Coming Home to You (30 page)

“Are you going to use those scissors on me if I say yes?” Ray teased.

“No. I guess I can understand a little bit. I don’t agree, I don’t think it was right—but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand. But I need you to do something for me. And for
yourself
.” I put the scissors back in the junk drawer where they belonged and then turned back to face him, my arms crossed over my chest to convey my seriousness. “You need to come clean with Neil so that you can have that off your conscience. So that you can rest on the knowledge that you aren’t keeping secrets from your best friend. Secrets like that are a poison, Ray. You know that. Don’t damage what you and Neil fought so hard to get back.” I saw the look of doubt in his eyes as I spoke. “He may be angry with you for a little while, but he’ll appreciate your honesty. He’s your best friend, Ray. Trust him enough to tell him the truth.”

Ray nodded silently, chewing his lower lip in thought. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. And I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to tell Neil everything. But you’re right. I owe him—and
myself
—the truth.” He paused and scratched absently at his beard. “If it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t even aware that he was going to move until about a week before it happened. It was pretty sudden, actually. I knew he was changing bases soon, but I didn’t know it was
this
soon. Or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention.” He shook his head in mild frustration. “You know how guys are with details,” he said with the tiniest hint of a smile. “Anyway. He’s got all this leave saved up, and he decided to just use it all to get settled in over at his new base. So he sold the house to one of the guys just moving here into his old squadron, quick as you please, and even threw in the furniture. He didn’t want to deal with any of it.” Ray shrugged deeply and slumped harder against the counter.

He looked deflated, not that I could blame him. His best friend had picked up and moved in what basically amounted to a whirlwind, just when he was going through one of the biggest events of his life—
marriage
—and he was feeling abandoned.

Or maybe I was just projecting. That was how I would have been feeling at this point.

“Well, then that definitely explains Jack,” I said.

I caught the questioning look in Ray’s eyes and smiled, turning back to the box I’d been opening.

“Get yourself some cookies from the fridge and sit down, Ray. I’ll tell you all about it.”

Chapter 29

When my phone rang two weeks later with an unknown number registering on the caller ID, Jack was the last person I expected to hear on the other end. It had, after all, been two weeks without a word. Any glimmer of interest I thought I’d seen from him had long since faded from my mind, effectively replaced by an annoying little voice that berated me for my absolute inability to read men.

The magazine I’d been flipping through nearly slipped from my fingers in my surprise.

“I haven’t run across any scrunchies,” he said once we’d gotten past the pleasantries.

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call, if not to the unexpected discovery of a misplaced scrunchie? Which, I remind you, will not have ever belonged to me,” I said, feeling the unexpected warmth of pleasure creep in at the edges of my curiosity.

Truth be told, I was glad to hear from him, whether he had a legitimate reason or not. Maybe the idea that he was interested wasn’t so absurd after all.

“I think you’re putting up too much of a fight. Are you a closet scrunchie-wearer, Miss Z?” he asked, the smile audible in his voice.

The familiarity assumed by his coinage of a nickname was a little bit startling, but instead of being offended, I was oddly charmed. I felt myself smiling shyly.

“I’m not even going to qualify that accusation with an argument,” I replied with the smallest tinkle of a laugh.

Or I hoped it was the smallest tinkle. Maybe it was more of a snort. A dorky snort. Crap, I was blowing this. It had been way too long since I’d been put in this position, and this flirty little feminine dance I was trying to do felt more like the spastic flailing of an uncoordinated nerd. A very drunk, very uncoordinated nerd.

“Well. I would make a spot inspection of your apartment, but I don’t know where you live, so I guess you’re safe. For now, at least.” Jack’s voice was dripping with mock seriousness. “Actually,” he said, clearing his throat, “the reason I called was to see if you’d like to get together for drinks. Or coffee. Or whatever,” he murmured.

