A wry smile works its way across his face, and I feel the same expression on mine.
“I know what you mean,” I say. I take another picture.
I look at my phone—eight thirty p.m.
“Expecting a call?” he asks and kisses me on the head. “Your daughter?”
I look up at him, shocked. “Yes,” I say. “She’s at my sister’s house. She’s supposed to call me.”
He nods and sips my lemonade.
“You didn’t think I knew about her,” he says—not a question. “It doesn’t bother me. Older women think it makes them less sexy. I’m not after sexy.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say and toss a lemon at him.
He laughs. “I didn’t mean you aren’t.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Let’s not get carried away,” I say.
“Her name is Carly?” he asks.
“Cassie,” I say.
He was Dad’s aide. Of course he had seen us all visiting. Had he seen Jack? I twist my wedding ring around my finger. If Oliver notices me doing it, he doesn’t let it show. I gave him a pass on airing his secrets, maybe he’s doing the same by not asking why I’m still wearing the rings.
“Teenagers are tough,” he says. “Of course, I only know that from being one. I imagine they’re more difficult than I know.”
“I’m feeling very old,” I say. “Perhaps this is why ‘older women’ don’t mention their kids.”
“Worry over age is pretty shortsighted,” he says and takes another sip of the lemonade. “Besides, feeling young is overrated.” He winks.
“What does young feel like?” I ask.
“Unburdened,” he says, putting down the glass and coming closer to me. “Oblivious. Irresponsible.”
“How am I supposed to feel young again?” I ask. “Are you going to make me a Sweet Tart?”
He chuckles. “I enjoy your sense of humor, Nina. You’re funnier than you think you are.”
“I am?” I ask, a little breathless.
He takes my camera from my hand and sets it carefully on the counter. He pulls me close to him. He’s warm and comfortable.
“The other night, out by your car, you asked me if I would kiss you,” he says. “I don’t think I did.”
“That’s ok,” I say, about to launch into all the reasons why it was wrong of me to ask.
He presses his finger against my lips. “If the offer still stands, I’d like to. I still can’t make you any promises. I just know that it feels like I’m falling for you and I’d like to see if I’m right.”
He kisses me, softly at first and then more forceful. He pushes us back against the counter and a lemon rolls onto the floor. His lips are soft, and although his hold on me is firm, I feel a measure of restraint on his part. When he lets go of me, I open my eyes and look at him.
“So are you right?” I ask, my heart racing.
“I’m afraid I might be,” he says quietly.
Just then, my phone rings. He reaches beside me on the counter and hands me the phone. It’s Lola asking if Cassie can stay the night. I say no this time.
“I’ll be over to get her in a bit.”
I know she won’t be happy, but something is happening here and I think that perhaps I’m the one who’s the devil. Best that I go.
“Leaving?” Oliver asks.
“I should.”
Oliver nods and rakes his hands through his hair. I think he might want me to stay, but he doesn’t stop me from going
“Thank you for dinner and the time to hide out a while,” I say as Oliver walks me to the door.
“I understand needing to take a break,” he says. “Sometimes you just need to take a step back and figure out what you’re doing. Sorry I drank your photo shoot.”
I chuckle, and he leans in to kiss me again.
“See you soon?” he asks.
I nod and leave before the devil gets the best of us both.
9
“What’s all this craft crap supposed to make anyway?” Ray says to me when I walk into the room. “What makes people want to glue felt to a paper plate and then cover it with glitter?”
“Good morning,” I say to Ray.
He’s at Mom’s dining room table with the Sunday paper open in front of him, looking at the job listings. He’s in his usual spot, having pushed the hobby supplies to the side to make room for himself. Why do people cut a soda bottle in half and poke Popsicle sticks through it? It seems a pointless effort to take a bunch of useless junk and turn it into something someone might want.
I guess that’s why.
“With my record, I’ll be lucky if I can get approved for anything other than fry cook,” Ray says, crumpling the paper in an angry attempt to fold it closed. “Good morning, by the way.”
Having Ray in Mom’s house is still surreal. It almost feels like one of those reality shows where they toss mismatched people into the same house and create uncomfortable situations for them just to see how quickly they’ll end up in a fistfight. Or one of the shows with the disgusting physical challenges like who can eat the most chicken feet in sixty seconds. I hope that’s not the one we’re on. No, Ray would be the surprise guest from the past who has been flown in to rock the boat just when you thought you had it all figured out. Or was that Oliver? I shake my head to clear away the jumble of thoughts.
“I’ve got an old friend who might be able to help me out,” Ray says as my reality show goes to commercial. “He thinks he might have found me an apartment—crummy, but clean. I’m sure a poor paying job won’t be that hard to come by.”
“You got a place?” I ask, but he doesn’t say anything else about it.
I’m afraid to say anything, not want to break the spell. Ray is looking for a job. Finding something will be difficult and he knows this. Making the effort,
