One of These Nights (25 page)

The way she looked at him left no doubt that—at least for now—he was.

“Hey, stranger,” she said, rising to stroll over to where he sat. “You busy?”

Jason's mouth curved up as he swept his arm to indicate his yard. “Just watching over my domain. Pretty intense stuff.”

She laughed, the sound as rich and warm as cream. “I bet. You must be exhausted.”

He willed her to close the rest of the distance between them, but she stopped just shy of him, nudging his sandaled foot with the toe of her boot.

“You want to get out of here for a little while?” she asked. It was a surprise—sometimes he thought everything about Zoe was a surprise—but a welcome one.

“Sure,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”

All it took was a simple, suggestive quirk of her eyebrow to shift his day from “decent” to “awesome.” He knew Zoe loved her fictional superheroes, but he doubted she was aware that she possessed one hell of a superpower herself. That was okay, though. She could still use it on him anytime she liked.

“Something you'll like,” she said. She leaned over to tug at his hands. “Come on. Upsy-daisy.”

“Sure. In a second. I just need one thing first,” he said, capturing her hands with his and pulling her down to him. She laughed softly, her smile bright, and it was everything.

I'm crazy about her,
he thought. Though he'd fought it for years, there was no denial left in him now. Just acceptance of the truth. So before he could worry about it, Jason threaded his fingers through her wild curls and brought her mouth to his, saying hello the way he'd imagined a thousand times before—with a long, hot, lingering kiss that said everything he couldn't. Not yet.

Not never . . . but not yet.

H
e'd almost flustered her enough to make her forget her plans.

“The gallery?” Jason asked, frowning a little as they pulled in. The sun was setting, and the lights on the wrought-iron lampposts that dotted the square were starting to come on. There was a warm glow coming through the windows of Two Roads, the inside lights dimmed the way she did for events they held here.

Zoe had set everything up before leaving. She'd run home to change. And she'd damn near crawled into Jason's lap and gotten frisky right in his backyard. Not like she was averse to plans changing—well, yes, she was—but this was supposed to be special. Something she'd arranged, instead of the two of them just being thrown together in a variety of odd or difficult or just plain annoying situations.

She guessed those worked for bonding after all, but they weren't much on romance. Jason might be big and grumbly, but the man looked like he'd been made to sweep a woman off her feet. Since he was physically incapable of getting the ball rolling on that right now, Zoe really wanted to see what might happen if she started it.

“The gallery,” Zoe agreed, turning her head to look at him after she killed the engine. “I figured that this is kind of our spot, so . . . maybe we could find something to do here instead of fight over my floors.”

“Oh yeah?” He had what he was thinking written all over his face, and Zoe felt her cheeks flush as she laughed.

“Easy there, tiger. All in good time. Come on.”

“Do I get to be tiger now instead of Treebeard?”

“No.”

He wrinkled his nose in feigned irritation. “There'd better be something good in there, then.”

She got out and held Jason's crutches while he maneuvered himself into a standing position, then walked with him to the door. Even before she unlocked it, she could hear the soft blues playing on the stereo system and smiled. When she opened the door, Jason didn't look inside, instead watching her.

“What have you been up to?” he asked, looking confused in the sweetest way she could imagine. There was a funny little half smile on his face.

“I told you. This is our spot, but since all we usually do here is argue, I thought it might be nice to give it . . . other associations.”

“I could be persuaded to do that. Though I hope you know that even though we were arguing, I don't have any bad associations with this place. I like it in here,” he said.

“You do?”

“I wouldn't come in so often if I didn't like looking at what was here,” he replied, his gaze full of golden heat. Zoe couldn't help her own silly smile.

“Then I guess you should like tonight,” Zoe said, slipping past him. She was just a little bit grateful that his hands were occupied with his crutches, because he looked like he wanted to grab her. And she knew she would have let him.

“Hey, what's this?” he asked behind her. She heard the smile in his voice before she turned back around, and this time his attention was focused on his surroundings instead of her.

“A picnic,” Zoe said. “Two Roads style. I would have dragged you out to the park, but it's supposed to get cold tonight. In here it's warm and—”

“This is great,” he said, heading toward the little area she'd arranged while the distinctive
creak-thump
of his crutches kept time with the music.

