Searching for Sunshine Page 12

  “Right. But I haven’t told them,” she said.

  They stood together in the front room, near the window where Gen had been looking out. Gen looked thoughtful, while Breanna’s face was creased with worry.

  “He’s getting serious,” Gen said after considering the matter.

  “What? No, he isn’t.”

  “He is,” Gen insisted. “There’s only one reason a guy gets upset because his girlfriend hasn’t told her kids about him. And that’s because he’s getting serious and he’s afraid she’s not.”

  “I’m not his girlfriend,” Breanna said. “We’ve only dated a few times. I’m not his … anything!”

  “Well, he wants to be your something,” Gen said. “So you’d better start thinking about whether you want that, too.”

  * * *

  The idea that Jake wanted to be Breanna’s something weighed on her as she went to work at the B&B the next day.

  She knew she was attracted to Jake—strongly attracted—but she didn’t know where she wanted this to go. Did she want to have a fling with him? Date him? Marry him?

  The first option just wasn’t her style. And the last was such a foreign and frightening prospect that she might as well be juggling chainsaws.

  That left the second option.

  Okay, so they were dating.

  That was fine—dating was a normal thing that normal people did. Just because she hadn’t done it in a few years didn’t mean it was over for her, gold watch on her wrist, her jersey number retired.

  She could do this.

  But Jake had to understand that she couldn’t jump into something impulsively. She had to take her time, for her children’s sake. She had to be careful.

  Breanna considered all of that as she stashed her purse behind the front desk at the Whispering Pines and went about her tasks—checking the coffee urn in the kitchen to make sure it was full and the sugar and cream were refreshed; looking in on the vacant rooms and freshening them up for the arrival of new guests; tidying up the common rooms; and checking in with Mrs. Granfield to see whether anything else needed her attention.

  Mrs. Granfield had an appointment with her physical therapist, and she’d been waiting for Breanna so she could get going.

  “The Jordans are checking in at four, so please have some fresh cookies in their room. Oh, and Mr. Jordan requested roses for his wife. Isn’t that sweet?” Mrs. Granfield was gathering her purse and her sweater.

  “The Jordans? Any relation to Lacy Jordan over at Jitters?”

  Mrs. Granfield looked thoughtful. “You know, I believe they might be. They said something about their niece recommending the place.”

  “We’ll have to impress them, then,” Breanna said. “Don’t worry, I’ll have everything ready.”

  “I’m sure you will, dear. You know, I feel terrible putting you to so much work. I should be able to walk up the stairs again soon. In the meantime, if I could just pay you a little something …”

  “We’ve talked about this,” Breanna said. “I’m here to help. You’d better get going or you’re going to be late for your therapy.”

  “But there’s no reason I couldn’t—”

  “Bye! You’re ride’s here! You’d better hurry!” Breanna gently turned Mrs. Granfield around by the shoulders and nudged her toward the door.

  When she was gone, Breanna checked the clock, saw that she had a good bit of time before the Jordans’ arrival, and spent a few minutes reviewing the reservation book to see what was coming up over the next few days.

  After that came the laundry—there was a load of clean sheets in the dryer that had to be folded.

  The problem with folding sheets was that it was busy work that didn’t require any thought. Which meant she had time to brood some more about Jake and about the way he’d left the ranch angry—or at least irritated.

  What right did he have to be angry? So she hadn’t told her children they were dating. So what? Who said that was a requirement at this stage? Where was that in the rule book?

  But what if he hadn’t been angry? What if he’d just been hurt?

  You’d know that if you’d talked to him, she reminded herself. But you’re a coward.

  She hadn’t called or texted him since yesterday, though she’d picked up her phone to do just that at least a dozen times.

  Each of those times, she’d had another excuse not to call him:

  If he’s angry, I should give him time to cool off.

  If he’s angry, then he’s being a jerk, and I don’t want to encourage that kind of behavior.

  I don’t know what to say. I’ll call him when I’ve thought more about it.

  I don’t even know what he’s upset about. How can I start a conversation if I don’t know what’s going on?

  And then, working up a head of self-righteous steam:

  The way I handle my boys is my business, and he’s just going to have to get used to that.

  He’s the one who should apologize. If he wants to talk to me, he’ll call.

  By the time the Jordans had checked in at four, he still hadn’t called. She hadn’t taken Michael to the work site today—much to Michael’s relief—because she hadn’t wanted to face Jake until she knew what was going on with him.

  Finally, telling herself that she’d had enough of immaturity—both his and hers—she grabbed her phone and tapped in a text message before she could talk herself out of it.

  What the hell’s your problem?

  She hit send before it even occurred to her that her wording wasn’t exactly an example of mature discourse.

  Now that it was out there, she couldn’t call it back. Why in the world hadn’t someone invented a way to recall a faulty text message?

  She was just about to write another message—some desperate story about how her phone had become sentient and had begun sending messages on its own, maybe—when his reply came in.

  I don’t have a problem. I don’t have secret relationships, either.

  Breanna blinked. Was that what they had? A relationship?

  We should talk, she wrote after a while.

