Life Shocks Romances Collection 4 Read online

  “Hi. I…” He looked flustered. “Sorry. Something came up, and I had to take care of it. I got here as soon as I could.”

  “No worries. Lots of tables to be had.” She glanced at the hostess who gathered two menus and escorted them to a corner nook, her preferred seat while dining at the Mustard Seed Bistro.

  He stood until she had taken her seat. Nice manners. She did not open the menu but set it on the table and looked at him. “Have you eaten here before?”

  “No, I—” He looked up at her and the words stopped. His eyes widened and then he blinked, not so much with shock as with disbelief. In the sunlight streaming through the window, the color of his eyes was pale green. Hazel, really. They change with the light.

  He shook his head as he dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry; I’m not usually this awkward.”

  Sheridan laughed softly. His confession was endearing. “Would it help if you fixed your eyes on an imaginary spot over my shoulder?”

  He looked up, his gaze darting past her face to her shoulder, and then he, too, laughed. The warm sound startled her as much as the deep dimple in his left cheek. Their eyes met once more. “I just need to focus. I can do this.”

  “Focus on what?” Her voice lowered in pitch and she batted her eyelids in a deliberately overdone way. “Me?”

  “Focus on completing my sentences, the way my kindergarten teacher taught me.”

  “You weren’t playing attention in class, were you?”

  “No. I was too busy trying to figure out if I’d gotten my shoes on the correct feet. I wish I’d known then that kindergarten would be the easiest part of schooling.”

  Sheridan laughed. “I’d say you thrived anyway.”

  His smile was suddenly touched with irony, but it vanished quickly.

  A man with hurts, but he doesn’t linger on them.

  He continued, “I just need to think of you as my client—” He flushed suddenly. “I mean…”

  “You function best in a professional setting. So do I.” She met his gaze without smiling and then slowly winked.

  He burst into laughter, and Sheridan found herself laughing along with him. His amusement seemed to come from a place deep within him, and it cut through his stiff awkwardness, providing tantalizing glimpses of a good-humored and relaxed man.

  A waiter came over with a basket of freshly baked rye bread. “I’m Jackson. I’ll be your server today. Would you like to hear about our specials?”

  Sheridan studied Tom’s body language as he listened to the server, his eyes unfocused as if absorbing and processing the words deep in his mind. When Jackson stopped speaking, Tom’s gaze sharpened instantaneously. He looked at her. “Well?”

  “I’ll have the tomato basil soup with the iceberg lettuce salad.”

  “The grilled fish sandwich, please. And…” His lips tugged into a faint smile. “Wine for you?”

  “Too early. An unsweetened iced tea.”

  “I’ll have the same. Thank you.”

  Jackson departed with their menus, and silence closed like a wall between them. Tom stared at her and his lips moved, as if he were about to say something.

  More like two or three different somethings, judging by the pauses. Sheridan took pity on him and broke the silence. “I watched the latest Cirque de Soleil production last weekend. Have you seen it?”

  Tom inhaled deeply; Sheridan could almost hear him sigh with relief. “No, not yet,” he said. “The one I went to was Zumanity, and it was years ago.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  He hesitated. “Not really. Maybe it was the seating, but it would have been hard to take in everything even from the best seat in the house. It’s almost like the Grand Canyon; it’s too vast for the mind.”

  She would never have thought to compare a Cirque de Soleil production to the Grand Canyon. “I haven’t been there.”

  “The Grand Canyon?” His eyes brightened as he straightened. “It’s magnificent, so wide, so deep, it makes you wonder how it doesn’t go all the way through the Earth.”

  “Is it your favorite of America’s natural wonders?”

  “Yosemite, by far. There’s a place in the valley where you can see both waterfalls. Have you been there?”

  She shook her head, smiling at him. “No, I’ve always been more of a city girl.”

  “Have you always lived in New York?”

  “Long enough to call it home. And you?”

  “Born here,” Tom said. “The Bronx, actually.”

