“I’m not saying I don’t like Monica, JB. That’s not my point at all!”
“That’s not the way it seems to me right now, Mom.”
Just days after Sunday dinner with his parents, Jeremy found himself the subject of a motherly debriefing. She knew he usually spent Tuesdays and Thursdays at the offices of Edwards Construction in a grudging concession to company bureaucracy, so she paid him a visit, the subject matter of said visit, his girlfriend.
His mother sat across from his desk in the utilitarian office he occupied. Just down the hall was a second office for the bookkeeper, Paula Cromwell, and out front sat the receptionist and Jane-of-all-trades, Allison Moynah. The duo comprised his corporate team, and they were housed in a small business office along Jefferson Avenue.
He stretched back in his chair, doing his best to absorb the crux of her comments without becoming angry, or defensive. “So can you clarify what are you saying, Mom? Because what should be a pleasant get-together is starting to feel more like an inquisition.”
When his mom had called Monday and asked to meet, Jeremy had embraced the opportunity. Now he wasn’t as enthusiastic. Tension crept through the muscles of his shoulders. His fingertips twitched with a pen; he clicked and tapped it while he sat, and waited.
His mother temporarily embraced the silence, then continued. “JB, she’s nice enough, I suppose, and certainly she’s as attractive as can be, but I don’t know, she seems remote. Shuttered. She’s very guarded. It’s like she was uncomfortable for some reason. I guess I’m surprised she holds such strong appeal to a family man like you when all she wanted to do all day was hide.”
That comment struck a chord. All he could think of, all he could see in his mind’s eye was Monica’s defeat, her sadness and the futility she experienced. She was lost right now, and he cared for her. Therefore, abandonment was not an option. He wanted to stand up for her. “Mom, trust me when I say there are circumstances that can cause even the most wonderful person to stumble, and hold back.”
Her eyes sharpened. “And this family knows that better than most, JB—especially after what Collin, and all of us, endured after Lance was killed.”
Jeremy sighed, sipping from the mug of coffee before him. Elise’s ginger tea steamed nearby, thus far untouched. More and more he realized this visit wasn’t about catching up, it was about probing. “True, Mom, and I appreciate your protectiveness. But show some compassion as well. Show her some leeway and understanding. She has a few things she’s working out.” He couldn’t bring himself to be as open and blunt with his mother as Monica had been with him. Not yet. Not when quicksand shifted and pulled all around.
“All right, all right—but still, I just don’t know what to make of her.”
“Meaning?”
She leaned back, crossing her legs and finally sipping from her mug. “For example, she loves kids, but this past weekend, she wanted nothing to do with them. She owns a daycare center, for heaven’s sake, but we had to force her to play a few simple board games with the kids, and join in the soccer game.”
Jeremy went stiff. His mom made valid points. Her honest, though blunt observations were on the mark, but they only served to stir his disquiet, and increase his understanding of the undercurrents that had affected Monica’s mood that day. So, once more, he stepped forward to be a buffer. “Daveny and Collin are excellent judges of character, and so am I. Trust in that, OK?” After a calming pause, Jeremy felt better. Shifting aside a half-unrolled set of blueprints, he retrieved a stack of job files and made ready to dive back into paperwork. And he bluffed just a bit. “As to avoidance, maybe she was looking forward to a little adult company and conversation. Remember, she’s with kids almost twenty-four seven. She may have wanted, and needed, a bit of a breather from the pitter-patter, know what I mean?”
“Yes, to a degree, but I think there’s more to it. You’ve said you’re talking about it. Working it through. If that’s the case, then I’m happy. I promise I’ll leave my overly protective fingers out of the mix. I don’t mean to be so rough on her, or you, but I worry about my kids. It’s wired into my DNA. Always has been, always will be. If she has your heart, then she’ll have mine as well. No question.”
She hadn’t been thrown off the scent, but her final words were just what he expected, and hoped, from his mother. A twisted knot of anxiety and tension loosened its grip from the base of his neck. Jeremy reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”
“You’re very much like your father. You’re quiet about your emotions, but you carry them deep, and your feelings are strong. I’m only speaking up because I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Jeremy took a quick mental walk through the past few days. Monica had stepped forward, albeit tentatively. After all, she had spoken freely, and frankly, about her condition. She had taken custody of Ken’s phone number on a promise to connect with Woodland’s pastor. From there, Jeremy toyed with the idea of including her in this weekend’s services as well and decided it would be a good idea to extend an invitation.
