Chapter Six
The following Friday, Chuck waited for Carly after what was their fourth Safety Awareness Program presentation. "Any chance you're open for dinner tonight?"
He hadn't really had a chance to talk to her on Tuesday. She'd hurried out because one of her kids was sick. He'd wanted to call. Really wanted to. But he hadn't. Mainly because he really wanted to.
He'd planned on playing it cool today, but obviously couldn't quite manage cool.
Carly smiled. "Wish I could. I have to pick up the kids, get them ready to go to their dad's. Dean's coming about seven. It's going to be quite the battle to get them to go because Rhiana hasn't forgiven him for last weekend. He called a few times this week, but she wouldn't talk to him. And though Sean did, he wasn't overly enthusiastic."
"I can't say that I blame them." A father who only had weekends with his kids, and would freely give up spending time with them in favor of a girlfriend . . . he didn't get that. Or a man who had a wife like Carly and would mess it up by cheating on her . . . he didn't get that either.
She shrugged. "I guess it's obvious to everyone that I never really understood Dean, but I really don't understand how cavalier he is about spending time with the kids." She took a deep breath, as if calming herself. "But I can't control what he does. Neither can Rhiana. She's going to have to learn that he's her father and she has to make peace with it. I keep telling her she can change her mind, can change her outfit, but she's stuck with the two of us as parents—warts and all."
Chuck snorted. "My mom always had those kinds of sayings. I bet that goes over well with Rhiana because I remember just how much I loved them."
Carly laughed. "About as good as when my mom used to tell me that sticks and stones. . . I always swore I wouldn't be that kind of mom, the one who throws meaningless platitudes at their kids. And yet, here I am. All my mother's sayings seem to tumble out of my mouth of their own accord. She'd have had a good laugh over it if she were still here."
"Losing her still hurts, doesn't it?"
"I miss her. Most of the time I forget how much, but when I came to dinner at your place and met your mom, it sort of hit me anew. I'd sort of hoped when I married that Dean's mother would kind of take me in. And though Darlene and I got along, it was never that close mother-daughter relationship I wanted. Your mom and I probably bonded over that one meal more than I ever did with Darlene."
"I think my mother would take that as a supreme compliment. I'm supposed to bring you back to dinner soon. Speaking of dinners, maybe we could do dinner tonight after your ex picks the kids up? Seven's not that late."
He was pushing and he knew it, he just couldn't seem to stop himself.
"I have a PTA meeting, then I'm heading out to listen to a band we might book for the Valentine's dance. I'll confess, I'm late getting started with planning it. I was going to let the kids use an iPod and speakers, but turns out this is an adult dance. Just what I wanted. Planning a night for a bunch of lovesick adults to moon over each other." She made a very unladylike gagging motion.
"Hey, you and me both. Valentine's is the bane of every single guy out there. Especially when avoiding a serious relationship is your credo. If you've been seeing a woman near the holiday, then you have to send them something. And if you do, they always read more into than you intended. I try not to date in February until after the fourteenth."
"Wow. You're a real Mr. Romance, Chuck."
He didn't take offense. It was the truth. "That's what they tell me. But about tonight. . . What if I came with you? We'll grab a bite, listen to the band and visit."
"There's never a good way to visit in a bar . . . they're awfully loud."
Chuck had been thinking about Carly all week. And seeing her at two of the safety programs wasn't enough. He'd tried to reposition the tables so she'd be close enough that they could chat between kids, but Firefighter Bob had nixed that, claiming that she should be closer to the firefighter's booth since she was handing out the fire-safety material. Watching Bob chat so amicably to Carly had been ulcer-producing.
Chuck wasn't a jealous guy, but there was something about "I-don't-poach" Firefighter Bob that set his teeth on edge. "Then we'll eat in the loud bar and save the visiting for after."
"By visit do you mean, visit?" Carly asked the question with just the right inflection so that he couldn't mistake her meaning.
