Cross My Heart (15 page)

He went to the counter and poured himself another cup of coffee.

“What about your friends in Florida?” he asked, finally. “Do you ever play that game with them?”

Maybe Jenna was right. Maybe he really was a coward.

Claire looked up, and he couldn’t tell if there was disappointment in her eyes or if he was just imagining it.

“Sometimes. Well, I guess I’ll go say hi to Jenna. I’m bummed nothing happened last night, but you still have lots of time before she leaves. And I had another idea.”

Great. “What’s that?”

“Well, you know how she’s fixing up the house for her aunt? She’s planning to do a lot of work this week, since she’s not teaching—there’s a break between summer camp sessions. I was thinking we could help her. You know, with all the painting and stuff.”

As ideas went, this wasn’t such a terrible one. Helping Jenna with home improvement projects would be a daytime activity, and all three of them would be participating. That dynamic had worked from the very beginning, and if they got back to it, they might be able to lay a foundation of friendship that had a chance of lasting.

Because he did want that. He didn’t want to lose touch with Jenna completely when she went away, and he knew the best way to ensure that was to convince her he was willing to accept her on her terms.

“Sounds good,” he said to Claire. “We can help Jenna anytime next week that she wants us.”

She beamed at him. That was something he could get used to—his daughter beaming at him.

“I’ll be back soon. I only had cereal at Ellie’s this morning, so maybe we could have, you know, a real breakfast?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “How about waffles?”

“Mmm. My favorite.”

After Claire left, he started assembling waffle ingredients on the kitchen counter. Jenna had been right about one thing—his relationship with his daughter should be his focus now. He had a chance to change things between them, to be a real father. Why had he backed away before, when she’d given him the perfect opening to talk about moving to Iowa?

He remembered how confident he’d felt the day he’d asked Angela to marry him. He’d been certain she was the right woman for him, certain they could build a good life together. Their family would be completely different from the family he’d known as a child. Instead of poverty and addiction and chaos, there’d be stability, prosperity, structure. He was sure he could give Angela that kind of life, that he could make her happy.

Confidence and commitment had gotten him everything he’d ever set his sights on: college, medical school, a career he loved.

Everything except a family.

When it came to relationships, he was out of his depth. All those years with Angela, and he’d never given her what she really wanted. So what made him think he could give Claire what she wanted? What she needed?

He wasn’t even sure he knew what that was. A parent was supposed to know what was best for their child, and he didn’t have a clue.

With Jenna, at least he had a clue. Enough to know that whatever she truly wanted in life, it sure as hell wasn’t him.

He was looking for the waffle iron, rummaging in the cupboard above the stove. Without warning he was rocked by a memory from last night—a memory of holding Jenna, the feel and smell and taste of her in his arms.

He bent his head and closed his eyes.

“Hey, Dad.”

He opened his eyes to see Claire standing in the doorway, with Jenna beside her.

He took a step backwards and cracked his head against the open cupboard door.

Claire and Jenna gasped.

“Dad! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, even though it hurt like hell. “I just, uh, wasn’t expecting to see Jenna.”

She was staring at him. “Claire said you’d invited me over for breakfast.”

“Waffles, Dad. Remember?”

“Um...” He definitely recalled the breakfast portion of their conversation, but not anything about Jenna coming over.

“I’m going upstairs to check my email, okay? I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”

And with that, he and Jenna were alone.

His heart was thumping in his chest. When he looked at Jenna, all he could think about was last night. Her body beneath his. The way she moved, the way she moaned.

The way she looked after she came apart in his arms.

His mouth was dry, and he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“You really didn’t invite me over?”

He shook his head.

“Should I go home?” She looked poised for flight, like she might take off at any second.

“No!” The word was jerked out of him, and he realized how much he didn’t want her to go home.

She looked startled, and he tried to get a grip on himself. He needed to at least attempt to talk normally, and not like he was picturing her naked right now. “Of course you shouldn’t go home. I was just...surprised to see you.”