  She met his eyes. “It’s a long way from the Bronx.”

  “Yes, it is.” Irony flicked through his smile. “What about you? Where did you call home before New York?”

  “Montana.”

  His eyes widened, and his thin smile widened with delight, displaying straight, white teeth. “You grew up in wide-open spaces.”

  She nodded, surprised by his unexpected enthusiasm.

  “I’m surprised you exchanged that for this.” He swept his hand out to encompass the walls of glass and cinderblock rising above them. “You traded wide opens spaces for a concrete jungle.”

  “Oh, New York City is very much alive. The streets are veins, sweeping light and carrying energy through the city, whereas, out there…” She paused, and for a moment, the glitter and glitz of the city paled into the endless expanse of green touching an equally endless expanse of blue. Nothing. There was nothing out there; just a vast aloneness, the kind that curdled the soul.

  His quiet voice blended into her private world. “Out there…?”

  With effort, she blinked sharply and refocused on him. He watched her, his hazel eyes fixed on her face, his expression curious and thoughtful.

  What an odd man…

  He waited, apparently unafraid of silence.

  She turned the glass of iced tea on its coaster. “It’s empty.” A pinprick of cold dread lodged in her heart. The emotion, which should have been foreign, its trigger long forgotten, sidled against her like a long-lost enemy.

  “It is,” Tom said. “Empty. Space to think, to stretch out and not hit somebody by accident—”

  She laughed, grateful for his dash of humor. It slapped away the old memories. “I’ve never had that problem. Not even in New York, perhaps because my arms are shorter.”

  “We all have our problems.”

  “Yes, and in Manhattan, finding street parking ranks right up there next to world hunger, and ahead of world peace.” She smiled as he laughed again. “So, I hear you’re a lawyer. What kind of law?”

  “Business law. Consumer litigations.”

  “And are you on the side of the business or the consumer?”

  “It depends. My favorite clients are small businesses.”

  Not the big bucks? “Why?”

  “I get to work with people who have deep, personal stakes in the business. It’s different in a Fortune 500 corporation; loyalty doesn’t run as deep. The worst happens—they lose a job—but for the small business owners, the worst happens, they lose everything they’ve invested their lives in.”

  She paused as their server delivered their lunch. Smiling at him, she reached for her fork. “Bon appétit.” For several minutes, she allowed the silence to settle between them. He did not seem afraid of the quiet, unlike most men she knew who felt compelled to warble on about themselves.

  Being around him was relaxing.

  How odd, for a first date. Who was he, really? Curious, she asked, “Have you had many tough cases?”

  He sipped his iced tea. “Nothing’s ever as simple as it appears to be. There’s always a story, a complication. Getting to the heart of the matter—that’s what I love about what I do.”

  “Uncovering the truth?”

  “A version of it, at any rate. The lawyer on the other side probably thinks his truth is truer.”

  Sheridan laughed. “Does the better storyteller win?”

  “Frequently.” The corners of his eyes crinkled into laugh lines as he grinned.

  �
��And I suppose you’re an excellent storyteller?” she asked. It was his cue to launch into the specifics of his magnificent job and his glorious career.

  Tom shrugged. “I like listening to stories more than telling them.” He hesitated. “Would it be all right to ask about your story?”

  “My story?”

  “About how you got here.”

  Sheridan fixed a smile on her face to counter the instinctive brisling at the invasion of her privacy. “I got on a bus in Ryegate, Montana. It took several days to reach New York. That was six years ago.”

  Tom’s glance dropped to his half-eaten sandwich. “I’m sorry. I was being nosy. I just thought…asking about the other person is a normal thing to do on a first date.”

  “First date?”

  He flushed. “First…meeting?”

  Sheridan propped her cheek against the palm of her hand. “You’re an odd, interesting man, Tom.”

  “Odd and interesting in the same sentence doesn’t bode well for a second date.”

  “That’s what I was wondering.”

  “What?”

