A Mother to Love. Gail Gaymer Martin
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She couldn’t forget she’d still be looking at her piled-high boxes without the help of her coworker’s toting and lugging.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and she pulled away from her newest wound and planted a pleasant look on her face. “How are you doing?”
“I think that’s the last one.” Rick Jameson came through the archway, a faint grin on his lips, nice lips she’d noticed recently. If they weren’t such good friends, she could easily fall for him.
“You’re the greatest.” She opened her arms and headed toward him.
He stepped in and joined the friendly hug.
The flex of his strong arms beneath his T-shirt made her sigh just a little. She drew in a breath, bedazzled by the exotic scent of his aftershave. “What are you wearing?”
He drew back. “A T-shirt and jeans?”
His questioning look and response made her laugh. “I meant your aftershave.”
His expression melted into a grin. He shrugged. “Jungle something. Why?”
“I love it. Flowers and foliage after rain.” She arched her brow. “Good choice.”
She didn’t care what it was named. It smelled better than her cucumber melon moisturizer. She studied Rick’s expression, wrapped in his scent, and winced. She knew she looked horrible, dressed in rags with only a swipe of lipstick and a comb run through her hair. “I’m grateful for your help, Rick.”
“Anytime, Angie.” He tweaked her cheek and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Anything else?”
She eyed the stacks of boxes along with another million things she needed to do, but she couldn’t ask Rick for more help. She motioned to a stack. “I need to tackle these boxes myself. Most of it’s for—”
Her leg vibrated before her cell phone’s ringtone sounded. She drew it from her pocket and eyed the caller. “It’s my sister. I’ll call her back.”
He shook his head. “Answer. I can let myself out.”
She lifted a finger to stop him, wanting to enjoy his company just a little longer without using the time to work. She tapped the answer button and stepped into the kitchen. “Connie. Sorry, I’m busy. I have a man here helping me at the new house, and—”
“A man? What’s he like?” her sister asked.
Angie cringed, realizing her mistake. “A friend. That’s all.” She rolled her eyes. One more offer to fix her up on a blind date and she would scream.
“Nothing serious?”
“Connie, no.”
“Good, because I’ve found the perfect man. He’s single, good-looking, a bit quiet, but—”
Her internal scream took flight. “But I’m not interested. I’ve told you a hundred times. Two hundred times.” Before her sister said another word, she darted back to the living room doorway, her gaze on Rick. “Anyway, I’m seeing someone right now.” Her eyes locked with his.
“You are.” The decibels ripped through her eardrum. “What’s he like? Is he good-looking? You can’t leave me hanging.”
The thought of hanging sounded good at the moment—preferably Connie. “I have to go, sis. Talk later.” She hit the end-call button before her sister resisted further.
She exhaled. As she gazed at Rick, her imagination soared. She wished they were... Impossible. They were friends. “Sorry.” She looked at his inquisitive face, and her heart skipped. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee or something before you go?” She glanced over her shoulder at the boxes piled in her kitchen. “If I can locate the coffeemaker.”
He chuckled, a sound she loved to hear. His smile and laugh always made her happy. She waited, hoping he would stay.
Rick eyed the boxes and grinned at her. “How many hours will it take?”
She managed a feeble smile, her mind still clinging to her sort-of lie. “I need the distraction.” She beckoned him into the kitchen and headed for the boxes.
“Let me help.” His voice came through the doorway before he did.
Rick’s gaze followed her as she dug deep in a carton and, before she had a moment, he slipped the box from her hand while his eyes searched hers. She sensed he wanted to say something, yet couldn’t, and it left her confused.
Without direction from her, Rick located the pot and the individual brewing cups and popped them into the machine and added water. “Mugs?”
She waved her hand at the boxes. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
He shrugged and in a moment gave her a victorious look. “Voilà!” He held the mugs in his hand, then placed a cup on the coffeemaker and hit the brew button.
She loved seeing him appear comfortable making coffee and being domestic. “You surprise me.”
“Why?” He glanced over his shoulder, then grasped the mug and brought it to her.
The scent of coffee eased her tension. “You look experienced in the kitchen.”
“It’s that or starve.” He popped in another cup and turned back to her. “It’s one of those things single men with a child have to do.” He looked at her again before smiling and turning back to the coffeemaker.
His daughter hadn’t entered her mind. Though he’d mentioned Carly on occasion, Angie sensed he would rather not talk about his situation for some reason. “Coffee tastes good.”
He slipped onto a chair and set his drink on the table. “I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but the phone call seemed to upset you.” He glanced away. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”
She flinched, facing the exaggeration she’d told her sister. “You’re perceptive.”
His brow arched, and he waited.
“To be honest...” And this time she would be. “I’m tired of my mother and sister trying to fix me up with blind dates. I want to scream when they come to me with some trumped-up idea of this wonderful single man who’s a bit quiet but he is very nice. Usually the guy’s main fun is bird-watching or reading. Nothing wrong with either hobby, but it doesn’t make dating them sound particularly enjoyable.”
Rick averted his eyes until a laugh burst from his chest. He gave her a one-shoulder shrug. “Are you telling me you’re not into the nice quiet bird-watcher type?” His words splintered through his chuckle.
Finally, Rick seemed like the man she knew at the office, and she needed the usual. She’d been thrown by the unexpected emotion that had arisen earlier. “Laugh all you want.” She found the image funny, until the crux of the issue struck her. “Today, to stop her, I sort of lied.”
“How does one sort of lie?” He gave her a crooked grin.
“You can’t. I’m not much of a churchgoer, but I know right from wrong, and I feel awful.” She pondered her comment.
“Explain. Now I’m curious.”
His expression took the edge off her guilt. “I told her I was seeing someone.”
“Seeing someone?” His face blanched and confused her. “Are you?”
She shook her head.
“Then it’s not a sort-of lie.”
“But I was seeing someone.” She motioned to the doorway. “I stood right there and looked at you. Get it? I was seeing—”
“Right.” He blinked before he added a disbelieving grin. “Got it...more than once actually.”
She gave him a poke. “You know the old saying about web of lies, right?”
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