An Accidental Kiss (Dearly Beloved) (2 page)

Shut up, shut up
, she thought, and felt herself flush bright red.

“Is everything okay?”

She took a sip of water and tried to compose herself. “I’m sorry. To be honest, I’m rather nervous about having dinner with a famous writer.”

“Have you ever read any of my work?”

The question did nothing at all to put her at ease. “I—I’ve just finished reading
The Man
from Laredo.
”

“And?”

“It’s, uh, certainly full of action.”

He grinned. “It’s garbage.”

She stared at him in wonder. “I’m not sure I’d go that far...”

Frank snorted. “Cliché central. Stinks worse than a rattlesnake’s behind.”

She threw up her hands in surrender. “Okay!”

Frank laughed, and Marcy felt another little surge of wonder. This man was full of surprises. At first glance, he was slightly intimidating, but he had the most disarming grin she’d ever seen and a laugh she’d like to hear a lot more of.

Their eyes met, and attraction licked through her, hot and powerful. She was almost relieved when a waiter arrived to take their orders.

“I appreciate your honesty,” Frank said, when the waiter had left. “I’m going to be equally honest. I’m not looking for a girlfriend, relationship, wife—or anything like that.”

Marcy wanted to duck beneath the table and howl in disappointment. “I see.”

“It’s got nothing to do with you,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

She went still at the compliment. It had been years and years since she’d heard those words from a man.

“My wife died six years ago,” Frank went on. “And my sister out in Arizona won’t rest until she sees me paired up again. I agreed to this date so she’d leave me alone.”

Marcy smiled. “That’s funny—I made my mom promise to leave me alone if I met you tonight. Only...” she hesitated. It seemed pathetic to admit that she’d actually hoped that something might come of this, that she’d never quite stopped hoping that love would find her at last. “My life is busy enough as it is without the added complication of a man.”

Then their food arrived and they ate dinner and conversation flowed easily. Frank didn’t talk much about himself, Marcy noticed, but he seemed interested and smiled when she told him about the trials and tribulations of raising a teenage daughter. Maybe it felt easy, she thought, because they’d been honest with one another. They weren’t a couple on a date, they were just two people who’d been bullied into spending an evening together and decided to make the best of things. It was hardly his fault her stomach did somersaults every time he looked at her.

It was snowing lightly when they left the restaurant, the flakes dancing down from the night sky as Frank walked her back to her car. “I’ve enjoyed tonight,” he said, with something like surprise in his voice. “Thank you, Marcy.”

“Well, thank you,” she replied, forcing a smile. “I had a really good time.”

They looked at each other as they reached her car, silence stretching between them. So this was it, Marcy thought, with a hollow feeling inside. She’d never see him again.

He bent toward her and she realized, just a moment too late, that he’d only intended to brush her cheek. By then she’d moved her face a fraction and leaned forward so that their lips met, and somehow they were kissing, and Marcy closed her eyes, intoxicated, thrilled, wanting it to never end.

Frank pulled away, staring at her. His expression was stunned. She blinked up at him.

“Good night,” he said raggedly, and walked away.

With trembling fingers, Marcy unlocked her car, got in and fastened the seat belt. She felt lightheaded, as if she might faint, and her stomach was churning with emotion. For a few moments, she simply sat with her eyes closed, wishing she could rewind the past few minutes of her life and avoid making such a pathetic idiot of herself.

****

Frank had so much to do the next day—mail to answer, paperwork that needed signing, and a rather important phone call to make before lunch with his publisher. Usually, he was focused and methodical as he went about his work day, efficiently taking care of each task.

Today was different.

Today he stared out the window above his desk, going over the previous evening again and again. He thought of Marcy’s sweet, rueful smile, her habit of tucking her wavy hair behind one ear, only to have it tumble loose. He’d wanted to reach out and tuck it behind her ear himself, found himself wondering what would happen if he did exactly that, and smiled. She’d probably have blushed—she was one of those women who colored easily, her cheeks blooming a deep pink.

The smile faded as he recalled their kiss, the sweetness and passion of those brief moments when their lips touched. It was as if his black and white existence had suddenly blazed into dazzling technicolor. Now she was gone, and his life had faded back to gray. Forcing his attention toward the pile of paper on his desk, he wondered what she was doing at that very moment.

