Chapter Nineteen
With her stomach still roiling from the morning’s ruckus in her shop, the last thing Clara wanted was a fancy pasta feast. But after all he’d done to help her, how could she postpone their date?
Sitting beside her in Arnie’s café, Doug had sketched out his plans for opening a wide doorway between Arnie’s shop and hers. Though Darryl continued to grumble, his father agreed to the plan. After all, if the building ended up as a pub, he’d demolish that wall anyway.
She and Arnie agreed on the rest of the plan: some of her bookshelves would be transferred to Arnie’s place, and she’d scatter café tables throughout her shop. Arnie had several spares tucked away in his back room. Now it was up to her and Arnie to come up with enough special events and promotions to lure customers away from the corporate chain stores nearby. She had high hopes—even the names of their shops meshed well: Book Nirvana and Coffee Dreams.
Upon her return to the bookshop, Harry grinned his approval as she told him of the plan. “So, Doug’s idea might just save our bacon.”
She nodded. “It’s a great idea, but it’s up to us to figure out how to implement it.”
The crowd had thinned enough for Harry to pull Clara behind the screen for a moment. He took her shoulders in his big, gnarled hands. His blue eyes radiated concern. “Clara, I know this is a hard time for you, and having those two guys panting at your heels isn’t making it easier, right?”
“You noticed, eh?”
“Kind of a comical sight, really. I’m hoping you’ll end up choosing Doug, of course. That fancy professor makes me nervous.”
“Why, Harry?”
His forehead rumpled. “He looks at you like he wants to eat you up. And he’s from out of town. He won’t be here when you need him.”
She hadn’t told Harry about Doug’s hungry kisses at the end of their last date.
“Anyway, for what it’s worth, I hope you won’t let either of those young bucks rush you into something you’re not ready to do. A man who’s worth your time will wait.”
“Oh, Harry—” She hugged him hard, her eyes misty. “Thank you.”
She returned to the counter to deal with the remaining customers. Margot left for her afternoon classes but, contrite over the mess she’d caused, returned at five, giving Clara time to clean up for her date with Doug.
Still uneasy with the dating game, she frowned into her bedroom mirror for a long time, an ever-growing pile of discarded clothing behind her. This dress was too sexy; that top was too low cut. Those jeans were too loose; these were too ragged. Since Jared’s death, she’d fallen into the habit of wearing a silky blouse with comfortable jeans: businesslike on top, practical underneath. But Pomodoro was a fancy place, deserving of something special. Her only real date outfit was the one she’d worn to Nick’s place, and somewhere along the way she’d spilled wine on it.
Besides, wearing the same outfit risked arousing the memory of Nick’s tantalizing kiss—not what she wanted on her mind while spending the evening with Doug.
The tension between the two men that morning hit her hard, adding to the stress of the picketers and media attention. She hadn’t sought either of them out, but that didn’t change the situation: two good men cared for her, and she’d have to make up her mind soon. It was the honorable thing to do. Her practical nature leaned strongly in Doug’s direction. He was sweet and helpful, smart and funny. And here. He didn’t stir up uncomfortable feelings the way Nick did. One more date with each guy, she promised herself, and then she’d decide.
Her trusty gray wool skirt would do for tonight. But which top? Nothing struck the perfect note of friendly and just a tiny bit flirtatious. She stripped off yet another blouse and slumped onto the bed, her head in her hands. A breeze whispered from the open window.
“What am I doing, Jared? This is crazy. I’m not ready for a new boyfriend. I can’t even get dressed for a date.”
A sudden flash of memory lit up her senses: Jared standing behind her, gazing at her reflection in this mirror. He lifted her hair, let it fall over her shoulders, and pressed his cheek against hers. “There, babe. See how beautiful you are?”
Her reflected face crumpled. A sudden earthquake of sobs shook her at the memory of Jared’s love, the strongest she’d ever known, strong enough to hold her up through anything. Anything except his echoing, aching absence.
“How can I do this?” She wept into her hands, smudging her carefully applied eyeliner. “I can’t even pick a damned blouse! How can I just move on, just…”
The wind stirred the curtain. On the windowsill, a black-capped chickadee perched, cocking his head from side to side. The sweet, comical little visitor stopped her tears as quickly as they’d started.
