The Winding Road Home (31 page)

Kate slipped out a side door after the Easter morning service, bypassing the pastor's main-door handshake, perfunctorily greeting others, intent on finding the right spot.

She hadn't enjoyed the service one iota. What should have been a glorious celebration only deepened the conviction that she was one lousy representative of the risen Christ. She owed apologies all over the place, but Friday night's atrocious display of rudeness hung over her like a thundercloud. If she didn't take care of it soon, surely lightning would strike.

She strode across Main, leaped over the curb onto the sidewalk outside the hardware store, and turned. Minutes ticked by as she watched cars stream out of the church parking lot. He must be one of the last ones out. He certainly seemed to be getting the hang of going to church.

Finally, she saw him coming. He looked nice in a pale green polo shirt and tan slacks. With a start she realized the sun was shining and the temperature was warm. When had spring sprung?

The problem with the particular apology before her was it involved Tanner Carlucci.

The guy she loved. The guy who sent shivers up and down her spine by
looking
at her.

Such things tended to mangle emotions and eliminate words from her vocabulary.

He crossed the street, smiling at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She waited for him to reach the sidewalk. “I wanted to apologize. I'm sorry for what I said Friday night.”

“Not a problem. I'm sorry for what I said—”

“No, don't be. Everything you said was true.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Everything?”

Avoiding his eyes, she shrugged out of the trench coat and twisted it around an arm. “Everything. I can't accept gifts. I treat people like news stories. I keep them at arm's length and hide behind God's so-called plans. And I have…
Galahad
issues.” She took a breath.

“I exaggerated. I shouldn't have—”

“Don't interrupt. And you're not Mr. Macho Cool.”

“Aww, shucks. I wanted to be.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, you're not. Not in a derogatory sense anyway.”

“Is there a good sense to being him then?”

“Tanner! Just accept my apology, okay? Please?”

“Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. What are you doing today?”

“Uh, going home to soak my head and try to figure out how to be nice to people.”

He laughed. “Don't overreact, hon.”

The nonchalant endearment zinged through her. Lightning had struck after all.

He must not have noticed. “Wasn't church amazing? And afterwards three people invited me over for Easter dinner.
Three.
Do you believe it?”

She gave him a quick smile. “That's great. I'll see you—”

“But I turned them all down because I had other plans. I made lasagna, and I hoped you would help me eat it.”

She swallowed and turned her head, watching the sparse traffic. “Uh…”

“Come on. It's my grandmother's authentic recipe. You'll love it. And it's baking even as we speak.”

With her whole heart she wanted to spend the day with Tanner. That was the problem—
with her whole heart
. Could she fake it for a couple of hours? She caught a glimpse of those dark-lashed eyes, the velvet brown-black, and hesitated. But then…given the fact that she was a pro at holding people at arm's length, faking it with him for a few hours should be no problem.

He went on, “You know the best way to figure out how to be nice to people is to just do it. Say yes.”

“Okay, yes.”

“Thank you. You get a point for being nice. But that was an easy one. I knew you couldn't turn down food.”

Today she could have. Today she wasn't in the least bit hungry. Not a good sign.

By the time they reached his apartment, Tanner knew something was seriously wrong with Kate. He had chalked up last week's strange behavior to her hectic trip to Washington followed by six days of newspaper work packed into three. That had all culminated in their argument Friday night. But they had just made up. Normally, Kate would have bounced back by now.

They climbed the steps, her feet dragging ahead of him.

“Hey, how's Helen?”

“Still dead.”

“Did they give you a loaner?”

“Mm-hmm.”

All of her answers were like that, nearly monosyllabic.

In the kitchen she glanced around, her eyes growing wide at the table already set for two, but she didn't comment. Kate always commented.

He said, “Go sit down. I have to put garlic bread in the oven and finish a Caesar salad.”

“I'll help.” She sounded as pathetic as she looked. Pallid all the way around.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he steered her to the adjoining living room area, gently pressed her down into the recliner, dropped the Rockville Sunday paper in her lap, and pulled back on the handle. The footrest popped up, jerking her back. “Stay put.”

She looked like a little urchin sitting there in the big chair. Resisting the ever-increasing urge to take her in his arms, he strode back into the kitchen and yanked the lettuce out of the refrigerator. He slapped it onto the cutting board and began chopping it while berating himself.

Physically moving her had shades of macho cool. Setting the table—with
candles
in the middle of the day—and rescuing her from an afternoon of soaking her head smacked of Sir Galahad. Kissing away her frown would definitely send her over the edge. He'd better strike a balance fairly quick before he scared her away once and for all.

Should he pray? What had he read in one of those new books? That he could pray about anything. Well, this qualified.
Lord, You know how I feel about her. Give me a chance with her? She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. By the way, remember I said she could live wherever? I take it back. I want her here. I really want her here. This past week without us connecting has been… Man, if I hadn't had You to talk to—

“Tanner? The buzzer's going.”

