Kept (10 page)

“Nope.”

She nodded. Looked at him. Nodded again. “Wow, it’s like pulling teeth with you.”

“You were expecting Tracy?”

“Tracy would be deep into the story by now. I like her. She’s real.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“So you agree. Good. At first I didn’t think someone could be that open, you know? She shared a lot last night.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah. She was so determined to be a friend. Now I’m glad.”

He fiddled with his glass. “Cool.”

“But you can’t sidetrack me. I want your story. Spill it.”

There wasn’t much to spill. So many of his college and seminary buddies were married and on kid three. Here he was, dateless for the first four months of the year. What was up with that? What was wrong with him?

“I’ll make it easy on you. I’ll pack up leftovers so you can have this tomorrow. Then you won’t have to look at me while you talk.”

But he wanted to look at her. He watched her carry the skillet and bowl of green onions to the kitchen. She opened a drawer and pulled out a box of Ziploc bags.

“Miska, don’t. I already feel bad enough eating this.”

“Shut up and tell me your story.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

“Why? What have you got to hide?” She filled a bag with chicken. “I’m getting really curious. If you don’t tell me, I’ll ask Tracy.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t ask Tracy.”

“Ha.” Her eyes sparkled. “Now I’m crazy curious. What’s your story, Foster?”

“It’s rather boring.”

“I doubt that. Not with you being so reluctant.” She set the spoon aside and faced him, arms crossed. “So. Who was your first girlfriend?”

He pushed his chair away from the table. “I gotta go.”

“No!” She ran around the island and held her hands up in front of him. “Come on, Dillan. I was honest with you. Why won’t you be honest with me?”

He swallowed as he looked down at her. Her dark brown eyes searched his, her long lashes flicking. What a beautiful woman. In every way. Every single—

He felt himself tip toward her just a little and jerked upright. His leg banged the chair behind him, and he let out an embarrassed laugh.

“What I wonder,” she said, “is why a guy like you isn’t with Tracy.”

“Have you noticed that Tracy talks a lot? Don’t get me wrong. I like her. But I couldn’t live with her.”

“So?”

“You are ridiculously persistent.”

She smiled and tilted her head.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I’m very patient, Dillan.”

More like stubborn. “I haven’t dated much. Okay? Had a group of friends in high school that hung out together, guys and girls. Dated some in college but nothing serious. Met a girl during seminary—”

“Seminary?”

Yeah, thanks for that reminder, God.
“Grad school for pastors. Met a girl then. We dated a year, broke up. Then got my first job as an assistant pastor. The head pastor didn’t want me dating single women in the church, so I didn’t. Took the job here at the church I grew up in. Haven’t dated much since.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “No one’s interested me, and I want to be careful about dating someone I go to church with. I don’t want to cause problems in case it doesn’t work out.”

“I don’t get it. Rarely does it work out. So just do it.”

“Thanks for the tip, Nike. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She rolled her eyes. “So that’s it?”

“Yep.” He rubbed his neck. “Like I said, not much to tell.”

“No, I mean you hemmed and hawed over that. I don’t get it.”

Of course, she didn’t, Miss Picks-Up-Married-Guys-At-Clubs. At least she hadn’t laughed at him. Or over-shared about Mark.

She handed him the paper bag. “Here you go. Lunch for tomorrow. Enjoy.”

He took it from her, careful not to brush her fingers. “Thanks. You’re a great cook.”

“We’ll have to do it again.”

No. Way. “Sure.” He forced a smile. “Well, back to work.”

“Me too.” She followed him to her front door. “Now you can take your pain killer.”

Right, his arm. He’d completely forgotten.

Miska’s windows were black with night when she and Adrienne returned to her condo Friday night. Miska stretched across her couch, head pounding, and willed the pain to leave.

Adrienne’s purse clattered to the floor. “Since when do you get headaches from a couple drinks? You’re getting soft, Misky.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I think the guy beside us messed with my drink.”

“I told you that place is no good.”

“Sorry, but I’m not into your crowd.”

Silence settled, and the band of agony relaxed. She’d thought a night out would be just what she needed. Evidently not. “Aid, you don’t need to stay.”