“Hey there. Want to help me pick a blouse?”
The bird fluffed up his feathers, then shimmied them back into place.
Why not? Was it any crazier than the rest of her day? She grabbed two tops at random from the pile on the bed: a stretchy black sweater spangled with beads and a silky peach blouse. “Which one?” she asked the bird.
He tilted his head left, right, then hopped to his left.
“This one?” She held up the blouse.
“Chick-a-dee-dee-dee,” he trilled and then flew off.
“Okay. Peach blouse it is.”
A message from beyond? A crazy woman talking to birds? Either way, she’d made a choice. She pulled on the blouse and tucked it into her skirt. Not bad. She stepped into her tall black boots, since she didn’t have to worry about towering over Doug. A quick repair job on her make-up, and she was ready to go.
She paused by the open window and breathed in the evening breeze. It caressed her cheek, fragrant with the promise of coming rain.
“Wish me luck,” she whispered, and closed the window.
****
Twenty minutes later, Clara paced back and forth inside the shop, waiting for Doug’s arrival. Two last customers lingered over the front display table, which the deluge of customers had nearly emptied.
“Hey, Clara, check this out.” Margot beckoned her behind the screen. On the computer she’d pulled up the live feed from KVAL News. “Look, it’s you!”
As pale and grim as a prisoner before the firing squad, Clara clutching poor Lulu to her chest and explained to the reporter how she’d been running the shop alone since Jared’s death. A photo flashed across the screen. The news crew had dug up a picture from the shop’s opening, nearly ten years ago: her and Jared in front of the big display window, his arm around her shoulder, his dark hair ruffled by the wind. They both grinned as if they had their whole lives ahead of them, as if nothing could go wrong.
Clara’s breath caught, and her vision blurred.
Margot’s soft hand fell on her shoulder. “You looked so happy together,” she whispered. She’d never met Jared, having come on board just after his death.
“We were happy together.” She squeezed Margot’s hand, then blew her nose and smoothed her skirt. “Well, how do I look?”
“Snazzy.” Margot grinned. “Nick will love it.”
“No, I’m going out with Doug tonight.”
“Oh, the bald guy?” Her grin faltered for a split-second. “Well, he seems nice.”
“He is nice.”
The tinkling of the doorbell cut off further discussion. “I’ll get it.” Margot trotted toward the counter.
Clara sucked in a few deep breaths, shook herself like a wet dog, hoping to dispel her jingly tension, then followed.
Doug stood at the counter examining a stack of new comics. In repose, his bony, craggy face seemed older than his years. But when he smiled, as he did now at her approach, he lit up with a sweet, playful energy. His was the kind of beauty that manifested motion, whereas Nick was beautiful in repose, in motion, whenever, always.
Tonight, though, Doug had put forth a real effort: his dark dress shirt brought out the blue in his eyes. His paisley tie gleamed subtly, and his tailored slacks hugged his powerful thighs. He’d even polished his shoes to a high gloss.
“You look great, Clara. Here, let me.” He held her coat. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Very,” she lied.
His sly smile made her suspect he was referring to more than just pasta.
The evening sky was sparkly clear, the air pleasantly cool, so they walked the three blocks to the restaurant, stopping here and there to enjoy the creative summer-themed displays in the shop windows.
“I talked to my dad today,” he said. “He’ll lend me the tools I’ll need to make the doorway. I can start work on Saturday the eighteenth, after school lets out.”
“Is that really how you want to begin your summer break? I mean, I’m grateful, but…”
He planted himself facing her, his expression solemn. “Clara, let’s get this out of the way right now. I’m glad to help. I’d do it for Harry’s sake, even if I wasn’t interested in you.” Then his gaze softened. “I am, you know. Very. And I know about Professor Tzatziki, but…”
She bit back a giggle.
“Sorry, that was immature. Anyway, if nothing else, I’m glad to help a friend. Besides, Arnie’s giving me free coffee for life. I’d start this weekend, but—”
“You have a race up in Washington, right?”