  There was a long pause. Just when she was sure he wasn’t going to answer, her phone pinged with his response.

  Sure. When?

  19

  The thing was, Jake didn’t think the sentence we should talk ever led to anything good.

  It led to many significant things: breakups, divorce, cancer diagnoses, firings. Probably more than one criminal investigation. But it rarely led to anything a person could actually look forward to.

  We should talk. You’ve won the lottery. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

  He wasn’t going to be devastated if he got dumped so early into this thing with Breanna. He wasn’t so naïve as to believe a few dates meant anything. Except they had kind of meant something to him. Otherwise, why had it bothered him so much that she hadn’t told her kids?

  In any case, he resolved to man up and act mature and reasonable when Breanna gave him the news that she was done. He wasn’t about to act like a wounded, kicked puppy. If he felt like that once it was all over, well, that was his own business.

  They’d agreed to meet upstairs at Cambria Coffee before work the next morning. They got a table upstairs, away from the crowd down on the sidewalk of Main Street. Jake had a black coffee—its stark severity seemed appropriate for a dumping—and Breanna had tea, the tag hanging outside the lid of her cup.

  He’d decided to be preemptive, so he launched right into it as soon as they sat down.

  “Look. There’s no reason this has to affect our working relationship. I’m going to be completely professional about your renovation, so you don’t have to worry about that. If you still want Michael to come over and help out, I can do that, too, though if you’ve changed your mind about that …”

  “What are you talking about?” She was looking at him as though he were speaking some unknowable foreign language.

  “I want you to know that just because w
e’re not seeing each other anymore—”

  “We’re not? Oh …. You don’t want to see me anymore?”

  The hurt and surprise on her face shot straight into his gut.

  “I thought that was what you wanted to talk about,” he told her. “You said, ‘We should talk.’ ”

  “I meant we should talk about when to tell the boys about us. But … you want to break up? Not that this is a relationship, exactly. Yet. But—”

  “Hell, no.” Jake had to quickly recalibrate his mental state. Relief and confusion flooded him in equal measure. “No, no, no. It’s just that when you said ‘We should talk,’ I thought—”

  “You thought it was that talk.”

  “Yeah.” He scrubbed at his face with his hands. “Shit. Can we just … you know … start over? Hit the reset button?”

  “Please.”

  So they did, starting with each of them clarifying their intentions. He wanted to keep seeing her, and she wanted to keep seeing him—thank God. With that out of the way, they were finally able to get to the actual purpose of the talk.

  “I wanted to explain why I didn’t tell the boys,” she said, fidgeting with the tag of her tea bag, which was dangling outside the cup. “Jake, it’s not about you. I haven’t dated much since Brian died, but when I have, I’ve tried to keep the boys out of it. They don’t need to get attached to someone and then deal with that loss if it doesn’t work out. When I tell my boys that I’m seeing someone, it’ll be because it’s serious. Because I anticipate the person staying around.”

  “Don’t you think they already know something’s going on?”

  “I’m sure they do,” she said. “But it’s one thing for them to think something’s going on, and it’s another for me to bring somebody home for dinner and announce that I have a boyfriend.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, okay. I can see that.”

  “I lost my right to act impulsively when I lost Brian. I’m the only parent those boys have.”

  “I get it.” He reached out and put a hand on her arm, and was grateful when she didn’t pull it away. “I thought …”

  “What? Tell me.”

  He didn’t want to tell her that he’d thought he wasn’t good enough for her, that maybe he didn’t meet up to the Delaney standards. It seemed a little silly now, in comparison to her concerns as a widowed mother. Still …

  “I thought maybe your family wouldn’t approve of me.” Better to get his cards on the table.

  She looked surprised, and the surprise seemed genuine.

  “What? Why not?”

  He shrugged. “I’m a contractor. I make a decent living, I guess, but nothing like what you must be used to.”

  Something in her eyes hardened, and he knew he’d made a mistake.

  “I married a Marine. Do you think they get paid in piles of gold bars?”

  “No. Shit. I just …”

  “I don’t know what you think of me or my family, but you don’t know us if you think we’re going to look down on you because you work for a living. Do you know what my brothers do? What my father does? They’re up every day before dawn, out there with the cattle, working their asses off.”

  “Breanna—”

  “I have to get going. I have work to do.” She got up and walked out, leaving him sitting there with his coffee and his regret.

  * * *

  “God, I made a mess of that.” Breanna was standing in Gen’s gallery later that morning, needing to talk to someone. “Why did I do that? Why did I walk out like that?”

  “It’s not like his insecurity about the money was completely out of left field. Guys are like that. They want to be the breadwinner.”

  “I know!” Breanna threw her hands skyward in exasperation. “But that’s just it. Brian was always so insecure about the money. We fought about it I don’t know how many times. He could never get past it. Sometimes I wondered why he even married me.”

  “He married you because he loved you,” Gen said gently.

  “Yeah. Yeah, he did.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “And I loved him. But I don’t want to set myself up for that again. For the fighting, the constant ego-stroking …”

  “Then you shouldn’t,” Gen said. “You’re only a few dates into this. And that’s what dating is for. To see if the other person’s baggage is something you’re willing to haul around. If it’s not”—she shrugged—“you put it down.”

