Discovering You. Brenda Novak
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“Hey,” she echoed and, after pushing the clay into a big lump, turned off her wheel.
He gave her a sheepish look. “I didn’t cause that, did I?” he asked, indicating her ruined vase.
“No,” she lied. Then she bolstered her response with the truth. “Mistakes and do-overs happen all the time. This was actually my fourth try today.”
“Really?”
“Really,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”
He lowered his good arm to move the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “You ever seen the movie Ghost?”
She had. That steamy scene with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze was one of her all-time favorites, but after last night, she was surprised he’d bring it up. “Yes.”
“That’s what finding you covered in clay and not much else reminds me of.”
Ignoring that comment, she got off her stool and walked over to him. “You broke your hand, huh?”
“Yeah.” He frowned at it. “In two places.”
“I’m sorry about that. But I’m glad you saw a doctor.”
“Yeah, it’s a good thing. It would’ve had to be rebroken if I’d let it heal on its own, so...better to go this route from the beginning.”
“Is this your first cast?”
He chuckled without mirth. “’Fraid not.”
“They’re no fun.”
“You’ve had one?”
“Broke my arm once.”
“How?”
“Motorcycle accident.”
“Who was driving?”
Sebastian had been driving. He’d been angry with a friend and going too fast, and he’d pulled out in front of a semi that clipped their back tire. It was a miracle they’d lived through it. Because of that, he had a scar going halfway around his back, and she had two pins in her arm, but it could’ve been so much worse.
“A friend,” she said to avoid mentioning Sebastian’s name.
Rod studied her until she felt too uncomfortable to allow the silence to continue.
“So...what can I do for you?” she asked.
His mouth quirked to one side. “I just found a plate of cookies on the railing of my deck.”
It was almost impossible not to return his smile, but India fought the impulse. She had to remain on guard at all times. He did something to her she couldn’t explain—probably because it didn’t make any sense. She’d barely met him. “I hope the ants didn’t find them first.”
“Not that I could see. Although I wouldn’t have let that stop me. They were delicious.”
“Were?” she repeated. “You ate them already?”
“Was I supposed to wait? If my brothers came home and found me with homemade cookies, they’d be gone in seconds. And my father and his wife are always there.”
“So to prevent sharing, you ate all twelve?” she said with a laugh.
“They were for me, weren’t they?” he responded with a wink.
He made her feel better. She preferred not to contemplate why. “Yes, they were for you, and I’m glad you liked them.” She sobered. “I hope you also got my note.”
“I did.”
Then why was he here? Didn’t her note say it all?
She crossed to the sink in the corner. “I’m really sorry about last night,” she said as she washed her hands. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I’ve never done anything like that.”
“I’m not here for another apology. I just wanted to tell you not to worry about it. I can understand why you might want to feel good for a change.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your forgiveness. But I’m really not as bad as hitting on you made me seem.”
“I know.”
After drying her hands, she used the same towel to mop the beads of sweat running down the sides of her face. “Then...can we pretend it never happened?”
His gaze slid over her like it had last night, and she suddenly realized why she’d propositioned him. Just the way he looked at her—as if he was undressing her with his eyes, even though they weren’t talking about anything remotely suggestive—made her too aware of him. He exuded sex appeal, and as a young, lonely widow, she was vulnerable. It’d been eleven months since she’d felt a man’s touch; she missed Charlie’s gentle caress.
“’Course. I’m not holding anything against you,” he said, giving her the impression that he wouldn’t have thought twice about what she’d done, with or without the cookie offering.
Maybe he got hit on all the time. India knew she couldn’t be the only woman to find him attractive.
She clasped her hands in front of her, partially to hide the fact that she didn’t know what to do with them now that she’d cleaned them, and partially to block his view of the stains on her shirt. When she was creating, she didn’t care about staying clean. She didn’t care about much of anything then. Several hours could pass without her noticing. Her art was the one thing that helped her cope with life since Charlie died.
“Good. Thanks again.” She gestured toward her back door. “I’d better go inside. I’ve still got a lot to do tonight.”
“India?” He stopped her before she could reach the sanctuary of her kitchen, and his tone suggested that whatever he was about to say wasn’t idle chitchat.
She turned. “Yes?”
“Let me take you to dinner.”
She almost told him again what she’d told him last night. That she was still in love with her late husband, that she couldn’t get involved. Even when she started dating again, she couldn’t date anyone like Rod. Her in-laws would take one look at him, see Sebastian Young instead and sue her for custody of Cassia. It could easily be the final piece of “evidence” to convince them that her poor choices were to blame for the death of their son.
But instead of “no,” she heard herself say, “When?”
“Tomorrow night?”
He’d lowered his voice in what felt like a meaningful way and that filled her belly with butterflies. She stared at him, willing herself to clarify that she couldn’t go, but she didn’t. She nodded.
“Pick you up at six,” he said.
Her heartbeat seemed to travel out to her fingertips. What was she doing? Clearly, she’d lost her mind—and yet she overrode her better judgment for a second time. “Okay.”
When his smile widened, she felt a bit wobbly in the knees. “See you soon.”
Rod was mowing the lawn. India could see him from the window above her sink, where she was doing dishes. She had a hard time looking away, especially once his T-shirt grew damp and he took it off. He wrapped it around his head to block the sun, which wasn’t the most attractive way to wear a shirt, so she knew he wasn’t trying to show off.
That certainly didn’t detract from his appearance, however. His bare chest and arms... Holy cow! As much as she’d loved Charlie and would never have tried to change him, she had to admit he hadn’t looked like that. He couldn’t; he didn’t spend enough time outdoors, didn’t do anything physical. He was too busy concentrating on his patients and his career. They’d