Rosewood Lane (Cedar Cove #2)(85)

“I wish you’d spoil me as much as you do those roses of yours.”

“Hush,” she chastised. “I’ve just planted these and they need my attention.”

“So do I,” Jack complained.

“Stick around and I’ll feed you dinner.”

He grinned, glad of the invitation. His relationship with Olivia was complicated. If the twins hadn’t decided to make their entrance into the world when they did, he might have coaxed her into bed with him. But when he’d returned from the hospital, she’d had time to think, time to assess whether this was the right step for them. Her decision was that, yes, eventually it should and would happen—but unlike Jack, she wasn’t in a hurry.

In the weeks since, he’d done his best to shower her with love, much as she did those fancy roses she’d planted.

“I heard from Eric this afternoon,” he told her. “He asked if you’d be willing to marry him and Shelly.”

“Of course.” Olivia reached for a large watering can and sprinkled the freshly fertilized earth. “Did he tell you when they’d like to do it?”

“No, but that’s a minor detail, don’t you think?”

“Seeing how long it’s taken him to get to this point, I can’t help agreeing.” She raised her hand to her face to brush away a stray hair and in the process smeared dirt across her cheek. Jack looked down to hide a smile.

“There must be something in the air, because I heard from my son today, as well,” she said casually. “James and Selina are coming for a visit next month.”

“That’s great. I look forward to meeting them.”

“I can hardly wait to hold Isadora. Do you realize she’s going to be a year old this month? I swear I don’t know where the past year went. She barely knows me and Stan.”

At the mention of her ex, Jack tensed. “I suppose Stan will want to see James.”

“Of course!” She straightened, hands on her hips, and glared at him in a way that made him want to squirm. “Don’t tell me you’re having another jealous fit?”

“Who, me?” he asked, but the fact was that he didn’t like the idea of Stan being anywhere near Olivia. He could read her ex-husband more easily than a first-grade primer, and he didn’t like what he saw. Stan Lockhart might be married to another woman, but he definitely had interests outside the house. Stan didn’t like Jack hanging around Olivia, either. Naturally she didn’t see it. Although he’d never asked, Jack had the feeling Stan had done everything he could to discourage the relationship.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked, deciding to avoid the one subject that remained a sore spot.

“I was thinking of making an Oriental chicken salad.”

“That’s the one with the grapes and Chinese noodles I liked the last time?”

“You’re easy to please,” she told him, smiling.

How true that was. After years of scrounging on his own and eating far too many fast-food meals, Olivia’s cooking was a treat. Still, much as he enjoyed the food, it was Olivia he came to see, Olivia he longed to be with and Olivia he loved. He hadn’t actually told her how he felt. For a man who worked with words, Jack knew he was strangely inadequate at expressing his emotions. When it was a matter of political argument or moral persuasion, he could express his thoughts clearly and directly. But feelings…

“You look preoccupied,” Olivia murmured pulling off her gardening gloves.

He shrugged as he followed her up the steps to the back porch, where she kept her gardening supplies, and then into the kitchen.

“Anything special on your mind?”

“Not really,” he said and realized he’d spoken too quickly.

Olivia studied him a moment as she washed her hands. When she’d dried them, she opened the refrigerator and took out a large head of lettuce.

“Anything I can do?” Jack asked, feeling like an unneeded accessory. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but he was afraid that making an announcement would be embarrassing or inappropriate; so he let it drop.

“Nothing just now, thanks,” she answered.

He walked into the living room, but for the life of him couldn’t stand still. He started pacing, his mind churning and his hands itching to do something, hold something. The need for a drink clawed at him. It happened like that occasionally, although such times were rare after almost eleven years’ sobriety. He needed a meeting and he needed to talk to his sponsor.

“Olivia,” he said, sounding more anxious than he meant to. “I can’t stay after all.”

“You can’t?” She stood in the doorway that led from the kitchen to the formal living room, looking perplexed.

“I’ve got to be somewhere else—I’m sorry, I forgot. Well actually, it isn’t that I forgot, it’s just that I need a meeting. You don’t mind, do you?”

“A meeting? Oh, you mean AA.” She stepped into the living room. “Is everything all right?”

“I don’t know. I think so. I apologize, but the meetings help me clear my head and get rid of ‘stinkin’ thinkin’.”’

“You’re having negative thoughts now?”

“No, I’m thinking how good a cold beer would taste. That’s ‘stinkin’ thinkin” and a meeting is the best place for me to be. There’s one downtown I sometimes attend. It starts in fifteen minutes.”