"If you want me to mean visit, I certainly do, but I understand if the other night was a fluke." A fluke he wished hadn't been interrupted because all he'd been able to think about since was another chance at visiting with Carly Lewis.
"Then, yes. I'd love to have you come along with me and listen to the band. Afterward . . . " She shrugged. "We can see if either of us are interested in visiting."
Chuck was sure his interest in visiting with her wasn't going anywhere. He just hoped her interest in it was still there.
THAT NIGHT, AFTER GETTING the kids to go with Dean, Carly was the first one to arrive in the teachers' lounge where the PTA moms now held their meetings. It was a plain, but comfortable room. Tables, chairs, a fridge, microwave and phone. She put on a pot of coffee, then set out the napkin holder next to a plate of cannolis she'd bought at the International Bakery on her way to pick the kids up at school. She took one with chocolate filling as she sat and waited for Samantha and Michelle.
Samantha rushed in first. "Oh, man, cannoli. My life just gets better and better."
The coffeemaker made its last sputtering noises, indicating it had done its job. Carly got up and poured them each a cup. "So, tell me what else is ranking with the cannolis today."
Samantha shook her head as she studied the cannolis as if the fate of the world rested on her choosing the right one. She finally picked up a custard one. "Nope. I can't tell you my news till Michelle gets here."
"I'm here and the first thing I hear is my name," said their friend as she came up the short row of stairs and across the hall. "So, what can't you tell, Samantha?"
She took off her coat and made a beeline for the coffee. "Oh, cannoli," she practically purred.
"That's what I said," Samantha assured her and took a huge bite.
"Hey, quit eating long enough to tell us your news," Carly commanded.
After a day like today, she could use some good news.
Rhiana had been just as difficult about going with Dean as she'd anticipated. And rather than apologize and promise to do better, he'd greeted her surliness with an Oh, grow up, which was sure to make Rhiana even more cranky. "Chew, chew," Carly chanted. "We're waiting."
Samantha hurriedly chewed and swallowed her bite of cannoli, then took an agonizingly long sip of coffee.
"Samantha," Carly cried with the same impatience Rhiana might have used when dealing with Sean. She heard it in her own voice and recognized it, but couldn't help it. Samantha looked as if she were ready to burst with whatever news she had, and was being Seanesque, dragging it out for all it was worth. Next time Rhiana complained, she vowed to be more sympathetic.
Samantha looked totally unrepentant as she finally started. "I know we've all known each other for years, but this friendship . . . well it's new, even though it doesn't feel new. So, if you say no, I'll understand, but I'd really like you both to be bridesmaids when Harry and I get married . . . " She paused.
"Samantha," Michelle said this time.
"I can't help it, I want to savor the telling. We're getting married in June." Samantha didn't get any further than that. Both Carly and Michelle gave very girly shrieks, and hugged her.
When the commotion died down, Samantha finished. "Harry and I want the day to be filled with the special people in our lives. You were both here for me through the whole romance, and of all the people I know, I can't think of anyone I'd rather have be a part of this special day." She sniffed. "I swore I wouldn't do this."
She sniffed again and took one of the napkins next to the cannolis.
"Oh, Samantha, I'd be honored," Michelle cried.
Literally cried.
Tears streamed down Michelle's face. "I don't know what I'd have done without the two of you these last few months either. I don't think friendships like ours are forged with time, but with a connection. You two . . . " She gave up trying to talk and simply hugged Samantha all over again.
Carly could feel the tears tickling at the back of her eyelids.
She looked at the two women who'd been stuck on the Social Planning Committee with her. She remembered the morning Heidi had called and how annoyed she'd been to add one more thing to her list of things to do, but now, she realized that it had been one of the luckiest moments of her life. She wanted to say all that and more to Samantha and Michelle, but all she managed was, "Yes," before she gave in to the tears and joined the group hug.
When their tear-fest stopped, they all ate cannolis, drank their coffee and listened to Samantha's wedding plans. " . . . something simple. I've done the whole-nine-yards wedding, and it didn't take. This time, I want a simple celebration of the fact I love Harry and he loves me. I want family and friends there. Casual. So I don't have to worry about the kids messing up their clothes, or Stella's doll causing a table to catch on fire again."
