You Dropped a Blonde on Me (22 page)
Her eyes found her hands, folded primly in her lap, her earlier internal war cry of freedom and all its supposed bennies now but a mere whisper. The metaphoric fist in her head was still raised to the sky, it was just waving in the air with a whole lot less vigor. Instead, she’d begun to veer more toward plain freaked out that she was on a date.
A date. “I like the color of the seats,” she offered in a weak attempt to thwart the possible jab at her ex-lifestyle.
“I swear on a Cluck-Cluck Palace combo with curly fries, my other car’s a Ferrari.”
That made her laugh with a hollow chuckle, no longer as much bitter as it was disgusted with the ridiculousness of a housewife with a Ferrari. “Ironically, so was mine. A Spyder, I think, or some creepy, crawly name like that.” She couldn’t even remember anymore. More to the point, she didn’t care to remember.
He whistled his approval, his full mouth pursing deliciously. “Niiice. Mine’s a 308.”
Right. Not that the numbers meant anything to her anyway, but right. “So where are we going for coffee?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Along with her loss of confidence came a hesitant niggle. There was no love lost between her and surprises. She’d had enough surprises for one lifetime.
Surprise—your best friend’s sister’s sleeping with your husband!
Call her a cling-on for making the comparison between that horrible event and anything Campbell might have to offer, but it was a mind-set she hadn’t been able to shake even while she was doing all this growing.
Surprise—your best friend’s sister’s sleeping with your husband!
Call her a cling-on for making the comparison between that horrible event and anything Campbell might have to offer, but it was a mind-set she hadn’t been able to shake even while she was doing all this growing.
Peace was what she sought, without any invasive ripples. Her silence provoked an insightful response from him, leaving her uncomfortable at how attuned he was to her rather bizarre emotional pendulum. “Not a fan of surprises?”
“I’ve had a few in these past months and they didn’t always have a happy attached to them. I’m sorry. It was just a stupid gut reaction that has nothing to do with you.”
And everything to do with the fact that I should absolutely not be dating because I’m a melodramatic, emotional candidate for a therapeutic couch,
she wanted to add. Closing her eyes, Maxine analyzed this new territory and decided she was clearly having a ridiculous response to this new attack of nerves.
she wanted to add. Closing her eyes, Maxine analyzed this new territory and decided she was clearly having a ridiculous response to this new attack of nerves.
Campbell stretched his arms out ramrod straight, gripping the steering wheel with an insolent grin. “Promise. No bad surprises, but it stays a surprise.”
And somehow, just his word soothed her. Not to mention, her insides became molten mush when he grinned like that after making a statement so clearly meant to let her know he was in charge.
Lighten up, Maxine. This isn’t about control. It’s coffee, surprise location or not.
Lighten up, Maxine. This isn’t about control. It’s coffee, surprise location or not.
Silence, not uncomfortable or in need of filling up with words, prevailed in the truck. The radio hummed a station low, and if she was hearing correctly, a little Harry Connick Jr. Leaning forward, the tangle of knots in her stomach loosening, she touched the radio’s dial. “Do you mind if I turn it up a little?”
Campbell’s eyes turned to meet hers with a smile in them. “Not at all. You like Harry Connick?”
Her nod was enthusiastic when she met his smile. “I do. I love Connick, Bennett, Sinatra, Nat King Cole. Oh, and most anything from the Rat Pack era. I was raised on Glen Miller and the Lennon Sisters, Tommy Dorsey, Lawrence Welk. I know it sounds corny, but it’s comfort music for me—” She stopped short, curtailing her ramble by biting her wagging tongue.
Campbell barked a laugh, revealing the brown column of his throat, hard with sinew. A place a girl could nuzzle her nose against while watching a DVD or . . .
“Remember all those bubbles they blew around after Lawrence’s show?” he asked. “My parents were big fans, too.”
“I remember living to see what dresses the dancers would wear. I loved how they puffed out when they twirled. I used to beg my mom to let me stay up and watch for that very reason.” The memory warmed her. Her on the floor with her pillow, and her mother and father on the couch in front of their big console TV.
“I’d have never guessed,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes with a snort at his presumption. “Okay. So I like a little frilly. What’s the harm in that?”
