Within Reach. Sarah Mayberry
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to their weekly menu.
Charlie was rubbing his eyes by the time they had finished eating and Michael took a chance and settled him in his bed. Miraculously, Charlie’s eyes shut after only ten minutes of story.
When Michael returned to the kitchen, Angie was seated at the counter, her chin propped on her left hand as she sketched rapidly in a notebook.
“Guess who’s already asleep?”
She glanced up, her blue eyes unfocused for a few seconds as she dragged herself back from whatever creative space she’d been in.
“Really? He’s down already?”
“The magic of the park.”
“Wow. They should put that in a can. It would sell like hotcakes.”
“You want a coffee?”
“Sure.”
He glanced to the living area and saw that Eva had crashed out on the couch, too. Unusual for her, but maybe the shopping had worn her out. He pulled mugs from the cupboard and grabbed the French press. He turned to check if Angie wanted some chocolates with their coffee and saw that she was once again absorbed in her notebook, this time writing small, neat notes to herself in the margin.
She was so self-contained, one of the calmest people he knew. In fact, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he’d seen her really agitated or distressed. She approached everything with an interested, open-minded curiosity and an unfailing, quiet sense of humor. She was good company, good to spend time with.
All of which made her apparently perpetual single status baffling to him. It wasn’t as though she was hard on the eyes. She might not be conventionally beautiful, but her long, oval face and deep blue eyes were very appealing. She had a sleek, subtly curved body that was more athletic than va-voom, but there was no denying that she was an attractive woman. Very attractive.
He knew through Billie that Angie’s love life was hardly a barren desert—there were men, not too many, but enough—yet none of them seemed to stick. He also knew via his indiscreet wife that there had been one man years ago who Angie had been crazy about. Was she still holding a candle for him? Or was it simply a matter of her not being interested?
Behind him, the kettle clicked to announce it had boiled. He started to make the coffees as the doorbell rang through the house.
He frowned. It was nearly eight-thirty, and the days of people dropping in unannounced had gone with Billie.
“I’ll finish this. You get the door,” Angie said.
“Thanks.”
He made his way up the hall and opened the door to find the woman he’d run into in the park earlier on his doorstep, a piece of paper in hand.
“Michael. Hi. Remember me? Gerry.” She gave a self-conscious laugh.
“Of course,” he said, even though he’d forgotten her name the moment she’d reintroduced herself this afternoon. He simply didn’t have room for that sort of thing in his head right now.
“Sorry to show up on your doorstep like this, but I was thinking about Charlie this afternoon and I realized that you’ve probably been out of the loop a bit since we all used to contact Billie for things… Anyway, I thought you might be interested in this.”
Gerry thrust the piece of paper at him and he saw that it was a flyer advertising a sing-and-dance event at the local indoor play center.
“A bunch of us are going to make a day of it, take a picnic, that sort of thing.” Gerry smoothed a hand over her deep red hair.
“Thanks. I’ll see if we can make it. Charlie thinks he’s a rock star, so it’s all about singing and dancing for him.”
She laughed a little too loudly. “Oh, he’s adorable. And so is Eva. Such lovely kids.”
There wasn’t much he could say to that and not sound like a monstrous egotist, so he simply smiled politely. Gerry started talking about the next mothers’ group get-together and insisted on passing over another list with everyone’s phone numbers, indicating her own.
“Anything you need, babysitting, whatever, you call me,” she said. “I’d be happy to help out any way I can. I know how tough it is doing it all alone.”
They had been talking on the doorstep so long he suspected he probably should have invited her inside, but just when he was prodding himself to do so she palmed her car keys and took a step away.
“I’ll see you around, Michael.”
“Sure. And thanks for this, Gerry. I appreciate it.”
She waved a hand to indicate it wasn’t a big deal and then took off up the driveway, her high heels loud against the concrete. He shut the door and returned to the kitchen. Two mugs sat steaming on the counter. Angie had a small, wry smile on her face.
“One of Billie’s mothers’ group friends with a playdate thingy,” he explained, brandishing the flyer before using a magnet to fix it to the fridge. “I ran into her in the park today.”
“Was that what that was about?” Angie asked, eyebrows arched knowingly.
He stared at her blankly. “What else would it be?”
She gave a small laugh. “Michael, she was hitting on you.”
“No, she wasn’t.”
“Um, yeah, she was. Totally hitting on you. Who drops by with a playdate reminder at eight-thirty on a Sunday night?”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong.”
She didn’t say anything, but her expression did.
“She’s married, Angie. She has kids.”
“She has kids, yes, but not all the women in that group were married, you know. Ever heard of single parenthood and divorce?”
He shrugged, sick of the subject. “Fine. Maybe she was hitting on me. If you say so.”
He grabbed his mug and took a mouthful of strong, hot coffee. Angie had made it exactly the way he liked it.
“She won’t be the last, you know.”
“I don’t care.”
She eyed him sympathetically, hands wrapped around her mug, elbows propped on the counter.
“You might eventually.”
He set his cup down so firmly it made a loud crack against the marble surface. “No, I won’t.”
Why was Angie pushing this? She, of all people, should understand that Billie couldn’t be replaced.
Afraid he’d say something he’d regret, he went to put his daughter to bed.
CHAPTER THREE
ANGIE WATCHED MICHAEL’S retreat, wishing back her impulsive words.
He’d been genuinely surprised and not a little uncomfortable when she’d pointed out that the woman had been flirting with him. She should have bitten her tongue then, when it was clear that the subject of him being a hot commodity in the singles market wasn’t something he was ready to consider.
Her gaze fell on the milk, abandoned on the counter. Grabbing it, she slid off her stool and returned it to the fridge. Michael had looked so grim when she’d hinted that other women might be interested in him. So sad and serious.
He’d loved Billie so deeply, so devotedly. Angie was an idiot for even raising the subject of him moving on.
She turned to find Michael standing barely a foot behind her.
“Sorry,” he said simply and sincerely. “I overreacted.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have