  “Right.” Breanna nodded firmly. “You’re right. I just … haven’t felt like this about anyone in a really long time.”

  Gen rubbed Breanna’s upper arm with gentle, circular strokes. “Give it a little time. Slow things down. Give him a chance to put down the baggage himself.”

  She hoped he would. Because despite her feelings, despite her lust, despite the fact that he made her feel wants and needs and life that she hadn’t felt in so very long, she was too smart to repeat old mistakes.

  She valued herself and her boys too much.

  * * *

  Breanna vowed to take a step back. But that didn’t mean work on the Moonstone Beach house had to stop. And it also didn’t mean Michael couldn’t continue to help with it.

  She dropped Michael off at the work site after school, telling herself that there was no need for a big, dramatic scene with Jake. He’d said some things, and she’d overreacted to those things. Now, they could just move forward in a mature, sensible fashion.

  Michael was complaining about having to do the work when the two of them got out of the car.

  “Why can’t I just go home?” he moaned. “I was at school all day. I just want to chill.”

  “You can chill tonight after dinner,” she told him.

  “No, I can’t, because I have homework.” He scowled at her, and she recognized that look—she saw it every day on her own mother’s face. Genetics were a powerful influence.

  “Well, you’ll figure it out.” Breanna kept her voice airy and light, as though they were sharing pithy observations about something they both found interesting and pleasing.

  Michael was about to launch into another argument when Sam came bounding out of the house to greet them.

  The transformation on Michael’s face was immediate. In an instant, his expression went from sullen defiance to delight.

  “Sammy! Sammy boy!” Michael opened his arms for the dog, who threw himself into them. Breanna was amazed that Michael managed to stay upright. The dog licked Michael’s face—a sight Breanna observed with a mix of amusement and mild revulsion—as Michael petted and scratched and ruffled the dog’s fur with enthusiasm.

  “Well, he’s sure got a new friend,” Jake said with approval as he came out of the house to greet them, his hands on his narrow hips.

  Breanna wasn’t sure whether he was talking about Sam or Michael.

  “I expect you to give Jake your best effort,” she told her son. Then she turned to Jake. “I’ll be back around five to get him, if that’s okay.” Then she turned and started back toward her car.

  * * *

  “Wait, wait.” Jake went after Breanna, unsure about what he was going to say. He’d just figure it out as he went, he decided.

  Breanna turned toward him, her face carefully arranged in a mask of pleasant neutrality. “Is it all right that I brought Michael again today? Because if it’s not, I could—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Yes.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it spike up in odd places. “It’s fine, you know he’s welcome. Look. The way we left things …”

  “There’s no need to hash it out,” Breanna said. “You expressed an honest feeling you were having about my family, and I had no right to invalidate that. We don’t have to agree on everything. It’s not like we’re in a relationship.”

  A couple of thoughts went through Jake’s head. One was that it sounded like a rehearsed speech. And the other was that he was through hearing that bullshit about them not being in a relationship. Yes, they’d only been out a few times. But wasn’t that where relationships start
ed?

  As he pondered all of that, a third thought came to him: He really wanted to kiss her. He couldn’t act on the impulse—not now, not with Michael a few feet away—but it was there, all the same.

  “I kind of do think we should hash it out,” he said.

  She shot a significant look in Michael’s direction. “Right now isn’t the best time.”

  “I’m sorry I acted like an asshole,” he said. “That’s pretty much all I wanted to say. The rest can wait.” The kissing part, that could wait. As long as it didn’t have to wait too long.

  “Oh.”

  From the look on her face, she hadn’t expected an apology—she’d expected a confrontation. Well, he could be full of surprises. He took her gently by the arm and drew her a little bit away from the boy so they could speak in private.

  “I really want to see you again,” he said under his breath.

  “Oh,” she said again.

  “Not tonight, though. You want to slow things down, I get that. So, let’s draw it out a little. How’s Monday night?”

  She looked at Michael, then looked at Jake. Then she blinked a few times in apparent bewilderment.

  “Is that a yes?” he prompted her.

  “Uh … yes.”

  “Okay, then.” He gave her a crisp nod and then turned back toward the house. “Come on, Michael. Let’s get to work.”

  20

  Breanna hadn’t gone over to the house expecting to agree to a date. Her entire goal had been to get away without an ugly confrontation.

  But then he’d apologized, and that had disarmed her defensiveness to such an extent that when he’d asked her out, she’d agreed before she’d even known what she was doing.

  So, now she had a Monday night date, a basket full of misgivings, and no idea at all where this thing with Jake might be going.

  “You don’t have to know,” Gen said when they talked about it later that night after dinner. “Just go along for the ride. Wherever it goes, it goes.”

  They were sitting in Gen’s kitchen, Breanna perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, Gen holding J.R. on her hip as the baby grabbed at a hank of her curly red hair. Ryan was padding around the kitchen in his socks, looking for something in the refrigerator.