“Yeah, in Tacoma. We’ve been training for a while.”
“I wish Harry could go with you.”
He shrugged. “It’s a hilly course. Harry’s not so good on the hills anymore. He’ll run the half-marathon with us in the fall, nice and flat, along the river.” They resumed walking, and he nudged her with his arm. “Maybe you’ll join us?”
“A half marathon? Holy cow.”
She smelled the restaurant before they reached it. Pomodoro had opened a few months before in what was formerly a shoe shop, now redecorated with lots of fake stone and plaster statuary—a kitschy, garlic-scented grotto. When he pulled the door open, Italian opera tunes floated out, nearly covering the rumble of conversation and clink of silverware.
The hostess led them to their table near the window. Clara settled into her seat, a throne-like chair in padded red velvet. “I feel like the queen of Pasta Land.”
“A bit much, isn’t it? But I hear the food’s great.”
“Aaaay, Paisano!” The waiter rushed over and clapped Doug’s shoulder. The cartoon Italian accent was particularly funny coming from a short, plump Asian guy about their age. “You must be la bella Clara.”
Doug rolled his eyes and cleared his throat.
“Oh, right. My name is Vincente, and I’ll be serving you tonight. Would you like to hear our specials?”
“Um, sure.” She fought to restrain a grin.
With the eager enthusiasm of an amateur opera singer, Vincente sing-songed his way through a long list of pasta specials, the daily fish, and a beefsteak alla Florentina.
“Too many choices,” she muttered into her menu. “What do you recommend, Vincente?”
He leaned in and stage-whispered, “I recommend this guy here. He’s-a good-a fella.”
“Vinny!” Doug swatted the waiter with his menu.
“Scusami.” He dropped the accent. “I went to school with this guy. I can’t resist teasing him. So, I’ll let you two talk. Wave at me when you’re ready to order.” He bustled off toward the bar.
Doug swiped a hand down his face. “Sorry, I should’ve warned you. Vinny’s a character. Got a degree in theater, and this is how he puts his talents to use.”
“Oh, hey, I’ve seen him. Didn’t he do something with that dinner theater group over by the freeway?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell him you saw him on stage. We’ll never get rid of him until he sells you tickets to his next show.”
Vinnie swooped by and deposited two highball glasses. “Il aperitivo della casa. On the house. Enjoy.” And just as quickly, he swooped away.
Clara sniffed at the orange liquid. Doug shrugged, took a sip. “A Negroni, I think.”
A little sweet, a hint of bitterness, and very potent.
They each chose a pasta dish, then waited until Vinny was safely out of hearing range before continuing their conversation.
“So.” She clasped her hands around her drink.
“So.” He took a sip, his eyes cast downward. His long, fair lashes gleamed in the flickering candlelight. “I, uh…want to thank you…”
“For what?”
“For giving me another chance after I groped you the other day. I’m sort of…out of practice.”
His bashful smile tugged on her heart. “Well, you seem like a pretty nice guy, and Harry vouched for your character.”
He gently grasped her fingertips. “I am a pretty nice guy, except when the full moon turns me into a werewolf.”
“Oh, is that what happened?”
He shrugged, grinned, then released her. “I promised to keep my hands to myself, didn’t I?”
She pulled his hands back to the center of the table, held them lightly. “This is nice. And the moonlight won’t reach us in here, so I figure I’m safe for now.”
“For now.” He waggled his eyebrows. “So, what shall we talk about?”
“Um, family?”
“I have one.”
“Me too.” She took another sip and realized she’d better pace herself. “Are you youngest, oldest, only?”
“Middle,” he said. “Older sister, younger brother. She’s an artist; he’s an addict.”
“Wow. That must be really hard on your family.”
“It’s hardest on Mom, especially when he stole her engagement ring. We haven’t seen him in—” He pursed his lips, counted on his fingers, “Six years now. So, your turn.”
“Okay. I have a younger sister in Texas, a step-brother here in Oregon, and a step-sister in Hawaii. I like the girls a lot. Him, not so much.”
He nodded, drummed his fingers, his gazed bouncing from table to table. Was she boring him?
