reader,
I can’t tell you how excited I am to be publishing my first Silhouette Romance novel. In the last fifteen years, I’ve written two dozen historical romances, so writing a modern-day love story was quite a challenge. In writing A Shocking Request, if there’s one thing I learned, it’s that romance and love are the same no matter where in time they take place.
A Shocking Request came about when a group of friends and I were talking over coffee about our families and what we would do if we discovered we were dying. All of us realized we would be concerned not just for our children, but for our husbands, too. We all agreed that, out of love, we would want to give our spouses permission to date, fall in love and marry again. Laughing, we agreed we would like to pick out the perfect woman to mother our children and love the man we loved. Some may think that A Shocking Request is a sad story, but it’s not. It’s a story of joy. It’s the story of a man and woman who find love after great loss and proves to us once again that love really can conquer all.
Contents
Chapter One (#u28d14ca9-e4db-5d02-afec-5b72ddabfc98)
Chapter Two (#u3d95d651-6d6a-55fc-99bb-7823f881a7ee)
Chapter Three (#u1556e983-990d-55aa-a671-c08603674bdd)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“Happy anniversary, Happy anniversary, Happy anniversary…Happy…Happy…Happy,” Grant sang aloud to himself. He had no idea when he had heard the tune, but knew it was from a Flintstones cartoon. He tapped his foot as he waited for the noodles to boil and when they were done, he drained them in the sink. A little milk, a little margarine, that yellow packet of powder that was supposed to be cheese, and voilà, he had an anniversary dinner fit for a…
Fit for a widower on his wedding anniversary, he thought as he dumped the entire pot of macaroni and cheese into a big chili bowl. He grabbed a spoon and the glass of Chardonnay he had poured himself and carried it into the den, shutting off the lights behind him. In the dark, Grant set down his feast and picked up the videotape he had left on his chair.
“Watch two years after I’ve been gone,” it read in his wife’s neat, floral handwriting. Ally had made a whole box of these tapes, “just in case.” Most of them were for their daughters. Each tape was labeled with the child’s name and the occasion for which she was to watch it. The next tape in the box was for Hannah’s sixteenth birthday, which was four months away.
It was another two weeks until the anniversary of Ally’s death, but Grant thought it would be okay if he watched a little early. It was their wedding anniversary today, and he thought he deserved it. He popped the tape into the VCR and turned on the TV.
Grant sat in his favorite chair, the one Ally had reupholstered for him in green-and-blue plaid for Father’s Day three years ago. He hit Play on the remote and sat back to watch the TV in the darkness as he ate his mac and cheese and drank his wine.
The screen filled with light and Grant couldn’t resist a bittersweet smile. He had come to terms with his wife’s death, but seeing her like this still made him sad…and happy at the same time.
There she was, his Ally, sitting right here in this very chair. Her knees were drawn up and she was barefoot, wearing shorts and a tee. She wore a ball cap to cover her baldness from the chemo, but she looked great. She didn’t look like a woman who was dying of breast cancer that had metastasized throughout her body.
“Hi ya, Grant,” she said smiling.
“Hi ya,” he whispered setting the bowl of macaroni and cheese down. He couldn’t resist smiling back.
“Well, I guess if you’re watching this tape, I’ve been gone two years.” She met his gaze, and he could almost feel her in the room. “Because I know you,” she said wagging her finger at him. “And you would never cheat. You would never break the seal on this tape until you were supposed to.”
“That’s what you think,” he said under his breath. “Two weeks early, so there.” He felt a silly impulse to stick his tongue out at her.
“Anyway,” she said, almost as if she was conversing with him, hearing him reply. “I hope you’re doing okay. I hope the girls are happy, healthy.”
“They’re fine,” he said softly, unable to take his gaze off her. She had been so beautiful, his Ally, with her blond hair, practical short pixie haircut and hazel eyes. After the cancer and the mastectomies, she had worried that he would no longer think she was beautiful, but that hadn’t been true. He had loved her, loved her body, right until the moment she drew her last breath. Even now…
“The reason I made this tape is that I’ve been worrying about you, Grant,” she continued. “I don’t mean that I’m worried about whether or not you’re taking care of the girls. I know how capable you are. You’ve got the laundry done.” She began to count off on her fingers.
“Folded and placed in baskets labeled with each girl’s name,” he murmured.
“You’ve probably got homemade meals in the freezer, labeled and everything.” Ally laughed.
He laughed, too. Ally knew him so well. Last night they had eaten spaghetti and meatballs. The sauce had come from the freezer in a disposable container with the date labeled in permanent marker.
“You’ve probably got the garage cleaned out, the rugs vacuumed. The girls’ rooms are probably neater than a pin—even Hannah’s—and I know what an accomplishment that is.”
Grant slid up in his chair drawing closer to the TV, as if somehow he could be closer to Ally. He missed her so much.
“And I know you still drop off the dry cleaning every Monday and pick it up on Wednesday on the way home from Becka’s violin practice.”
“Thursday,” he said. “Mrs. Jargo had to change the lesson to Thursdays because she has her hair done on Wednesdays now.”
“And I know the girls’ homework is done on time, birthday gifts for parties are bought and wrapped and ready to go on the right day. I even know you probably got Jenna to make Halloween costumes.” Again, that warm smile, that smile that seemed to envelop him like one of her hugs. He felt a tightness in his chest. He missed her hugs.
“But…” she continued as she pointed at him, “that’s not what I’ve been worried about. I’ve been worried that you aren’t taking care of yourself. Sure, I know, you get your hair cut every three weeks, your teeth cleaned every six months and you always iron your shirts on Sunday nights while you have family movie night. But what about you, sweetie? You’ve got to be lonely.” She paused. “And I know you don’t know what to do about it.”
