Chapter 13 Home With You
HOME WITH YOU
“Thanks, Mom,” Brennan said on Friday when he dropped Becca off.
“Never a problem,” his mother said. “Becca, why don’t you go play while I talk to Daddy? You and I are going to make pizza for dinner soon.”
“I love pizza,” Becca said.
“Hey, give me a kiss before I leave.”
Becca turned and dashed back, lifted her arms in the air. He picked his daughter up, gave her a kiss, got a hug, and then she was off and out of the foyer.
“I didn’t think you were going to go on another date with Celia,” his mother whispered.
“I’m not,” he said.
“Oh.” There was a big grin on Sadie Austin’s face. “Then who?”
He knew this would come up when he asked his mother to watch Becca for the night. Not that he had any plans of Alana staying. Not even bringing it up. But he didn’t want the evening on a timer and his daughter would be asleep before he’d want to end his date.
There was no doubt in his mind that it’d be a good night. Neither of them wanting to sneak out of a bathroom window. He hadn’t done it before, but he’d certainly been tempted.
“I’d rather not say, but that will only make you more curious.”
“Yep, it did.”
“It’s Alana.”
“Becca’s new friend?
He sighed. “Get that smirk off your face. Yes. We work together, I told you that.”
“You’re not worried it could get messy?”
He was but didn’t want to admit it. “I think we are mature enough to not have that happen. It’s one date.”
Two in his mind if he counted last Saturday when she came for tacos and they entertained his daughter.
No reason to admit it was his daughter who had asked Alana over.
“I hope for your sake it works out.”
“Me too. I’ll pick Becca up in the morning. Let me know when she’s ready to go.”
He turned and left, jogged to his SUV and then drove to Alana’s house.
There was no reason to meet somewhere and she wasn’t that far from his home.
He pulled down the street ten minutes later, found her house. It was dark out feeling much later than six.
He couldn’t see the water, though he knew it was behind the house and down a bit. She’d said they had to walk stairs to get to the beach.
A house her parents owned.
He strode up the sidewalk, the front porch illuminated by two sconces on each side of the door, which opened before he could ring the bell.
“Hi,” she said. “Come in while I get my jacket on.”
He stepped foot into the foyer. The house was two-stories. Up close he noticed the gray weathered shaker siding. He’d bet it was a hundred years old easily, but the inside was fairly modern.
Dark hardwood floors flowing into a den to the right, a dining room to the left and a hallway in front of him that didn’t tell him much about the back of the house.
She grabbed a navy jacket out of a hallway closet and slipped it on over a pink sweater. She’d changed into jeans as he did.
Unlike his date with Celia, he exchanged the shirt he’d had on earlier today too. He was making more of an effort.
“I thought I’d do something a little different tonight,” he said. “I hope you like it. I get sick of going to dinner with someone and sitting across a table trying to find conversation. I feel as if you and I know enough about each other that we didn’t need to do that.”
“I’m open for anything,” she said. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”
“Sure,” he said. “I set up a night to paint. Maybe it’s silly, but you told Becca you loved to paint when you were a kid and took art classes. I picked up finger foods and wine and we’ve got a private room.”
Her wide-eyed silence wasn’t inspiring a lot of confidence in his decision.
Especially since he couldn’t paint much more than a stick figure.
“That’s an awesome date. I can’t believe you remembered me telling Becca that last week.”
Phew. He wanted to wipe his hand across his forehead as if he were with his daughter and did those things to get a giggle out of her.
He resisted. Barely.
Too much time around his child had him not always remembering to act like an adult.
“I’ve got an excellent memory.”
They left her house and walked to his SUV. “It’s nice,” she said. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone on dates or talked to someone and they can’t remember a thing said to them. Not even repeated.”
He was assuming it had to do with her ex. She’d said she hadn’t dated since she moved here a year ago, after her breakup. Or did dating mean more than one date?
Jesus, why hadn’t he thought of that?
Was he going to be a rebound?
Nah. It was too long for him to feel that way.
At least he was going to convince himself of that.
“I’ve been in that situation too.”
“Are we going to Laine Connors’s studio?” she asked.
“Yes. Have you been here before or done one of those sip and paint parties?”
“I haven’t,” she said. “I always wanted to though.”
He hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed. “This isn’t that. There is a room in the back where we’ll have privacy to paint a picture. No instructions or anything really. Nothing more than the basic things. It’s just about the activity. We’ve got sixty minutes.”
The studio closed at eight and it gave them time to clean up after he and Alana were done. With any luck, they could go back and relax and have a drink somewhere.
“It’s going to be fun,” she said. “I can’t wait. I should tell you that Laine is married to one of my cousins, Carson Mills. Not the same branch but the twin sister to Patricia.”
He hadn’t realized that. “Is that going to be a problem going here? I don’t believe Laine will be there. I made the arrangements with Brittany.”
“It won’t matter,” she said. “Unless it does to you? Kelsey knows about the date. She told you to ask me.”
Thankfully, she was laughing when she made that tongue-in-cheek comment. “She didn’t tell me. Not exactly. I mean, I’d been thinking of it for a while.”
