The Widow’s First Kiss Read online

  The help. With those words, reality crashes back in on me, and I feel my heart sink into my boots. Of course.

  Andrea might be a raging bitch with ulterior motives, and I’m not falling for this pseudo-caring persona she’s trying on me right now, but she does have a point. Sure, James might be genuinely attracted to me, but this whole time I haven’t understood why he’s been acting so nice to me. I can’t help but second-guess James in that moment. Is that all I am? Just some nobody that he can screw for fun?

  I wish I could dismiss it, just to spite this woman who is standing here expecting me to crumble. But I have years of experience with New York classism. I can’t expect a Cinderella story; I can’t actually expect that James will save me from loneliness and poverty. All I can expect is a good job, and maybe a flattering bit of flirting.

  His kiss last night confused the reality at hand and stoked my crush to a fever pitch. But it doesn’t mean he loves me. He barely knows me. He may well just want sex from someone who isn’t a complete ass.

  And that’s all right, if he’s honest about it—as much as it might hurt me to give in, knowing that a little bit of sex is not all that I want from him. But … I have to protect myself, whether my physical relationship with James goes any further or not. And this woman’s reminder may be brutal, but it’s also … timely.

  “They are hiring me for my skills,” I reply firmly, feeling like I’ve swallowed poison. “That is all that they are going to get.”

  She turns and stalks away, a look of satisfaction on her face. “Good.”

  I want to cry as I watch her leave. But instead, I lift my chin, put my smile back on, and walk back up my steps to take my daughter out to play in the yard.

  Chapter 8

  Lorena

  I get the job. It isn’t that much of a surprise, but I have to hide the relief that rushes through me when James’s mother hands me my advance. I hold myself stiffly and professionally the whole time, leaving James in apparent confusion as he walks me back to my car.

  “Is something wrong?” he asks as we walk down the broad driveway of his mother’s twenty-room Victorian. I had not wanted to ruin my chances by rudely parking my beater in their driveway.

  I look around at the decorations in her yard, noting how much they resemble my own, and feel my emotions wrestle inside of me again. This crush is screwing with my ability to be objective. “No, I’m happy,” I say, still not letting myself draw too near him, nor responding to the little brushes of his hand against mine. “This job helps us a lot. Cindy loved the yard decorations, and your mom likes me.”

  Also, Andrea is conspicuously gone. Her cute little car is missing from the driveway. She must have come to give me her little “talk” on her way out of town.

  A parting shot. It makes me a little suspicious, both of what she said and of Andrea’s motives. Yes, I’ve pretty much come to expect every rich person to be classist and shallow, but at the same time, I sat there and watched James struggle to grow beyond that—for my sake—after having barely met me.

  Would he really make himself vulnerable and show himself to be less than perfect, if it was all an act to get me into bed? I don’t know. But I’m now glad I haven’t been colder to him—even if I’m backing off for my own protection.

  “Okay. You just seem … closed off.” The confusion in his voice hurts my heart.

  I give him a sad smile. It’s too bad, really, that there can’t be more between us than a friendship and maybe some light flirtation. But I have to be careful. It won’t just be me who gets hurt if I let some rich guy screw up my life.

  He doesn’t need to know that I want him so badly that I cried in the bathroom before driving over for the interview. Or that I cleaned myself up right after, put my face on, and soldiered on. For my baby’s sake, if not for the sake of my pride.

  “It’s because I kissed you, isn’t it?” he ventures as we turn the corner onto the street.

  “It left me … confused,” I hedge as I walk up to my car, which is so covered after two hours that I can’t see its dull brown color. I pull out my scraper and brush a thick crush of snow off the windshield. The flakes are still coming, blowing in sheets across the road.

  “Should I apologize? I really don’t want to, since it was great. But if it made you uncomfortable—”

  “James,” I say firmly as I work on my car. “I liked it. If I did not, I wouldn’t have gone along with it. But I don’t know you, and I have to be careful.”

  He seems a little shocked, as if it never occurred to him that a woman who was attracted to him would back off for any reason. But instead of arguing, he says simply, “How do I earn your trust, then?”

  I bite my lip. He seems so sincere. If only he wasn’t a brilliant actor. I can’t be sure if he’s acting now. “Just don’t lie to me. I’ll sort out whether I can trust you as more than a friend if you do that for me.”

  He spreads his hands as he leans against the side of my car. “I’m an open book,” he says as snowflakes fall into his bronze-colored hair. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” I say breathlessly, since it’s the most honest answer I can give. I do want to know everything—I want to know his favorite breakfast, and whether he talks in his sleep. I want to know what his weight feels like against me in the dark.

  But right now, I just want to get to know him well enough to know whether he can be trusted—with me and in Cindy’s presence too.

  He relaxes slightly, and flashes that Hollywood smile again. “It’s the same on my end. I want to know everything about you.”