Carly shook her head. "A simple celebration? There's no simple about what you and Harry have, and there will be no simple about the wedding. It sounds perfect."
Samantha looked at her watch. "I officially took up the whole meeting with wedding talk. Carly, about the Valentine's dance?"
"Everything's under control," she assured them as she glanced at the clock. "But, I'm going to have to run."
"I thought maybe we'd go out and celebrate," Samantha said. "Unless you have to get back to the kids."
"Daniel's keeping Brandon overnight," Michelle said. "So, I'm game."
Part of Carly wanted nothing more than to go celebrate Samantha's news with her friends. But she'd promised to meet Chuck, and truth be told, she'd been pretty much a fluttery mess since they'd agreed to meet and possibly visit.
"The kids are at Dean's tonight," she admitted. "But I'm supposed to go listen to a band I might book for the Valentine's dance."
"Great, we can come with you," Samantha said as Michelle nodded her agreement.
Carly squirmed. "I was meeting someone there, but you two are welcome to join us."
"Someone?" Samantha asked, a sly grin on her face. "Would this be a male someone by any chance? One who comes equipped with his very own handcuffs?"
"Oh, gross," Carly said.
"Is that an oh-gross about Samantha's very inappropriate handcuff comment, or oh-gross about the idea of dating a particular lieutenant?" Michelle grinned.
"The handcuffs," Carly assured her. "And the lieutenant is just meeting me to listen to this group."
"Great. Since it isn't a date, we'll just come along and listen, too." Samantha clapped her hands together. "It'll be like a double date—" she glanced at Carly and added "—that isn't a date."
Michelle shot Carly an I'm-sorry look. "If you're sure?"
There was no way out of it. First her kids. Now her friends. Carly wondered if it was some kind of sign that she and Chuck weren't meant to visit.
She didn't say that to Michelle and Samantha. What she said was "Sounds good. It's a date."
DESPITE THE BAD WEATHER, Chuck was waiting for Carly on the street in front of her house at eight. He'd been waiting for fifteen minutes, not that he'd tell her that.
Carly pulled her van into the garage and hurried back out to his car. A gust of wind blew in as she opened the door.
"Heat," she gasped. "Crank it. I can't feel my feet."
He looked down at her very stylish black knee-high, huge-heeled boots. "Maybe you should have worn something warmer than those boots. Something more practical, too."
"Wearing anything with heels is practical when you're vertically challenged."
He laughed. "Vertically challenged?"
Short. I can say it, but vertically challenged sounds better. And truly, a lot of short women have made their mark. Kristin Chenoweth is one of my all-time favorite actresses, both on stage, on TV and in film. And she's even tinier than me."
"Vertically challenged and in need of heels or not, you should still have something warmer on your feet."
"Thanks, Mom," she mocked.
Chuck sighed. "I've said this before, but you know, you're a very prickly woman, Carly Lewis."
"No. Not prickly. I'm simply firm about the fact I won't do what I'm told ever again. No matter what. I'll wear whatever boots I want, even if my feet turn to ice."
"I'm not trying to tell you what to do . . . " He let the sentence trail off. "Okay, I was, but it was because I worry about you."
"If you're worried, then crank the heat so I can thaw my feet."
He obliged, turning the heating system on high.
Carly made a little sound of delight in the back of her throat. Soft, almost a sigh, it was the sound of a happy, satisfied woman.
"Oh, I've got my glee on now."
"Pardon?"
"Glee," she repeated slowly. "Bliss. Two very underused words."
"Okay, Miss Bliss, warm your feet while we drive to the club. I'll drop you off, then park and meet you inside."
"I can walk."
He glanced over, and could see her stubborn expression. "Carly, I know you can walk, and you will . . . from the car to the front door. I'm not telling you what to do, Miss Prickles. I'm telling you what I'm going to do. There's a difference."
"You're a stubborn man."