My eyes narrowed as I stared unseeingly at the cover of the magazine that now rested, closed, on the bed in front of me. Was this a date? Was he asking me out on an actual date, or did this qualify simply as “hanging out”? Should I ask, or should I just go and hope that I would be able to figure it out at some point along the way? I’d done that many times during my pre-Paul dating career, and it had always driven me to near-madness. How was anyone ever supposed to figure anything out when everyone always seemed to be so intent on playing stupid little games with each other?

I knew he could sense my hesitation, but I felt so very unsure of what my answer should be. If his offer was being made under the guise of it being a date, it lent more weight to the situation, which would make it that much more anxiety-inducing. So what did I
want
it to be—a date, or merely hanging out?

I chewed my upper lip for a minute and looked back at the magazine cover on the off-chance that it might offer me some guidance in the form of one of its many screaming subtitles. Aside from listing tips on how to please a man in eight moves or less, how to reshape my butt in two minutes a day, and how to build the ultimate wardrobe without breaking the bank, I was on my own for this one.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a date,” Jack said with a laugh. “Just a drink, you know?”

I realized when he said it that I was mildly disappointed. Sure, the idea of a date with Jack scared me to death, but at least it would have meant that a guy—a really nice, good-looking guy—found me attractive. It had been so long since I’d been made to feel like a real woman, like someone desirable to a man, that it felt nice. Even if it really was only for a moment, and even if it really did turn out to be something concocted in my own head. The delusion had been sweet.

Granted, I’d been out on that date with Ursula’s cousin Gregory, but the man had been an absolute boor. It had been a disaster, one I would’ve loved to have expunged from my dating record. And he had an uncanny way of letting you know he found himself more desirable than he did you. Or, at least, that’s what he had done with me. Maybe if I’d been a perky little blonde with big boobs, a low IQ, and an overactive sex drive, I might have held his attention for more than five minutes.

Not that he was the kind of guy I wanted to be attracting, anyway. But still. It was the principle of the thing.

Anyway, back to Jack. I had to wonder, what had I done to turn him off? He had seemed interested before…or maybe that was me, just misreading the situation. Again.

“Well,” I said finally, “I guess that would be okay. Drinks. Got any place in particular you wanted to go?” I asked, hoping I was effectively masking my disappointment.

“You could always come over here—there’s no cover charge, and I’ve heard the bartender is fantastic,” Jack drawled.

Interesting. He wasn’t insisting on meeting at a public place, but that could be interpreted in so many ways. I could feel the overworked gears of my brain grinding as possible scenarios formed: 1) He was cheap; 2) He didn’t want to be seen in public with me; 3) He was pervy and thought he might be able to pull something if we were holed up at the house. Or, on the optimistic end of the spectrum, he might have just wanted the opportunity to relax and talk freely without worry of prying ears. Whatever the case, I didn’t know him, and I didn’t feel comfortable putting myself in such a strange position. The house may have been the same, but the man inside it was not.

“I’ll just have to trust you on that one, I guess. But I think maybe for now, I’d rather meet you somewhere in town. I have to run some errands anyway, so it would work out well. What time should I plan on meeting up with you?”

“Well, let’s shoot for cocktail hour and say five o’clock. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” I replied quickly. Too quickly. “And I was thinking coffee at the Starbucks on Bayou.”

Maybe when we knew each other better, the idea of letting down my guard enough to allow alcohol into the equation would be less worrisome. For now, though, I wanted to stay sharp and focused. In control. Jack didn’t know anything, so we could start from a place of me being confident, capable Zoë who owned her own store. Zoë, who didn’t have even the smallest piece of baggage in tow.

Clean slate.

“Okay, then. I’ll see you at five.”

We rang off, and I closed my phone, tossing it onto the bed with a sigh. I felt a little like all of my emotions were being spun around in a blender. It really was insane, this mélange of happy and sad and excited and guilty. Not to mention exhausting. And then there was the added bonus of trying to figure out how to decode guy-speak. That was hard enough on a
good
day!

Oh well, I thought with another sigh as I sank back into the bed pillows. No use in trying too hard. Not only was it an exercise in futility, but Jack really wasn’t interested, anyway. So that was that. No pressure.

Oh, help me, Lord
.

