Always Florence (13 page)

Dylan dried his eyes and, chin up, said, “Okay. But if you don’t want to be here, I can get a job and take care of me and Sheamus.”

“Stella could take care of us,” Sheamus said brightly.

Dylan gave him a pitying look. “She works for him.” He pointed to Nate. “She wouldn’t take care of us.”

“Listen to me,” Nate said a little loudly. Then, remembering Bobbie’s advice, he lowered his voice. “You are living with me until one of you becomes president and the other one takes over the Disney Corporation. Is that clear?”

Sheamus raised his hand. “Dibs on Disney!”

Dylan shook his head and smiled feebly at his uncle. “Okay. Can we go out and play?”

“Sure. Jackets. It’s getting cold.”

Nate poured himself a cup of coffee and opened the kitchen door as the boys raced past him with an assortment of plastic cars and trucks under their arms.

“That’s what you get,” he told himself as he headed to his computer and his office duties still undone, “for concentrating on Bobbie when your every thought should be on the boys.”

He sat down and powered up. Then he rubbed a sore spot on his chest. For someone who shouldn’t matter in his life, Bobbie was taking up a lot of space in it.

CHAPTER NINE

B
OBBIE
AWOKE
TO
the sound of voices and the aroma of something wonderful in the kitchen. She recognized her father’s soft baritone and had to smile. First full day here and he was cooking for her already. As she drew closer, wrapping her robe around her, she realized Sandy was here.

She sat at the table while Dennis stood at the stove, turning blueberry pancakes. The table was set for two and there were two bowls of berries and yogurt. Bobbie went to hug her friend.

“Where are the girls?” Bobbie asked. On days she wasn’t working, Sandy was seldom without them.

“My mom has them,” Sandy replied, sipping at a cup of coffee. “She’s watching them for us so we can do her shopping.”

Bobbie was confused. “Who is ‘us’?”

“Hunter and me.”

“Hunter Bristol? I didn’t know you knew him.”

Sandy hunched her shoulders in an artless gesture of nonchalance. “I didn’t, until the food bank fund-raiser. I saw him at the Monster Bash and invited him to join us for Thanksgiving.”

Bobbie’s eyes widened and she reached for Sandy’s hands. “You’re dating
Hunter Bristol?!
” The question ended in a screech as she threw her arms around Sandy again.

“I am.”

“I’m so happy for you!”

There were giggles and squeals, and Dennis turned, spatula in hand. “Ah, this takes me back. Your freshman year in college when you brought Sandy home for Easter. I never heard so much cackling.”

“Did you and Nate get supplies for the painting?”

Bobbie blushed violently, and hated herself for it. She liked to think she was cool, usually in control, had faced down death and hadn’t flinched—well, not much—but memories of Nate’s kiss were crippling her brain and, apparently, elevating her blood pressure.

She opened her mouth to explain that they fought better than they understood each other, but she didn’t want to rain on Sandy’s parade.

Her friend studied her a moment. “Your father told me you and Nate shared quite a kiss yesterday.”

“Dad,” Bobbie complained.

He was unrepentant. “What? It’s clear to anyone who looks at the two of you. Sandy’d already figured it out, anyway.”

She nodded. “It’s true. I knew at our food bank meeting that he thought you were special.” She inclined her head. “And you look different today. Ever since...the diagnosis, there’s been a part of you holding back, not wanting to step out there for fear...for fear there was nothing under your feet. But you seem more confident today, Bobbie.” Sandy assumed a comical Atlas astride the world look, hands on her hips. “You’re invincible again. Well.” She grabbed the jacket off the chair she’d occupied, put her purse over her shoulder, kissed Dennis on the cheek and gave Bobbie another hug. “Have a wonderful day. And Happy Thanksgiving.”

Bobbie walked her to the door, and was about to close it behind her when Sandy turned suddenly with a questioning look. “I almost forgot why I came. So, you’ve started the painting?”

“Yes. Nate’s posing for me as the ship captain.”

Sandy frowned at her. “And you’re getting things done?”

“Of course.”

“Can I see?”

“No. Trust me. I’ll call you to come have a look as soon as I’ve finished.”

“The event is December 15. So...dry enough to handle by then?”

“Yes. But if you didn’t have such sweet children, I’d hurt you.”

Sandy grinned broadly. “And now I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, shut up.” Bobbie closed the door on her and walked over to her father, loving the sight of him in jeans and sweatshirt and slippers, cooking at her stove. She wrapped her arms around his middle.

“I like your guy,” he said, patting her hand at his waist.