  I close my eyes, his smile threatening to melt the careful boundary I’m trying to put up. Andrea didn’t have my best interests in mind. But it still doesn’t mean she wasn’t telling the truth. Only time will tell.

  “Let’s try tea again, then. Tomorrow night, if you’re free.” With the advance his mother insisted on giving me, I’m going to buy a box of tea and a jar of real honey, and I’ll be taking Cindy into town for cocoa on my own money.

  “After dinner? I still need to bring your gift.” He looks hopeful. Too hopeful. I remind myself to be cautious.

  He sees my face and grows more serious. “I’m willing to do what it takes to show you I’m sincere, Lorena.”

  I can’t help the warmth in my smile when he says that. “We’ll see.”

  It doesn’t fully dawn on me that Cindy and I are going to be able to have a real dinner tonight until I go through my wallet as I sit in my car. The bundle of twenties is much thicker than I thought. But mixed with the shock and elation is another set of drawbacks, just like my having to be cautious with James.

  It embarrasses me a little, and makes me just a touch worried that James’s mother, Janet, will only disappoint me later. But I try to reassure myself. She’s wealthy, and lonely, and she likes me. And I can already tell that even if James turns out to be flighty, his mother won’t be cruel.

  It’s Christmas Eve and it seems like everyone’s in the grocery store, bustling over the things they forgot for tonight’s dinner. Cindy sits in the cart seat as I push it around, forcing myself to take my time and focus on ingredients and things that will keep.

  “Are we having pizza for Christmas?” Cindy looks a little worried that she’ll miss out on cheesy goodness as she watches me bundle a whole frozen chicken into the cart.

  “We’ll order pizza tonight, and I’ll roast a chicken tomorrow.” And stuff it, and have enough for leftovers for a couple of days before I make soup. My mouth waters just at the thought.

  “Yay, pizza early!” Cindy is easy to please. And so, I realize as I fill my cart, am I.

  Milk, eggs, string cheese, butter, fresh fruit, mushrooms. Frozen veggies and meats. Canned goods. Baking supplies. My spice rack needs replenishing. So does my sugar jar. So does everything. And now I can actually do that.

  I’ve learned to shop smart and stretch everything, and it pays off now as I need only a quarter of the cash I was given to cover
the grocery bill. I feel a little giddy at the thought. Nobody who hasn’t lined up at church with an empty stomach fully understands the sheer joy of the thought I can afford to buy my own food.

  My only other splurge, besides the raw honey, happens when I stop in at a shoe store right before they close. I buy us both warm waterproof boots with new, anti-slip soles, and as tall as our knees. They don’t have pink, so Cindy gets purple.

  On the way home, she sings in the car to take the place of the broken radio, and I smile and think of James. I still wish he was here with us. I comfort myself knowing that at least we’ll have another tentative chance, and that he’s made sure that he and his family can have a peaceful Christmas together.

  Andrea. She knew exactly what she was doing when she reminded me of James and I being from two different worlds.

  She never once even tried to claim that she was anything but a heartless opportunist. She simply acted like what she was doing was normal for all her kind, and like I was a fool for thinking otherwise. And maybe I am.

  But it still warms my heart to dream that James is different.

  I can’t stop thinking about it all through my quiet Christmas in with Cindy. On Christmas day she and her snow bunny Percy and her new boots go on adventures around the yard while I watch, and sometimes help out. Inside, the chicken is roasting, and an apple pie I made from scratch is cooling on the table.

  But what I’m really looking forward to is what I’ve got planned after dinner—my date with James. I know that’s dangerous, but my heart doesn’t care.

  We have to go in before the chicken is ready, because the sky has gone the color of steel and the few flakes drifting down from it are starting to fall thicker. The coming storm leaves me wrestling with my fears: a blackout, loss of heat, the job falling through somehow, James not showing up. My ambivalence only makes things worse.

  My stomach jumps around all through dinner, until finally even Cindy can tell something’s wrong. “Does your tummy hurt, Mommy?” she asks with worry in her tone as I cut her chicken into small bites for her.

  “No, my heart hurts,” I say honestly. “Lots of good things are happening, like James getting me a job with his mom. But Mommy’s worried that they might not last.” That James isn’t who he says he is. That he’s using me, and doesn’t care about me at all.

  “You should just be happy while things are happy, Mommy.” She shoves a cube of chicken into her mouth and chews enthusiastically. “I like James. Is he bringing us coats?”

  “Yes, later tonight,” I murmur, and hope my daughter’s right about him.

  Cindy has worn herself out in the cold, and as soon as the sugar from the pie wears off she falls asleep on the couch and I carry her to bed. Once she’s changed and settled in I go back down and sit waiting, pretending to read one of my library books.

