Chapter 25
Good heavens, thought Alice as she took in Parker’s fancy condo. Quartz countertops in the kitchen, a large living room complete with
leather couch, armchairs and a coffee table sitting on a hardwood floor. He had a small dining area where a minimalist wood
table and four chairs sat. An abstract painting of koi fish occupied the wall over the couch. Windows showing beach and water
framed real-life art.
She walked over to a window and gazed out at the dark night waters. They were beautiful and mysterious. Under the sun on a
summer day that view would feel like a vacation.
“If I had a view like this I’d never want to leave,” she said.
“I spend my evenings out on that deck any time the weather’s good,” he said, coming to stand next to her.
She caught a whiff of his cologne and had to swallow down a mixture of nerves and desire. She may have never been in love,
never really been kissed by an expert, but she’d read enough to know what was going on. She was falling for this man, her
hormones wrapping a net around her heart.
She moved away, drifting to where a small barrister bookcase sat. It was filled. She bent to read the spines and saw what looked like business titles. No decorations on top of the case, simply a pile of books. She picked one up. It was, hardly surprising, one of his uncle’s novels.
“I’m a fan,” he said, then added, “See? I do read.”
“I guess you do.” She bent and read the spines again. “I’ve read Atomic Habits.”
“Good book,” he said. “What else have you read, Alice? Please don’t intimidate me and say War and Peace.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. “No. Have you?”
“Nope. I watched the miniseries. Does that count?” he added with a grin. The doorbell rang. “There’s our pizza,” he said,
and went to open the door for the delivery person.
The aroma of pizza entered the room and her stomach rumbled. She much preferred smelling pizza over smelling Parker’s spicy
cologne.
He set the box on the coffee table. “What do you want to drink? I’ve got Coke, root beer and tonic water.”
Tonic water. He’d remembered.
She smiled at him. “Coke.”
“Coke,” he said in surprise.
“I love tonic water, but pop just naturally goes with pizza.”
“You are a woman after my own heart.”
He fetched her a small bottle of Coke as well as one for himself and set them down along with paper plates and napkins, then
moved to a console under the TV. He opened it and she saw it was filled with DVDs.
“I stream everything but my favorite movies. Gotta have those on DVD,” he said. He pulled one out and put it in the player.
“The Natural, by request.” Then he picked up the remote control and joined her on the couch, seating himself at the opposite end.
The polite thing to do, of course. The smart thing.
There was nothing happening between them, nothing about to happen.
She grabbed a piece of pizza and shoved a bite in her mouth.
The movie started and she was instantly pulled in by the music. All of life should have a soundtrack. What would be the soundtrack
of hers?
As with her favorite books, she soon forgot about her own life and got pulled into the story as the movie progressed, horrified
by the bad guys and rooting for Roy Hobbs, the hero who had stumbled and fallen and had one last chance to make his dreams
come true.
And then came the ending, with Roy hitting his amazing home run, so far that it took out the lights at the far end of the
stadium. Roy injured, starting to bleed. Was this where his dream ended? She held her breath as he ran the bases, then started
tearing up as the triumphant music played and the shower of sparks fell.
The ending credits rolled, and Parker turned to her. “What did you think?” As if he couldn’t tell.
She wiped a tear from a corner of her eye. “That was stirring. I loved the scene where his bat broke and he used the one he
and little Bobby made. And the final run around the bases, even as he was bleeding . . .”
“That, in a nutshell, is sports. It doesn’t matter if it’s soccer, tennis, football or baseball. It’s life. It’s rising to
a challenge and hoping you succeed. Alice, you may never know what it feels like to hit a baseball, but trust me, when you
connect and that thing goes sailing it’s one of the best highs in the world.”
“One of the best?”
“Well, there are other highs. You read about them all the time,” he said, and she blushed. “But that’s why I love what I do
for a living. I get to talk about something that makes life exciting. It’s what I need to get back to,” he muttered.
“I think you should. We all have our spot in the world where we belong, things in that world that make life exciting. Like books,” she said. “We can’t all play sports, but we can all read about people making their lives better.”
He leaned forward. “Alice, be honest. Do the books you read help you make your life better?”
“They inspire me.” She loved her books, loved falling into a story and cheering for the characters who often felt so real.