"Ah, it's rather one of those pot-calling-the-kettle things, now isn't it?" He stopped teasing and said, "But I'm glad this particular pot allowed this particular kettle to come out with her."
"About that."
There was something in her voice that sounded almost apologetic and made Chuck decidedly nervous. "Yes?"
"I need to apologize."
Good to know his cop senses hadn't totally deserted him with Carly Lewis. He was pretty sure an apology offered before any offense was taken was not a good thing—especially when Carly Lewis was involved. "About what? You haven't been playing with matches again?"
She laughed. "No matches or couches. But I do need to apologize about tonight. You see, it won't just be the two of us. We're sort of inadvertently double dating."
"What couple?"
"Not a couple in the traditional sense. The two moms on the PTA committee with me are coming along."
Ah, her friends. That wasn't so bad. From her apology, he'd thought it was going to be something worse. "Your friends are coming along to help you decide about the band."
"I could let you think so, and that's probably what they'd tell you, if you asked. Or they might tell you they came out to celebrate the fact Samantha and Harry have set a date for their wedding. But to be honest, they're coming to check you out."
"Oh?" It had been a long time since he'd been checked out by a date's friends. He didn't generally stick around long enough for it to get to that.
"I tried to explain that we're casual, but they're. . . Well, there's no way to be diplomatic. They're nosey. And since they've both found romance, they're convinced there's something magical about our committee and I'm going to find mine. I keep telling them I'm done with love and romance . . . the whole nine yards. But women in love don't listen well. I think their hearts get in the way of their ears. I just don't want you to worry that I'm getting the wrong idea. I'm not. And I don't want you to get the wrong idea and think I am."
She sounded emphatic.
Emphatically anti-romance.
That's exactly what Chuck wanted to hear from a woman he was dating, so those words should have made him happy. Although for some odd reason, they sort of rankled. "That's what you say now, but some day—"
"Chuck, what I'd love is for you not to tell me how I feel, or how I will feel. I lived with someone who tried to mold me into who they wanted me to be for too many years. I won't do it again—not even for a date."
"Sorry. It's just a woman like you should be loved." Chuck grimaced at the words. If any of the guys at the station had overheard that particular sentence they'd have never let him live it down.
Carly didn't seem to notice his momentary lapse into saccharine sentiments.
"I am loved. Loved by my kids. Loved by my friends. That's enough."
Chuck didn't say so, but he knew it shouldn't be enough. Carly deserved more than that.
He didn't say it. He knew she'd protest. So he simply pulled in front of the bar on State Street.
"Honestly, I can walk," she tried one more time.
He didn't even bother to respond. He simply waited until she sighed, got out of the car, and walked toward the entrance to the bar. Only then did he merge back into traffic and look for an empty meter. When he walked back to the bar, Carly was waiting inside the front door.
"You could have gone in without me. I'm a cop, remember? I'd have found you."
"I didn't mind waiting."
The bar was a popular weekend spot. They threaded their way through the crowd, and toward the back of the room Carly waved at two women in a booth against the wall. The brunette and tall blonde stood as they approached.
"Samantha, Michelle—" Carly indicated the shorter brunette was Samantha and the taller blonde was Michelle "—this is Lieutenant Jefferson."
"Chuck," he said. The woman scrutinized him for longer than might be polite. Chuck tried not to take offense. He liked that they were sizing him up in an attempt to look out for Carly.
He wondered if she bristled as much over their concern as she did his?
They all sat down. He noticed that Carly's friends had taken one side of the booth together, leaving the other side for Carly and himself.
"Carly and a cop. . . gotta confess, I didn't see that coming," Samantha said with a chuckle.
"There's no and about it," Carly said quickly. Too quickly. "There's Chuck. There's me. There's a few more Safety Awareness Program afternoons, and a band to listen to tonight. That's it."
"That's what I said about Harry. There was me. Him. And my boys in his office." She wiggled her ring finger. "And now look at us. We're getting married," she told Chuck. "A June wedding. Carly and Michelle are my bridesmaids . . . " The woman began to wax enthusiastic about her wedding plans.
