“Are you saying that—”
Jamie put up a hand, palm outward. “We’re not talking about me. Or my regrets, of which there are many. I’ve been an asshole on any number of occasions. And in this case, it takes one to know one.”
Matt braced his elbows on his knees and sank his head into his hands. Sweat rolled off his back. It was hotter than hell, even under the umbrella. “I guess if the shoe fits…”
“But here’s the thing. Redemption is possible. I have discovered this. There was a moment, not long ago, when I had lost Amy’s trust. But look at us now. I even like her husband. But don’t tell Dusty that. He might get a swelled head.”
Matt chuckled but said nothing.
“Do you love her?”
Wow, that question jolted him right out of his complacency. He raised his head. “Yeah.” He spoke the word on a long sigh. “But I screwed it up. I got all bent out of shape when she accused me of cheating on her when I didn’t.”
“And you paid her back by not believing her when she came to you with her life-altering news, is that it?”
He nodded and then shook his head. “I guess trust goes both ways, huh?”
“If you’re interested in a real relationship it does. Take it from me, the guy who strayed and ended up without his wife’s trust.”
Damn. That was news. Uncle Jamie had lost his wife a number of years ago to cancer, but Matt had never dreamed that Jamie had cheated on Debra.
Uncle Jamie must have read the surprise on his face because he said, “Look, I get the allure of playing the field. It’s fun. But love is something else again. It’ll mess with your head and make you feel like you’re gonna die. But it’s worth it. And if you want to know my biggest regret? It’s that I didn’t let myself love.
“So, I’m not advising you to marry Courtney Wallace if it’s only because you’re running for office or you’re afraid of a scandal. These days, nobody cares if you have a baby out of wedlock. Everyone is doing it. But if you love her, then don’t be an asshole. You get up right this minute and you go find her and you tell her how you feel. Have you told her how you feel?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “Fear, mostly. I don’t know. Stupidity?”
Jamie nodded. “I am familiar with these feelings.” The older man stood up. “And just remember this, even if you decide that it’s not going to work out between the two of you, you only get to be a father to that baby once. Don’t blow it.”
Jamie strolled back toward the French doors. He stopped halfway and turned to look over his shoulder. “And one other thing I’ve learned from my many mistakes. Giving love, especially to a child, won’t diminish you. You don’t run out of love. It’s funny that way.”
He turned and continued his journey into the air-conditioned den.
Matt stayed behind, enduring the July heat in his own private hell, thinking deeply about his next move.
Courtney dragged herself home on Sunday evening. It had been an easy day at work with only one small event—a thirtieth-anniversary luncheon and vow-renewal ceremony—and yet she was exhausted. As she climbed her apartment’s steps, her only thoughts were about a glass of tea and a tepid bath. The weatherman said the heat index had reached one hundred and six. She believed it.
Her bones were limp, her skin sticky, and her stomach unsettled, as if a body snatcher had taken possession of it. That brought a little smile. In a way, she had been invaded, and the little stinker was changing her body chemistry—even though she was only about four weeks into this unexpected adventure. Her appointment with Dr. Lawrence wasn’t for another couple of days, but she didn’t need a doctor to fully confirm the pregnancy. Her nipples were already turning a dark rosy color.
She gave Aramis a can of food and then headed to her bedroom, where she peeled off the slightly damp little black dress she’d worn to work. She had several little black dresses, which served as a kind of uniform when she had to manage receptions and weddings. Black was a fine color for the fall, winter, and spring. Summer, not so much.
She’d just changed into her terry-cloth robe when something rattled the French doors in her bedroom. It almost sounded like someone was throwing pebbles against the glass.
It was probably Ethan Riley from downstairs. The kid needed a little discipline. She tore open the doors. “Ethan, I swear, if you break my window, I’m going to make you scoop cat poop for a solid month.” She stepped onto the small Juliet balcony and leaned on the iron railing.
“I’d be totally willing to scoop poop for you,” Matt said. “In fact, I was just reading in this book that it’s probably not a good idea for you to be doing any poop scooping at all.” He waved a paperback book that looked suspiciously like a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting.
Her body flushed hot, and not from the evening sun that baked the front of the apartment building. This wasn’t happening, was it? This was a fever dream.
Matthew Lyndon, wearing a Ralph Lauren polo shirt and khakis, with his longish hair curling in the July heat into a slightly sweaty tangle over his forehead, was standing below her balcony.
Like Romeo.
Stupid romantic heart. It should have given up a long time ago. But she had to hand it to him. He was standing out there in the hundred-degree weather when he could have just as easily knocked on her front door.
“You should get out of the sun before you give yourself heatstroke.”
He tucked the book under his arm and folded two hands over his chest. “I’m proving my adoration down here by enduring the elements.”
“Oh, is that what it is?”
“Yes.