She cast a critical eye on what she'd created and decided it passed muster well enough. A couple of big square floor pillows from home to sit on, her nice chenille blanket, and on it, a bottle of crisp white wine chilling in a bucket of ice, two glasses, a couple of plates, forks, and the pièce de résistance—

“Is that Larkin's lemon meringue pie?” he asked, his deep voice full of wonder. He looked at her as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Zoe hadn't expected to feel embarrassed, but she did . . . though not in a bad way. She just didn't get to do this kind of thing for people. Or for herself. But it felt a little like sharing a closely held fantasy with Jason, and there was definitely risk in that.

Of all the things Jason could do to hurt her, laughing at her was near the top of the list.

He didn't, though. Instead, he hobbled over to her and gently tucked a few curls behind her ear. The tenderness in his expression wasn't what she was used to seeing, but somehow it seemed more right—more
him
—than all the frowns he'd put on in her presence since she'd known him.
I think he's shy,
Larkin had said. Zoe thought the baker had it right after all. And that made the way he'd started to open up around her all the sweeter.

“This is great,” he said. “How'd you know lemon meringue pie was my favorite?”

“A little bird told me.”

He smiled, and her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers itched to touch him, but she forced herself to back up. She wasn't going to sabotage something she'd planned herself. A flicker of amusement flashed across his face that said he knew exactly what she was thinking, but Jason didn't try to pull her back. Instead, he looked at the little nest she'd created on the floor.

“I might need some help getting down there.”

“Not a problem,” Zoe replied. She took one of his hands so he could keep his balance as he lowered himself to the floor, then set his crutches aside while he situated himself on the floor pillow.
So far, so good.
She sat on her own pillow, grinning over her triumph, and set about opening the bottle of wine. Once their glasses were poured, she cut two wedges out of the pie, handed one to Jason, and dug into her own. It was, as expected, heavenly.

“Mmm,” Zoe said, rolling her eyes. “I'm so glad she'd already made this. I was going to bring it to you tomorrow. I didn't know if it would be ready early, but Larkin's on top of things.”

“She does good work,” Jason agreed. He frowned at his wineglass, sniffed the liquid, shrugged, and took a sip.

“Well?”

“Not bad. For being wine. It's, ah, citrusy?” he said.

“It is. To go with the lemon pie,” Zoe replied. “Don't knock it yet.”

“Not knocking it,” he replied. “Just more of a beer guy. That doesn't mean I can't appreciate wine.”

There was a slightly defensive note in his voice that she sought to quash immediately. There would be no bickering in her gallery tonight. Casually, Zoe leaned back, braced herself on one hand, and took a long sip of her wine. Jason's eyes traveled the length of her, and she allowed it—allowed herself to enjoy it, too.

“Well, maybe you'll have to school me on the finer points of beer appreciation one of these days,” Zoe said. “I can learn to like new things, too. See how that works?”

“Mmm.” Jason's response was a noncommittal noise, and she wasn't entirely sure he was listening to her. Not that she could complain about being admired. But he surprised her when he continued speaking, after a moment of what must have been collecting his thoughts. “I keep expecting you to look down your nose at the things I like, but you just have your own taste. You never make it a competition. It's a nice change from, ah, past experience. I'll try harder to keep that in mind.”

She tilted her head to watch him, fascinated. He really was a much deeper pool than she'd once thought. It wasn't the first time she'd wanted to smack the woman who'd hurt him, but it was the first time she'd gotten a good look at some of the scars she'd left.

“Thanks,” she said. Then Zoe laughed softly and looked down at her plate, unexpectedly flustered. “You aren't what I expected, either, if that helps.”

“Maybe. Am I good different or bad different?”

“After last weekend, I'm surprised you have to ask.”

He hesitated. “That . . . didn't have to mean anything. I mean, it doesn't always. I wasn't sure.”

Jason was saved from her wrath simply because he seemed so genuinely uncertain. It was a strange paradox, to have a big, gorgeous man like him unsure whether she'd just used him for sex. Zoe prided herself on being a take-charge kind of woman, but this wasn't the kind of power people normally attributed to her. Nor was it one she'd ever tried to cultivate. That Jason found her that compelling, though . . . the knowledge was heady stuff.

“Jason. I wouldn't have gone there unless it meant something. I mean,” she continued, sweeping her hand around the spread she'd put out, “I'd think that would be obvious by now.”