Grant held his breath, wondering where she was going with this.
“So I have a plan,” Ally said, perking up. “And I know you’ll go for it because I know how much you like plans. How much you need plans.”
Grant shifted in his chair. A plan? She had a plan for what?
“The reason I didn’t tell you this before…when I was still here, was because I knew you wouldn’t listen to me. You wouldn’t be able to deal with it. But now time has passed, sweetie. I’ve been gone two years and it’s time for you to move on with your life. You deserve to be happy.”
Grant didn’t like the sound of this. A part of him wanted to hit Rewind on the remote and just watch the beginning of the tape again. But he couldn’t help himself. He had to hear what Ally had to say now.
“I think it’s time you start dating,” she said looking him right in the eyes.
He jerked back in the chair.
She put up one hand. “I know, I know. You can never love anyone like you loved me. You don’t want anyone else. Don’t need anyone else. Well, I’ve got news for you, Grant. We all need someone. And if the roles were reversed right now, if I was sitting in that plaid chair listening to you say these words, I might not like it.” She paused. “But I would know you were right.”
Grant just sat there, staring at the screen. Never in a million years had he expected this.
Ally wanted him to date other women? He couldn’t believe she was saying these things, couldn’t believe she would leave a tape to tell him this. But that was his Ally, all right. She was a planner just like him.
“Now,” she continued. “I know this is going to be hard. Hard for you, hard for the girls. But give it a chance.”
“Date?” Grant mumbled. “Who would I date? Who wants a man who lives on a principal’s salary with three girls?”
“I know, I know,” she said almost simultaneously with his thought. “Who would date you, a teacher with three girls?”
“A principal,” he told Ally proudly. “I got the principal’s job last year when George moved to Maine.”
“So…” Ally said carefully. “I’ve thought this out. I know you’re going to sit around for weeks saying no one would date you. Saying you wouldn’t know who to ask if you wanted to go on a date. I’ve got that planned out, too.”
She stretched out her thin legs, and leaned forward in the chair. “Jenna,” she said softly. “I want you to date Jenna. And, Grant, I think you’ll fall in love with her.” This time it was Ally’s smile that was bittersweet. “I think you’ll fall in love with her and marry her. I want you to marry her.”
Grant grabbed the remote control, certain he had not heard right. Jenna? Ally’s best friend, Jenna? Ally wanted him to go out with Jenna? Had she really said marry?
He fumbled with the remote. Hit Pause, cursed under his breath because he never cursed aloud, and then finally found Rewind. He rewound the tape a little.
“Jenna,” she said again. “I want you to date Jenna—”
He had heard correctly.
“…I think you’ll fall in love with her and marry her. I want you to marry her.”
Grant started to hit Rewind again when he heard the back door open. He glanced up at the clock on the built-in bookshelves beside the TV. It was eight o’clock. Almost bedtime for the girls.
He heard five-year-old Maddy’s sweet little voice, and he clicked the VCR off, then the power to the TV.
“Dad? Dad you here?” came his eleven-year-old Becka’s voice.
He could hear light switches clicking on. Light from the kitchen suddenly poured into the hallway, reaching the den.
Grant got to his feet, torn between what Ally had said on the tape and his daughter’s voice. “Here. I’m in here.” He gripped the molding around the doorway as he stepped into the hall.
“Daddy!” Maddy ran into his arms. “Jenna got me another roll of gauze. You know I need gauze to wraps legs and stuff.”
Grant gave pigtailed Maddy a big hug. She smelled of chocolate syrup and baby shampoo. He still used it on her hair because it didn’t sting her eyes. Maddy wanted to be a vet when she grew up and she was always caring for patients, animate and inanimate. Every stuffed animal in the house had yards of gauze, tape, even toilet paper, wrapped around arms, legs and heads. His oldest daughter, Hannah, said it freaked her out to go into Maddy and Becka’s room at night and see all of the animal mummies.
“Hey, Dad, Jenna found me some knee socks to match my uniform,” Becka said, dropping a department store bag on the kitchen table.
“Hey ya, Dad.” Hannah walked into the kitchen through the back door.
Last in the door was Jenna. Grant had seen Jenna a thousand times, maybe a million. They had been friends since their freshman year of college. Jenna had introduced Ally to him at a football tailgate party. But suddenly he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Jenna was nothing like petite, blond Ally. Jenna was tall with long red hair that Ally had always said was strawberry blond. She wasn’t heavy, but she wasn’t thin either. Curvy, that was a good word. Jenna was curvy with hips and breasts. Ally had always had a very athletic build, even after bearing and breastfeeding three children.
Jenna’s eyes were green. Green with brown speckles. Her face was freckled and her mouth was…well it was sensuous, full pink lips, a tongue that darted when she spoke fast. And it seemed that Jenna was always talking fast.
“Hi,” she called from the doorway, carrying in more bags. “Sorry we didn’t get in sooner, but Becka needed the socks, Maddy wanted the four-inch gauze, not the two-inch, so we had to go to three drugstores and—”
“It was my fault, Dad.” Hannah walked past him, giving him a peck on the cheek as she went by. “I wanted that new Chili Peppers CD and Jenna ran me all over town looking for it.” She stopped in the hallway. “I’m going up to finish my homework. ’Night, Dad. ’Night, Jenna, thanks.”
Becka rummaged through the bags Jenna was laying on the table, grabbed two, heaved her backpack onto her shoulder again, and walked by him. “Homework’s done, ’night, Dad. ’Night, Jenna. Thanks for the cool stuff.” She waited in the kitchen doorway. “Come on, Maddy. It’s jammy time if you want Daddy to read the next chapter of Harry Potter.”
