Anything for Her(7)
“Well...I’m having dinner with him, too.”
Mom’s eyebrows went up. “Do you know anything at all about him?”
“He’s quiet and seems nice, and he has a fourteen-year-old foster son. Which suggests compassion.”
“Do you even know what he does for a living?”
“Nope,” Allie said cheerfully. “But I’ll be able to tell you more about him after tomorrow.”
Mom set down her fork. She waited until Allie’s eyes met hers. “You know this always makes me nervous.”
How could she help but know? And, deep inside, a small coal of resentment flared. “I’m always careful,” she said, trying to hide what she felt.
“Of course you are.” Her mother smiled at her. “I know it’s hard. I have the same problem, meeting new people. Of course I trust you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, that’s all right.” But it wasn’t. It wasn’t. Allie was twenty-eight years old. She had now spent fifteen years of her life lying to everyone she met. Lying even to herself most of the time. But she had done it, because she had to. While she understood her mother’s fear, she also resented the implication that she had a big mouth. Or maybe that she was stupid.
“Well, you have a good time,” Mom said. “Goodness, most dates don’t lead to anything meaningful anyway! Chances are you’ll find you don’t have a thing in common.”
That was true, of course, but Allie was struck by the fact that Mom sounded as if she hoped nothing came of this date. Was her focus so entirely on protecting their secret that she didn’t want her daughter to fall in love and get married and have children? Because...well, was it possible to fall in love and start a life with someone while still keeping such a huge secret? Apprehension chilled her.
Later, after she’d gone home, Allie trimmed the selvage from the backing fabric of Sean’s quilt, then cut equal lengths, and thought about those disturbing feelings. Why had she never noticed before that her mother always said something like that whenever Allie started dating a guy? Even when she met a girl or woman she thought might be a friend, her mother had discouraging words, although to a lesser extent. And why had she never minded so much before?
Because I think Nolan might be different. The knowledge whispered through her. Because I felt something yesterday when he came in, and again this morning, that I’ve never felt before. As if it was more than attraction. As if they’d formed an instant connection.
Allie sat at her machine and began to stitch together the lengths of navy fabric studded with tiny white stars. She shook her head. Silly, that’s what she was being. Mom was right—by the time the waiter brought the check tomorrow night, she’d probably be bored to death and wonder what she’d ever seen in Nolan Radek, aside from those shockingly blue eyes.
A connection. She laughed at herself. Wow. Save the worries until she actually did fall in love.
CHAPTER TWO
WAS SEAN REALLY okay with this? Nolan couldn’t decide. But, damn it, he was entitled, wasn’t he? He hadn’t signed on to become a monk, just because he’d taken in a kid.
What Sean had said was, “You probably haven’t been seeing women because of me, huh? That’s stupid. I mean, if you like her.” He’d shrugged with elaborate unconcern.
Nolan wondered if Sean’s father had dated after the boy’s mother deserted them. Grandma presumably hadn’t. His only real experience of adults in a relationship might have been the married couple who’d been his first foster parents. Nolan had no idea whether that couple had loved each other or not. All he did know was that they hadn’t loved Sean, and hadn’t been willing to stick to it long enough to find out whether with time they could.
This is a first date, he reminded himself. He wasn’t bringing home a wife. Now, that might be reason to scare a boy in Sean’s position.
He found Allie’s carriage house with no problem. None of the old homes in West Fork were all that grand, but this was one of the fanciest, trimmed with some modest turn-of-the-century gingerbread. It appeared that the ground floor of the carriage house was now a detached garage. An outside staircase led up to the apartment. Allie came out, locked up and had started down the steps by the time he got out of his pickup.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I don’t have a car. I use this for hauling.”
She looked in the back, dented a few thousand times, and grinned. “No, really?”