“You all right, Doug?”
He flashed a tight grin. “Yeah, just avoiding the elephant.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“This is the part where you ask me about my divorce, right? Harry said he told you about Tiffany.”
She snorted a laugh. “Sorry. It’s just, he said she was kind of a gold digger, so it’s the perfect name for her.”
His tight expression relaxed. “She was ambitious. And greedy. And I was an idiot not to see it. But you know how it is. We ignore those red flags while they’re waving in our faces. Afterward, we remember all the warning signs.” He gulped his drink, then shook his head. “Wow. Strong. I think Vinnie’s trying to loosen my tongue.”
Apparently, Vinnie’s plan was working. The flush on Doug’s face probably wasn’t just from the alcohol, though. He was obviously still pissed at his ex. With good reason, it seemed.
“Well, some things are hard to talk about.”
“Yup.” He let out a big breath. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather save this topic for another time.”
“Sure. Yeah. Of course.” She gazed around at the other couples chatting easily over their pasta and scampi and involtini. This date was turning out to be more work than she’d expected. “So, what are your summer plans, besides tearing out our wall?”
The tension between them lightened as he told her about his last summer vacation, a running tour of Canada involving several 10K races and a marathon. “I swear, the mosquitoes were this big.” He spread his long fingers. “But the mountains are magnificent. Have you spent much time in Canada?”
While Vinnie delivered their pasta and uncorked a bottle of Pinot Grigio, Clara told him about the trip she and Jared made to Victoria. Then they talked about destinations on their bucket lists, falling into a pleasant give-and-take.
All right, then. He’s easy to talk to, as long as I avoid sensitive topics.
“Clara, you’re a great listener. I’ll bet you’d be a great traveling companion, too.” He twirled up the last of his fettuccine al salmone, then paused with his fork in mid-air. “Maybe I can talk you into coming on our Labor Day trip to Baja?”
“Our trip?”
“The running club. We’re doing a 10K race and some snorkeling.” He gestured with his fork, the noodles dangling like seaweed. “Crystal-clear waters, colorful fish, warm sun on your back.” He popped the pasta into his mouth and chewed while waggling his eyebrows flirtatiously.
“Here, you’ve got some sauce on your chin.”
He thrust his jaw out and let her wipe the spot, then grasped her hand and kissed it. “You’re delicious,” he declared, with a flourish of his napkin.
Too much wine. So what? This is fun.
She giggled. “More delicious than smoked salmon in cream sauce?”
He kissed her hand again, then smacked his lips. “At least as delicious.” He leaned in, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “I haven’t had a proper taste yet.”
She hid her grin behind her napkin, feigning shock. Better slow down. Don’t encourage him.
He pulled back. “Oh, hey, there I go again. Sorry, Clara. I just—” He heaved a frustrated sigh. “I find it hard to keep my cool around you. You’re very lovely and very kind.” He folded his hands like a schoolboy trying to be good. “You’re the first lady who’s had this effect on me in a long time.”
“Really? Well, I’m flattered.” And she was. Doug’s flustered reaction was disarming. Whereas Nick swept her away with his effortless charm, she really had more in common with Doug. They were in a similar place, dipping their toes into the dating pool after a loss. His cautious uncertainty eased her own doubts and fears.
By the time they finished the wine and their shared dessert, a decadent panna cotta topped with raspberries and limoncello, they’d slid from talkative to giggly. After paying the bill, Doug offered his arm and pulled her to her feet. Between the alcohol and her high heels, she lost her balance and tottered right into his chest. She threw her arms around him to steady herself, then blinked in surprise at the sound of applause. It came from Vinnie the waiter, beaming at them from a table near the bar. The couple he was serving joined in, and soon half the restaurant was applauding. In a warm tenor voice, Vinnie warbled, “That’s amore!”
Cheeks flushed, she tugged on Doug’s sleeve. “Let’s get out of here.”
With his long, lanky arm around her shoulder, they trotted out onto the street, giggling like teenagers, the awkward beginning of their date long forgotten. He wobbled a bit as he peered up and down the street. “Right. Your shop is…this way.” He lunged in exactly the wrong direction.
