Page 35 of Second Chances

On a bench outside the Tastee Freeze sat the most handsome boy she had ever seen. His blond hair glinted in the afternoon sun, and his legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles. Never looking up from the book he was reading, his calm spirit stilled her hammering heart. Something about him told her that he was a boy who knew where he was going, who was not only confident in his decisions but capable of conquering the world. His quiet demeanor called to her from across the street. Maybe he could help her, give her a place to stay for the night. He looked so relaxed that she figured he was likely a local boy. Maybe he had an extra room in his house? She could charm his mother without a doubt. Her mama had always told her that if she put half her energy in something worthwhile, instead of having her head in the clouds, she could make it in the world. The problem with her mama was that her idea of “worthwhile” was getting the morning shift at the diner; she had no clue how to dream.

Sauntering to the other side of the street while carrying her suitcase was no easy task, since she had stuffed as many clothes and shoes as she could into it, only leaving room for her makeup and a couple of pictures of her little sister she couldn’t bear to leave behind. Never mind the car troubles she’d had; leaving behind Casey had been the most difficult part of her journey. Seven years separated the sisters, and just as Melanie had stopped playing with dolls, a real live doll in the form of Casey had arrived. Because Mama had to get up early for her shifts at the restaurant, Melanie had been the one to give Casey her bottle or change her diaper in the middle of the night. Part of her felt like she was abandoning her little sister, but she’d make it up to her once she became a star by bringing her sister to live with her in her mansion in the Hollywood Hills.

First, she had to get there, and the boy across the street might be her only hope. In case anyone was watching, Melanie made a concerted effort to swing her hips slightly more than necessary as she crossed the street. “Excuse me,” she said to the blond boy on the bench, whose face tilted back to look at her. With his eyes more promising than the blue sky above, heat pulsed through her that had nothing to do with the temperature in Arizona. “My name is Melanie. I wonder if you can help me,” her breathless tone not an act this time.

“Hi, I’m Henry.”

Charlotte’s doorbell rang at seven fifty-five, awakening the butterflies in her stomach that had been fluttering since her dinner invitation to Henry. After a bubble bath, manicure, and a long debate with Amy about what to wear, she was standing just inside her front door when her date arrived five minutes early. Closing her eyes, she touched her forehead to the door, breathing in deeply. She shouldn’t be this nervous. Where was the brave woman from this afternoon, the one who asked Henry out? Insecurity paralyzed her. What if he only agreed to the date because he was a nice guy who couldn’t say “no”? After all, according to Trixie, that was the reason he helped Diadema. What if his marriage had burned him so irrevocably that even after twenty years he wasn’t ready to open up? Would she be this anxious if he had asked her out instead? No, she thought, because she’d still be waiting. Henry, Henry, Henry…she stood on tiptoes to peer through the small window at the top of the door, and his hand—one of those lean, long-fingered hands she had fantasized about for the two years—brushed his silvery blond locks from his forehead. He’d brought her flowers. Slumping against the door, she needed another second to compose herself. Drawing a calming breath, she opened the door, and her knees threatened to buckle at his beautiful smile. His slightly crooked top front teeth lent his otherwise genteel looks a roguish charm, and the slight dimple in his chin winked at her. His hair was so freshly washed it gleamed, and her eyes traveled his handsome face, noticing a smudge near his ear—maybe some shaving cream he hadn’t rinsed off? With or without facial scruff, Henry was sexy either way, but with his naked jaw and full lips on display, his clean-shaven face had her melting. “Henry,” she breathed.

Had it been a mistake to show up early? Henry swallowed past the lump in his throat, doing his best not to crush the flowers in his fist that he’d been assured were first-date perfection. He had sat in his car for twenty minutes before drawing up his courage to ring her bell, five minutes early. Would he appear too eager? When Charlotte answered, looking even more tantalizing now than she had this afternoon in the coffee shop, he relaxed slightly. Earlier, she’d been adorable, in a hat with a jaunty pompom on top, and with snowflakes glistening in her dark waves. Now her hair was up, exposing the creamy skin of her neck, and he longed to taste the line from her chin to her throat. His gaze drank her in. In a deep plum that emphasized her glowing skin, her dress hugged the generous curves of her hips. The neckline offered glimpses of her ripe voluptuousness that he knew would haunt him every moment from now on. Her dimples flashed with her smile, and her warm brown eyes gleamed behind her glasses. “You look beautiful,” he told her, relishing the attractive blush that flooded her cheeks as he offered her the flowers.