“Harry Potter,” Maddy said, a bandaged moose tucked under her armpit. “I love Harry. I’m going to marry him.”
“You can’t marry him,” Becka said leading her sister down the hall. “It’s like Dad. You can’t marry your father, and you can’t marry a make-believe person in a make-believe book.”
Grant lifted his gaze to look at Jenna as he realized they were the only two left in the room. She was opening the refrigerator. “I stopped and got milk because Hannah thought you were low.” She slid the gallon of skim milk onto a shelf and closed the door. She was wearing a dark purple raincoat over a sweater, long, flowered skirt and boots. Her hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, but little wisps had escaped the rubber band to curl around her face. For some reason, those curly wisps suddenly fascinated him.
Jenna met Grant’s gaze. “You okay?” she said softly.
He glanced at the floor feeling silly. “I’m okay.”
“You sure, because I know…” She took a breath and then went on. “I know it’s your anniversary. That was why I thought tonight might be a good night to get this shopping over with.” She started for the door.
He walked toward the door to see her out, Ally’s words tumbling in his head.
Date Jenna? Ally wanted him to date Jenna. She wanted him to marry her.
She opened the door. “Well, if you don’t need anything else, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
He shook his head. “I mean, no, I don’t need anything else. Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He offered a sheepish smile, having no clue what he was thinking or why he felt such confusion.
“’Night,” Jenna said.
“Good night,” he called.
Grant locked the back door, flipped off the lights again, and went upstairs to tuck his two youngest girls into bed. He read the next chapter of the fourth book in the Harry Potter series and then kissed his girls good-night. As he passed Hannah’s closed door, he called, “Good night.”
“’Night, Dad.”
Downstairs, Grant went to the dark den again. Light from the hallway illuminated the table beside his chair and the cold macaroni and cheese. He sat down and took a sip of the wine. He stared at the dark TV screen.
Ally wanted him to marry Jenna? The thought was ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous. It was preposterous.
And then he thought of what else she had said. About him, about the way he was living.
He was lonely. He hated to admit it, but Ally was right. He was lonely and he missed his wife in a million ways, but mostly he just missed her being here. He thought that his job and his daughters would be enough to make him happy or at least content, but they weren’t. He’d known that for months now. Something was missing from his life. Someone.
Grant didn’t know how long he’d sat in the dark staring at the TV when he heard footsteps on the staircase.
“Dad?” Hannah called.
“In here.”
She stuck her head in the doorway. Hannah was pretty like her mother with silky blond hair she wore pulled back in a short ponytail and hazel eyes that sparkled when she laughed. “You sitting in the dark again?” she grumbled.
He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
“Thinking about Mom?” she said in a quieter tone. “I know. I was thinking about her today, too. It was your anniversary.”
Grant was touched that she remembered. “I miss her,” he said, realizing that he didn’t feel the same sadness he had once felt when he talked about Ally. It seemed that what people said was true. Most of the pain and sadness had passed. Now there were just a lot of memories in his head that made him smile.
Hannah leaned in the doorway. “Me, too.” She glanced up. “But you know, Dad, she’s been gone two years. You think maybe it’s time you stop sitting in the dark by yourself at night, pretending she’s here.”
He got up and walked into the hallway, through to the kitchen. She followed him. “I don’t pretend she’s here,” he said. “I just like the quiet.”
“Well, whatever.”
She hung in the kitchen doorway, and he wondered what was with teens and doorways. Hannah could never just walk into a room; she always had to stand in the doorway, as if she feared she might have to make a quick escape. What would he do when Becka turned thirteen? Would his two daughters share doorways or would they have to have their own?
Grant reached into the refrigerator and pulled out the gallon of milk Jenna had brought. He’d have to remember to include this in the reimbursement for all of the other things she’d gotten for the girls tonight. She’d been doing these things since before Ally’s death, when Ally had gotten too weak to take the children out. Once in a while, Jenna would just herd them all into her car and head for a mall, or a movie, or something. It was a nice break for him, and the girls loved her.
“So what I was saying, Dad…”
He poured himself a glass of milk, not sure he wanted to hear what Hannah had to say, but listening anyway. He knew parents who would give their eyeteeth for their teenaged daughters to voluntarily offer their opinions on anything. To be able to have conversations with them that didn’t involve shouting or accusations. But something told him that the direction Hannah was headed with this conversation wasn’t somewhere he was ready to go yet.
“I think you should think about dating.”
Grant knew he must have stood frozen for a moment because the glass almost overflowed with milk. He caught himself and capped the gallon container. So that was where she was headed. “Date? Me?” He laughed.
“Yes, you. Why not?” She lifted one shoulder draped in a thick sweater. “I don’t know, Dad, you’re still cute in a geeky kind of way.”
He put the milk back into the fridge with a smile. “Well, thank you.”
She exhaled. “You know what I mean. In a dad way.”
He grabbed his glass of milk and leaned against the counter. “Hannah. Look at me. I am a geeky kind of guy. I’m not rich. I’m the principal of a school, for heaven’s sake, and I’ve got three daughters to raise. Who in her right mind would want to go out with me?” He lifted his glass to take a drink.
Again, she raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know. How about Aunt Jenna?”
She said it just as he took a big swallow of milk. He choked, snorted and thought maybe he had inhaled some milk.
“Dad? You okay?”
He choked again and tried to suck in a lung full of air. “Okay…I’m fine,” he managed.
She laughed. “Careful there. Milk consumption can be a dangerous thing.”