  “A date.” She glanced around Mustard Seed Bistro. “The people who invite me out usually take me to a place where they want to be seen. A grand opening night at the theater. A celebrity party. They don’t ask my assistant for my favorite restaurant, and then schedule the date there.”

  “They don’t?”

  “No, Tom. They don’t.”

  He frowned. “Are there social guidelines accompanying your twenty-page contract?”

  “No one’s ever needed them.”

  He shook his head, his chuckle ironic.

  “But then again, you’re not like most people, are you?” Sheridan asked quietly. “Why are you here, Tom? I imagine that if you wanted, you could date any woman you chose, so why are you here, with me?”

  Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. “I…” He drew a deep breath. “I haven’t dated, not since my divorce six years ago.”

  “Why not?”

  “For a long time after she left, I was just trying to catch my breath.”

  “And then later?”

  “I had other things to do, to focus on.”

  Something about his tone resonated in her. “Do you have children?”

  “One. Aria’s six.”

  “Do you see her often?”

  “Every day, every night, and sometimes even in the middle of the day. I was late because I had to go down to her school. A hair-pulling incident with another girl landed both of them in the principal’s office.”

  Sheridan arched an eyebrow. “Must be tough being a single parent.”

  “It’s tough being a parent whether you’re doing it alone or as a couple.” He shrugged. “Just when I think I have one stage figured out, she moves on to the next stage, except that she seems determined to transition from charming preschooler to sulky teenager in a single bound.”

  She laughed. “Precocious.”

  “Yes, she is.” He, too, laughed. “Aria’s great. A handful, but great.”

  The easy affection in his voice warmed her. “So, am I your stepping stone back into dating?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m not a normal kind of date, but I think you already know that.” She set her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her interlaced fingers. “Are you looking for practice or advice?”

  Tom winced and was silent for a moment before saying, “Perhaps a bit of both.”

  “Well, you’re doing all the right things. Starting out with a lunch date keeps things casual and makes it easy for either party to back away if that first meeting isn’t quite perfect.”

  “The first meeting’s supposed to be perfect?”

  Sheridan chuckled at the thin layer of panic in his voice. “In my experience, there are two kinds of dates. The ones that start out great and go downhill, and the ones that start out subpar but improve over time.”

  “And you’ve just told me I’m doing all the right things. Our relationship is doomed, isn’t it?”

  She exploded into laughter. There it was again—that sharp slice of humor cutting through his stiffness. “Is there anyone you’re interested in dating, Tom?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “No one in six years?”

  “I was busy, at first, with Aria. It was too hard. And then later, it…became a habit.”

  “You used her as an excuse?”

  “She didn’t object to the weekend excursions to parks and children’s museums. I work a lot during the week, and her nanny’s great, but it’s not the same thing, so I focus my weekends on her.”

  The defensiveness in his tone was subtle, but the furrow in his brow told her it was deep-seated. He must have flogged himself with guilt for years. “I’m sorry I called her an excuse. You shouldn’t have to justify spending time with your daughter.” She impulsively reached across the table and laid her hand over his.

  He stared at their joined hands. For a moment, his eyes betrayed the panic of a trapped animal—but how could that be, even if he had not dated for a few years? By all accounts, he was a talented attorney and presumably a man of the world. Tom swallowed hard, and the vulnerability in his eyes vanished beneath the cool, professional façade of the lawyer.

  What an intriguing man. So many layers to him—and they don’t fit together.

  She did not remove her hand. Ordinarily, she might have—it was not her style to intrude on personal space when her advances were unwelcomed—but she wanted to gauge his reactions.

  Tom did not pull back. In fact, he scarcely moved. He drew a deep breath and something softened in his gaze.

  “It’s been a while,” she murmured her thoughts aloud. “It’s hard to relax and enjoy the company of a woman when you’re constantly thinking, ‘Is she going to like my daughter? Is my daughter going to like her?’”