“Thank you. Peonies. My favorite.” With his coat unzipped, she noted how his shirt, a rich jade, deepened the blue of his eyes. “You look nice, too. I love that green. It’s one of my favorite colors.” In her doorway, their gazes locked, and she shivered, reminding her that he was still standing outside. “Please come in.” She held the door open and closed her eyes as his body brushed past hers. “Let me get a vase for these,” she said, placing the bouquet on her coffee table in front of the sofa. In the kitchen, she filled a crystal vase with water and returned to the living room as Henry was shrugging out of his coat by the door. Her hormones kicked into high gear at how good he looked in his jeans. Averting her eyes, she arranged the flowers. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Henry hung his coat on a hook by the front door, making sure none of the snow clinging to it landed on the carpeting. “No, thank you,” he answered. “The snow is drifting out there, so we should head over to the restaurant.” He perched on the edge of her sofa, entranced as prisms of light from the vase reflected in her glasses, and the delicate shade of the flowers made her skin even creamier.

Yes, Charlotte thought, going to the restaurant immediately was a supreme idea. If they didn’t make it out of this house soon, she was positive that she would launch herself at Henry as intense sexual awareness simmered between them. She felt wicked, wanting him as badly as she did, but it had been ages since a man had touched her. Before their divorce, she and Brady had not been intimate for months; in fact, during their last decade together, their sex life had gotten increasingly sporadic. Focus, she told herself. “I just need to get my heavier coat from the bedroom. I can’t believe it’s still snowing so hard.”

Henry groaned as Charlotte walked down the hall to her bedroom, and he allowed himself a second to enjoy the sway of her hips before tipping his head back to study the ceiling. Pick a tame topic, he told himself. Just keep talking, no matter what nonsense came out of his mouth. He called back to her, “I like what you’ve done with the house.” Not overly cluttered, she had photos on the walls and on two end tables, along with some knickknacks that were more than likely vacation souvenirs. “I’m familiar with the owners. Did you meet them?”

“No, I didn’t. Everything was done through an agent. Carla is her name,” Charlotte responded from the bedroom as she opened her closet door, thrilled at his deep voice echoing through the house.

Henry groaned. “I know Carla. She used to be married to one of my mechanics, Phil.” After their divorce, she would stop by the shop whenever her ex wasn’t working to flirt with Henry. She was nice enough, but he had not been interested in a romantic entanglement with her.

Charlotte selected an ebony parka to wear, then rethought her decision. Would her scarlet wool coat be warmer? “She told me a few weeks ago that the owners want to put this house on the market eventually.” Disheartening news for Charlotte, since she had chosen the house because it was a rental. “I suppose I could make an offer on it, but I just don’t know.” Should she put down roots in Beverley, making her relocation permanent? Or would she at some point move back to Iowa? Though she had downsized with the sale of the house in Sioux City, the thought of moving again, no matter where, wasn’t thrilling. Plus, she loved the life built here, regardless if anything worked out with Henry or not. Grabbing the wool coat, a firm tug on the hanger jiggled the rack, and for a moment she worried it would fall down.

In the living room, caution stilled Henry’s rapidly beating heart as he considered Charlotte’s words. Did she mean she would find somewhere else to live, or was she uncertain about staying in Beverley? What was tonight about if she planned on moving away? “This house has decent bones. All the houses in this area do. You know, this neighborhood used to be farmland until the 1930s.” Looking frazzled but still beautiful, Charlotte came back into the living room, carrying her coat.

“Sorry I took so long. I’ve been having an issue with the closet in my bedroom. Or should I say the shelf in my closet? Wiggles every time I take something off the hanging rack, so I’ve learned to do it slowly.” Charlotte downplayed the terror she’d felt as she worried the whole thing was going to fall on top of her. “What I need to do is contact the owner, or Carla, I guess, to have someone fix it. According to Carla, the room I’m using as my bedroom is an extension added in the seventies. One of their friends was the contractor, but my guess is he wasn’t licensed, based on the lack of craftsmanship compared to the rest of the house.” The intricately carved crown moulding and wooden fixtures around the doors and windows would make her decision to move difficult because they were stunning elements not found in newer homes.