Chuck tried to zone out, but Samantha's excitement was infectious. Carly shot him a look he interpreted as, "What else can I do?" as she joined in the planning.
"Pardon me," he said, and went to find the bartender and ordered a bottle of champagne.
He came back to the conversation, which still seemed to be centered on flowers. He sat back down and oohed and aahed on command until the bottle of champagne arrived.
"Chuck?" Carly asked, glancing at the glasses that the waiter had set down.
"Hey, it's not every day you get to celebrate a friend's happiness." He poured a glass for each of the four of them. "To Samantha and Harry. May you have a lifetime of happy years together."
They all toasted, and he added, "Thank you, ladies, for allowing me to crash your celebration."
"I'm afraid we're the ones crashing your date," Michelle admitted. She was by far the quietest of the three friends. "So, you're the one owed a thanks."
"Not every man could handle a night on the town with three women," Samantha said.
"Especially three women discussing wedding plans. I bet you wish you were anywhere but here." Carly gave him a look that said she wished she were any place but at a table talking about weddings. Weddings that she'd made abundantly clear she no longer believed in.
And that was the worst of it.
Chuck had no desire to pursue a wedding . . . but a woman like Carly should be part of a long-term partnership. The fact her ex had ruined her for that made him want to. . .
He was a cop, he couldn't even indulge thinking about what he'd like to do to Carly's ex. Still, even if neither of them was overly marriage-enthused, he, at least could go along with it for her friends' sakes. "Ladies, no man in his right mind wouldn't love to be where I am. A glass of champagne in my hand, and three lovely women for companionship. The guys at the station are going to be eating their hearts out when I tell them how I spent my weekend."
"Speaking of spending the weekend, I think the band's setting up now," Carly said.
The band, Landshark 4, got settled and started playing a bunch of Jimmy Buffet covers.
"What do you think?" Carly practically shouted to be heard over the music.
The other women nodded. "Maybe we could ask them to turn down the volume just a bit at the dance?" Michelle hollered back.
They all nodded their agreement as the song ended.
Chuck recognized the opening notes of "Son of a Son of a Sailor." "Speaking of dancing . . . " He stood and held out a hand. "Want to?"
Okay, so it wasn't the most eloquent invitation, but Carly's look of surprise seemed a bit much. "You do dance?" he asked.
"I didn't think you did," she admitted as he led her to the small square of open space that was already crowded with dancers.
"Now, why would you think I don't dance?"
"I don't know. It doesn't seem very macho. I mean, when I think cops, I think guns drawn, kicking in the door and taking down the . . . perps?"
He laughed. "Call me a renaissance man because I can draw a weapon, and lead a pretty woman around on the dance floor."
They stopped talking and Chuck just held her. Despite her crazy high heels, she moved smoothly on the dance floor, picking up and following his rhythm. He liked the way she felt against him. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, so she snuggled a cheek into his chest.
"So, is this our song?" Chuck asked, joking.
Carly must not have noticed the humor in his question because he could feel her body get all tense.
"Chuck, we won't be together long enough to have a song, remember?"
He should probably kick himself for asking something like that. It broke all his keep-things-light rules. Instead of backtracking, he said, "Whether we're together or not, we can have a song. Tell you what, every time I hear Jimmy Buffet, I'll think of you."
"Oh, so we won't have a song, we'll have the whole singer?" Her tone was light, but her body was still rigid in his arms.
"Hey, I like you . . . what can I say? Some women might only warrant a song, but you, Carly, you deserve a prolific singer."
I think that's one of the nicest things anyone's said to me in years." She paused and added, "And I guarantee that I will think about you, about this, every time I hear Buffet. I'm no Parrothead, but I have a number of his CDs and go to the tribute concert each year on the bayfront."
They didn't talk any more after that . . . they didn't need to. Even when the band switched to a faster song, they continued dancing, swaying to a beat it felt as if only they were following.