Turning the Page (10 page)

the situation for one more minute and still keep her sanity.

THEY STOPPED AT the door of the carriage house, and Melanie toyed with the idea of

inviting Ben in, not sure she was ready for what might happen if she did. And there was

something about Taylor in the back of her mind that wouldn't leave her alone.

Dinner had been very nice. The food was good and conversation had been steady and pleasant.

It was comforting and familiar to be able to talk about the corporate world again, although

the more she talked about it, the more Melanie realized she was happy to be out of it. This

fact surprised her as much now as it had the other night when she'd admitted as much to

Taylor. She'd been so afraid of being totally lost without her job, and she was shocked that

she'd gotten along so well once it was gone. Ben was a great date, witty, charming, and fun to

talk to, and the evening had been an agreeable one.

She turned to her companion, looking up at his handsome face. Faint lines of age were visible

around his eyes, eyes that looked so much like his daughter's. "Thanks, Ben. I really had a nice time."

"Me, too." He smiled. "Thank you for indulging me. You're very good company."

There was a pause, and then Ben leaned his head down, softly capturing Melanie's lips with his

own. The kiss was gentle, undemanding. Melanie could feel the roughness of his five o'clock

shadow against her skin. He pulled back, and smiled at her, rubbing his thumb against her

cheek. "Good night," he said quietly, then turned and strode across the lawn to his own house.

Melanie stood in the doorway for several moments, nibbling on her bottom lip, before slipping

through and into the little house.

WHEW. BENJAMIN, OLD boy, you're getting soft. When have you ever not pounced on the

chance to be invited in?

He shook his head and chuckled to himself as he entered the back door of the dark house, and

locked it behind him. Melanie was something else. It was so nice to have dinner with an

attractive woman who could hold an intelligent conversation with him. How long had it been

since that had happened?

He'd been attracted to her the minute he'd laid eyes on her last weekend, surprising even

himself with his bold lunch invitation.

He noticed light seeping out from under Taylor's bedroom door, deciding she must be reading,

as he passed to the bathroom. Lunch was so much safer than dinner. There were time

constraints, so if things weren't going well, there was always the excuse of having to get back

to work. Melanie had passed that test with flying colors. He'd been thinking of the right way

to ask her to dinner when she'd shown up at his door that evening. What luck. He returned the

towel to its rack, capping the toothpaste and heading to his own room.

Dinner was wonderful, he thought, as he stripped down to his boxers and slipped between the

sheets, knowing he had an early meeting in the morning. Melanie had listened intently to his

stories about work, sharing a few of her own. He was amazed that she'd actually left her job,

as successful as she had been at it. This was a businesswoman who knew her shit, he could tell

just by the tone of her voice. She could go head to head with any number of hard-core

corporate guys he knew, and beat the pants off them.

She belonged in that world. However, she seemed strangely content with her decision,

speaking about Sam's bookstore with a mixture of curiosity and possibility.

He sighed, reaching to click off the bedside lamp. There was something about her. His normal

course of action would have been to figure a way to get into the carriage house, and then into

her bed. But she was different, and he didn't want to take advantage of the situation. For

some reason, he wanted to make sure that it would be her decision.

This admission momentarily stunned him. Since the death of his beloved Anna, he had dated

several women. Never for very long, but several women, just the same. Sex was always the

central focus of those relationships. Sex, physical attraction, blah, blah, blah. Emotion never

once played a part. Not ever. That was the one thing he had had with Anna that he refused to

share with anybody else. Besides, he'd never met anybody worth getting to know that well

anyway.

Until now.

MELANIE LOST TRACK of how long she'd stood with her back against the inside of the door.

She was surprised by two things.

One, Ben hadn't asked to come in. Two, she hadn't offered.

Why hadn't she offered?

God knew Ben was an incredibly handsome, charming man. God also knew it had been a very long

time since she'd been with anybody. She scrunched up her face in concentration. Exactly how

long had it been? The fact that she couldn't remember told her all she needed to know, and

she rolled her eyes with a sigh.

She glanced at the clock in the kitchen. Nine-thirty. She wanted to get an early start in the

morning painting the facade of the bookstore, so she decided that turning in early was a good

idea.

Stil smarting from Samantha's desertion, she decided to hell with the sofa bed, and dragged

her bag into the bedroom. Thoughts of Sam and Rob assaulted her the second she stepped

through the doorway, and she backtracked to the bathroom linen closet for fresh sheets.

Half an hour later, her nightly routine complete, crisp, clean sheets surrounding her, she lay in

her cousin's bed staring at the ceiling. Sleep seemed as far away as it could possibly be.

Chapter Ten

BEN WAS SURPRISED to see his daughter at the breakfast table when he came down the

stairs. She was spooning her usual brightly colored cereal into her mouth, grunting a vague

reply to his greeting, seemingly absorbed in the morning paper.

He whistled as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Looks like another gorgeous day," he

remarked. "What's going on around here? It's never this nice, this long."

He sat across from Taylor, snagging the business section of the paper, and began to read.

After a mere minute or two, he peered over the top of it at his daughter.

"What do you think of Melanie?"

Except for the fact that she had stopped chewing, it would seem Taylor didn't hear the

question. She resumed her task, swallowing, and clearing her throat before answering simply,

"She seems very nice." Hoping he would just leave it at that, she closed her eyes when he

spoke again.

"She is. Very nice. We had a wonderful time at dinner last night."

"I'm glad."

"She really knows her way around a corporation. Did you know she was the Vice President of

Marketing at a big firm in Chicago?"

"Yup."

Ben narrowed his eyes at his daughter, who had yet to look up at him. "Something bothering

you, T.?"

"Nope."