Gently extracting Charlotte’s coat from her hands, Henry sighed. “Yes, I had to learn the hard way at the shop that not all friends are meant to be employees and be more discerning about who I hire.” Holding up her red wool coat, his breath stopped when her arms skimmed his stomach as she stepped into it. “I can take a look at the shelf. I’ve got some tools in my car.”

Of course he did, she thought. The idea of Henry in her bedroom rocked her imagination, especially since his hands were still touching her shoulders, heavy on top of her coat. “No, no, I don’t want to put you out. Plus, didn’t you say something about a reservation?”

Henry checked the time. “You’re right, it’s in five minutes. I lost track of time.” The second time today he was so wrapped up in Charlotte that time ceased to exist. She spun in front of him, her face tilted up with eyes so dark he got lost in their depths.

Surprised to find herself so close to him, she inhaled quickly. “Where are we going?”

With her breath tickling his chin, the temptation to kiss her nearly overwhelmed him, and he took a small step away before he gave into it. “La Hacienda. I hope you like Mexican food.”

Disappointed that Henry had backed up, she smiled to cover it, assuring him, “It’s one of my favorites.” Together, they walked to the front door, and she locked it behind them. “How did you know just what I wanted?” He stepped off the porch, holding his hand out to her. Neither of them wore gloves, and his warm palm pressed into hers. When his thumb grazed the tops of her knuckles, her shiver had nothing to do with the freezing temperature.

Lacing his fingers through hers came naturally, and they walked hand in hand to his car. Under the lightly falling snow, the urge to kiss her only increased. He opened her car door and struggled to quell his desirous hunger for her as pink bloomed in her cheeks and snowflakes dusted the top of her head. Instead of getting into the car, she took a step closer to him.

“Henry.” Craving his touch, she reached forward, fingers clasping his coat, wanting nothing more than the press of his lips on hers. Just one kiss, she could survive on that for the rest of the evening. Her heart hammered as his arm lifted from the door.

Hypnotized, he cupped her cheek tenderly, resting his thumb at the curve of her smile. In the soft winter light, she was exquisite. His intense desire made his voice hoarse. “Charlotte, can I kiss you?”

The moment she had been anticipating for two years. “Yes.” Henry lowered his head, tenderly brushing his mouth over hers. One kiss was not enough, but at least now he could spend their date with the taste of her on his lips. Forcing himself to pull his mouth from hers, he pressed his forehead to hers, his hand still on her cheek as their breaths tangled.

Turning her head slightly, Charlotte let her lips touch his thumb before she collapsed into his car. Hot, despite the frigid air, she fanned herself discreetly as he gently closed her door. Once he started the car, the soft strains of “Peaceful Easy Feeling” played. Reeling from their erotically chaste kiss, she struggled to control her breathing.

Henry shifted from reverse to first, knuckles accidentally grazing Charlotte’s thigh, and his fist tightened on the gearshift. Because the car had a manual transmission, he’d have to shift again soon, so he gritted his teeth as her soft heat seared his hand. Desperately needing a distraction, he asked, “How is the Tempest? Still running okay?”

With Henry’s hand resting against her leg, she was not making any progress slowing her racing heart. Instead, taking advantage of every bump in the road, she moved her leg closer to him, fantasies wild with possibilities as the hem of her dress inched further above her knee. “Charlotte?” Realization dawned that she hadn’t answered him. “Sorry. Yes. I’ve only taken it out a few times this winter, but it runs beautifully.” She cast him a sidelong glance. “You’re very good at what you do.”

Henry cleared his throat. “It’s the only thing I’ve known, really. People always need something done with their cars, so I have job security. That’s the first thing my dad taught me. I’m sure you know from my sister that my dad and brother have a shop in Clover Lake. Really, it’s just George now, because my dad has mostly retired. When my dad first started there, he worked with our grandfather.”

“Really? It’s been in the family that long?”