Pulling to a stop in a small clearing overlooking the woods she’d once hung out in as a teenager, Campbell turned in his seat, giving her that direct gaze with a glimmer of twinkle in it she suspected was meant to humor her. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. I like that you like frilly things. All girlie-girls do.”
Instantly, her eyes fell to her lap again; she was thankful for the music filtering through the truck’s interior to serve as a muffler for her sudden intake of breath. A tear stung her eye. She wasn’t exactly looking or feeling very girlie. The upward climb her self-esteem had begun in her mother’s bathroom took a ridiculous, sudden downward dive. “Have I mentioned how good I am at the touchy emotions lately?” she teased.
Campbell’s fingers scraped the underside of her chin, tilting her jaw upward. “Hey, I wasn’t picking on you. I really do like girlie-girls. I appreciate a woman who appreciates being a woman.”
The sincerity of his tone, and that granite-hard blue gaze, softened only by the laugh lines around his eyes, made her smile. “I’m sorry. I get stupid sometimes for no other reason than just to get stupid. I have all these new triggers that spout off out of the blue, and they make no sense to anyone but me.”
His fingers curled around her chin, and using his thumb, Campbell caressed the spot just beneath her lower lip, making it warm and trembly. “That’s because you’re changing. You’ve had a helluva ride these last months, I suspect. To be where you were and end up where you are was like culture shock, I’m sure.”
Campbell’s words made her bristle. “I ended up just fine.” Fine had levels. She was still at level two, but whatever. She’d be ticking off levels in no time with all the hair rolling and poop scooping she was doing. She’d made two hundred bucks last week, working from sunup till sundown. So, yeah. She was just fine.
“Ah,” he clucked. “Now you’re taking offense where there was none to be had. What I mean is, you were married and financially secure. Now you’re single and not so financially secure.”
Oh. There was that. Wow.
Sensitive much, Maxine?
Blowing out a pent-up breath, she smiled in another apology. “Again, I’m discovering new ways to define sensitive and over-the-top dramatic.”
Sensitive much, Maxine?
Blowing out a pent-up breath, she smiled in another apology. “Again, I’m discovering new ways to define sensitive and over-the-top dramatic.”
“You’re definitely giving them new meaning. But no worries. I get it.”
He did not either get it. “You
get
me taking offense to an imagined hint that I’m a shadow of my former self? How could
you
possibly get it?”
get
me taking offense to an imagined hint that I’m a shadow of my former self? How could
you
possibly get it?”
“No. I get being over-the-top sensitive about a subject that’s become a focus in your life—a sore spot, if you will. It gets blown out of proportion and you become hypersensitive. It’ll pass.”
Perspective. He had it. In spades. Again, Campbell’s words brought the big picture front and center, making her ask her next impulsive question. She found she had to know if he was thinking what everyone in the village was. That she’d married Finley for his money and now she was getting what she deserved.
If so, end date.
And that’ d be damned convenient, wouldn’t it, Maxine? Then you could skip right over the part where you’re supposed to start taking chances and experiencing new things. There isn’t a chance in the world for awkward or anything else if you don’t stick around long enough to find out.
Maxine placed a hand on his arm, savoring the crisp hairs sprinkled over it. “Can I ask you something? I mean, before this date, or whatever we’re calling it, goes any further.”
“It’d make me feel all warm on the inside.” He used his index finger to make a circle around his hard belly, evoking a shiver from her she had to fight to keep from becoming visible.
“Do you think that I only married Finley for his money? Or just because my husband was rich, I was self-absorbed and selfish? You know, the typical ex-trophy wife stigma? That because my life was pretty damned cushy, I was a snob? Do you think because I once had a maid I can’t clean a toilet on my own? I mean, in the interest of honesty and all. And you can tell me the truth. I can take it.”
Campbell’s pause made her stomach flop. His pensive gaze made her clutch her hands back together again. Shit. It was bound to happen. Everyone else thought simply because she’d married an older man, what she’d really wanted was to sit on her ass surrounded by silk and Dom until he kicked the bucket.
