Something Sweeter Read online

  He tossed her a diversionary grin. “I’d rather watch the movie and share the popcorn before you eat it all.”

  “You’re the one who’s already started munching.”

  He held out the tub, and she scooped up a few kernels.

  “This certainly isn’t what I expected tonight,” she said before she popped the corn into her mouth.

  He handed her a napkin to wipe the excess butter from her fingers. She licked them instead, and his groin tightened. “What did you expect?”

  “Another episode like the one with Arlene and Gladys.” When she lifted her index finger to her mouth and sucked off the butter, he nearly groaned.

  Light flickered on the giant screen and the dancing, cartoon, concession-­stand snacks began to sing “Let’s all go to the lobby.”

  “I’ve been told you have to change things up to keep a woman interested,” he said.

  She gave him a sideways glance. “I can’t imagine you have any problem in that area.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “You wish. What I meant to say is I can’t imagine you have any problem in that area because you don’t stick around long enough to have to change things up.”

  “Uh-­oh. Who’s been talking now?”

  “Who hasn’t been?” She munched another kernel. “Today, I had the pleasure of contacting several local ladies who do floral design on the side. They all had plenty to say. Mostly about how happy they were for Reno and what a devil you were.”

  He slapped a hand down on his knee. “What do I have to do to get a little respect around here?”

  “Stop sleeping with every woman you meet. That might be a good start. Or at least choose to be a little more covert.”

  He stuffed a Milk Dud in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. For years, he’d let the love ’em and leave ’em reputation propagate because it had been harmless entertainment. A chance for a good laugh upon hearing he’d had sex with a woman he’d never even been alone with. For a long time, the rumors had worked to his advantage. Lately, he’d grown tired of the game. Tired of being the bull’s-­eye for gossip. And for some reason, he cared what this particular woman thought.

  “I don’t,” he said.

  She turned her head and through the darkness studied his face. “You don’t what?”

  “Sleep with every woman I meet. I’m no angel, but I’m hardly the horny devil everyone paints me to be. I’ve had some long-­term relationships.”

  Her gaze flicked over his face as if looking for visual proof of honesty or deception. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Do you think even less of me now?”

  “I don’t know what to think of you.”

  On the screen, the giant, dancing hot dog disappeared, and the film started.

  “Maybe you’ll figure it out after the movie,” he said.

  “Doubtful.” She turned her attention to the beautiful ruby sunset in the opening scene. “Uh-­oh.”

  “What?”

  “We’re watching The Notebook?”

  “Have you seen it?” he asked.

  “Only about a hundred times.”

  “Then count this as a hundred and one.”

  “Why The Notebook?”

  “Because . . .” He’d gotten sucked into seeing the movie when he’d accidentally walked into a girl’s movie night at his mom’s house. And though he’d never admit it to his brothers, the film had touched him deeply. “This movie is a great example of true love. There’s no better proof than when spouses are there for each other even when they can’t remember they’re spouses.”

  “Jesse? I hate to burst your eager bubble, but this is a movie. It’s not real life.”

  Disappointment tightened his chest. “Do you truly believe those kinds of relationships don’t really exist?”

  When she snagged her bottom lip between her teeth and hesitated, he rolled on.

  “I can walk you into Texas Rose Assisted Living right now and prove it to you. Margaret Whipple was my third-­grade teacher. She’s been in Texas Rose with dementia for the past ten years. Elmer Whipple has been married to Margaret for over sixty years. She can’t remember him at all. But he goes there every day, has lunch with her, and reads her the newspaper. He once told me that it was just like having their first date over and over again.”

  “Well, that’s very nice but I—­”

  Then there’s Gus and Zelma Mortimer. They got married when they were sixteen years old. Had ten kids. And they’re both so old, I quit counting the wrinkles. About five years ago, Gus had a stroke. He’s still with it in the head, but his body isn’t in sync, and he’s been in a wheelchair ever since. Yet every once in a while when I go out to their ranch to vaccinate their calves, I catch them dancing on the front porch.”

  “How can they dance if he’s in a wheelchair?”

  “She sits on his lap, wraps her arms around his neck, and sings while she moves the wheelchair around with her feet. And she still looks at him like he’s the strong, independent man she married all those years ago.”

  “That’s so . . . sweet.”

  Jesse didn’t miss that her words were spoken with admiration. “Open your eyes, darlin’. There’s a whole big mushy in-­love world out there to see. If you keep them closed, you’re going to miss what’s right in front of you.”

  For a long moment, she remained silent. Yet while he watched the movie screen, he could feel her gaze on him. Finally, she leaned in, and whispered insistently. “It’s a movie.”

  “Fine.” He turned, and in her eyes found an almost desperate need to hang on to her misguided beliefs. “Then if you won’t look at those possibilities, think about the fact that maybe I just wanted to get you alone in the dark.”

  Two hours later, Allison had sobbed through several paper napkins plus the tissues she’d found crumpled up in the bottom of her purse. Without even looking, she knew her nose was red and her face blotchy. She’d consumed far too much buttered popcorn and way too many Milk Duds. And she could swear her stomach sloshed from all the soda.