“I’ll wait awhile.”

Miska focused on relaxing, peaceful things. Like lunch with Dillan, his long body across from her, brown eyes studying hers, cheeks darkening with embarrassment. He was so sweet, so kind—

But he wasn’t into her.

So much for relaxing thoughts. “What are you doing this weekend?” she asked.

“Tomorrow I’ll be recovering from tonight, and Sunday Alec and I are going to Mom’s for lunch so we can lie about what a wonderful mother she was.”

Mother’s Day. She’d forgotten.

“Well.” Adrienne stood. “I’m gonna go.”

Miska struggled to sit up.

“I’ll see myself out. Get some rest, Sleeping Beauty.” Adrienne closed the door behind her, and silence returned.

Peaceful thoughts, peaceful thoughts.
What was Dillan doing?

After lunch, she’d found the lasagna recipe. Maybe she’d make it Monday and invite him over. Mentally she sorted through her clothes. She’d need something really sexy without being obviously sexy.

She closed her eyes and drifted off. When a knock sounded, she eased up, her head okay with the movement. What time was it?

The microwave said 9:58. Almost time for Buckingham Fountain’s light show.

The knock came again. She eased off the couch, then plodded down the hallway to the door, and looked through the peephole.

Tracy?

Miska opened the door. “Come in. Quick.”

Tracy’s mouth was already open, as if she’d been about to speak. “What’s going on?”

“Buckingham Fountain.” Miska hurried to the window, Tracy beside her. “Watch.”

The fountain’s layers were faintly lit. Spotlights gilded the motionless seahorses.

“Just wait,” she whispered.

The center jet shot up, and the entire fountain flashed to colored life. The layered basins turned red, then orange, pink, and purple. Fountains on the edges shot toward the center jet, as if supporting the main spout.

One color faded into another, fountains rising and falling until the light and water calmed. Again, spotlights highlighted the four seahorses.

Miska leaned against the wall. “That never gets old.”

“Garrett proposed to me out there, in the dark with the lights and music going. You might have been watching.”

“I might have. What are you doing in so early on a Friday? You work tomorrow?”

“Nope. How about you? Big plans for the weekend?”

What had she decided? Cooking? Planning an outfit for Monday? “I’m about as exciting as that fountain will be for the rest of the night.”

“What are you doing Sunday?”

“Nothing. Sundays are the worst, you know? The end of the weekend drags, but you can’t race through it because then it’s work for five days straight.”

“You could come to church with us.”

How fortunate that it was dark. She pressed her lips together to keep any derogatory sound from escaping.

Except it would give her something to do on Mother’s Day, something very un-mommish. Plus Dillan would be there. In his environment. That might be interesting. “What time?”

“What time?” Tracy sounded startled. “Church starts at 10:30. It’s forty minutes away. You want me to pick you up? Maybe 9:40?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Well, okay.”

For once Tracy had nothing more to say.

And now Miska had two outfits to plan, something churchy for Sunday and something sexy for Monday. The second one she had no problem with. But the first one—she was going to have to Google church attire.

Dillan cleaned up well.

Beside Tracy and Garrett in the last row, Miska had a plain view of the back of his head, despite him sitting on the opposite side of the auditorium, a few rows from the front.

While a silver-haired man welcomed everyone, a brunette behind Dillan sat forward and whispered to him. He leaned back, his chin craned toward his shoulder as he listened. The guy beside him turned too. A smile cracked Dillan’s features, and he twisted to say something, grinning as he spoke.

His gaze landed on Miska.

Her breath caught.

A very long second passed before he lifted his chin in greeting.

She nodded back and looked away. What did he think of her being here?

The man on the stage called Dillan who stood, smoothed his tie as he walked up to an extra-wide table beneath the podium, and bent down for something.

The other man spoke. “As our custom is, we want to honor all our moms today.”

Tracy coughed like a fly had kamikazed down her throat.

“In a bit, the ushers will have a rose and chocolate for each mom, but—” he raised a finger and gave an impish grin “—a select few will get yours first.”

Tracy coughed again. And again.

Garrett sent her a concerned look.