She’d lived with that for a long time with many of Finley’s colleagues, employees, and friends due to the fact that she’d been so young when she married him. When she’d left him and moved to the village, she’d heard the gossip about her supposed gold digging getting what it deserved. So why wouldn’t Campbell think that, too? She just hadn’t realized how disappointed it would make her to hear it. Maxine winced in preparation.
But Campbell placed his big hand over her clenched fingers. “Nope. I think you just never went outside your circle. Never stepped outside the box because it was safer inside. But I think now that someone’s stolen your box, you’re seeing they come in lots of different sizes, and you’re looking to find the right one to pack yourself back up in. You’re just trying them on for size.”
This sounded much like the candy store reference her mother had made earlier. Another thought to make note of. Campbell was very astute and understanding. Either he was a helluva player, or he innately had an understanding many men wouldn’t. “You have no idea what I’d do for a box to call my own.”
His chuckle was rich. “Oh, I can imagine. Remember, I live with my dad now, too.”
“But that’s by choice—to help him out. My situation’s much different. I can’t choose to not live in my mother’s box because as broke as I am, my new residence really will be a box instead of just a metaphoric one. You have job skills. I have ex-wife skills. There’s a big difference.” So big.
He let his hand drop from her now relaxed fingers, twisting his body to lean back against the window. “I dunno. You seem to be using some of those ex-wife skills to your advantage.”
Really? Campbell’s complimentary words made her preen. Just a little. “Explain that, would you? How does my ability to match the curtains to a couch equate skills that’ll translate to a real job with real money?”
“You’re pretty good with people. You definitely took on that crowd of skeptical grouches at bingo like a pro. The seniors loved you.”
“Before or after Mrs. Griswald nailed me in the schnoz?” She rubbed her nose for emphasis, still sore and bruised from the night before.
His laughter filled the space between them, revealing his perfectly straight teeth, and easing the coil of tension in her belly once more. “You had them in the palm of your hand before that. Now I think they want to form a gang and call Mrs. Griswald out on your behalf with lead pipes and heavy rocks.”
Maxine cringed. Mrs. Griswald was informed she couldn’t return to bingo for a month as a cooling-off period. “I don’t want them to shun her. Just take away her weapons of mass destruction.”
“The point here is working with the elderly as well as you do is a marketable skill. You’re really patient, Max. You’re always kind even when I know you want to tear your hair out follicle by follicle because you’ve repeated yourself over and over to Mr. Kowalski when he forgets to put in his hearing aid. You’re more than just a pretty face, Max Henderson. You have plenty going on. You just have to figure out what to do with it in the real world.”
Yeah. Good thing, too, because her pretty face was rapidly taking a nosedive toward Tampa. Yet, without warning, that was okay. Her shoulders lifted in a sigh that rang forlorn. “I’ve decided I don’t like the real world.”
“You liked the fake, plastic one you lived in better?”
Maxine thought before she became excited, and sensed he was teasing her. She decided to take no offense when she replied, “I liked the plastic money to pay the not-so-fake bills.”
Campbell turned off the ignition and gave the dashboard a slap of his hand. “Well, not so rich anymore girl, why don’t we see if we can take your mind off your troubles for a little while?”
“With coffee?”
He slid out of the truck and leaned back in on the steering wheel with another smile. “Nah. Something much better.”
Maxine gripped the door handle with white knuckles. “But you said we were having coffee.” How did you have coffee in the woods? Just because everyone liked Campbell didn’t mean he wasn’t a rapist—or . . . Oh. God.
“And we will,” Campbell replied, reaching under the driver’s seat and producing a silver and black thermos. “But not before we do something else. So stop gripping the handle on the door like I’m Charlie Manson and c’mon, Chicken Little.” He shut the door, walking around to her side of the truck, popping the door open.
Again, as though Campbell knew holding his hand out was offering her the chance to take another step deeper into this mysterious dating pool, he wiggled his fingers at her.
Maxine gazed up at him, shimmying out onto the hard ground, unable to avoid the brush of their thighs when she clasped his hand. “I just want you to remember, if you have serial killer thoughts about me, I wouldn’t want to be you if my mother gets her hands on you. She does have that big purse that looks like a Samsonite and feels like she has a ton of bricks in it. She’d render you brain dead in twenty flat.”
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