  On top of all that, she was still intrigued by Jesse’s premovie alone in the dark comment.

  After they thanked Mrs. Donovan for the private screening, they stepped outside the theater and into the warm night air. With the lingering emotions of the movie message, the older woman’s generosity made Allison think about the connection Jesse had to the ­people in this town. She thought about the comments he’d made about his third-­grade teacher and Gus and Zelma. She had to admit the idea of having someone to love her that way in her waning years made her pulse beat just a little faster. It made her question the reasons and excuses she used to deny that the possibility of that kind of love actually existed.

  It made her wonder.

  Surprisingly—­and frighteningly—­it created a warm little flutter of hope right in the middle of her heart.

  “Care to walk off some of that popcorn?” Jesse asked as he stood beneath the marquee lights.

  “I’d love to.”

  As they moved down the boardwalk, she realized that even though it was just after nine o’clock, the little town seemed nearly deserted. Only a few vehicles cruised down Main Street. The stores were all closed, and only the glow from their display windows and the old-­fashioned streetlamps offered illumination. From somewhere down the street, the night came alive via some smooth rhythm and blues.

  “Where’s that music coming from?” she asked.

  “The Blue Armadillo. They bring in bands from as far as Oklahoma, but usually not on a Tuesday night. Want to grab a beer and listen for a while?”

  “I’d rather walk.”

  “Whatever you want to do.”

  What she wanted to do was figure him out.

  The night she’d met him at Seven Devils, he’d seemed a total player ready to jump in her car
and take her places she’d probably never gone except in her fantasies. His reckless love ’em and leave ’em reputation was the talk of the town. Yet he appeared quite the opposite. He seemed attentive to the needs of those around him. When they’d been at the bar and in Bud’s busy diner, his eyes had been focused on her. Not once had his gaze wandered. And there had been plenty of places for those sexy blue eyes to travel.

  He openly admitted monogamy and marriage weren’t for him. Yet he seemed hell-­bent on making sure she understood there was more to marriage than divorce. That relationships really did last.

  Why?

  So his mother and her father could find happiness together?

  A typical playboy was selfish, not selfless. Jesse appeared to be more the latter.

  Walking beside him on the street, she looked up. Not for the first time, she found him unbelievably gorgeous. But there was more going on behind that pretty face. It seemed impossible to paint him as a stereotypical hunk. He was fun, easy to talk to, and family-­oriented. He was a man of substance.

  So why did he try to disguise that behind some reckless devil-­may-­care image?

  “I have a confession,” she said as they passed Goody Gum Drops’ candy-­bright window display.

  A smile touched his masculine lips. “I hope it’s something good, like you have a weakness for buying X-­rated underwear.”

  She laughed. “Isn’t it better to keep you wondering about stuff like that?”

  “Hey, anytime you’re ready, I’m willing to take on the challenge. Reality vs. fantasy is my kind of game.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but my confession has nothing to do with underwear.”

  “Damn.” He snapped his fingers. “Just when I thought I was onto something good.”

  Allison was sure she’d never met a man who made her laugh more than him. She knew for a fact that she’d never met a man who turned her on more. And since that was never going to happen, those fantasies would have to remain in her twisted little imagination.

  “I have to confess that although I’m not a fan of beer,” she said, “I changed my mind, and I would like to go hear the band.”

  “Your wish is my command.” He reached for her hand as they began to cross the street. “The Blue Armadillo also serves wine and a variety of coffees. I’m sure you can find something you like.”

  The tingle she got just from his holding her hand was a good start.

  She wondered if just this small amount of skin-­to-­skin contact with him started her engine, what would it be like if he’d take off all his clothes?

  With that totally fantastical thought swimming through her head, they walked hand in hand through the garden arbor and into the patio area of the Blue Armadillo. Set back beneath a small grapevine-­covered gazebo, the four-­piece band cruised into a new song. Dimly lit latticework surrounded the patio and provided a welcoming atmosphere that Allison also found romantic. Or maybe that was just more fantastically wishful thinking.

  The patio area was packed with music and beer lovers. Jesse snagged them a table with two comfy wicker chairs back in a corner and far enough from the band where they could still converse without having to shout. As soon as they sat down, a college-­aged guy with long hair and a tie-­dyed apron showed up to take their order. While she settled for a locally made chardonnay, Jesse ordered a bottle of what she was getting to recognize as his standard ale.

  When their drinks arrived, she leaned in, and said, “I really appreciate the efforts you put into setting up the private screening tonight.”

  He smiled and tilted his bottle of Shiner as if to toast her. “I’ll make a believer out of you yet.”

  “I don’t mind admitting your methods are fascinating. And fun. But I’m still not sure my opinions are going to budge anytime soon.”

  He lifted the bottle to his mouth, took a drink, then licked away a drop on his bottom lip. “You ever feel like you’re just going in circles?”