You’re not kidding, he thought, grabbing a napkin out of the holder on the counter to wipe his mouth. He couldn’t believe Hannah had suggested he date Jenna. Was this some kind of conspiracy between her and Ally? He knew it couldn’t be and yet…
“Well, I’m headed for bed,” Hannah said interrupting his thoughts. “Geometry test tomorrow, first period.”
“You study?” he called after her as she disappeared into the hall. He was a principal now, but he had been a teacher first. Once a teacher, always a teacher.
“Yes, Dad,” she called. “’Night, Dad.”
“’Night, hon.”
Grant finished his milk, rinsed out the glass and placed it in the dishwasher. Then he poured some soap in and hit Wash as he did every night before he went to bed. He turned out the kitchen light, headed for bed, then veered into the study as he realized he had left Ally’s tape in the VCR. He wouldn’t want one of the kids to find it. He meant to retrieve the tape, but when he got into the den, he had to watch it again. And again. It ended shortly after the marrying Jenna part. Ally just said that she loved him and that she couldn’t have picked a better person to love him and their girls than Jenna.
Grant always went to bed by eleven. He brushed his teeth, folded his clothes and put on a pair of boxers before climbing into bed. But for the first time in his life, he fell asleep in front of the TV.
He fell asleep thinking of Jenna.
Chapter Two
Lights flickered on upstairs in Becka and Maddy’s bedroom in the front of the cape cod as Jenna backed her Honda out of Grant’s driveway and onto the street. “’Night sweeties,” she murmured. “Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.” She chuckled. “Don’t let the weird dad bite is more like it.”
Jenna knew it was Grant’s and Ally’s wedding anniversary today. She knew they would have been married sixteen years if it hadn’t been for Ally’s death from breast cancer. That was why she had taken the girls with her after school and done the dinner out and shopping thing. To give Grant a chance to be alone. Cry a little if he wanted to. The man certainly had the right.
She had expected him to be out of sorts at the very least when she brought the girls home, but what she had not expected was for him to be acting so strangely. What was with him tonight? Why had he looked at her in such an odd way?
Jenna crossed Route One, the main road through the southern Delaware beach communities and headed for her small neighborhood on the ocean side. Her two-bedroom cottage, left to her by her grandmother, was only four blocks from the beach. Over the years, real estate agents had tried again and again to get her to sell, or at least turn the house into a rental during the summer months. Houses like hers brought in an incredible amount of money June through August, she was told. But Jenna wasn’t interested in money. She was interested in having a comfortable home to live in and providing a safe, happy environment for her sister, Amy.
Jenna turned onto her own street. The sky had grown dark, but the streetlamps illuminated the sidewalks and the small, older homes that lined both sides of the street. Seashell Drive was one of the streets that consisted mostly of year-round residents. Here, everyone knew their neighbors and no one had to worry about late-night partying next door in the summer. It was a nice place to live.
Jenna pulled into her driveway and grabbed her soft leather backpack that served as a purse as well as her book bag. She had some work to do for the kindergarten class she taught. She, Ally and Grant had all started at the Starfish Academy as teachers, then Ally had gotten sick and had to give up her job. Last year, Grant had been named principal when their principal had taken a job elsewhere. Jenna loved her job. She loved the school. She loved her students. And having Maddy Monroe this year just made it all the better.
Jenna let herself into the house with her key and flipped on the living room lights. The cottage was small with just a living room that also served as the dining room, a small galley kitchen, two bedrooms, a bath and a laundry/mudroom. What made the house, though, was the back porch, which her grandfather had closed in with glass panels. Even in the middle of the winter, it was warm and cozy on the sunporch, and plants thrived there as if living in a greenhouse. Beyond the porch, in the backyard, was a well-groomed garden of flowering plants, stone paths and dribbling water fountains that was Jenna’s pride and joy. Even now, in September, when the days were growing short, the garden was alive with late-flowering plants, fresh herbs and even a tiny patch of peas.
Jenna tossed her backpack onto the couch and went back out the front door. At the house next to hers, she tapped on the door and walked in, knowing she was expected. She could hear the TV going and the sound of a familiar newscaster’s voice as he reported on unrest in the Middle East.
“Your turn,” Jenna heard eighty-three-year-old Mrs. Cannon say. “One more roll.”
“But I haf to go. Bedtime,” Amy answered.
Jenna and Mrs. Cannon had no trouble understanding Jenna’s twenty-six-year-old sister, but she knew there were others who did. Amy’s speech was gruff and halting, but it just took a little patience to follow what she was saying. Amy, born with Down’s syndrome, was mentally handicapped and had been Jenna’s responsibility since their mother died just after Jenna received her teaching degree from the University of Delaware.
“Jenna?” Amy looked up, bright-eyed and happy to see her sister when she walked into the living room. Amy and Mrs. Cannon were playing Yahtzee on the coffee table in front of the couch. The TV was on in the background, the sound of guns going off, low but audible, but no one seemed to be paying attention to the news show.
“I won. I won,” Amy said, awkwardly waving her score sheet at Jenna. “Look, Jenna, I won the game.” She beamed at her partner. “Mrs. Cannon says I’m a good Yahtzee player.”
The gray-haired woman began to clean up the game. “You’re the best I’ve seen,” she said, obviously genuinely pleased to have Amy there.
It was an arrangement that seemed a gift from God to Jenna. Mrs. Cannon no longer drove and spent most of her time home alone, so she loved having Amy for company. And Jenna was fortunate to have Mrs. Cannon here to keep an eye on Amy whenever she needed her.
“You ready to go home?” Jenna asked her sister. “It’s almost nine and I have homework to do.”
“And I haf to take a shower,” Amy told Mrs. Cannon, rolling her eyes. “Work tomorrow.”