Inviting her to Woodland on Sunday would establish a point of comfort for Monica with the church and its atmosphere before she met with Ken. It would also show his family, once again, his intent and seriousness. He wanted Monica to find God’s mercy. He wanted her to feel acceptance. Within the embrace of Woodland Church, she might make a way to God, to being affirmed.
His mother leaned forward setting aside her tea in a smooth, deliberate way. Her sea-green eyes narrowed just a bit, but she smiled. “She means a great deal to you.”
“Yes.” No need to embellish. For a millisecond he considered the emptiness Monica felt. The insecurity. It tore him apart inside. Jeremy refused to add to her sense of pain and insecurity. This relationship merited solid footing and every fighting chance.
Indeed, she meant that much.
“I see it all in your eyes,” his mother said quietly. She left it at that, giving his arm a gentle pat.
Jeremy played it close to the vest, and kept it to himself that he intended to take her to church on Sunday. He also kept quiet about his intention to invite her to Rebecca’s wedding. Despite well-meaning, motherly intrusion, Elise Edwards knew her children well. She was right when she said he didn’t play cavalier with his emotions. He wanted to establish firm footing with Monica. Nothing else mattered.
****
Jeremy had to admit, he felt out of place.
It was Wednesday night. About a half-dozen women were gathered outside the doorway of the Saint Clair Shores Community Center. They looked inside, bragging proudly about their daughters, who currently practiced ballet. He belonged here like a square peg in a round hole.
Hanging back, he watched the class taking place inside, smiling while he watched Monica spin, stretch, and form her arms into a perfect arc above her head.
“Monica is so good with the girls. I wonder if she has any kids of her own.”
The comment came from one of the moms who peered inside, and it won Jeremy’s attention.
“I’m not sure,” a second parent answered. “I wonder if she’s married. She doesn’t wear a wedding ring.” A pause followed that remark. “One thing is for sure,” she added, “if Monica weren’t so nice, I’d hate her.”
A third woman chuckled. “I know what you mean. No woman should have blonde hair, blue eyes, and that much grace. It’s disgusting. Just watch her.”
That’s exactly what Jeremy did. Throughout the last few minutes of class, Monica coached the little girls along, performing the ballet routine along with them. Each lift of her arms, each dip and sway, was executed with a smoothness that could never be taught. Fluid grace like hers was innate, and it textured each of her movements, even beyond the dance floor.
The song came to an end, and she concluded class for the week. Monica looked toward the doorway. After she delivered a smile and a wave, the waiting parents entered the room. Still chatting amiably, adults laid claim to their young dancers who charged forward eagerly after bidding Monica good night.
When the noise and activity died down, Jeremy slipped inside. Monica’s back was to him as she stashed one set of CDs and retrieved another. She picked up a water bottle and drank deep, which left Jeremy with a definite sensual vibration. When she patted a towel against her neck and shoulders, he stepped up. He hid his hands, and a treat, behind his back.
“Hey, Miss Monica.” His playful call caused her to freeze for a moment, then she turned, her eyes alight with happiness and affection. Jeremy smiled and gave her a slow wink. A bit closer now, he moved his hands from their hiding position, revealing that he held a single, long-stemmed pink rose. Attached to the stem, via a white, curled ribbon was a small bag of jellybeans. “For the teacher.”
Monica accepted with a blush that almost perfectly matched the hue of the flower. “Thanks, JB.”
Just like that, he found himself the willing target of her large, luminous eyes. A wisp of golden hair slid over the hollow in her shoulder. Jeremy watched its trail, mesmerized. Following an hour of dance instruction, her skin glowed, radiant with health.
“You were quite the topic of conversation out in the hallway.” He itched to reach up and twirl that silky curl of hair around his finger. “The moms out there are about ready to start a fan club.”
Monica laughed. “Stop it!”
“I’m serious. Rumor has it they’re headed out to get t-shirts printed up.” Her second round of laughter played like music, tickling his senses. “They love you.”
“They’re just a really nice group. They seem to appreciate what I do with the girls.”
“The moms aren’t the only ones who are captivated.” That caused Monica to look away shyly, which left Jeremy all the more eager to heighten her awareness. “I watched you just now. You’re as graceful in body as you are in spirit.”