  “All the time.”

  “Maybe you should break that cycle.”

  She shrugged. “It seems to be working just fine.”

  “Is it?”

  Before she could respond, one dark brow lifted and signaled his skepticism.

  “Have you ever been in love, Allison?” He leaned in and draped his arm along the back of her chair. “I’m not talking about a crush or infatuation. I’m talking about where you’d do anything for someone. Can’t stop thinking about them. Be there if they were sick or just needed a shoulder to lean on. Someone you wanted to wake up to every single day and couldn’t wait until you saw them again at night. Someone who made you truly happy and magnified the good in you. Someone who made you feel like you’re everything you’ve ever wanted to be.”

  Reality nose-­dived right before her eyes.

  Relationships had never been her biggest strength.

  During high school, she’d had a fairly steady boyfriend who’d been handsome, on the football team, and a little possessive. She’d been relieved the day he’d gone off to college on the East Coast, and she’d stayed in Seattle to attend UW. After that, she’d been so busy putting her business first, she hadn’t had time for more than a casual date here and there. Last year, she did go out with a nice construction worker she’d met when he’d built a gazebo for a lakeside wedding she’d planned. But he didn’t like being second on her time-­management list, and the relationship had ended after just a few months.

  “Not really,” she admitted.

  A big sigh lifted his broad shoulders. “Not what I was expecting you to say.”

  “Which is?”

  “That yes, you’ve been in love, but some jerk broke your heart. Or did something to rip away all your illusions of grandeur.”

  Oh, they had. Unfortunately, they’d been her parents. “In that case, I might be the jerk.”

  He studied her face. “Hard to imagine.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  He shook his head. “Honest.”

  As the band eased into the Otis Redding classic “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long,” she took a deep breath.

  “Just goes to show you appearances can be deceiving. Which proves my point.”

  “You know what I think?” He held out his hand.

  As she looked at that large hand that earlier had felt so good holding hers, she expected him to call a truce.

  Instead, he said, “I think we should dance.”

  “Dance?”

  He nodded.

  “That won’t change my mind.”

  “Not trying to right now. Just want to dance.”

  Her gaze swept over that big masculine body, and everything inside her started to hum. “Sure. Why not.”

  She put her hand in his, and that familiar tingle started up again. Instead of leading her to the dance floor, he took her in his arms right there by their table in the shadows of the little white fairy lights and a bubbling three-­tiered water fountain.

  His arm went around her waist and drew her in close, so there was nothing between them but a thin layer of fabric. The heat of his embrace seeped through the cloth and into her skin. Her heart kicked up a notch as their bodies moved together to the seductive tune. A melody that was perfect for making love—­slow, sweet, and tender.

  Jesse’s words played over again in her head, and she realized exactly how he viewed love. For him, the emotion was powerful and all-­encompassing. Something that made you a better person and made you desire to be a better person. It was selfless and honest. She knew in Jesse’s heart and mind, love was eternal.

  How very different from what she’d ever thought when she heard the word “love.”

  In that moment, she didn’t mind that she liked his version a whole lot better.

  “My father met my mother when she was sixteen, and he’d just turned eighteen,” he murmu
red. “Her parents pitched a fit because he was older and had a reputation around town for being a bit wild.”

  “Like you?”

  His deep chuckle rumbled against her breast.

  “Worse. He’d actually been caught in the act a few times—­haylofts in barns not being all that soundproof and everything. Anyway, her parents forbade her to see him. But my mom and dad found a way to sneak around so they could be together. They did that for two full years until she turned eighteen. Then they went down to the courthouse and got married. Her parents disowned her. They sat back and waited for everything to fall apart. Waited for my mom to come running back and tell them my father was no good just like they’d said. They wanted justification.”

  “That’s awful.”

  He gave a slow nod and drew their clasped hands against his chest. “They moved in with my dad’s parents for a time until Jared was born. Then they built the house we all grew up in. They worked side by side building that ranch and a commitment to the community that’s still strong today. They adopted Reno when his drug-­addict mother abandoned him. And they raised five boys with equal love and attention. I never heard my parents argue. I only remember them being loving toward each other and doing silly things that would make us boys cringe.”

  “Like what?”

  “They’d dance, just like this, in the kitchen, or on the veranda during a thunderstorm, or anywhere the mood struck. My father always sang low in my mother’s ear, and she’d giggle like a schoolgirl.”

  “Obviously, they loved each other very much,” she said, wishing her parents had shared that same kind of relationship.

  “It wasn’t always easy. Money was tight. My father often worked for others to make enough to put food on the table. My mom took in laundry or baked goods for Bud’s Diner. Sometimes, she babysat other kids, which often created even more chaos than what already went on in our house.”

  “That’s very admirable.”

  His big shoulders and the incredible chest beneath that light blue shirt expanded on an intake of air. “They just did what needed to be done. They worked together. They were committed to each other. Until the day my brother was killed. On that day, the laughter and the singing stopped. My father never recovered from the loss, and it broke my mother’s heart.”