He offered her a slightly sheepish smile, tipping his chin down and looking up at her with an expression that threatened to melt her into a puddle of goo right there. “Yeah. That did occur to me when I walked in.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “That's one thing I haven't changed my opinion on. You
are
hardheaded.”

“You won't hear me denying it, but I'm going to go out on a limb here and say I think that's one of the things we actually have in common.”

“Maybe,” Zoe said. “That, and a love of Larkin's baked goods.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Zoe let herself relax into it. Jason was quiet in a companionable sort of way, and he never made her feel like she needed to fill the void. So she enjoyed the music—a little Chet Baker now—and looked around, just glad they were here. She wasn't one to slow down often, but she was glad she'd decided to tonight. As though he sensed the direction of her thoughts, Jason spoke into the warm quiet.

“This place really is something, especially considering how long it just sat here empty. How
did
you get here, anyway? You never said.”

“You didn't ask the right questions,” she replied, but relented when he gave her a long-suffering look. “Okay. Well, I told you about my academic background. The one that thrilled my parents with its earning potential.”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

“I was determined, though. I'll never be more than a mediocre artist, but that was never really an issue. I would rather study art, be around it, soak up all the different forms and styles and mediums. And with a gallery, I knew I'd be around art all the time. With a
successful
gallery, I'd be helping get art out into the world. It seemed like the perfect job.”

“Is it?”

“I love it,” Zoe said firmly. “But . . . it
is
a job. I'm never going to love all of it. Paperwork, for instance. The occasional customer who needs to be drop-kicked into outer space. Little tedious things that keep the place running but aren't much fun. That said, this is my passion. The parts that are fun—seeing new work come in, helping a new artist get some exposure, the shows, just introducing people to art when they were always too intimidated to discover what they liked before—that's what makes this worth it. That's why I'll never do anything else if I can help it.”

The flecks in his eyes seemed almost to glow in the dim light, like embers. “Why here, though? That's what I can't figure out. Did you come here as a kid or something?”

“No. I just . . . had my ideas about what I wanted. So I did research. Visited a few places. This is what clicked.” But she could see he wasn't satisfied with that, and prepared herself for the inevitable teasing when she had to give up the truth.

“Ideas about what you wanted?”

“Fine. I used to watch reruns of
Murder, She Wrote
on TV with my mama when I was growing up. Loved that show. This clever, classy writer showing up everyone and solving all the murders in Cabot Cove while she wrote her books . . . not that it probably would have been great to live there, since Jessica Fletcher seemed to inspire a body count wherever she went. But still, I loved the idea of a little coastal New England town. Picture-perfect, quaint, all that sea air. Actual seasons.” She stared at him, daring him to make fun. “Every kid dreams of someplace else. That was mine. So I went out and found it.”

Jason looked as though he didn't quite believe her, but the longer she stared, the more understanding seemed to sink in. Finally, he gave a soft chuckle. “Anything I would have guessed wouldn't have even been close to that.”

“It's not stupid,” she said. Lord knew the kids at school had given her a rough time when she'd told a friend, who'd told a friend, who'd told everyone who would listen.

Jason held up his free hand. “I would never say it was. No more assumptions, remember? I think it's cute.” She made a face, so he qualified it. “Okay, I think it's interesting. Unique. And also cute.”

The man had the gall to laugh when she made a disgusted noise.

“You can't mind it too much here. You stuck around.”

“I did. It's home. Might not be perfect, but it's my kind of imperfect. It's also beautiful.”

“Would you have stayed if—” Zoe stopped herself before she finished the question, then tried to come up with something reasonable to substitute. She didn't want to poke at him too much about his family. Jason answered before she could try to cover her original intent.

He didn't look angry, at least. Just resigned. She hated the way his smile faded and would have kicked herself if she could.

“You mean if my family had stayed? I don't know. I would have hated to go, but I might have had to, just to keep my sanity.” One corner of his mouth curved up. “I probably have them to thank for my love of the outdoors, at least. All that avoidance had some benefit after all.”

“Sorry,” Zoe said, and meant it.

“Don't be.” He lifted one shoulder, a half shrug. “It was okay. I had my grandparents. Some friends. Jake and Aunt Moira. I belonged here in the Cove, even if I never exactly fit into my family. Lots of people have it worse. I got to keep the good parts, and I get to do what I love for a living.”

“It's true,” Zoe agreed, letting it go because she sensed he wanted to, and because her heart already ached on his behalf. “You even got a fancy dog.”