But for all her reading, was she getting inspired to go out and find love? Reading gave her something to do at night. It was
how she earned a living. Maybe it was also how she hid.
“Do they inspire you to get out there and do something?” he asked.
It was as if he’d read her mind. Instead of answering, she countered, “Does watching sports inspire men to get out there and
do something?”
“You got me there. Maybe not. Maybe a lot of men just like remembering when they were in good enough shape to do something.
Or maybe we like to hang out, watch a game and pound our chests. Kind of like how you like to get together and talk about
what you read. Maybe for the average guy a game, or a movie like this is enough to make him forget about the bills and the
fact that the house needs painting and the kids need braces. Maybe when you women read a romance novel you forget about the
fact that you have to, I don’t know, come home from work and make dinner or wash the kids’ smelly socks.”
“Why, Parker,” she said in surprise. “You almost sound approving of romance novels.”
He blinked. Then laughed. “Almost. I told you what got me started on my one-man crusade. It was that stupid book my ex wrote.” He paused, frowned.
“No, I’ve got to be honest. It was before the book.
It was how screwed up our relationship was.
And the one before it. I can’t turn a woman’s life into magic.
I tried, but I’m not a cross between a navy SEAL and a .
. . I don’t know, werewolf. I’d hear Luna talking with her friends sometimes.
They were always dissing their men who weren’t enough.
God only knows what she said about me. Oh, wait.
God and I both know. I wasn’t romantic enough. I didn’t spend enough. I was . . .”
Hurt, thought Alice.
He shook his head and waved away whatever else was left on the list of his flaws. “I’m not the only one. Men aren’t enough
anymore. You know how that makes a man feel, when he’s trying to be a good guy but nothing he does is good enough? Sorry,”
he muttered. “I didn’t mean to puke my guts out.”
“Not every woman reads a romance novel and expects her man to take down a bad guy or fight some evil force,” Alice said. “Most
of the women I know love their men. Not every woman expects her man to be an amazing lover, either.” Well, maybe she was wrong
about that.
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed.
“I wouldn’t,” she said softly. “How could I when I’m . . .” Her words trailed off into a mist of embarrassment.
“What?” he prompted.
“I’m not exactly a romance heroine.” Although lately she’d felt like she was coming closer, believing in herself more, doing
things she never would have done. But so what? Where was the love?
She had a tiny dab of tomato sauce on the end of one finger. She reached for her napkin and wiped it off.
He moved closer, took that hand, and the contact gave her a jolt. “Don’t talk like that. You are a heroine. You’re smart and
you stand up for what you believe in. Doesn’t that sum up what a heroine is?”
“That was sweet. Thank you,” she said.
“Hey, I’m not just being nice, although I guess that would be out of character.”
He still had her hand in his and it felt so good. What would he say if she asked him to kiss her?
She decided she didn’t want to know. “I’d better get home and get to bed,” she said. Alone.
He let go of her hand. “That’s right. You’ve got another early day tomorrow.” He stood and she stood. “You’re doing great,
by the way.”
“I’m learning a few things.”
“So am I,” he said. “By the way, your sister hates my guts.”
“Well, you have had rather a strong influence over our lives,” Alice said.
“That gate’s swung both ways,” he said. “I’ll be glad when this week is over.”
And they wouldn’t have to see each other again. He was only being nice to her because he had to. She managed a smile. “Thanks
for the pizza,” she said, and moved to the door.
He walked with her, took her coat out of the coat closet and helped her into it. Handed her purse to her. “Tomorrow we need
to go over what we want to say on Friday. How about another movie?”
“I’d like that,” she said. “Do you want to come over to my house? I make a great meat loaf.”
What was she thinking, inviting Parker over to her house for dinner? She was like someone in a TikTok reel, laying out bait.
Here fishy, fishy. Pathetic. And Parker was no fish. He was a shark. But it was it too late to take back the invitation.
“Yeah? I love meat loaf.”
“I also make a great chocolate cake,” she said. Now she was bragging. Charlotte Bronte help her, she was out of her mind.
He grinned. “I like chocolate cake. Text me your address and tell me what time to be there.”
He sounded like he really wanted to come over. He sounded like a different man than the snarky one on the radio. It was almost
like he was two different men—Jekyll and Hyde, battling to see who would eventually dominate.
“I will,” she said.