Jenna smiled. Amy worked at the Starfish Academy, too, as an assistant custodian. Her sister loved the job and enjoyed getting up every morning to go to it. Hiring Amy had been a brilliant move on Grant’s part. Before her job at the school, Amy had been working at a shop that employed many mentally handicapped adults, but Amy had been bored there and hadn’t liked it.
At the Starfish Academy she could easily handle the work that mostly included sweeping floors, refilling paper products throughout the school and picking up the grounds. Not only did she like the fact that she was good at her job, but she loved the excitement of being there with the children. Everyone loved Amy at the Academy, and they made her feel as if she were a part of something. With no family left except a brother who lived in Oregon, Jenna and Amy’s family included the children and staff of the school.
“Thanks for having her over,” Jenna said, always careful not to imply that Amy needed to be taken care of. Amy had become very sensitive lately to her own independence.
“You know I love Amy’s company.” Mrs. Cannon slowly rose from the couch as Amy popped up off the floor. “Having her sweet face around keeps me young.”
“We can let ourselves out,” Jenna said, giving the elderly woman a peck on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” Amy said, giving Mrs. Cannon a sloppy kiss on her other cheek.
Mrs. Cannon smiled. “Good night, dearies. Lock the door behind you.”
“We will.” Jenna ushered Amy out the door, turned the lock, and pulled it soundly shut behind her.
Amy ran across the yard, leaping over a small azalea bush. “Cold out here.”
Jenna followed Amy across the yard. “Not cold, but chilly. It’s late September.” She pointed to the oak and maple trees that lined the street. “You see, the leaves are beginning to fall. Autumn is coming.”
“And we can cut pumpkins,” Amy said happily, clapping her hands.
“That’s right, and we’ll go to the orchard and pick apples and make applesauce.” She opened the door for Amy.
“And Halloween,” Amy squealed.
“And Halloween.”
“And we can get dressed up like ghosties and tell everyone ‘Boo.”’ Amy’s eyes were wide with the same excitement that Becka and Maddy had when speaking of Halloween, but that was okay because it was Jenna’s favorite holiday, too.
Jenna closed the front door behind them and clicked the dead bolt in place. “Go get your shower and hop into bed.”
“Will you read?”
Jenna glanced at her wristwatch. “Amy, it’s late.”
“Please?” Amy clutched her hands together. “Please, Jenna please. I’ll wash real quick.”
“Okay, but a real shower, Amy, with soap and shampoo. I’m serious.”
“All right.” Amy stomped off toward the bathroom. “I’ll be right back quick.”
Jenna reached for her backpack to take it to the dining room table where she would cut out apples and stems and worms from paper for her students for tomorrow. “Then just a short book.”
“Inside, Outside, Upside Down,” Amy chanted as she danced down the hallway, her short bobbed haircut swinging.
“Not that book again,” Jenna groaned. Amy loved the Berenstain Bears. “We read that one last night,” she called after her sister who had slipped into the bathroom. But of course, Jenna would read it again. She would do anything for Amy.
While she waited for Amy to finish in the bathroom, Jenna went to the dark kitchen to put on the kettle to make a cup of tea. As she leaned against the counter, she saw in her mind’s eye an image of Grant leaning against his counter tonight, looking at her. He’d had the oddest expression on his face, as if she were a stranger he had just met.
The teakettle whistled and Jenna shrugged as she turned to fill her teapot with boiling water. Men.
“Good morning, Catherine,” Jenna said cheerfully as she walked into the main office of the Starfish Academy the next morning.
“’Morning, Miss Cartwright.”
Jenna smiled as she passed Catherine’s desk on her way to the copy machine. Here at the Academy, every-thing was very informal between the teachers and administrators. Everyone on the staff called everyone else by their first name, even their principal, Grant. Everyone except Catherine Oberton who insisted on using the same titles the children used. She had been Grant’s secretary for more than a year, had known him for almost four, and still called him Dr. Monroe.
Jenna had punched her personal identification number and hit Print to make fifteen copies for her students as Grant came in from a rear door that led to the teachers’ workroom. There was a copier in there, too, but Katie McAllen was hogging it. She hogged it every morning.
“Good morning,” Jenna said to Grant.
He halted and looked at her with a deer-in-the-headlights stare. It was so funny that Jenna almost laughed.
“Grant?” she said. “You okay?”
He ran his hand down his red tie. Grant always wore a red tie, but this one had tiny flowers on it. “Fine, great.” He nearly tripped as he turned to pass her in the small room and the toe of his shoe caught on the corner of a box of paper. Jenna put out her hands to catch him—as if all one hundred and forty pounds of her was going to catch all one hundred and ninety pounds of six-foot-one Grant.
“Easy there,” she laughed, releasing her grip on his arm.
Grant’s face reddened. “Sorry. Excuse me.” He turned again to pass her, and this time made it successfully through the gauntlet.
Jenna turned to watch him retreat. What was going on with him? He was always so in control. Grant Monroe did not trip on boxes of paper. He never had a hair out of place. The man was a deity.
Grant walked into his glass-walled office, and Jenna turned back to the copier that was trying to eat her original. She punched Print again. She had to finish up and get to class. She could already see uniformed cherubs in blue and green kilts and white shirts with navy ties hurrying down the hall to make it to their rooms before the late bell rang.
Jenna walked through the main office and glanced at Grant. He was sitting at his desk, but his door was open. She walked behind Catherine’s desk and stuck her head in Grant’s office.
“You okay?”
He glanced up and his pen slid across the page, dissecting some school form that Jenna guessed did not need to be dissected with a black line. “Fine.”