The phone rang and he picked it up absently.

“How did it go?” his sister blurted with no attempt at a greeting.

“Good afternoon, Lillian,” he said. “How are you today?”

“Fine. How did your date with Marcy go?”

Thinking of the fortune cookie crumbs clinging to Marcy’s pink and very kissable lips, Frank said, “She’s a nice lady.”

“Nice?” Lillian echoed, sounding disappointed. “She’s more than nice. Her mom has told me how special she is, how Marcy has raised her child alone, held down a job, plus she’s beautiful and smart and—”

“Well, her mom’s bound to be biased, isn’t she?” he cut in smoothly. “I was just in the middle of something. I’ll talk to you later.”

Frank hung up and sighed deeply, wondering why he suddenly felt as if he had a very large problem.

****

At that moment Marcy despondently nibbled on a tuna sandwich in the library's break room. A coworker popped her head in the door. “Call for you.”

She leaped to her feet, dabbing at her mouth, filled with a wild hope and excitement. She went to the phone and grabbed it up. “Hello?”

“Hey, pumpkin!”

“Oh. Hi, Mom.” She wanted to weep.

“Well? How’d it go?”

“It was nice, but—”

“You’re seeing him again?”

Suddenly Marcy felt tired. Tired of being sad and alone and disappointed. Tired of feeling like a loser. “No, I won’t be seeing Frank again,” she said. “His choice. Look, I’ve got to go, Mom. Bye.”

She put down the phone, wanting nothing more than go home and climb into bed, pull the covers up over her head and stay there for a very long time. But she was at the library, her lunch hour was over, and it was time to get back to work.

****

February

One week after their date at the Jade Wok, Frank decided that calling Marcy was probably the right thing to do. They’d kissed, after all, and sometimes women could let their imaginations get the better of them. It was best if he made things crystal clear. Explain to her that although they’d kissed, it was just one of those things and meant nothing. Just two lonely people, a moment of weakness, and a beautiful, snowy night.

He picked up the phone.

Once again, Justine answered. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, after Frank’s greeting. “Look, I don’t know what went down between you and my mom over the weekend but she is in, like, a totally crappy mood.”

“Could I speak to her?”

“Can I ask you a favor? Seeing as how you’re dating my mom and everything?”

“We’re not exactly—”

“I’ve got this project for school,” Justine rushed on, “we have to interview somebody. I totally do not want to have to choose a random old person so … maybe could I talk to you?”

“Well, I...”

“Please, Frank.”

“I’d need to look at my calendar...”

“Oh, would you? And then get back to me so we can schedule a time. Oh, thank you so much. This is so cool!”

“Justine, who is that?”

Frank tensed when he heard Marcy’s voice.

“It’s Frank, Mom, and he’s agreed to let me interview him for my school project.”

“
Frank?”

He thought she sounded dismayed when her voice sounded tentatively on the line. “Hello?”

He cleared his throat. “Hello, Marcy.” There was a long silence as he wondered what to say next. “I thought we needed to talk.”

“Oh, okay,” she said. “What about?”

He was completely thrown by her question.
Isn’t it obvious?

“What is this? You actually agreed to an inteview with my daughter?” she asked. “She wasn’t pushy about it, was she?”

“No,” he said. “Not at all.”

“Oh, good,” Marcy sounded relieved. “Um, would you like to come over for lunch on Saturday? Then Justine can conduct her interview and we can talk.”

In the background, Frank heard Justine saying something. Then Marcy spoke again, sounding slightly embarrassed. “I’m sorry—she said she’d like to do it at your place so she can get some pictures of you in your writing environment. Is that okay?”

“Um, sure,” he said, and then recited his address.

Frank felt confused and slightly dazed by the time he’d hung up. How the hell had this come about? He’d called to tell Marcy that in spite of one sizzling, unforgettable kiss he had no intention of ever seeing her again. Instead he’d somehow invited her and her daughter over for lunch at the weekend. Frank shook his head in bewilderment—what had he got himself into?

