Chapter Eleven
So they picked up steaks and potatoes. Alyssa threw together a salad with ingredients she had in her fridge and they dined on his deck.
“You were right,” she said as Jay emptied the last of the wine into her glass.
“Words a man always likes to hear,” he remarked. “But what, specifically, was I right about?”
“I do hide my scars.”
“I know that,” he said, wondering what had caused her to introduce the topic now. Was she feeling relaxed because the weekend had gone so well? Or was it possible that she’d grown to like and trust him? Or maybe her confession was simply an aftereffect of three glasses of wine. “But I don’t know why.”
“Partly it’s because old habits die hard,” she admitted. “My mother always made sure the clothes she bought for me didn’t let the scars show. She never made a big deal about them, and I know it’s not because she thinks they’re unsightly, but because they’re a reminder to her that I almost died.”
“Is there another part?” he asked gently.
“Mean girls and beach day in my senior year of high school.”
“Mean girls are usually mean because they’re jealous.”
She nodded. “And I was dating Craig Gerber. He wasn’t on the football team, but he was class president. Smart, good-looking and extremely popular. Not the type of guy who would ordinarily look twice at me. In fact, we’d been in classes together since junior high, and he didn’t even know my name until tenth grade.”
“What happened then?”
“I got boobs.”
He sighed appreciatively. “Those do tend to catch a teenage boy’s attention—and often a man’s, too.”
She smiled at that. “Well, a result of that hormonal spurt, I was no longer the shy, skinny girl who hid out in the library but the shy girl with the boobs who hid out in the library.
“And one day, Craig Gerber came into the library and asked me to have lunch with him.”
“And suddenly you were dating Craig Gerber,” he guessed.
“There was nothing sudden about it. I was very shy and more than a little oblivious. And there were so many girls who wanted to be with him, it never occurred to me that he could want me—until he asked me to be his date for prom.
“Of course, I said yes.” She smiled, a little wistfully, at the memory. “My mother took me shopping for a new dress and shoes and made appointments for me to have my hair and nails done. That night was everything I had dreamed it could be. We danced and we kissed and we stayed out late.
“Then there was a breakfast for grads back at the high school the next day, and after that, everyone headed to the beach.” Her words were a little more clipped now, as if she was in a hurry to finish the story. “Most of the other girls were sunbathing in their teeny, tiny bikinis, and I was wearing one, too, but with a cover-up. They encouraged me to take off the shirt and catch some rays, but I wasn’t comfortable baring so much skin—or my scars—in front of everyone there.
“When I continued to resist, Tiffany Butler accused me of being a prude, and Amie Myers said ‘You don’t have anything the rest of us don’t have.’”
Her gaze dropped away. He wanted to reassure her that he didn’t need to hear all the unpleasant details, but he sensed that she needed to tell them, so he remained silent, waiting for her to continue.
“But Amie knew about my scars because we were friends when we were little,” she confided. “I’d slept over at her house and she’d slept over at mine, so I thought—” She shook her head, as if berating herself. “I actually thought she was trying to reassure me that the scars weren’t a big deal.”
He touched a hand to her arm, a silent gesture of support and encouragement.
Alyssa forged ahead. “I hadn’t considered that, although we’d been close as kids, we’d grown apart over the years. She was outgoing and popular, and I was not—at least not until Craig Gerber started hanging out with me. And one of Amie’s new BFFs was Tiffany, who’d been trying to snag Craig’s attention for months and was not happy that he’d asked me to the prom.
“Anyway, encouraged by Amie’s comment, I took off my shirt.” She closed her eyes, and he knew she was clearly envisioning that moment, that day, and his heart ached for the pain he knew she was reliving.
“I didn’t think my scars were gruesome, or even particularly noticeable,” she said quietly, “but when Tiffany saw my chest, she screamed—a total drama queen shriek of horror that, of course, drew everyone’s attention.”
Now Jay was clearly envisioning it, too, and he hated imagining how horrible that experience was for her. If he’d been there... But, of course, he hadn’t been. And there was nothing he could do to change what had happened in the past; he could only be here for her now.
“And then she pretended to be embarrassed by her reaction and ‘apologized’—” Alyssa put air quotes around the word “—and said that she didn’t blame me for wanting to conceal my hideous scars.
“I was tempted to ask about her surgery, since we all knew that she’d had a nose job as her graduation present from her parents.”
