Читать книгу Blossom Street - Debbie Macomber - Страница 81

BETHANNE HAMLIN

“The thing is,” Bethanne said excitedly, reaching for another tortilla chip, “Grant was right.”

Paul frowned. “Right about what?”

“About how I should find a way to support myself. He won’t be financially responsible for me much longer, as he’s frequently pointed out. A couple of months ago, he told me to use my God-given talents to find a job. He was talking about childcare and so on, and he meant it sarcastically. At the time I was so furious with him I couldn’t see straight, but you know what? He was right.”

Paul grinned, and once again Bethanne was struck by the fact that while he wasn’t a handsome man, he was an appealing one, easy to talk to and be around. They’d met for dinner after her first major birthday party, for Elise’s grandson. Because there’d been so little time, she’d had to arrange the party quickly, but everything had fallen nicely into place. The little boys had loved the dinosaur egg hunt, not to mention games like “pin the tail on the dinosaur,” which she’d created herself with Annie’s help.

“Did I mention I got three new bookings from Luke’s party? I’m also going to do one—a really elaborate one—for a lady I met at the yarn store. They all want ‘my special touch’ for their kids’ parties,” she said. She dipped her chip in the thick salsa before bringing it to her mouth. The most thrilling part of all this was that with her clients’ deposits, she had enough money for Andrew to attend football camp. She’d nearly burst with pride when she handed it over to him.

“I believe you did say something about upcoming parties.” Paul raised a salsa-laden chip.

“More than once?” She had the feeling she’d probably repeated the same information a dozen times, but she couldn’t help it. This was the most wonderful thing to happen to her in … years.

“As the kids got older, Grant used to think all the fuss I made over birthday parties was a waste of money,” she explained. “Who would’ve guessed his wife would make a career of it.” She stopped herself. “Ex-wife,” she corrected. She sighed. “Will I ever get used to saying that?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t yet.”

She refused to let that one slip destroy her mood. “I was really glad you phoned.”

“I wanted to see how everything went with the party.”

“I’m so happy and excited, and this … this is just great. I love Mexican food.”

“Me, too.” He reached for his margarita and licked the salt from the edge of his glass before taking a sip.

The sight of his tongue unnerved her. Bethanne immediately looked away, then chided herself for being silly. But perhaps it was a natural reaction. It’d been so long since she’d made love, she could hardly even remember.

“Do you miss …” She hesitated to say it aloud, so she leaned toward him and whispered. “Sex?”

“Sex.” Paul’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”

They both laughed as if it was the funniest thing they’d heard in ages.

“Really,” she pressed. “I want to know.”

He nodded. “Big time. What about you?”

She nodded, too. She couldn’t ask that question of anyone else, and it made her appreciate their friendship even more. They felt safe with each other; safe in speaking honestly about their anger and pain. There was something healing in that kind of openness.

“How are things with Annie and Andrew?” he asked, deftly changing the subject.

Bethanne was on her second margarita, which she knew had loosened her inhibitions, probably past the point of decorum. “I’ve had some long conversations with Annie since I learned she put sugar in Tiffany’s gas tank.” At first Annie had tried to deny it, but when she broke down and admitted what she’d done, they’d clung to each other, Bethanne’s heart breaking for her daughter.

Annie had agreed to see the therapist, and after two visits, felt she had a better perspective on the family’s situation and her own feelings. There’d been several tearful discussions between mother and daughter. Annie seemed better now, more like her old self, and Bethanne sensed that her daughter could move forward, with or without her father.

“Has Grant had a chance to talk to Annie?” Paul asked.

Bethanne had mentioned his most recent visit, although she’d left out his inquiry about her relationship with Paul.

“He phoned the house.” Bethanne shrugged. “I don’t know what he said, but Annie was on and off the phone in about two minutes, so it couldn’t have been much of a conversation.”

“From what I understand, the insurance paid for the damage to Tiffany’s engine,” Paul told her.

“Did she contact you?” Bethanne asked. Paul rarely mentioned his ex-wife.

“No, but our agent told me about it. It’s a good thing Tiff continued the coverage for vandalism.”

Bethanne nodded. She wouldn’t put it past Tiffany to have Annie arrested; even worse, she wasn’t sure Grant would stand up for their daughter. Yes, Annie had been wrong and she needed to accept the consequences of her actions, but Bethanne couldn’t bear the thought of her daughter being prosecuted. At the therapist’s suggestion, Annie had written Tiffany a letter of apology and Bethanne hoped the matter would end there.

The waitress came by, and Bethanne ordered the fajita salad, while Paul chose the chicken enchilada plate. He waited until she’d left the table before resuming the conversation.

“How’s Annie now?” he asked.

“She’s dealing with a lot,” Bethanne replied. “She’s coming through it, though, and I think the worst is over, but it’s been a difficult time for her.”

“She needs a friend,” Paul said. “Someone who really understands.”

“I agree, but—” Bethanne stopped in midsentence. “Yes.

She does.”

Paul laughed softly. “You’ve got that look in your eye.”

Bethanne sat back in her chair. “She already has one. Only, my daughter is a lot like her mother and isn’t always aware of what’s right in front of her.”

“You seem to be full of good news tonight,” he teased.

She giggled. “I’m full of something, all right.” Suddenly she reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “Oh, my goodness,” she cried, shocked into momentary silence.

“What?” Paul asked in concern.

“Paul, I just realized that I’m happy. I’m actually happy. I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way again, but I do. I really do.”

Paul nodded thoughtfully.

Bethanne leaned toward him. “Has it happened for you yet?”

He didn’t meet her eyes.

“Be honest,” she told him.

“Not yet,” he admitted with a faint smile, “but I can feel it approaching.”

“Good.” She felt better knowing that he was hopeful enough to anticipate the return of joy.

“Seeing you makes me happy,” he confessed.

“Thank you.” Bethanne sipped her margarita and sighed. “That’s sweet.”

“I think about you a lot, Bethanne. About us both.”

“Us.” She choked a little as she swallowed her drink.

“What would you think of the two of us dating?”

She frowned. She’d never asked, but assumed she was older than Paul, possibly by as much as ten years. “I … I like you as a friend, Paul, but as for this dating idea—I don’t know. I’m afraid it might change our whole relationship and I wouldn’t want that. I want things to stay the way they are.”

He shrugged with apparent nonchalance. “That’s all right.”

“Don’t take offense, please. I couldn’t bear it if you did. You’re my friend and I treasure our times together, but …”

“Just think about us dating, all right?”

“Okay, but … Okay, okay, I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” He appeared to relax then. “I’m glad, Bethanne. You’re exactly the kind of woman I can imagine myself with.”

She glanced around to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation. “This is because I asked you about sex, isn’t it?”

“No,” he said abruptly. “This has to do with the fact that I really enjoy being with you. Not you, the ex-wife of the man my ex-wife left me for, but you, the person I’ve come to know and trust.”

“Oh.” After two margaritas, she found it difficult to frame a response.

“That surprises you?”

“No.” Bethanne answered from her heart. “The truth is, I find your interest a very big compliment. For now, I’m more comfortable just being friends, but I’m willing to see where things go.”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Bethanne,” he said in a serious tone.

“That’s the lack of sex talking,” she teased.

“Hmm—that could easily be fixed,” he joked back.

Bethanne giggled. “I think it’s time we cut off the margaritas.”

Paul smiled. “Let’s not be hasty. The conversation’s just getting good.”