fuzzy. It touched the little girl in her that used to follow him around. She tore her gaze from his and looked down at the hors d’oeuvres. She’d come into the kitchen to do something. What?
“If not, then you can adopt or find a sperm donor.”
She grabbed the silver tray and moved toward the sink. “No. That may be fine for some women, but I want a father for my child. A full-time dad.” Talk of sperm and donors made her think of making babies the old-fashioned way. And that made her think of Sebastian standing before her in just a towel. “I want more than one child, and I want a husband to help me raise them.” She pulled out the garbage from beneath the sink. “I’m sure you know the importance of a father in a boy’s life.”
“I do, but you know that life isn’t perfect. You know that even with the best of intentions, fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce.”
Thinking of him in that towel made her think of him without the towel. “But fifty percent don’t,” she uttered, not thinking about what she was doing as she dumped the hors d’oeuvres. As she watched them slide into the trash, she remembered that she’d come into the kitchen to warm them up, not dump them out.
“You want the fairy tale.”
“I want a chance at it.” Damn. She’d spent hours making those mushroom rolls. For a split second she thought about picking them out of the trash. This was Sebastian’s fault. He just seemed to suck the air from the room and leave her brain deprived of oxygen. She shoved the garbage back beneath the sink and shut the door. Now what?
“Do you really believe in the happily ever after?”
Clare turned and looked at him. He didn’t appear mocking, just curious. Did she still believe? Despite everything? “Yes,” she answered truthfully. Perhaps she no longer believed in a perfect love, or love at first sight, but did she still believe in lasting love? “I do believe that two people can be happy and make a great life together.” She set the tray on the counter next to a plate of butter mints pressed into the shape of little Christmas trees. She popped one into her mouth and leaned her behind against the counter. She’d cooked all the hors d’oeuvres and set them out already. She looked down at her red toenails as she recalled some frozen fish in her mother’s freezer, but there wasn’t anything she could do with that.
“Our parents never did.”
She glanced up at Sebastian. He’d turned toward her and his arms were folded across the chest of his bulky sweater. “That’s true, but my mother and your father jumped into marriage for the wrong reasons. Mine because she thought she could change a charming womanizer, and yours because…well, because…”
“My mother was pregnant,” he finished for her. “And we know how that turned out. It was a disaster. They made each other miserable.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that.”
“What’s to stop it? Hearts and flowers and grandiose declarations of undying love? Don’t tell me you actually believe in that?”
She shrugged. “I just want someone who loves me as honestly and as passionately as I love him.” She pushed away from the counter and moved toward the refrigerator. She pulled open the freezer and looked in at an old gallon of ice cream, packages of chicken, and the trout Leo had given Joyce the last time he and Sebastian had gone fishing. She closed the freezer and asked, “How about you?” She was tired of talking about herself. “Do you want children?”
“Lately I’ve been thinking that I’d like to have a kid someday.” Clare glanced back at him as she opened the refrigerator. He took a drink of his wine, then added, “But the wife is a different matter. I can’t see myself married.”
She couldn’t see him married either. She bent forward and placed her hands on her knees to peer into the refrigerator. “You’re one of those guys.”
“One of what guys?”
Milk. Grapefruit juice. Jars of salsa. “Those guys who can’t see themselves tied down with one woman for the rest of their lives, because there are so many woman out there just waiting to be conquered. The ‘why have oatmeal every day for the rest of our lives when we can eat Cap’n Crunch, Lucky Charms, and Tasty O’s kind of guys.” Cottage cheese. A piece of something shaped like a pizza slice. “Do you know what happens to those guys?”
“Tell me.”
“Those guys turn fifty and are alone and suddenly decide it’s time to settle down. So they get some Viagra and find a twenty-year-old to marry and pop out a few children.” Cheese. Pickles. Eggs. “Only they’re too old to enjoy the kids, and when they’re sixty, the twenty-year-old leaves them for someone her own age and cleans out the bank account. They’re sad and broke and can’t understand why they’re alone.” She reached for a jar of Kalamata olives. “The kids don’t want them to come to school programs because they’re nearing retirement and all the other fourth graders think their dad is their grandpa.”
Wow, she thought as she straightened, that sounded cynical. She’d obviously been listening to Maddie too much. She read the pull date on the olive jar. “Not that I’m bitter or anything,” she said through a smile as she glanced over her shoulder. “Not all men are immature jerks,” she added, and caught Sebastian staring at her behind. “But I could be wrong about that.”
He raised his gaze up her back. “What?”
“Did you hear one word I said?” She shut the door and set the olives on the counter. She didn’t have a plan for them, but they looked better than anything else in the refrigerator.
“Yeah. You assume I don’t see myself married because I want to ‘conquer’ lots of different women and eat their Lucky Charms and Tasty O’s.” He grinned. “But that’s not the case. I don’t see myself married because I’m gone a lot and, in my experience, distance does not make the heart grow fonder. While I’m gone, either she’s moved on or I’ve moved on. If not, she suddenly sees my work as her competition and wants me to cut my schedule to spend time with her.”
Clare couldn’t fault him for the last. She knew what it was like to have to work while your boyfriend wanted to play. She felt an affinity with Sebastian until he said, “And women just can’t leave anything alone. If everything is going along just fine, they have to pick at it and torture it and talk it to death. They always want to discuss
“My God, you should come with a warning sign.”
“I’ve never lied to any woman I’ve been in any sort of relationship with.”
Maybe not in so many words, but Sebastian had a way of looking at a woman that made her feel as if she were special to him. When in reality she was only special until he moved on. And she herself, who knew Sebastian for a silver-tongued snake, was not immune. Not immune to the way he looked at her and kissed her and touched her and drew her in even as she knew she should run screaming in the opposite direction. “Define relationship.”
“Jesus.” He sighed. “You’re such a girl.” He held up one hand, then dropped it to his side. “A relationship…as in dating and having sex with the same person on a regular basis.”
“And you’re such a guy.” She shook her head and moved to the other side of the kitchen island. “Relationships should be about more than dinner, a movie, and hitting the sack.” She could have said more on the subject but didn’t believe it would do any good. “What’s been your longest relationship?”
He thought a moment, then answered, “About eight months.”
She placed her hands on the white tiles and drummed her fingers as she looked across the safe distance into his eyes. “So, you probably only saw each other half that time.”
“More or less.”
“So in all, total, it was more like four months.” She shook her head again and walked across the room to the pantry, the sound of her high heels making little
“What? That it didn’t last longer?”
“No,” she answered as she opened the door. “That it lasted
“Don’t feel too bad for her,” Sebastian said from the doorway. “She was a yoga and Pilates instructor and I let her work out on me in bed. If I recall, her favorite position was dog down.”