She snagged a blueberry sticking out of one of the pancakes on the griddle. “He’s not my guy. He’s just a neighbor.”

“That wasn’t a neighborly kiss,” Dennis observed, turning the last pancake and adding it to one of two plates warming in the oven. “And he looks at you like you’re his. You want to pour the coffee?”

She took down two cups and said loftily, “No one belongs to anyone, Dad.” She put a dash of milk into his cup, then filled it with coffee. “And you’re imagining things. He wouldn’t want to get involved with me even if I was willing. His mom died of cancer.”

“But your prognosis is good. You could be around to be a pain in his side for a long time.” She made a face at hime as he went on. “You know what I mean about belonging. Not as in ownership, but as in property of the heart.” Using a tea towel as a pot holder, he carried first one plate then the other to the table. “We don’t have syrup,” he said, “but I thought butter and powdered sugar would be good.”

“Sounds perfect.”

They focused on breakfast, and Monet came to sit on the extra chair, purring.

“Want to take a walk today?” Dennis asked. “I’d like to find something to take to Nate’s tomorrow. A table centerpiece, maybe.”

“What if I carved out a pumpkin and we put a small pot of mums in it?”

He grinned at her. “That’s my little genius. I don’t suppose you want to talk about Nate and the boys?”

“No. It’s complicated and will never be what you’d like it to be. Even though I’ve already explained to you on the phone that what you’d like isn’t possible. I’m going to Florence.”

“Then,” he asked gently, “why are you kissing him as though he has a place in your future?”

“Daddy...
he
kissed
me.
”

“Yeah. You fought him off so hard. You think you have an iffy future. But don’t you think having a family to live for might lengthen it?”

She dropped her fork with a clatter. “Dad, it’s not as though I’m convinced I’m going to expire tomorrow. I’m not! I believe in myself and my ability to stay well as long as possible. But I don’t have forever. And I don’t know how many ways I can explain this to you....” She drew a breath, a mental picture of Nate suddenly cutting off her air. “I’ve wanted to do fine art all my life. I have so much to learn. I have to see what happens when I immerse myself in all that inspiration. I have only this chance, Dad.”

He looked stricken. He always did when she talked about feeling the limitations of time. She reached across the table to pat his hand.

“Nate understands you’re going to leave him?”

She put both hands to her face, then lowered them. “He doesn’t have to. He doesn’t want to come with me any more than I want to stay with him. There’s nothing real between us, Dad.”

He shook his head and forked a big bite of pancake. “You’re a mystifying generation. Eat up. We have things to do.”

While waiting for her father to get ready for their walk, Bobbie sent Laura a quick email, telling her about her dad and Stella’s exciting meeting and about Nate’s kiss, certain her friend would enjoy the ongoing drama.

She hadn’t had a response to her last email, but was sure Laura was busy trying to make a baby.

* * *

N
ATE
FOLLOWED
S
TELLA
down the grocery store aisle with a cart mounded with the makings of Thanksgiving dinner. Since she’d decided to join them, she’d insisted he cancel the prepared meal he’d ordered. The boys kept adding treats to the cart and Nate had long since lost track of their purchases. His brain was stuttering. He kept remembering Bobbie in his arms.

He was so pathetic. Only a year ago he’d had more women sharing space in his life than was probably prudent, but they’d liked the way he treated them and weren’t interested in anything permanent. It had suited his purposes then.

This morning, he was completely distracted by the memory of one kiss he’d given Bobbie no choice to reject, and the feel of her in his arms. Her body was forever imprinted on his, warm and soft and a little delicate. He didn’t dare even think
fragile.

And then, as though the magic of his memories had conjured her, she came around a corner in the produce aisle, a beautifully shaped pumpkin in one arm and a pot of burgundy mums in the other.

Her eyes lit up when she spotted him. Given the way they’d parted, he’d expected hostility. But she was definitely happy to see him. Maybe more than happy. Something inside him melted. He felt all the old anger dissolve into a puddle.

“Hi,” she said, the simple word filled with soft emotion. He walked around the cart to greet her, needing to touch her. But the boys’ radar told them she was around, and they came running. So he simply took the pumpkin and the plant from her as she greeted them and accepted their hugs.

“Hey, Nate!” Dennis came around the corner with a cart. “Are those Bobbie’s? Here, put them down.” He pushed the cart up to Nate and held it still so he could place the objects inside. Nate spotted premade piecrusts, cans of pumpkin and mince filling, and a pumpkin cheesecake. Dennis abandoned the cart to greet the boys, then Stella, who’d been half an aisle ahead and was on her way back to say hello, several colorful gourds in her hands.