"Taylor..." Ben resorted to his don't-lie-to-your-dad tone, which brought his daughter's eyes up, finally, to meet his. "What is it?"

Taylor wasn't about to give away her secrets. Gee, Dad, I'd rather you didn't date Melanie,

because I want to. Instead, she said matter-of-factly, "Don't you think she's a little young

for you?"

Ben didn't know why he was surprised by the comment, but he was. "Well," he stumbled. "I...

guess I... I hadn't really thought about it."

"You're nearly fifty, Dad. She's thirty-three," Taylor supplied.

He knitted his brows together for a moment, before bursting into a smile. "I couldn't even tell last night. She's so much on my level."

Taylor rolled her eyes, standing to brush off her skirt, and depositing her bowl in the sink.

"I've gotta go." She knew if she listened to one more minute of her father carrying on like a schoolboy, she'd toss her Fruity Pebbles right there on the kitchen table.

Ben stared in bewilderment long after his daughter left the kitchen. She'd been acting a little

strange since last night. Hmm.

Maybe living with him again was getting to her. He sighed, and sipped his coffee. She'd been

mothering him long enough. Anna had been gone almost two years now. He made a mental note

to have a talk with Taylor about her getting her own place once more.

Maybe that would ease her mind a bit.

THE LUNCH HOUR traffic on Monroe Avenue was beginning to die down. Instead of speeding

to various restaurants, hoping to make their business lunches on time, people were now in a

hurry to get back to their respective places of employment, like worker ants returning to the

anthill before they have a chance to be missed by the queen. Even the stream of hungry

customers at the cafe next door to the bookshop, which had flowed steadily for over an hour,

had slowed to a trickle.

The summer sun was warm on Melanie's rust-colored head as she chased away an itch on her

nose with a paint-streaked forearm. Dressed in a faded pair of Buffalo Bil s gym shorts and a

torn red T-shirt she had salvaged from the bottom of Sam's dresser drawers, she'd been

working nonstop since mid-morning. She set down her paintbrush, bending her aching wrist at

various angles, trying to alleviate the cramping that had set in. Not used to this physical labor,

she thought. One of the disadvantages of a desk job. She took a step backward on the

concrete sidewalk to survey her handiwork, scrutinizing it critically, as an artist would her

most inspired creation.

It was plain to see that it would take at least another coat, probably two, of the soothing

azure blue before it thoroughly covered the ugly brown underneath. Even so, the vast

improvement was remarkable. Melanie's intention had been to make the outside of the shop

softer and more inviting. She knew that once people were through the front door, the warmth

and charm of the interior would win them over. Judging from Jeff's sales records, the drab,

mud-colored exterior wasn't exactly sucking in the customers. A new coat of paint seemed to

be the simplest first step toward an image change. She'd spent nearly two hours sifting

through colored rectangular swatches, pushing the normally patient young man behind the

paint counter dangerously close to the brink of insanity, before finally settling on the soft

blue, along with a deep cobalt for the trim. Melanie smiled as she remembered how he had

been blissfully relieved to see her go.

Nodding with satisfaction at coat number one, she knelt, prying the lid off of the smaller can

of paint meant for the doorframe and trim. She submerged her flat, wooden stir stick into

liquid the color of blueberry skins, using her left hand to do the work in an attempt to rest

the aching right before subjecting it to more torture.

"Wow. What a difference."

The exclamation came from behind her, startling Melanie, so absorbed in her work was she,

and causing her to jump visibly.

"Sorry," the friendly voice came again. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Melanie turned toward the source of the voice, and looked up into a pair of sparkling, smiling

blue eyes. She stood, smiling sheepishly. "It's okay. I've been accused of becoming so

engrossed in my work that I don't notice the world around me. I guess my accusers are right.

That's the second time in a week somebody's gotten me."

"My name's Lynda Murphy. I own the café next door." She gestured to her left. "Thought you could use this. You've been out here for quite a while." She held a bottle of Snapple iced tea

towards Melanie, who smiled widely, touched by the thoughtfulness of this woman she'd never

met.

"Thank you." Melanie took several gulps from the bottle, blotting her lips on the back of her hand. "I didn't realize how thirsty I am. That was really very sweet of you. I'm Melanie.

Melanie Larson." She offered her hand. The cafe owner shook it firmly.

Lynda Murphy was an athletic-looking woman, dressed neatly yet comfortably in khaki shorts,

a white T-shirt, and black work boots. A white apron, smeared with various samplings of the

day's specials, was cinched around her waist. She had close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair, and

sported four silver earrings in each ear. Melanie guessed her to be in her fifties.

Lynda gestured toward the bookshop. "This really does look a hundred percent better. That

awful brown was just depressing. Are you the new owner?"

"Not exactly. My cousin and her soon-to-be ex-husband still own it. I'm just trying to fix it.

Make it so maybe it will bring in some money."

Lynda laughed, a light, musical sound that was much more feminine than Melanie expected. "So,

you're Sammi's cousin?"

Melanie smirked at the familiar term and nodded. "How the hell is she? I haven't seen her in

ages." "Well, that makes two of us."

Melanie made no attempt at further explanation, and Lynda didn't push. "Tell her I said hello,

would you?"

"Sure." She surveyed her handiwork, feeling guilty for being short with this kind woman. "I think I need a break. Can you come in for a minute?"

"Love to."

It took only a few minutes for Melanie and Lynda to forge an easy friendship. Lynda was

cheerful and funny and Melanie liked her immediately. They chatted for nearly an hour and a

half, trading stories about life and work, as comfortable with one another as they would be if

they'd been friends for decades. Lynda was a recently single, very out lesbian, having broken

up with her lover of eight years, and was only now starting to enjoy the single life. She'd

purchased the Pita Paradise cafe four years ago. Specializing in unique and healthy sandwiches