She bit her lip. “Is your head okay?”

“It’s fine.” Not wanting to be reminded of that moment, he changed the subject. “Would you like to help me make waffles?”

“Me?”

“No, the woman standing behind you.”

She started to smile. “Is the woman behind me wearing an apron? Because if so, I think she’s a better bet. I’m not exactly the domestic type.”

He started to relax a little. “Believe it or not, I’ve picked up on that. But it won’t kill you to measure out a couple cups of flour.”

She took a step or two towards him. “I guess I won’t know until I try.”

“That’s the spirit.” He held out the metal cup, and she crossed the rest of the space between them and took it.

Their fingers touched briefly, and a quick surge of electricity went through him.

“This seems way too precise,” she said a minute later, after he’d instructed her not to pack the flour into the cup but to scoop it up loosely and then use the flat edge of a knife to level it off. “Are you sure this isn’t just you being a control freak?”

He smiled. “With some kinds of cooking exact measurement doesn’t matter. But with pancakes or waffles, it does.”

“Fine, fine.” She followed his instructions and added the flour to the other dry ingredients in the bowl. Then she turned to see what he was doing.

“You have to separate the eggs?”

“That’s the secret to making perfect waffles. Separate the egg whites, beat them until they’re stiff but not dry, and fold them into the batter.”

She watched him set up the electric mixer and pour the egg whites into the bowl. “Why in the world would you add an extra step like that? Come to think of it, why aren’t we using mix from a box like every other normal American?”

“You’ll answer that question yourself after your first bite. You’re going to say, Michael, these are the best waffles I’ve ever tasted. I am in awe of your amazing technique and can only pray to God there’s more of it in my future.”

She looked at him sideways. “I’m going to say all that, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Are you always this arrogant about your cooking?”

“It’s a flaw.”

She leaned back against the counter and smiled. “I’ll add it to the list I’m keeping on my refrigerator.”

Claire came in just as he turned on the mixer, and she helped Jenna set the table. Soon he was spooning batter into the hot waffle iron and heating up the maple syrup in the microwave.

A few minutes later he was watching Jenna take her first bite.

“Okay, you win. These
are
the best waffles I’ve ever tasted.”

“Told you so,” he said smugly, putting the next one on a plate for Claire.

“You’re a sore winner, Michael. That’s an unattractive trait. I’m adding it to the list.”

“The list of what?” Claire asked, pouring syrup over her waffle.

“Your dad’s flaws. I’m writing them all down.”

“Ooh, I can help you with that. Did you get arrogant?”

“Of course.”

“Control freak?”

“Yep.”

“How about—”

“Hey! I’m right here,” he said, joining them at the table. “And might I add, you’re eating my food while you’re insulting me. Isn’t that biting the hand that feeds you?”

“He does have a point,” Jenna said to Claire.

“We can do a list of positive things, to make up for it. Like, he’s a good cook.”

“He mowed my lawn the other day.”

“He’s a doctor. So, you know, points for having a job that saves lives.”

Jenna nodded. “That’s a good one.”

“And he’s handsome. Don’t you think?”

Jenna hadn’t been expecting to be hit with that question. She should have been able to give a lighthearted answer, but she made the mistake of glancing at Michael—and the devil of it was, he
was
handsome. So handsome her heart rate picked up a little every time she looked at him.

She hadn’t been able to sleep after he left last night. She’d replayed their lovemaking over and over in her head, until she was twisting and squirming in bed, her legs tangling in the sheets.

She’d been in her kitchen having coffee—and remembering the first kiss they’d shared, in that very room—when Claire had breezed in and asked her about the concert. Then she invited her over for breakfast.

“Dad’s making waffles. You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted his waffles. Also, we wanted to help you with some of your projects. You know, all the paint and wallpaper and stuff. Anytime this week you want us.”