“You have?”
“Yes,” he said. “Can I admit I felt like a complete cad you were at my house watching my daughter while I was on another date? I would have much rather been home with you.”
“That’s nice to hear,” she said. “I don’t feel like an idiot that I was secretly crushing on you some. More when I got to spend time with your daughter and you together. Wow, I can’t believe I just admitted that to you.”
He was happy she had.
“You got to see my embarrassing side.”
She reached her hand over. “Never feel embarrassed about prioritizing your daughter. Or giving her the attention that you do. If anyone makes a negative comment about it, then they don’t deserve you in their life.”
“Thanks. I didn’t have a father growing up. My mother was both roles to me. Out there giving my coaches hell like I always thought my father would. Having those serious man-to-man talks about puberty. It was all her. I figured if she could do those things, I can do these things.”
It just was not the life or family he’d always wanted.
“That’s wonderful. Family means so much to me.”
“Me too,” he said. “Mine was small and it’s not what I wanted. Or what I thought I’d have at this point.”
She sent him a shy smile. “You’re young yet to change that.”
“I am. It’s finding someone who feels the same.”
She nodded but didn’t say more. She’d already talked about her family memories and it’d be awkward for them both if she added it to the conversation again.
“Can I ask what happened to your father? Or where he is?”
They pulled into the studio parking lot. He didn’t want to ignore her, but it wasn’t just an easy one-sentence answer.
“He died when I was three,” he said. “My mother never tried again.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
They got out and went inside, him carrying the bag with their food and wine.
Brittany brought them to a small back room that had two easels set up angled so they couldn’t see the other’s work, a table in the middle that held their palettes and colors, with room for him to put the food out for them to enjoy. Even two wine glasses provided.
“I’ve got the display set that you requested. I can rearrange if you’d like,” Brittany said.
“It’s perfect,” Alana said. “Goes with the time of year.”
“I thought so too,” he said, looking at the artificial Christmas tree on the floor in front of a black backdrop. The tree was lit up, as if it was nighttime, decorated with glass bulbs and handcrafted wooden pieces. There were a few gifts under it.
Brittany brought over a rack filled with tubes of paint. “You can use these. Just put a dab on your palette. The color is on the outside of the tube for you. If you need anything else, please let me know. I’ll be out front.”
“I think we’re good,” he said.
He unloaded the food, taking out cheese, fruit and some meats to put on a plate.
“Let me help,” she said. “What’s in this?” She’d pulled out one of the two containers that were sealed.
“Lobster mac and cheese bites. You said you liked them too. I ordered and picked them up. That and bacon-wrapped scallops.”
Alana opened the container. “Wow. You thought of everything. They are on toothpicks.”
“No reason to touch it and ruin our artwork.”
He had toothpicks for the cheese and meats too. She’d told him she loved any fish and seafood when he’d asked her yesterday to get an idea of what to order.
“And an easy cleanup.”
Once he set up the food, he opened the wine and poured a glass for each of them, then he put on the smock provided and picked up brushes.
“I’m so excited to do this. Can you talk while you paint or will it distract you?”
“I’m not good and talking will help distract me from what ends up on the canvas. I hoped to use it as an excuse for how bad it’ll turn out.”
“I’m sure it will be fine. I know exactly what I’m going to paint.”
“The tree and gifts,” he said, laughing at her.
“I could never get the whole thing done in an hour. I’m focusing on one thing in front of me and painting that.”
“And that’s the difference between someone who took art classes and someone who didn’t.”
They’d been painting for two minutes while picking at the food when Alana asked, “Would you be okay talking about your father?”
“Sure,” he said. “Not that I remember much.”
“Can I ask how he died?”
“He was in the FBI,” he said. “His life was always in danger. He was part of a protection detail of a foreign national visiting the country when a bomb went off. He and six others died that day.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “That had to be horrible for your mother and you as a young child.”
“It was. I don’t have a lot of memories of him. Flashes of things. My parents laughing, her kissing him when he came in the door after work. Things like that. Him tossing me in the air and hanging me upside down.”
He wished it were more, but it wasn’t.
His father worked a lot and he always wondered if those memories stemmed more from pictures his mother had of him and his father.
“It sounds as if your parents loved each other very much and that is why she didn’t try again?” she asked.
Alana turned to look at him and grabbed another bite of food off the tray.
“That’s what she said.”
“Do you not believe it?” she asked.
“I believe it. But I also know that it was hard raising me on her own. Neither of them had family in the area. They’d relocated here for my mother’s job and my father transferred.”
“You said your mother is retired. What did she do?”
“She worked for the FBI also, but not in the field. She was in administration. A desk job, not in any danger. She had a great career, moved up quickly, and loved the area.”
“And she raised a damn fine son,” she said.
Heat filled his face and he hoped it didn’t match the color of the red paint on his brush. “Thanks.”
“Don’t be embarrassed over that either.”
“Yeah well, I’ve learned nice guys, or considerate guys, aren’t always the ones a woman is interested in.”