As hoped, the flush ripened, and she turned away, kneeling. She placed the rose and candy gently next to her tote. Still, Monica was Monica, and when she stood, she quickly recovered her playful élan. “And how sweet are you—coming all the way out here just to tell me that, and deliver a treat? What’s the occasion?”
“I have a proposal to make.” He’d created the opening he wanted. “How do you stand on the topic of church?”
Monica gave him an inquiring look. “I like church just fine. Why?”
A pony-tailed young lady with big brown eyes and peaches-and-cream skin interrupted them. The little girl dashed up and hugged Monica’s legs. “Bye, Miss Monica. See you tomorrow at school. Thank you for helping me practice today.”
He watched Monica quite literally dissolve under the youngster’s loving regard. She ran her fingertips against the straight, silky strands of the girl’s chestnut colored hair and she hugged the child right back. “It’s my absolute pleasure, Jessica. I’m so proud of the progress you’ve made! See you tomorrow.”
Wearing a great smile, Jessica ran off. Following a brief look into Monica’s eyes, Jeremy tracked the girl’s progress to the outside hallway where her mother waited. The mom gave Monica a wave along with a tired, but happy smile. “That wouldn’t happen to be the pair you were talking about at dinner the other night?
Monica kept an eye on the pair and nodded. “Yeah, sorry for being so scant on the details when we talked, but I always try to be careful when it comes to confidentiality issues.”
Jeremy took her hand and swung it loosely. “Relationships mean intimacy. Intimacy means revelation—and the situation was bothering you. I won’t compromise that show of trust, Monica. It’s part of growing together.”
She stretched up on tip-toe and kissed Jeremy’s cheek; her eyes came alive with tender affection. “I appreciate that, because it’s hard to keep lines from blurring when you…ah…”
Jeremy chuckled at her stutter. “Develop into a couple?”
She blushed and moistened her lips. But then, she nodded. “To answer your question a bit more directly, that’s Jessica and Caroline Dempsey, and I think they’re going to be OK. I really do.”
“Good. She looks like a precious little girl.”
“She is, but I’m sorry for the interruption.”
“Not a problem at all.”
Monica’s focus centered in, and she tilted her head. “You were asking me about church.”
“Yes. I was wondering—do you think you could join me for services at Woodland this Sunday?”
Her eyes went a bit wide. She tilted her head and leaned back a bit “I, ah…JB, really…I appreciate you including me. That’s so thoughtful, I enjoy church and everything. I’m a little worried, though, and…and it’s your family, and I’m just not sure…Would it be right? Would I fit in, and…”
He pressed a fingertip against her lips to still her speed talking, warmed by the fact that he now recognized the nervous habit. He waited a moment for her to be still. “One step at a time, Jellybean,” he murmured. “One brick at a time.”
Her shoulders sagged. Her eyes went soft, and plaintive. “But I’m embarrassed.”
“About what?”
“About facing your family again. They probably don’t even like me much, and I can’t honestly say I blame them.”
“Don’t fear that road; walk down it instead. My family is about care, and love. They get protective, and intrusive, yes, but they’re also very quick to forgive, and ask forgiveness in return. They care. They don’t understand all your battles yet, but they know what happened this weekend isn’t about them, or how you feel about them. I promise you that.”
“How do you know, JB? How can you be so sure?”
“Because I already talked it over with my mom.”
Monica’s mouth opened and closed.
He chuckled. “We don’t let things fester or go unquestioned, and unresolved. The Edwards clan moves forward. And, my mom is as tough as they come, but she knows, without question now, how important you are to me. That’s what’s called a deal breaker.”
Jeremy looked down and took hold of her hand, oddly touched by the sight of their fingertips entwined. His flesh, slightly darker, seemed such a striking contrast to her fair, creamy skin. “We’re scrappy and affectionate and we take no prisoners. Kinda like a certain exquisite lady I’m quite fond of who teaches little girls about grace and beautiful movement, and teaches kids about the rules of school, and life. Know what I mean?”
He could see her reaction in the shallow fall of her breathing, the wide, questing expression on her face as the words he spoke hit home. The pink leotard she wore was snug, but discreet, with a slight, scooped neckline. Her ensemble included a short matching skirt of rippling silk that floated around her legs with each move she made, each breath of air.