“The girls okay?” she said slowly, watching him.
“Fine. Great.”
She didn’t believe him, but she had to get to class and she didn’t have time for twenty questions. “Okay then,” she said suspiciously. “Let me know if you or the girls need something.”
He had righted his pen and gone back to filling out the form, ignoring the black line that now cut the page into two nice triangles. “Sure thing,” he said, not looking up.
Jenna thought it was odd that he didn’t make eye contact with her. They had always been good friends, and after Ally died, they had seemed to grow closer. Grant wasn’t the kind of guy to cry on a friend’s shoulder or reveal his deepest, darkest fears, but he knew he could depend on her.
Jenna glanced over her shoulder as she exited the main office into the hallway, and caught him watching her….
As Jenna walked out of the front office, it was all Grant could do to keep himself from lowering his head to his desk and pounding his forehead on it. He couldn’t believe he had tripped over that box in the copy room while gawking at Jenna. He couldn’t believe he’d let her startle him like that. He balled up the form he had been filling out, tossed it into the waste can beside his desk and grabbed another from a file in the drawer to his left.
Grant hadn’t slept well last night in the chair in the den. His entire night had been riddled by strange dreams—Ally and Jenna on the beach calling him. Ally sitting beside him in front of the bonfire he had built for them. An anniversary celebration. But, when he had turned to her to offer a glass of celebratory wine, it had been Jenna beside him. The dream had been so real that he could still feel her warmth at his side. He could still smell that slightly flowery-musky fragrance she wore that permeated everything around her, her car, her house and even her classroom.
The dream had made him feel badly. Not so much because Ally was gone, but because he was dreaming of another woman. Never in all of the years of marriage to Ally had he dreamed of being with another woman and it scared him. He and Jenna had done nothing in his dream, but there had been feelings between them. Desires.
His face growing warm, he jumped up from his desk. The late bell had just rung. It would be time to do the morning announcements in a minute, he thought, pushing aside thoughts of Jenna and the smell of her.
“The morning announcements,” Catherine, his secretary said, appearing at his side out of nowhere.
Grant glanced at Catherine with her tight chignon and wire-frame glasses. She was wearing a slim, dark skirt that fell well below her knees and a white blouse that tied in a big bow beneath her chin. It looked like something his grandmother wore. Though Catherine was the age he was, she always seemed much older to him. She would have fit perfectly with Grandma Cora’s generation, had it not been for her flirtatious manner.
“Thanks, Catherine. Have you got those attendance numbers I need?”
She batted her lashes. The gesture was so overt it was almost funny. Almost. “Putting them on your desk, Dr. Monroe.” She used the title, as if he were a world-famous heart surgeon who had gone to medical school for a zillion years rather than a guy who had gone to a local university at night to get his doctorate in education administration, while balancing a teaching job, a family and a new baby in the household.
Grant read the morning announcements over the intercom as he always did, ending with a quote from someone famous. Sometimes the quotes were serious, sometimes they were funny. Sometimes they applied directly to the pursuit of knowledge, and sometimes they applied to life in general, but everyone seemed to appreciate them.
The announcements over, Grant left the front office and Catherine’s adoring eyes to walk the halls as he did each morning. The remainder of the day was spent tending to his duties and thinking about what Ally had said about dating Jenna. Attending a parent-teacher conference and thinking about Jenna. Sitting at his desk pretending to be diligently at work, while thinking about Jenna.
It was three o’clock and the school day was almost over when he strode out of his office, having no real purpose whatsoever except to change the scenery. Maybe if he took a walk, he could get Jenna out of his mind. Get what Ally had said out of his head. All day he’d heard his dead wife’s voice in the back of his head like a never-ending audiotape.
Date Jenna. I think you’ll fall in love with her and marry her…fall in love and marry her.
The idea was utterly absurd, Grant knew that. The trouble was that at the end of the videotape, Ally had made him promise he would give it a try. She had asked him to promise her that he would at least try one date. When he’d heard Ally’s words, he had had no intentions of making any promises, verbally or otherwise. But the second time he watched the tape after the girls went to bed, the promise had just popped out of his mouth. Without thinking, he had said, “I promise.”
So, a promise was a promise. Obviously, that’s what the dreams were all about. That was why he couldn’t stop thinking about Jenna. Because he had promised his wife. The logical answer to the problem was to ask Jenna out, have a nice evening and then go back to his den and tell his dead wife face-to-face that there was nothing between him and Jenna but friendship. No spark. Ally understood “the spark.”
Grant found himself passing the nurse’s office, passing the library headed straight for the kindergarten and first-grade wing. Headed straight for Jenna’s classroom as if she were a magnet.
He rounded the corner, and nearly fell over Jenna, who was on her hands and knees on the floor of the hall, lining up wet paintings of what appeared to be apples…or maybe roundish fire engines.
Grant made a noise in his throat, caught off guard. He had almost stepped on her.
“Whoa,” she cried, glancing up, smiling. Jenna was always smiling.
“What are you doing?” He slipped his hands into his pants pockets, not because he wanted them there, but because he couldn’t think of anything else to do with them. Suddenly his arms were long, gangly appendages that seemed to serve no purpose but to make him look and feel awkward in Jenna’s presence.
She began to crawl along the floor, spreading out the paintings along the wall. “We were doing watercolor painting this afternoon. Nice huh?”
He glanced over her shoulder. “Nice.”
“Hey, I called about that software again, but I’m not getting anywhere. The guy said teachers can’t place the orders, only ‘the brass.”’ She glanced up at him. “Think you’re considered the brass?”