“But you didn’t,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He knew she would never be cruel or spiteful, though he couldn’t help wishing that another one of her classmates had made the point.
“No, I didn’t,” she confirmed. “I just put my cover-up back on.”
And had undoubtedly been covering up her scars ever since.
“What happened with Craig?” he asked.
“He was a little weirded out by the scars—or maybe by the idea of someone having a hole in their heart—though he pretended not to be. And when he took me home at the end of the day, he kissed me goodbye without trying to sneak his hands under my top and said ‘See ya.’ He hooked up with Tiffany before the end of the summer.”
“Sounds like they deserved each other.”
“Anyway,” she said briskly, “that’s the story. Since then, I have to really know and trust someone before I let them see my scars.”
Jay couldn’t blame her for that. On the other hand, she’d been carrying some pretty heavy baggage since high school and maybe it was time for her to let go of it.
“That’s your choice, obviously. I just think...”
His train of thought completely jumped the track when he realized that her fingers were unfastening the buttons that ran down the front of her shirt.
She stood up and turned to face him, though she held the two sides of the shirt together, covering herself.
He swallowed. “What are you doing, Lys?”
“Proving that I trust you.”
And then she pulled the shirt open, revealing lots of smooth, pale skin and full, round breasts cradled by cups of pale pink lace. All the blood in his head rapidly migrated south.
He swallowed again and reminded himself that she wasn’t really baring her body but rather her soul.
He knew where to look for the scar and forced himself to focus on the thin, pale line that ran down the center of her chest, between those perfect breasts.
Perfectly motionless breasts, which clued him in to the fact that she was holding her breath. Waiting.
He finally lifted his gaze to hers and held it for a long moment without speaking.
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “You’re not saying anything,” she noted. “You’re not shrieking, but you’re not saying anything, either.”
“I’m afraid to say the wrong thing,” he admitted. “I want to tell you that you’re beautiful, because you are, but even in my head, that sounds inadequate.
“I want to say thank you, for trusting me enough to take a step that I know wasn’t easy for you to take.
“And I feel compelled to suggest that you cover yourself up again now, because I don’t trust myself not to strip away the rest of your clothes to perform a close and very personal inspection of your gorgeous body.”
Alyssa immediately tugged the sides of her shirt back together.
“Probably a wise move,” Jason acknowledged, “though a disappointing one.”
Her fingers fumbled as she tried to slide the buttons back through the holes.
He brushed her hands away to take over the task, but he stopped just past the halfway point, leaving the top four buttons unfastened.
Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the exposed skin above her breasts.
The kiss was unexpectedly sweet...and began the healing of old wounds deep inside.
She cleared her throat and attempted to lighten the mood. “I’m not going to sit here with my shirt only half buttoned.”
“You can button it all the way to your throat if you want,” he said. “Now that I know what you’re wearing underneath, that’s what I’m going to see in my mind when I look at you.”
“And look at the time,” she said.
“You’re not really going to rush off already, are you?”
She nodded. “I’ve still got some work to do tonight. There’s only a couple more weeks of school, then final exams and report cards to write.”
Plus, she was starting to have real feelings for her sexy neighbor, so she told herself it was a good thing that the charade had come to an end.
And she almost believed it.
* * *
Of course, Alyssa’s resolution to put some distance between them wasn’t likely to get very far when he showed up to run with her the next day at 6:00 a.m. And every morning after that throughout the week.
But the running was routine for both of them, and the more miles they covered, the more confident she was that they’d returned to familiar—and safe—ground. She had a lot of fond memories of the time they’d spent together—from adrenaline-pumping rounds of laser tag to relaxing dinners in her apartment, from the bells and whistles of the arcade to quiet nights and long conversations under the stars, from casual hand-holding to bone-melting kisses.
She packed those memories away in the back of her mind so that she could focus on living in the present. Unfortunately, that mental exercise failed to alleviate the wanting that continued to churn inside her.
“I picked up a bag of frozen shrimp and some of that twisty pasta when I was at The Trading Post yesterday,” he said as they neared the end of their route Friday morning. “I was hoping you might show me how to make the dish you were telling me about.”
“You want a cooking lesson?” She couldn’t help sounding dubious.
“If you don’t mind.”
Of course she didn’t mind, but she also knew that she shouldn’t agree. She was trying to put some much-needed distance between them, and spending one-on-one time in his kitchen was not the way to do that. But instead of refusing his request, she heard herself ask, “Do you have any ingredients other than the shrimp and pasta?”
