Single Dad. Jennifer Greene
that.
* * *
He’d call. Ariel was sure he’d call. The secret, heady, champagne-high feeling of anticipation lasted for three days.
She never expected anything monumental. She never had—not from men or relationships. All her life she’d been an enthusiastic defender of magic, but that was never because she couldn’t tell the difference between fantasy and reality. She had no faith in forevers, but a body could still seek—and reach for—those rare and real magical moments in life.
The evening with Josh had been magical. Special. There was no doubt in her mind that he felt the same way. They’d talked as easily and naturally as kindred spirits. He’d looked so stiff and tired when he first walked in, but she’d slowly watched him unbend, unfold, relax. Other men had looked at her with desire, but she’d never sensed a predator-and-prey feeling with Josh. The excitement he’d inspired had been wicked and nerve tingling, but not really threatening. She’d never have gone in his arms if she were afraid of him. She never remembered experiencing a kiss quite like that. It was like skydiving off a star, free-falling in the darkness to a place where she felt dizzyingly protected and desired and cherished all at once.
She’d kissed her share of men in the past decade. Never had a kiss or a man felt so right. And she wasn’t presuming to know Josh’s feelings, but positively he couldn’t have power-packed that kind of tenderness and raw emotion in an embrace if he hadn’t shared some of those feelings.
Only he hadn’t called the next day.
Or the next night.
Or the next day.
Three days had passed now, though, and that heady feeling of anticipation had fizzled out like too-long-uncorked champagne. Apparently she’d been wrong. Embarrassingly wrong. The only one doing any emotional skydiving must have been her, because it was hurtfully obvious that he wasn’t interested.
The telephone rang, but she ignored it. New stock had just arrived; she was buried neck-deep in boxes, and Dot was out front and would surely catch the call. Seconds later, though, her partner’s head poked around the doorway. “It’s for you. Mason.”
Grateful for the distraction, she wiped her dusty hands on a rag and hustled for the phone. Mason, an English professor in Boston, had been her one foray into trying out a forever. They’d lived together for three years. No different than any other relationship, that delightful spin of first love hadn’t lasted, but they’d managed to call it quits and still stay friends. Good friends.
“I haven’t heard from you in two weeks, you piker. Whatcha been up to?”
Mason was “up to” a deliriously happy love affair with a woman named Suzanna. He wasn’t getting any work done. He was losing weight, couldn’t eat, had given up sleep, was having trouble remembering his own name.
“This sounds wonderful. She’s really something, huh?” Dragging the phone cord, Ariel reached in the back room minirefrigerator and snatched a soda. No way to open it single-handed. She trapped the receiver between her ear and shoulder, so she had both hands to flip open the lid. “I don’t want to hear how gorgeous she is, you doofus. Who cares. Is she nice? What does she do, how’d you meet her, what kinds of things have you two been doing together...?”
Ariel had never quite figured out why the lovelorn sought her advice, since she never made a secret of her chosen single life-style. She’d been an advice-giver for so long that she rarely thought about it. But Mason was winding up to a long dissertation—and she’d guzzled half her ginger ale—when she abruptly realized that she wasn’t alone.
Josh may have dismissed her from his personal map, but apparently his offspring hadn’t.
Killer was standing on one foot, a balancing act apparently designed to give her something to do when she was stuck being patient. Her tennies were powder pink today. One of her lopsided pigtails sported a green polka dot bow, and her fingernails were painted a startling hellion-red shade, most of which was bitten off. Hopeful chocolate eyes were peeled on Ariel.
Behind her were two boys, standing still as statues. In no sense were they a physically matched set, but they definitely had a few things in common—slicked back hair, cowlicks, gawky arms and legs, and a terrified look of adolescent self-consciousness. One glance at their eyes, and Ariel would have bet the bank who their daddy was.
“Mason, catch you later, okay? Something’s come up. I’ll call you back.” She hung up the receiver and turned around. “Hi, sweetie.”
“Hi, Ariel. Did you see how quiet I was while you were on the phone? Are you still busy?”
“Yes, I saw how quiet you were—and nope, I’m not busy at all.”
“Good, ‘cause my brothers didn’t believe me about you. And Dad said I couldn’t come here any more unless I was...supravised. So I brought everybody to meet you. This is Calvin and this is Bruiser and this is Boober.”
Ariel extended her palm to Calvin, who flushed beet red for the handshake. He was going to be eight feet tall if he ever finished growing, she guessed, but temporarily he was stuck with big feet and a cracking voice and arms that were just too long to know what to do with themselves. “She’s not supposed to bother you,” he said, with a shoulder hunch in the direction of Killer.
“There’s no bothering involved. Patrice and I are old pals,” Ariel assured him, and then extended a hand to Bruiser. “That’s not your real name, is it?”
“Nah. My real name’s Daniel, but I take wrestling, you know? So everybody calls me Bruiser.”
“I can see why,” she said gravely. Although the muscles weren’t that developed yet, the attitude was all there, from the swaggering posture to the fingers dug into his jeans pockets. He was maybe thirteen? And he’d had peanut butter for lunch, judging from the teensy bit stuck on his chin. She wasn’t about to tell him what that peanut butter did to his tough-guy persona. “Nice to meet you, Bruiser, and this is Boober, huh?”
Remembering that Killer’s imaginary friend was of legendary height, Ariel looked way up as she extended her hand into thin air. “Nice to meet you, too, Boober.” She duly pumped the air as if there were actually a handshake involved. Both boys rolled their eyes at her foolishness, but they didn’t seem to mind her catering to their sister. She could see a little of those terrible self-aware nerves fading.
“Killer said you knew magic tricks and stuff.” Calvin, cracked voice and all, had apparently been voted spokesman. “Not that we’re interested. We’re too old for stuff like that. But she was driving us crazy, and I don’t have to deliver papers for a coupla hours, so we just kind of thought we’d take a walk. And we accidentally ended up here. But if we’re in your way or anything...”
“You’re not in my way,” Ariel immediately denied. The day she was too busy for kids would never happen. Too many adults had made her feel “in the way” when she was growing up.
Still, what to do with the Penoyer clan was trickier than a land mine. Josh’s silence had clearly spelled out his lack of interest in any personal connection with her. Maybe he didn’t want his kids involved with her, either?
Killer elbowed her brother. “I told you she was cool, didn’t I?”
Cool. Ariel’s heart sank. How the Sam Hill could she live up to an impossible kid epithet like cool? And there was no way she bought Calvin’s story about “accidentally” stopping by. Positively she was being checked out with more studying interest than a crammer in exam week. Bruiser, the poor kid, couldn’t keep his eyes off her breasts. Calvin hovered more at a distance, his eyes examining her face, her hair and how she behaved, as if prepared to abscond with his brother and sister any second if she did anything suspicious.
She handed out cans of soda. That broke some ice. Bruiser caught a look at her jewelry tools on the counter. That started him talking. And then Calvin, who denied his interest in magic loudly several times, was eventually coaxed into trying out some sleight-of-hand