Today, she wore her golden-red hair in a ponytail the way his girls often did. It was the best hairdo he could manage when Ally had first gotten sick. He had branched out to pigtails, doggy ears and doorknobs, though ponytails were still his best ’do. But somehow the ponytail didn’t look the same way on Jenna as it did on his girls. On Jenna, it was almost sexy.
He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Leave the number in my mailbox.”
“Great.” She scooted along the floor, sliding more paintings against the wall, her fingertips tinted with wet red paint.
Inside the classroom, Grant could hear the children lining up to be dismissed. He could hear Jenna’s assistant, Martha, giving last minute reminders. If Grant was going to get this over with, he was going to have to do it now. “Um…” he said.
She didn’t seem to hear him. “Amy has soccer tonight. We didn’t find those Cliffs Notes for Hannah, so if you want me to, I can track them down tonight. I have a few errands to run anyway.”
“Hannah should not be using Cliffs Notes. She needs to read The Crucible. I read The Crucible in high school; you read it,” he heard himself babble. He stopped short, and took a deep breath. “Jenna, you want to go out to dinner Friday night?”
She glanced up at him, a soggy red paper in her hand with a name that resembled Anthony scrawled across it. She didn’t hesitate. “Sure. That would be nice.”
Jenna smiled and Grant relaxed. Hadn’t been so bad after all.
“Great,” he said. “Meet me at seven at that little French place you like?” He didn’t have the nerve to pick her up. That would, after all, make it a real date, wouldn’t it? “You know…separate cars in case I have to run home,” he explained.
“Sure. Works for me.”
The door to Jenna’s classroom opened, and kindergartners spilled out. “Oops, better get to the buses,” she said, getting to her feet.
Jenna went one way with her fifteen kindergartners, including his Maddy, and Grant went the other way. Only this time, his hands were in his pockets because he wanted them there, and he was whistling. He couldn’t remember the last time he had whistled.
Chapter Three
“Daddy’s got a date,” Becka chanted from her perch on a stepping stool at the kitchen counter. She stirred the brownie mix rhythmically. “Daddy’s got a date. Daddy’s got a date,” she sang.
“I do not have a date.” Grant pulled the homemade chicken potpie out of the oven. He hadn’t made the crust himself; it was refrigerator dough. But he still made a pretty mean chicken potpie, if he did say so himself.
“Daddy’s got a date,” Maddy repeated from the kitchen table. She was busy making a splint for a stuffed cat’s tail. “What’s a date, Becka?”
“I do not have a date,” Grant repeated, pulling the corn muffins out of the oven.
“A date is when a man takes a woman to dinner or to a movie or something. Dad’s going on a date with Aunt Jenna.”
“I am having dinner with Aunt Jenna so we can talk in peace.” Grant shut off the oven and slipped the flowered hot mitts off his hands. Jenna was meeting him at the restaurant, but if he didn’t hurry, he was going to be late.
“Daddy’s got a date with Aunt Jenna,” Maddy sang, ministering to the stuffed tabby that rested on her dinner plate in front of her. “Daddy’s got a date with Aunt Jenna.”
“Be quiet both of you,” Hannah said, coming into the kitchen. She was munching on a handful of celery sticks. “You’re making Dad nervous. This is his first date.”
“Does no one in this house hear me? This is not a date.” Grant whipped off the red chef’s apron he always wore in the kitchen to protect his clothing and hung it on its hook in the broom closet. All he had to do was grab his suit jacket off the dining chair and he’d be ready to go.
He had considered changing clothes after work, perhaps into a polo shirt and khakis. Something casual. But that would suggest this was a date, wouldn’t it? And he didn’t want to give Jenna the wrong idea. This wasn’t really a date. It was just…he was just…fulfilling an obligation to his dead wife. That was all.
“Homework. Showers…” Grant began to tick off his mental list of reminders for Hannah who was baby-sitting tonight.
“No homework tonight, Dad,” Becka said. “It’s Friday.”
“Okay. But only an hour of TV,” Grant said looking at Hannah again. “No matter what these imps tell you.” He gave Becka a squeeze as he walked behind her. “And no matter what they try to bribe you with.”
Becka laughed and licked chocolate batter from her finger.
Grant leaned over Maddy to kiss the back of her head. “Bye, sweets. Be good for Hannah or I’ll tie you up by your socks when I get home.”
“Bye, Dada,” Maddy said sweetly. “I hope you have a good date with Aunt Jenna. Don’t kiss her too much.”
Hannah burst into laughter. Becka giggled.
Grant looked wide-eyed at his two older daughters as if to ask, “Where did she get that from?”
His girls just shrugged.
Grant shook his head. He wouldn’t ask, else he would certainly be late. He took a deep breath. His stomach was nervous and his forehead was slightly damp. This was a bad idea. Going out to dinner with Jenna was a bad idea and he knew it. He shouldn’t be out with a woman. He belonged here with his children. But it was too late. He ducked into the dining room, grabbed his gray suit jacket and headed through the kitchen. He would just have to go through the motions of the dinner. Try to be good company and get out of there as soon as was reasonably possible.
“See you later, girls. Lock the door behind me. I have my cell phone if you need me,” he said, checking to be sure it was on his belt.
“Have a good time. Be safe. No alcohol. No drugs. Use your head. And call me if you need me to come get you, no questions asked,” Hannah said, repeating the same thing Grant always told her before she went out the door. “Love you!”
“Love you, girls.” The words stuck in his dry throat as he went out through the laundry room into the garage. Inside his Explorer, he laid his jacket on the seat so that it wouldn’t get wrinkled. Before he backed out of the garage, he took a tissue from the box between the two front seats and wiped his brow. As he wiped it, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror.