Knowing Claire was the least subtle matchmaker in the history of the world, Jenna thought there was a chance that both of those suggestions had come from her. When she’d asked directly, though, Claire had assured her that her dad was the initiator.

She took it as a sign that he wanted things to be normal between them again, and no way was she passing up that chance. So she’d gone over, and Michael had cracked his head against that cupboard door, clearly shocked to see her. She’d almost turned tail and run.

But then, somehow, things had turned out okay. Almost normal again.

Except for those moments, like right now, when she looked at him and pictured him naked.

She looked away again but she knew her cheeks were pink. Then she heard muffled music and realized with relief that it was her cell phone.

She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. “Excuse me for a minute,” she said, getting up from the table and going into the front hallway to answer the call.

“Hey, Molly. Are we still on for Tuesday?”

“Definitely. We’ll be there in the afternoon. Where are we rehearsing?”

“An auditorium at a local college.”

“Sounds good.” Her old friend paused, and when she went on again her voice was uncertain. “Listen, Jenna. There’s something I wanted to run past you. Last night Barb called, and she’s gone off to India or Thailand or someplace. She said she’ll be back by September, but she’s going to miss rehearsals and the first couple of shows.”

Jenna groaned. “Great, just great. How are we going to find a bass player at the last—”

“I found one.”

“You did? Who?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Why wouldn’t I—” She stopped. “Oh, no, you didn’t. Are you
kidding
me?”

She sank down on the stairs and massaged her temples with one hand.

“Jenna, it’s no big deal. Derek and I aren’t together or anything. We haven’t been for a long time. If you want to know the truth...I think he kind of...regrets things. The way things ended, I mean.”

“Damn it, Molly. I assumed when we agreed to this reunion tour that Derek wouldn’t even be a topic of conversation, much less part of the band. I don’t want to see him, and I definitely don’t want to be on the same stage with him.”

“He knows every one of our songs. He’s a great musician. And he jumped at the idea when I mentioned it to him. Jenna, he really has changed. You know he’s been in AA since Irontown broke up—”

“No, I didn’t know that. I didn’t know that because I don’t care about Derek and I don’t care what he—”

“Please just think about it. Okay? Not just because of the band, but—” Molly hesitated. “I hated it too, you know. The way things ended. The three of us were such good friends, before—”

“Before you betrayed my trust and broke my heart?”

She regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. She’d meant them to be flip, but they’d come out sounding bitter.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall. Maybe Molly was right. All that crap with Derek had gone down years ago. If she really had moved on the way she believed, wouldn’t this be the best way to prove it to herself?

She’d forgiven Molly. Maybe it was time to forgive Derek, too.

“Sorry,” she said after a moment. “I will think about it. Okay? I’ll call you back in a few hours.”

“You will, really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the best, Jenna. You know that? And I’m beyond psyched that we’re going to be playing together again.”

When she thought about the music, she was psyched too. When she thought about the people involved, she was a little more ambivalent.

She stayed where she was another minute or two, her eyes still closed. Then she heard someone sit down next to her.

“Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes to see Michael sitting one step down, which put his head about level with hers. His brown eyes were serious and concerned. She let herself feel warmed by that concern, but then the memory of another expression flashed into her mind—the memory of Michael looking down at her in bed, his eyes hot and hungry and possessive.

She swallowed and looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You sounded a little upset on the phone.” He paused for a second and then added, “I didn’t hear what you were talking about, just the tone of your voice. And then you were just sitting here...”

She shifted so she was sideways on the step, her head resting against the wall. “Want to hear something funny?”

He shifted too, leaning back against the banister and facing her. “Sure.”

“Do you remember the guy I told you about? The one I was ready to marry, until I found out he was cheating with my best friend?”

He nodded, his expression neutral.

“Well, you’ll never guess who’s going to be playing bass for the Mollies for the next month or so—starting with Tuesday’s rehearsal.”