Five o’clock at the Starbucks on Bayou was a busy time. But then, there didn’t really seem to be much of a lull in anything right now. It was crowded when I walked through the door into a waft of coffee-scented air, a muted cacophony of various conversations all tugging at my attention. It would have been easy to miss Jack, so deeply buried was he among all the bodies crushed into the space.

It took me a minute to recognize him, since I’d only seen him once. He’d had the advantage of getting a few extra minutes to study me as I’d stood there looking for him amid the sea of faces, so I felt a little off-kilter as I wound my way to the table he’d picked.

His green eyes were more intense than I’d remembered, and they seemed to bore into me. Or maybe it was simply that I was feeling at such a disadvantage. I’d wanted to be the first to arrive, the one to choose the table and have a chance to watch him, unobserved, for those first few seconds.

“Zoë.”

Jack’s lips curved in a smile as I neared, the warmth in his voice smooth and sweet like hot fudge. It was amazing, how disarming the man was. He could have easily been arrogant and off-putting, but he had a certain charm that dissolved my insecurities. He seemed knowable.

“Jack,” I replied, smiling back.

I reached up to loosen the scarf I was wearing, unbutton the top button on my coat. It was getting a little too warm in the room, and I’d only just arrived. Maybe I wouldn’t need coffee, after all.

“Please, have a seat. Unless, or course, you’d rather stand,” Jack said, his eyes sparkling under the strange light of the coffee shop. The velvety tones of a female jazz artist played over the speaker, conflicting with the swirl of chatter and shrill sounds of machinery.

I slid into a dark wooden chair opposite Jack, loosening the remainder of the buttons on my coat as I sat.

“Been here long?” I asked, searching for something to say.

I was desperately hoping this would not turn into an exhaustive study of small talk, but I knew the ice had to be broken somehow, by someone. If it had to be me, then so be it. I was determined to make the most of this time. I had, after all, lived through that excruciating date with the Fabulous Doctor Gregory. How could this possibly be any worse?

From my impressions so far, Jack was hardly boorish or conceited. It was his continued behavior that remained to be seen.

He looked a little sheepish at my question, dropping his eyes from my face to his lap.

“Well,” he hesitated. “If I’m going to be honest, I’m going to have to confess that I’ve been here an hour.” He raised his eyes again to meet mine, searching my reaction.

“An hour?” I asked incredulously. “Really? Why?” I realized the question could have been taken many ways, none of which were my intention, but I seemed to have lost control over my tongue.

To his credit, Jack didn’t bristle at the question. Instead, his smile just widened.

“I wanted to make sure I got prime real estate. That, and I was a little nervous.” I noticed then that his leg was bouncing up and down at a rapid pace. “I guess maybe the pre-coffee coffee wasn’t really a good idea.”

I caught my lower lip between my teeth, trying to fight off the laughter that seemed to be climbing its way up my throat.

“Nervous? What could you possibly have to be nervous about? I thought women were the only ones that ever got nervous.” I didn’t finish the thought, didn’t say the words that seemed to hang in the air, unsaid.
The ones that got nervous before a date
. This was, after all,
not
a date.

Right? Had I missed something? He’d specifically said this wasn’t a date.

Did I
want
it to be a date?

I sat silently in my chair, my discomfiture growing. I desperately wanted the distraction of conversation, but at the moment, I could hardly seem to catch an idea long enough to start one.

Jack seemed to sense my unease.

“So tell me, Zoë. You and Neil were…a couple?”

Over the next hours, I told him a vague story about Neil being the friend of a friend, how I had ended up the temporary squatter in Neil’s house while he’d been deployed. I didn’t fill in the most important details—the reasons I’d needed to leave my own home in the first place. The devastating tail-spin I’d been trying to escape.

I told him about the store and all of the happiness it brought me, the steadiness it provided. The ways I felt enriched. To his credit, Jack seemed to genuinely catch my enthusiasm. Most of the questions directed at him, however, were quickly redirected to bring the conversation to me. Admittedly, it left me curious, but it had been so long since a man had been truly interested in finding out about me that it was easy to fall into the groove.