“What else do I need?”
She shook her head despairingly. “When do you want this lesson?”
“Tonight? Tomorrow?” He shrugged. “Whenever you’re available.”
“I usually work Fridays,” she reminded him. “But Duke asked me to take the Saturday shift this weekend, so I could do tonight.”
“Great,” he said, sounding pleased by her response. “My place at seven?”
“Okay,” she agreed.
And floated through the rest of her day looking forward to seven o’clock.
When she got home from school, she printed up a copy of the recipe and packed up a box with her sauté pan, pasta pot, colander, spatula, slotted spoon, garlic press, olive oil, canned tomatoes, fresh spinach, onion, garlic and red pepper flakes.
Jason raised his brows at the box when he opened the door.
“You said you had the pasta and the shrimp—I wasn’t sure what else I’d be able to find in your kitchen,” she explained.
“That was probably a good call,” he acknowledged. “Although I did pick up a bottle of your favorite pinot noir and dessert from Sweet Caroline’s Sweets.”
Her gaze immediately went to the white bakery box on the counter. “What’s for dessert?”
“You’ll find out after you eat your dinner,” he told her.
She smiled, recognizing the reversal of their roles in the conversation. “Okay, let’s get this lesson started.”
She set the recipe on the counter, then began to assemble the ingredients, faltering when she neared the end of the list.
“I forgot the basil.”
“Do you need me to run to the store?” he offered.
“No, I meant I forgot it downstairs.” She dumped the bag of frozen shrimp into the colander. “Run cold water over these to defrost them—I’ll be right back.”
* * *
Forty minutes later, they were sitting at the table with their pasta.
“It looks fabulous,” Alyssa told him.
“I didn’t think you’d let me screw it up.”
She laughed. “So why are you looking at it as if you’re afraid to try it?”
“Because you put green stuff in it.”
“The green stuff was in the recipe,” she pointed out, raising her own fork to her lips.
He watched as she chewed, swallowed.
Then she reached for her glass and raised it toward him. “Congratulations, Jason Channing—you cooked a delicious meal and it was not on a grill.”
He sipped his wine, then finally sampled the pasta.
“It is good,” he said, looking surprised—and a little proud.
They chatted about various topics while they finished their meal, including triple chocolate mousse cake for dessert. After clearing up the kitchen, Jason suggested that they take the rest of the wine onto his balcony.
“This view never gets old,” she said, lowering herself onto the cushioned teak sofa beside him. “I wish I’d known about this when my parents were here—my mother would love this.”
“Oh...um, that reminds me—she called earlier.”
She froze with her glass halfway to her lips. “My mother called you?”
“No, she called your cell—when you ran downstairs to get the basil.”
“Oh.” She relaxed again and glanced at her watch. “I’ll call her back when I go downstairs.”
“Actually, she said that they were going to Cristina’s tonight and that she’d talk to you tomorrow.”
“You answered my phone?”
“Should I have let it go to voice mail?”
“No, it’s fine,” she said. “And now she can enjoy her visit with my sister without worrying that I didn’t answer because I’d fallen and cracked my head open in the shower.”
“If that’s a real concern, I’m willing to spot you in the shower, honey bear.”
She rolled her eyes at the deliberately provocative endearment as she shook her head. “Of course it’s not a real concern—it’s just one of those scenarios my mother dreams up when I’m not immediately accessible to her.”
“Is that a yes or a no to watching you bathe?”
“A definite no,” she said firmly.
“Because they say that more than thirty percent of household accidents occur in the bathroom.”
“Who’s they?” she challenged, reaching for her glass.
He shrugged. “Whoever keeps track of household accidents?”
She shook her head as she sipped her wine.
“During our brief conversation, your mom also happened to mention that it’s their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary in a few weeks.”
“It is,” she confirmed. “Though I’m not sure why she’d mention it to you.”
“She, uh, wanted to know if I was going to make the trip to California with you for the big celebration.”
“And you told her that, unfortunately, you couldn’t take the time away from work,” she prompted.
“She caught me off guard,” he admitted.
She frowned at his response. “You didn’t... Jason, please say you didn’t tell her that you would be there.”
His gaze shifted away, a sure sign that she wasn’t going to like his response. “I couldn’t think of any reason not to.”