“Nope. The other way.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He pivoted, and they set off down the sidewalk, her arm cozy around his waist. The night air had cooled, so she snuggled in closer to enjoy his warmth. All up and down the street, couples and groups of friends strolled and talked and laughed. It had been a long time since she’d been out on the town, enjoying pleasant company, good food, a little wine—okay, too much wine. It felt good to be a part of it all again. Soon, too soon, really, they reached the front door of her shop.
She released her grip on his middle. “Here we are. I’d ask you in for a nightcap, but all I have is instant coffee.”
He leaned against the glass door, lowered his voice to a sexy rumble. “I love instant coffee.”
Oh dear. Time to stall. “So, no running club tomorrow morning?”
“Right. We’re driving up to…to…”
“Tacoma, right? For a race?”
He held up his forefinger. “That’s it. Man, getting up at five is going to be tough.”
His crooked smile was so appealing, she almost asked him in. After all, what trouble could they get into? Unless, of course, he asked about the red door.
He cleared his throat. “So, I’d better call for a ride. Mind if I wait inside?”
There was no way to deny him without being a jerk.
“Sure.” She fished her keys out of her bag and led the way. The shop was dark except for the glow from the street lamps out front. “Shall I turn on the lights?”
“No, I can see fine.” He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “Okay, driver’s on his way.”
He must have heard her sigh of relief because he cast his eyes downward and shoved his hands into his pockets.
Damn, this is awkward. And he’s such a sweet guy. She moved in closer, close enough to feel his body’s warmth, but he still kept his hands tucked away.
“Doug, I had a really fun time tonight. Dinner was superb.”
He took a tiny step forward. “It was fun. Thanks for giving me a chance, Clara.”
She inched closer, almost close enough to rest her chin on his chest.
He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “I hope I convinced you I can keep my hands to myself.”
“Is it really so difficult?”
“Excruciating.” Hands still in his pockets, he leaned down to kiss her goodnight. He landed a bit off-center, so she took his jaw in both hands and redirected him. His lips were warm and slightly scratchy. A pleasant kiss, but it lacked the rush of heat ignited when Nick’s lips touched hers.
Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe love is best if it grows slowly.
She pulled back to gaze into his blue eyes. Yearning simmered in their depths.
“Clara.” His big hands slid up her arms, his voice a raw whisper. “You are so beautiful.”
This time, he restrained himself more than their first embrace in the parking lot, but his kiss quickly became deeper and more urgent. His long fingers splayed across her back, pulled her tight against him. Transfixed by indecision, she fluttered between excitement and panic. If his ride hadn’t rolled up just then, she might have done something rash—though what, exactly, she wasn’t quite sure.
The driver’s lights flashed in the big plate-glass window, throwing their shadows onto the floor. She blinked and shielded her eyes.
He pulled back, breathing heavily. “Damn, did it again, didn’t I?”
“It’s okay, Doug. I guess we both had too much to drink.”
That gives us both an excuse.
He took her hand and tenderly kissed her palm. “Good night, lovely Clara. Can I call you when I get back?”
“Please do.”
He left the shop, flashing a boyish grin over his shoulder.
She turned away, let out a long whoosh of breath, then wandered back to check her reflection in the little mirror over her desk. Flushed cheeks, hair mussed by Doug’s fingers, lipstick smeared by his urgent kisses. And how did she feel? Shaky, but not with desire. His kisses didn’t leave her completely cold, but they didn’t heat her like Nick’s. She still tasted Doug’s garlicky, winey tongue, still felt the soft scrape of his lips across hers, the pressure of his hands on her hips, but…it just wasn’t the same.
Maybe it was better to go into a new relationship with a clear head, with more control, with reasonable expectations. And surely things would get better with the passage of time, right?
Anyway, tomorrow she’d repeat this dance with Nick. And then she’d make her decision. Or maybe she’d decide to shelve the whole question and just concentrate on her business. Until then, she’d just try to relax.
Before locking up the shop, she glanced at the red door. Safely locked, no lights glowing from within. For now, that’s just how she wanted it.