“Dillan and I got together Friday and added some categories. What’d we call them, Dillan?”

He set small gold boxes on the table. “Unique categories, I think?”

Still hacking, Tracy slipped past Garrett and disappeared into the foyer while the man chuckled. “We’ll go with unique. Let’s get started. Tallest mom.”

The crowd laughed. Even Garrett snickered.

“Guess who came up with that one. Shari? Where’s Shari?”

A dark-haired woman stood and made her way to the front, shaking her head.

Miska glanced at Garrett.

“My mom,” he whispered as the audience clapped. “Six one.”

Dillan’s mom. She took the rose and box and returned his hug. He kissed her cheek. She shook her head at him again, but a smile covered her face, so similar to the one Dillan wore.

“Now we go the other direction. Shortest mom.”

Shari Foster walked back to her seat. The man she sat next to had mostly dark hair and was a handful of inches taller, just sitting. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and Miska caught her profile as she said something.

“Who’s the oldest mom?”

Dillan and the man on stage—probably another pastor—scanned the audience. In front of Miska four hands went up, pointing to someone beside them.

“Emma Holbrook, it’s great to see you. Ron told me that Emma turns ninety-one today.”

Everyone applauded again, and Miska joined in. A man in the same row as Emma walked to the front to get the rose and candy. Dillan gave him a handful of roses.

Her heart melted a little.

On it went. The youngest mom. The mom with the most kids. The mom who’d been mothering the longest. Emma Holbrook again. The mom with the most boys. The mom with the most girls.

Miska’s nose tingled more with each round of applause.

There was an award for the mom who’d come the shortest distance—two doors down—and an award for the mom who’d come the farthest—from Alaska for a granddaughter’s birthday.

The tingle spread to her eyes. She blinked rapidly and pinched her nose. If only her mom could come back from wherever she was. Would she have won that award?

“I’m going to take the blame for this one,” the pastor said, “just in case. The loudest mom. Heidi Rivers, come on up.”

A woman a few years older than Miska slowly stood.

“Anyone who’s been at Heidi’s boys’ games knows how much she cheers them on. We wonder how the kids ever hear the coach.”

Heidi looked overcome, and as she walked up to strong applause, three boys in the pew she’d left stood and clapped. Three boys ranging from fourteen to maybe ten.

Dillan said something as he gave her the rose and chocolate. Heidi nodded and wiped an eye.

The pastor also said something to her as the applause wore on, and she managed a teary smile before heading back to her seat, her boys still standing, still clapping.

The story was clear. A single mom—abandoned by some waste of a man—working alone to provide for her kids. How awesome that those boys realized what she was doing.

How she wished she and Wade and Zane had done the same.

How she wished Mom were here so she could make up for it.

The tingle in her nose spread beneath her eyes. Tears dribbled down her cheeks. From the corner of her eye she caught Garrett do a double take.

She had to get out of there.

She grabbed her purse and stepped past the long legs he slanted out of her way. How lucky that they’d sat in the back.

The foyer was empty. She sagged against a wall, and the tears won. Her shoulders shook. Four long years without her mom, and some days it felt like it had just happened. She turned her back to the doors as emotion poured out of her.

Mom.

She was so alone.

She sucked in air between silent sobs. It had been months since she’d missed her mom this badly. Why had she ever come with Tracy?

A large hand settled on her shoulder. Startled, she turned and, through her tears, saw the tall, tall man beside her.
Dillan
. He’d left the auditorium for her?

She buried her face in his chest and let the tears run. His long arms tentatively held her, and she let herself cry.

Wait.
Two
arms?

She struggled for some sort of control, the man’s cologne penetrating her runny nose.

His arms released, and she stepped back, embarrassed to have flung herself at—

Garrett stood before her, awkward concern etched across his face. “You okay?”

She shook her head, panic flashing through her. How could she have mistaken Garrett for Dillan? She couldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her face, feeling the makeup smear beneath her eyes. “I need to leave.”

“Miska?” Tracy’s voice sounded from a side entrance. She hurried to Miska and flung her arms around her, fingers tangling in her hair. “Oh my goodness, honey. What’s wrong?”