  The wind rises to a whine in the eaves and I look outside through the slats in my bent and aging blinds at a street now only half-visible behind swirling curtains of flakes. Maybe he won’t come after all. Maybe it’s inconvenient to drive in this mess. Maybe it isn’t even safe.

  Twenty minutes and a single page of my novel later, I hear a car door slam outside. My heart leaps and I turn around to peer out at the front walk. A tall figure with a bundle in his arms is coming in the gate, shoulders hunched against the pelting flakes.

  I run to the door and open it for him before he can knock. He stands there for a moment, surprised, two floppy presents wrapped in bright paper hanging from his arms. “Hi!” he manages after a moment.

  “You made it,” I breathe, my emotions at war inside of me. I let him pass and he looks around as I shut the door behind him.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” he replies, and flashes a million-dollar grin when he catches me blushing.

  Chapter 9

  Lorena

  Cindy’s out for the night. James and I drink my new tea and chat about everything; his mother, Andrea’s huffy departure, and about how each of our Christmases went with our families. It’s warm and easy, the only awkwardness coming from the deepening longing inside of me as we spend time together.

  I still want him so badly I can barely think around it.

  Finally he asks the question I wish he wouldn’t. “Lorena … did Andrea find you and say anything to you? She was trying to discourage my mother from hiring you while she was packing to go.”

  I set my mug down a little too hard in disgust. “Of course,” I say finally. I didn’t want to talk about this, but I know it needs to be brought up.

  “You know she’s terrible, right?” His eyes widen slightly. “Did she threaten you into backing off?”

  I actually have to think about that. “Well, I didn’t feel safe around her. But it’s more that she brought up worries that I already had.”

  He rubs his face, setting his own mug down. “I was afraid of that. What did she say?”

  I don’t want to go into every ugly detail of it. “She told me that you would use me.”

  His face reddens and then pales, and he glares down at his hands before covering his eyes with them. “People planning to use you don’t go to these lengths,” he says in an almost pleading tone, gazing directly into my eyes once more.

  “Andrea does,” I remind him, and he sighs.

  “Well, yes, but she’s obsessed. Why do you think she couldn’t move on without trying to ruin things for me with the woman I’m interested in?” He stares down at his hands again, looking sick—sick and angry. I want to hug him but I can’t.

  “If I really believed her, James, I wouldn’t let you into my house.” My low, pointed tone cuts though the tension between us and he lifts his head to look into my eyes. “I’ve had a crush on you for almost half my life. But somehow I’m supposed to set that aside, and take it slow, and protect myself and my little girl from being hurt.”

  “I don’t want to hurt either of you,” he says softly. He reaches over and brushes a curl of hair off my face. His fingertips leave tingling trails against my skin.

  I draw a huge breath. Tell him to go. But my nipples are already tightening under my blouse, and I can feel my body relaxing as his hand drifts to my shoulder. “I want to believe you.”

  He stares at me with something like desperation in his eyes, and then … draws his hand back. “I should go,” he says hoarsely. “If I stay, I’m going to kiss you, and if I do, we may both regret it.”

  I take a deep breath and nod, standing with him to see him to the door. Drawing closer to him only intensifies the heat between us, and I pause, trembling. I don’t want him to go. My yearning for his presence feels like a physical need, essential, like my need for air.

  He won’t be interested in anything beyond sex. It’s too soon to expect anything else.

  But there’s another part of me, hungry and neglected, that has craved him for years—has craved any kind of touch—and whispers back, would that be so bad?

  “Let’s see what it’s like outside,” James mutters in a cautious tone. He pulls aside the blue window quilt on one of the hallway windows—and blinks. “What the hell?”

  “What is it?” I ask as he brushes past me and goes for the door. I follow him—and when he unlatches it and pulls it open, a blast of wind shakes the house and throws the door wide.

  Snow swirls into my home in roiling clouds and I stagger back, gasping. James wraps an arm around me to steady me and forces the door closed against the onslaught with one hard shove. The door bangs shut, and he hastily latches it. “Ugh, that was stupid of me.”

  In the quiet afterward, I can barely hear us panting beyond the ringing in my ears. “What’s … going on out there?”

  “The storm’s turned into a total whiteout. I can’t drive in that.” He turns his heated gaze back to me, and there’s a faint note of desperation in his voice.

  We stand there craving each other, and I murmur, “You’ll have to stay, then.” The rush of tingles through my body at the thought tells me that I’m in dangerous territory
. Having him stay is too tempting.

  “I’ll … sleep down here on the couch,” he offers breathlessly. We’re standing too close together. His arm is still around me.

  “It’s probably a good idea.” I turn inside of his arm so I’m facing him. I feel a long shudder move through him, and see the way his eyes hood and smolder. “I can’t afford to make a mistake.”

  “What if you’re not making one?” he whispers against my lips.

  The wind shakes the house again; I stiffen, and then hear a frightened cry from upstairs. “Mommy!”