  Tom grunted. “You’re right.” The tone of his words, however, was less grumpy than his grunt. “The odds of it not working out—I don’t have the time to make the emotional investment in dating a woman if I’m not certain it’s going to work out for Aria in the long run.”

  “And of course, no woman could be certain of anything working out without several dates. What do you do in a no-win situation like that?”

  “I don’t win, obviously.” Tom chuckled. The subtle bitterness in his voice passed into amusement. “How do you broach such sensitive topics so quickly without getting people’s defenses up?”

  “I don’t. You’re unusual.”

  Tom looked puzzled.

  “You’ve handled this with all the thoughtfulness of a first date—not the least of which is selecting my favorite restaurant—yet you haven’t gone out of your way to impress me. These sensitive topics…you broached them, not me. You’re looking for someone to talk to.” Sheridan smiled. “Luckily for you, I’m especially good at listening.”

  Tom shook his head. A faint smile touched his lips. “No, it’s more than that.”

  “And you’re right. It’s more than that. It’s low stakes.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a low stakes communication. Talking to me is like talking to your barber or taxi driver. Or your cat, if you have one.”

  He frowned. “I don’t, and I’m not that desperate for conversation.”

  “Oh, but I think you are.”

  “I don’t have the luxury of low stakes conversations. I’m a lawyer; I bill by the minute.”

  “I bill by the hour. And fortunately, you’re all paid up.” She winked at him.

  His laughter caught her by surprise. It lacked the irony that infused his voice. Deep and resonant, it came from within and made his eyes gleam. “This is easier than I thought.”

  “What is?” she asked.

  “Talking to you.” He glanced down at their still-joined hands.

  She would have said, “It’s what I do,” except that it wasn’t. She was great at social niceties and aimless conversation—after all, it was e
xpected of her—but the connection with Tom had been unusual from the start.

  Less complicated. Less burdened by expectations.

  She had sensed it within minutes of meeting Tom. He was different.

  All men signed the contract. Most of them arrived at the scheduled date blatantly signaling their intention of overstepping the defined sexual boundaries. Some of them reluctantly settled for the pleasure of her company and conversation in public spaces. A handful of them invited her out again and again—her core clientele, usually older men who wanted a pretty and intelligent companion on his arm at business events without the tiresome emotional engagement necessary in a real date.

  Not Tom.

  His ache for conversation, for the most basic level of companionship, was so real she could almost touch it, but he couldn’t—or refused to—acknowledge it. She had dated divorced men before, even some single fathers, but none seemed as lonely or as oblivious to his loneliness as Tom.

  “So, what are your plans for Aria this weekend?” she asked.

  “My sister is taking her out shopping for clothes. It’s going to be a bit of a nightmare, I’m afraid.”

  “Where’s your sister taking her?”

  “I don’t know, and she doesn’t either. The malls, probably. Old Navy. Gap. That sort of thing, although Aria’s hard to please these days. She has opinions on what to wear and isn’t afraid of expressing them.”

  “Boy + Girl, Primary, and Agatha Cub offer great fashions for kids. Eco-friendly and intelligently designed. I’ve seen…in fact, I’d recommend their fall collections. Caroline Bosmans also has beautiful knits for special occasions.”

  His eyes widened. “You know kids’ fashions?”

  “I know fashion.” Sheridan continued to enjoy the connection of their joined hands. It instantly elevated the intimacy of the conversation. “I love looking at it, shopping for it, even writing about it.”

  “Your suggestions will help Charlotte get started on the right foot with Aria. Thank you.”

  “Glad to help. If Aria needs more fashion tips, you know how to reach me.”

  “How did you get into it?”

  “Fashion?” She drew a stray lock of hair away from her face and smiled. “I’ve loved it for as long as I could remember. I grew up in a small town. In fact, I lived so far away from the town, I don’t think my family was even included in the census count of the 243 people who lived in Ryegate. Fashion was a hard thing to come by, but I had a Sears catalog, an imagination, and pen and paper.”