“Work? Family obligations? A previous commitment?” She effortlessly tossed out the possibilities. “Pick one.”
“You’re right—I should have made up an excuse,” he acknowledged. “And maybe I would have, but then she pointed out that it would be the perfect opportunity for the rest of your family to meet me.”
“They only want to meet you because they think you’re my boyfriend,” she reminded him.
“Wasn’t that the plan?”
She shook her head, beyond frustrated with him and the situation. “I only wanted you to meet them,” she said. “One meeting so that my mother could stop worrying—and matchmaking.”
“She doesn’t seem to be matchmaking anymore,” he said helpfully.
“And while I’m grateful for that, you are not coming with me to California,” she asserted. Because she knew that spending ten days in close proximity to the man she was pretend dating would likely result in the development of real feelings. Especially when she was already fighting a daily battle against the physical attraction between them.
And maybe there were moments that she wondered what if she went to bed with him—and found herself tempted and tantalized by the possibilities. But so far, she’d managed to hold out against her own growing desire, because she knew that falling for “Charming” wouldn’t lead to anything but heartache.
* * *
“I should have found a way to get you out of this,” Alyssa said as they crossed the state line into California.
“You didn’t get me into it,” Jay reminded her.
“If I hadn’t kissed you in front of Diego, my parents wouldn’t have come to Haven to meet my supposed boyfriend, and they certainly wouldn’t have invited you to their anniversary party,” she pointed out.
“I like California,” he said easily. And while it was true, it wasn’t the reason he’d agreed to make this trip.
Not that he’d taken the time to examine his motivations too closely, perhaps because he wasn’t quite ready to admit the truth—even to himself. But he could admit that he wanted to know her better, and seeing Alyssa within the circle of her extended family seemed like the perfect opportunity to gain a deeper understanding of who she was and what she wanted.
“Except that we’re not here for the beaches or wineries or amusement parks,” she responded to his comment. “We’re here for a family event.”
“I like your family,” he said.
“You’ve only met my mother and father.” She uncapped her bottle of water—because, of course, she’d packed numerous snacks and drinks for the long trip—and sipped.
“And Diego.”
“Who is not family.”
But he was a close friend who had aspirations of becoming even closer to the family—or at least Alyssa. And he was the reason that Jay had decided to spend the next eight days in California with his temporary girlfriend. “Maybe he’s not family, but he’ll be at the party, won’t he?”
“Considering that he lives in the same neighborhood as my parents, we’ll probably cross paths with him frequently over the next week,” she acknowledged grimly.
“Then it’s a good thing I accepted your mother’s invitation, isn’t it?” he said.
“I’m not denying that your presence serves a purpose for me—I’m just not sure what you’re getting out of it.”
“The pleasure of your company,” he suggested.
She rolled her eyes.
“And, since you mentioned beaches and wineries and amusement parks, maybe we can sneak away for a few hours and do something fun.”
“We will,” she promised. “I’m just not sure that a few hours of fun will make up for more than a week with my family. And considering how hard it was for me to get someone to cover my shifts at Diggers’, I’m wondering how you managed to wrangle ten days off work to make this trip with me.”
“I’m the boss,” he reminded her.
“Of a business that’s been operating for just over a year.”
“Operating very successfully,” he pointed out. “And one of the reasons it’s been so successful is that I hired the right people.” A vague memory of Naomi flitted through his mind. “At least when I made my own hiring decisions and didn’t let myself be influenced by family pressures.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” she noted. “And we’ve still got about four hours until we get to my parents’ place.”
So he told her about hiring his cousin, at his father’s request—and subsequently firing his cousin, the result of which was that his aunt was still not speaking to her brother, which pleased his mother, who’d never been particularly fond of that sister-in-law.
Alyssa chuckled in all the right places, as if she enjoyed listening to him talk. Over the past few weeks, they’d shared a lot of stories and confidences. As a result, he’d occasionally found himself wondering if this was what it would be like if she was more than just a pretend girlfriend, because being with her had given him an appreciation for what it meant to share a life with someone.
He definitely wasn’t in any hurry to get married and start a family, but it was nice to have company at the end of the day, someone to share a meal and conversation.
Over the past several weeks, he’d occasionally wondered what would happen if they moved their relationship to the bedroom, but he never let those thoughts linger. Because wanting anything more than what they had would be selfish and foolish.
And if there was one thing he’d vowed he wouldn’t ever be again, it was a fool.