“Whoops. Thanks.” A few minutes later he had water glasses filled and food on the table. “It's ready, Katelyn.” He pulled out a chair and waited.

She pushed on the handle to release the footrest. It didn't budge.

“It sticks. I'll get it.”

“I'll just climb—”

By then he was across the room and leaning over her to push the lever.

She was half out of the chair when the footrest clunked down. The rocking motion of the chair threw her against him. “Oomph.”

He caught her in his arms. “Sorry. Galahad the klutz to the rescue.”

A look of terror crossed her face, and she pushed herself away from him, shoving her glasses back up her nose. “The lasagna smells great.”

He followed her to the table, deciding against holding the dining chair for her. He'd better quit. She was holding him at least
two
arm length's away.

“I didn't know you could cook.”

“I'm full of surprises.” He sat across from her. “Guess who came for a tour of the store yesterday?” He cut a generous portion of steaming lasagna from the casserole dish between them and slid it onto her plate.

“Who?”

He grinned. “My dad.”

“Really? Did you invite him?”

“I did.” He set down the spatula. “We should pray.”

“Yeah.” She folded her hands. “It's your house.”

“Okay.” He thrust his hands across the table.

She stared at them.

“We held hands at Adele's. And at your parents' house.”

“But that doesn't mean we
have
to.”

“But it's my house and I
want
to.”

She frowned but slowly unfolded her hands and placed them in his.

“You know this is my first time, right?”

She nodded and bowed her head.

“Dear Jesus. Thank You for this food and for this day and for Kate. Help her to feel better. Amen.”

She jerked her hands away. “I feel fine.”

“You don't appear fine.”

“Well, I am.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!” She picked up her fork.

Tanner watched her for a long moment as he took a bite of salad. She didn't move, but simply stared at her plate. Another minute ticked by while he tasted the lasagna and drank his water. It was a record for Kate Kilpatrick silence.

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “Kate, hon, you're not fine.”

Her fork clattered against the plate. “I am.”

He went to her, placed his hands on the arms of her chair, and leaned down until he was at her eye level. “Look at me and say that.”

She tried to scoot the chair back, but he held it firmly in place.

“Why won't you look at me? You haven't looked at me all day.”

“Let me go.”

“You're doing it again. Holding me at arm's length. Or further. Try the length of a football field.” He palmed one side of her face and gently tilted it. “Kate, don't you know by now that I don't ever want to be that far from you?”

At last she raised her eyes to meet his. It was the unfamiliar crease between them that gave him hope. “What?”

She really didn't know! “Oh, Kate. Kate! I adore the ground you walk on, to say nothing of you. And if that's too Galahad for you, deal with it.”

“But I'm not your type!”

He smiled. “Says who? You're everything I could ever hope for in a woman. Why are you so afraid?”

“I'm going to DC.”

“And what does that have to do with the price of eggs?”

She shrugged.

He lowered his face, brushed his lips across hers, and murmured, “I haven't been able to take my eyes off of you since we met. I don't know why it took me so long to figure it out, but I love you, Katelyn Kilpatrick.”

The crease between those beautiful translucent green eyes melted away, and she stared at him.

At last he saw what he longed to see…the real Kate cared for him.

He slid the glasses from her face and set them on the table. “I know you can't see without these, but they're in my way.”

“That's okay.” Her voice was breathless. “If I see you, I'll think it's all a dream. That I have to wake up.”

He pulled her to her feet and folded her into his arms. “It's no dream.”

“You know this is my first time, right?”

“To be kissed?”

She shook her head. “Loving someone.”

He grinned. “You're too precious. Was my first prayer all right?”

“You don't rate prayers.”

“Ditto. I'll never…” He lowered his head. “Ever…” His lips nearly touched hers. “Rate you.”

He kissed her then.

She kissed him back.

And the lasagna grew quite cold.

Tanner Carlucci loves me.

Kate had felt positively frothy since early that afternoon, and it wasn't going away.

Beside her on his couch, he smiled. “What?”

“What what?”

“You just giggled.”

“I did?”

“Mm-hmm.” He squeezed her hand.

The day had pretty much gone like that since she'd made eye contact with him. Especially lip contact.

“You giggled again.”

“Hmm.”

They had finally gotten around to eating his scrumptious lasagna. After cleaning up the kitchen, they'd taken a walk and browsed his store's video selection. The entire time they'd talked nonstop like two giddy teenagers.

Her early fears of ruining a good friendship proved ridiculous. Openly loving him only enhanced what they already shared. As usual, they talked about everything. His dad, Adele, church, books, and nonsense. There were only two subjects that hadn't come up. But it was Sunday, and she had just discovered a joy she never thought possible. She didn't want to talk about DC or the fact that, no matter what he said, she truly was not his type.