“Hi!” Dennis took them from her and placed them in their cart. He grinned at Nate. “I make a mean mulled wine. Can I bring some tomorrow?”

“Please. Stella’s making eggnog because the boys love it, but I’d prefer the wine.”

“Great.” Dennis leaned on the cart handle. “You’ve done such a good job with the boys, according to Bobbie.” He indicated the end of the aisle where she and the boys stood, looking up at a honeycomb turkey hanging from a fixture. “Must have been quite a shock to your own life.”

Nate was surprised to hear she’d complimented him. “Really. She tells me I shout too much.”

“Sometimes you have to shout to be heard.”

“That’s just what I tried to explain.”

Dennis shifted a little uncomfortably. “Would you mind if I asked Stella out to dinner?”

“Ah—no. She very much has her own life. It would be entirely up to her. Her son is my friend, but he has no say in what she does, either. It’s your call. Bear in mind that she’s a great lady.”

Dennis laughed. “You have to love a woman who takes nothing from nobody.”

Nate had his own reason to laugh. “Yes, you do.”

Bobbie came up to him. “Do you have a couple of minutes to spare?” she asked. “I need some facial detail for the painting.”

“Why don’t I just go home with you?” he suggested. He smiled at her dad. “Would you mind going home with Stella and helping her haul in the groceries?”

Dennis didn’t even blink. “Is that all right with you?” he asked Stella.

“Um, yes. Okay.” Her glance at him had sincere anticipation in it. Nate smiled to himself.

Dylan folded his arms and looked from one to the other. “And what happens to us? Does one of us go with Uncle Nate and one with Mr. Molloy, like the kids in that
Parent Trap
movie? Or are you going to leave us here?”

Nate put his large hand over Dylan’s face. “Ha, ha. You’re coming with me.”

“Oh, goody,” Dylan said with a clear lack of enthusiasm, but he grinned at Bobbie.

“Are you going to make us cookies?” Sheamus asked, catching her hand.

“No, but I did buy some. And some ice cream.” She pointed to those objects in her cart.

Dylan tugged on Nate’s jacket sleeve. Nate leaned down so he could hear him. “Yeah?”

“I like to go to Bobbie’s, but she doesn’t have—you know—up-to-date electronics. She’s got a TV and that’s it. And it’s not even a plasma. No Sports Channel, no DVD player.”

“Up-to-date electronics?” Nate scoffed playfully at Dylan’s criticism. “You won’t have time for that. We’re going to help Bobbie make pies and rolls.”

“Me?”

“Hey, if I have to do it, you have to do it.”

The boy winced. “But then we have to
eat
it tomorrow.” He made a face, clearly not trusting their skills.

“Right. So we’d better pay attention to what we’re doing. And, you know, you might ask Santa for a personal DVD player for such
emergencies.
”

Dylan looked both horrified and intrigued. “
Santa?
I’m going to be eleven.”

Bobbie and Sheamus led the way down the aisle and Nate pushed the cart to follow, Dylan at his side.

“Everyone believes in Santa at Christmastime,” Nate said. “I do, and I’m going to be thirty-six.”

His nephew made a face at him. “Come on.
You’re
our Santa. So maybe I should ask
you
for a personal DVD player.”

“I’ll see that your message gets through to him.”

“Sometimes,” Dylan said with long-suffering tolerance, “you’re kind of nutty.”

Nate took that with a smile. “That’s a criticism I’ve heard before.”

* * *

B
OBBIE
STOOD
AT
the easel crammed in a corner of her small workroom. Her drafting table had been folded up, and leaned against the closet door, and all her inks and calligraphy materials packed up and put away to make room for her to work on the painting. With her father here, she was sleeping on the sofa.

The kitchen was across the hall and she could hear the boys putting her groceries away. She’d given them free rein to stash things where they thought best, as long as perishables were refrigerated.

“I can’t believe the boys don’t like my television,” she said to Nate as she leaned forward to tilt his chin at a sharper angle. He sat on her windowsill and looked out at the rainy day as though it were the wide Columbia in the painting. She felt stubble under her fingertips and the hard line of his jaw.

“Oh, they like it, they’d just like it better if you had all the ESPN channels.”

“My father,” she said, her voice diminishing in volume as she focused on perfecting the line of his jaw, “likes your housekeeper.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Satisfied that she had the angle correct, she made a few adjusting brushstrokes. Then she looked up and simply admired his profile for a moment. “I think you should ask his intentions. He always asked that of my boyfriends.”

“He intends to invite her to dinner. I don’t have to know anything else. She’s a very capable woman. And Hunter would kill him if he didn’t treat her like a lady.”