He wondered if Marcy and Justine liked chili.

****

It was amazing, Marcy thought, how quickly a bad mood could melt away. Hers vanished the instant she heard Frank’s voice. How quickly everything changed. It was amazing to think that just a week ago her life felt utterly devoid of hope, and now she was face to face with the tantalizing promise of romance with a man she found deliciously attractive. Frank was more than sexy and attractive and intelligent, she reflected. He was nice. He’d invited Justine to interview him.

Rather than showy, the address Frank gave her was quietly impressive. Marcy and Justine climbed the steps leading to the front door of the old, three-story home in the middle of Denver’s historic district. As she rang the bell, Marcy was suddenly seized with nerves, and she gulped, then brushed her sweaty palms down her jeans. At least her hair had been a bit more cooperative today. From behind the door she heard footsteps, a dog barking, and then Frank opened the door. Their eyes met for a moment, and Marcy’s heart lurched.

A huge black lab surged forward to greet them. Justine laughed.

“Doc,” he scolded, pulling on the dog’s collar. “Sorry, ladies—he’s not used to company.”

They managed to get inside, and Frank banished the dog into the back yard before taking their coats. He gave Marcy an awkward smile. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she replied softly.

“Great to meet you, Justine,” he said, holding out his hand. “Hungry?’

She nodded, smiling as she shook his hand.

Marcy glanced around as they followed him into the kitchen. It was a beautiful house, she thought, but there were very few personal touches. The pale walls were bare of photographs, the wooden floors scuffed, the furniture bland and functional. The kitchen, large and modern, opened into the room which Frank obviously worked in. A computer sat on a large desk that overlooked the back yard. Books and magazines lay stacked everywhere, on the coffee table, on the floor, and overflowed from a tall, oak bookcase. A large painting of a cowboy racing across the open plains hung over the fireplace.

The interview was informal. While Frank stirred a large pot of chili, Justine asked him when he’d first decided he wanted to become a writer.

“As far back as I can remember,” he replied. “When I was a kid, reading by flashlight under the blankets long after I should have been asleep, I couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than being able to create a world all my own, with people I dreamed up all by myself.”

Justine’s poised her pen over her notebook. “You began writing when you were a boy?”

“Nope, didn’t think people like me actually wrote books,” Frank said, spooning chili into three bowls and coming to the table. “I joined the Army.”

“Hmm,” Justine murmured, scribbling hard.

Marcy tried not to stare at the man sitting across from her at the wooden table, but couldn’t help herself. His dark hair was shot through with gray, his features craggy, his eyes a fierce and piercing blue. He could almost have been one of the cowboys he liked to write about. Just then, Frank looked up and caught her staring. She flushed and turned back to her chili.

“How did you feel when
Texas Drifter
was made into a movie?” Justine asked.

Frank chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of food.

“It must have been so exciting!” Justine said.

He smiled slightly. “It was.”

“Okay. What are your hobbies apart from writing?”

“The usual—walking my dog, a little cooking.”

“Did you bake that?” Justine asked, eyeballing the chocolate cake on the counter.

“No, I don’t bake cakes,” he said. “Like to eat them though.”

“Mom bakes,” Justine said. “She won first prize in the county fair last year for her German chocolate cake.”

As if to confirm, Frank glanced at Marcy who shrugged modestly.

“What if she baked one for you?” Justine asked.

“I wouldn’t say no.”

The sun came out and Justine wondered out into the yard to play with Doc while Marcy helped Frank load the dishwasher.

“She’s nice kid,” he said gruffly.

“Thanks.” Marcy smiled. “It was really nice of you to agree to this.”

“I like kids,” he said.

“Do you have any of your own?”

He went still for a moment, and she wondered if she’d overstepped some boundary. Then he shook his head. “My wife couldn’t have children. Guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

“For a writer, you’re a man of very few words,” Marcy observed.

He turned to her with a smile, and the moment became intimate, charged with electricity. He took a step toward her. “Marcy—”

The moment dissolved when the back yard door opened and Doc came loping in, followed by Justine. “Where’s his water bowl?” she asked. “I made him thirsty, didn’t I, boy?”