“Yes. You were supposed to marry Virgil Duffy in that dress.”
“That’s right.” Years ago Georgeanne had told Mae of her botched wedding plans to Virgil, but she’d left out the part about John. She told Mae now. She told her all of it. All except the private details. She’d never been a person to talk openly and freely about sex. Her grandmother had certainly never discussed it, and everything she’d learned, she’d learned from a health class at school, or from inept boyfriends who either hadn’t known or hadn’t cared about giving pleasure.
Then she’d met John, and he’d taught her things she hadn’t thought were physically possible until that night. He’d set her ablaze with his hot hands and hungry mouth, and she’d touched him in ways she’d only heard whispered about. He’d made her want him so much, she’d done everything he’d suggested and then some.
Now she didn’t even like to think of that night. She no longer recognized the young woman who’d given her body and her love so easily. That woman didn’t exist anymore, and she didn’t feel there was any reason to discuss her.
She skipped over the lurid details, then told Mae of the conversation she’d had with John that morning and of the agreement they’d reached at his houseboat. “I don’t know how things are going to work out, I just pray Lexie doesn’t get hurt,” she concluded, suddenly feeling exhausted.
“Are you going to tell Charles?” Mae asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered as she hugged the pillow to her chest, leaned her head against the back of the couch, and stared up at the ceiling. “I’ve only been out with him twice.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
Georgeanne thought of the man she’d dated for the past month. She’d met him when he’d hired Heron’s to cater his daughter’s tenth birthday. He’d called the next day and they’d met for dinner at The Four Seasons. Georgeanne smiled. “I hope so.”
“Then you better tell him.”
Charles Monroe was divorced and one of the nicest men Georgeanne had ever known. He owned a local cable station, was wealthy, and had a wonderful smile that lit up his gray eyes. He didn’t dress flashy. He wasn’t
Charles never pushed or grabbed, and given more time, Georgeanne could see herself becoming involved in an intimate relationship with him. She liked him a lot, and just as important, Lexie had met him once, and she liked him, too. “I guess I’ll tell him.”
“I don’t think he’s going to like this news one bit,” Mae predicted.
Georgeanne rolled her head to the left and looked at her friend. “Why?”
“Because even though I abhor violent men, John Kowalsky is a stud boy, and Charles is bound to be jealous. He might worry that there is still something between you and the hockey jock.”
She figured that Charles might get upset with her because she’d told him her standard lie about Lexie’s father, but she wasn’t worried he’d be jealous. “Charles has nothing to worry about,” she said with the certainty of a woman who knew for a fact that there wasn’t even a remote possibility she would ever become romantically involved with John again. “And besides, even if I were so delusional as to fall for John, he hates me. He doesn’t even like to look at me.” The idea of a reunion between herself and John was so absurd that she didn’t waste any brain power giving it a second thought. “I’ll tell Charles when I have lunch with him on Thursday.”
But four days later, when she met Charles at a bistro on Madison Street, she didn’t get a chance to tell him anything. Before she could explain what had happened with John, Charles hit her with a proposal that left her speechless.
“What do you think about hosting your own live television show?” he asked over pastrami sandwiches and coleslaw. “A kind of Martha Stewart of the Northwest. We’d slip you into the Saturday twelve-thirty-to-one time slot. That’s just after
“I can’t retile a kitchen,” she whispered, shocked clear down to her beige pumps.
“I just threw that out as an idea. I trust you. You’ve got natural talent, and you’d look great on television.”
Georgeanne placed a hand on her chest, and her voice squeaked when she said, “Me?”
“Yes, you. When I talked it over with my station manager, she thought it was a great idea.” Charles gave her an encouraging smile, and she almost believed she could go in front of a television camera and host her own show. Charles’s offer did appeal to the creative side of her, but reality interceded. Georgeanne was dyslexic. She’d learned to compensate, but if she wasn’t careful, she still read the words wrong. If she was flustered, she still had to stop and think about which way was left and which was right. And then there was her weight. A camera was supposed to add five pounds to a person. Well, Georgeanne was already several pounds overweight, add five pounds to that, and not only would she appear on TV reading words that didn’t exist, but she’d look fat. Plus there was Lexie to consider. Georgeanne already felt horrible for the amount of time her daughter spent in day care or with sitters.
She looked into Charles’s gray eyes and said, “No, thank you.”
“Aren’t you going to think it over?”
“I have,” she said as she picked up her fork and speared her coleslaw. She didn’t want to think about it any longer. She didn’t want to think of the possibilities or the opportunity she’d just turned down.
“Don’t you want to know how much it pays?”
“Nope.” The government would take half, and she’d be left looking like a fat idiot for half of what she was worth.
“Will you think about it a little longer?”
He seemed so disappointed that she said, “I’ll think about it.” But she knew she wouldn’t change her mind.
After lunch he walked her to her car, and once they stood beside her maroon Hyundai, he took the key from her hand and fit it into the lock.
“When can I see you again?”
“This weekend is impossible,” she said, feeling a little guilty that she’d never gotten around to mentioning John. “Why don’t you and Amber come over next Tuesday night and have dinner with me and Lexie?”
Charles reached for her wrist and placed her keys in her palm. “That sounds nice,” he said as he moved his hand up her arm to the back of her neck. “But I want to see you alone more often.” Then he touched his lips to hers, and his kiss was like a nice pause in a busy day. A relaxing ahh, or a dip in a warm pool. So what if his kisses didn’t make her crazy? She didn’t want a man who made her lose control. She didn’t want any man’s touch to turn her into a raving nymphomaniac ever again. She’d been there, done that, and she’d been burned big time.
She touched her tongue to his and felt his quick intake of breath. His free hand found her waist, and he pulled her closer into his chest. His grip tightened. He wanted more. If they hadn’t been standing in a parking lot in downtown Seattle, she might have given him what he wanted.
She cared for Charles, and in time, she could see herself maybe falling in love with him. It had been years since she’d made love. Years since she’d given herself to a man. When she stepped back and looked into Charles’s heavy eyes, she thought it might be time to change that. It might be time to try again.
Chapter Nine
“Hey, look at me!”
Mae glanced up from the carefully folded napkins in her hands as Lexie ran by dragging a pink Barbie kite behind her. Her denim hat with the big sunflower in front flew off her head and landed on the grass.
“You’re doing great,” Mae hollered. She set down the napkins and stood back to view the picnic table with a critical eye. The ends of the blue and white striped cloth fluttered in the slight breeze while Lexie’s Chia Pet sat on an overturned bowl in the center of the table. The grassy pig wore little sunglasses cut out of poster board, and a bright pink scarf had been tied around its neck. “What are you trying to prove?” she asked.
“I’m not trying to prove anything,” Georgeanne answered, wedging a tray of salmon-asparagus bundles,