Criminy, what was going on? Why was he so nervous? He looked petrified. He tucked the tissue into the garbage bag that hung behind the passenger seat and backed out of the garage and down the driveway.
It was just dinner with Jenna. Good old buddy Jenna. Jenna who he’d been friends with for a million years. Jenna who had been at his wedding. Been at the hospital for all his daughters’ births. Jenna who had stuck by him when Ally had gotten sick.
He was nervous because it wasn’t just dinner, no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise. It was a date, and he hadn’t been on a real date in twenty years. He was nervous because he was scared to death.
Jenna parked her car on the street and walked up the sidewalk to wait for Grant in front of the small French bistro just off Main Street. She was looking forward to dinner because the restaurant was so popular during the tourist months that no locals ever attempted to get in until the crowds thinned. She hadn’t eaten here since spring and it was one of her favorite restaurants.
She spotted Grant’s dark-blue SUV approaching up the street. She waved and checked her watch. Two minutes until seven. She smiled to herself. It wasn’t like her to actually be on time, but it was just like Grant to be early.
She waited on the sidewalk for him to get out of his car, lock the door, then check to be sure it was locked—just as she knew he would. She pressed her hand to her stomach. She had butterflies.
Dinner with Grant was giving her butterflies?
She couldn’t fathom why. She and Grant had shared hundreds of dinners together, before he and Ally had married, after the wedding, after Ally died.
But this dinner was different, and not just because he had asked her out to a restaurant rather than having her over to the house. It was something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Grant hadn’t acted like himself this week. Ever since the evening of his anniversary, he’d been acting oddly and it was somehow related to her.
“Hi,” he said, walking up the sidewalk, GQ handsome in his conservative gray suit, white shirt and red tie.
“Hi.” She smiled. She had changed from her school “uniform” of a long flowered skirt and blouse into a dress. After she had changed her clothes, she had wondered if that was mistake. Would Grant think she thought this was a date? Women only change after work for dates. They didn’t change for “just dinner with a friend.” In the end, she had left the dress on simply because she liked the green-and-blue floral pattern and the way the fabric felt on her skin.
“How are you?” Grant said, sounding awkward. He leaned over her and she turned her cheek for the perfunctory hello kiss. It had been a tradition between them for years and yet suddenly it seemed different. She felt her cheeks grow warm as he kissed her.
He was wearing cologne. She liked the scent that was musky, but not overwhelming. He normally only put cologne on after he showered in the morning. What was the cologne for? Her?
“Do we have reservations?” she asked as he opened the door for her.
“For seven, on the porch.”
She smiled. Of course they had reservations. Grant Monroe would never forget dinner reservations. Now she would forget reservations. She would show up fifteen minutes late because the cat got out. She would forget her purse. But not Grant. She had always admired his organizational skills. She had always told Ally that she could never live with the man, that he would drive her nuts, but she did admire him.
The hostess showed them to a table for two on the closed-in porch. There were fresh flowers on the linen-covered table and a candle. Grant pulled out Jenna’s chair for her and then took his seat across from her.
Jenna accepted the menu from the hostess and smiled up at her. “Thanks.”
“Your waitperson will be with you in a moment,” the hostess said, backing away.
“So,” Grant said, opening his menu.
“So,” Jenna repeated. Then she peered at him from behind the menu like a kid pretending to be an adult. He was looking at her, too. She laughed. “This feels weird,” she said.
He got a strange look on his face. “Bad weird? I didn’t mean for you to feel uncomfortable. We could have gone somewhere else.”
She laughed. Grant was nervous! She was amused, and oddly touched at the same time. And more than a little curious. Definitely curious. He had never been nervous around her before. What on earth was going on inside that organized head of his? What was he up to? Why had he asked her out to dinner? Jenna wanted to just ask him, but knew better. Grant, like most men, was not good at expressing his feelings. She knew him well enough to know she’d just have to be patient.
Jenna smiled and went back to looking at the menu. “So were the girls upset about you leaving?”
“Nah,” he pshawed. “They were going to have my chicken potpie for dinner and then watch as much TV as they can squeeze in before they spot my headlights coming up the driveway.”
“Mmm, I love your potpie, too. And Goosebumps is on the Nickelodeon channel tonight. I don’t blame them for being tickled.”
The waitress came to the table, introduced herself and poured water into their glasses. “Would you care for a cocktail?”
Jenna glanced over the menu at Grant questioningly.
“Go ahead. You can have anything you want,” he said.
She made a face. “Of course I can have anything I want. I’m over twenty-one and I have the wrinkles to prove it. My question is, what are you having?”
“I don’t know.” He lifted one broad shoulder.
“Well, do you want a beer? Wine? Iced tea, what?”
He met her gaze hesitantly and lifted a dark brow. “Maybe wine?”
“Wine it is.” She looked to the waitress who waited patiently. “We’ll have the house Chardonnay.”
“Bottle or glass?” the young woman asked.
“Just a glass.” Jenna wrinkled her nose. “First date,” she said jokingly. “I wouldn’t want to lose my inhibitions and make a fool of myself, would I?”
The waitress laughed and walked away to get their wine.
Jenna glanced across the table to see Grant staring at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t embarrass you, did I? I was just kidding.” She couldn’t read his thoughts for the life of her. “About the date I mean.”
“It’s all right,” he said softly.
The look on his face told her it was.
“I like your wisecracks,” he went on, surprising her by actually offering his thoughts without her having to pry them out of him.
“How long have I been hearing you make those jokes?” He set aside his menu to look at her. Really look at her.
His total attention made Jenna feel strange to the tips of her toes. Warm. Comfy. Had Grant always been this attractive?
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