“You were wrong, JB, when you said you aren’t any good with words. You keep showing me how gifted you are in that regard.” She nibbled her lower lip. He longed to reach out and stroke the corner of her mouth until she relaxed.
“Thanks, Jellybean.”
“I made the call yesterday. To Pastor Ken. I’m seeing him next week, on Tuesday, after work. I want you to know that. I did it because you’re important to me, too.”
Hope performed a vigorous dance through his blood stream. She was hesitant—he recognized that clearly—but she looked up at him in eagerness for approval. Jeremy was so happy she had made that difficult first step, and he wanted to help make that forward motion as easy on her as possible. “Then it seems to me like timing is everything. If you can come with me on Sunday, you’ll get to see what Woodland’s all about. Maybe spending some time at church, seeing Ken and the family again, will help you feel a lot better about things, and more comfortable when you meet with him.”
“I’m sure it will.” She fidgeted with the ends of the satin tie of her skirt, which was fashioned into a bow at her waist. “I’d like to go with you.”
The moment was broken by the arrival of her second class of dance students, this group slightly older than the last. The girls filtered into the room, full of noisy greetings and laughter. Jeremy stepped away, but kept hold of her hand for as long as he could. He released her at last. “Bye, Jellybean.”
She watched after him for a moment. “Call me later?”
Jeremy thought about that for a second or two. “I’ll do you one better. Can I tempt you with dessert after class?”
“Cold Stone ice cream?” she requested expectantly.
Jeremy just grinned, and arched a brow. “I’ll take that as a yes. Class is done at eight?”
“Yep. I’ll meet you there.”
Jeremy left the room and closed the door quietly as Monica began class.
****
“I’m impressed.” Jeremy stared at Monica with wide eyes.
Monica sat back comfortably in the curved back, metal chair of the small table they shared inside the ice cream shop. She smiled victoriously because her paper cup, formerly overflowing with an order of chocolate peanut butter, was now empty. “Two scoops goes down so well after a ballet session.”
“Let me follow you home. Make sure you get in OK.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“JB, I’m a capable, intelligent woman who’s gone home alone thousands of times. I’ll be fine.”
“But it’s dark, and it’s cold. Call me old-fashioned. I want to see you home.” More to the point, he wanted a pitch-black night to surround them, full of the promise of snow; and he wanted kisses—dewy, warm, soul-saturating, provocative goodnight kisses.
Monica picked up the cup and spooned out the very last remnants of her gourmet ice cream treat. She licked the utensil clean, her gaze narrow when she looked up at him once more. “Are you sure you’re not a closet chauvinist?”
“Positive. Now, indulge me.”
“It’s out of your way.”
“By two whole miles. How will I ever find a way to justify the fossil fuel emissions?”
Monica burst out laughing. “Oh man—and this game is over. You win.”
“Besides, think of the convenience. I’ll be able to help you carry in all that equipment from class. Now. Are you done, or are you going to go after that last little dribble of chocolate right there on the side of the cup—”
“Shut up,” she admonished through giggles, diverting her gaze as she went after that last little dribble of chocolate right there on the side of the cup.
They left the shop hand in hand, strolling slowly to their parked cars. After following Monica home, he walked her to the door, carrying the stereo and duffle bag.
“I’ve decided. You’re not a closet chauvinist. Rather, you’re openly chivalrous,” Monica set aside her ballet class supplies.
The beckoning warmth of her eyes, the curve of her lips, were his undoing.
Jeremy moved slowly, but with purpose. He took hold of her hands as he pressed forward, pinning them next to her head when he landed her back against the wall of the porch. The rough feel of brick against his hands, the chill, the scent of burning wood and snow to come, combined into a heady sensation and atmosphere.
He dipped his head and her warmth, her scent, swirled through him. Jeremy’s resistance snapped. He claimed her mouth with delicious desire, devouring her every answering response. Against his chest, he could have sworn he felt the thundering of her heart—or perhaps it was his own. The connection worked magic, ignited fire, provoked his senses. He bent to its power, then fell headlong before he even knew what hit.
This was possession, soul-deep and irrevocable. The realization glided through him. He gave a throaty sound, releasing her hands so his fingertips could take a dive through her now loosened hair. Monica sank heavily against the wall, and he flattened his hands against cold, gritty brick. The effort somehow tethered him to reality. Just barely.
She sighed as she took hold of his arms and continued to kiss him senseless. His body formed a cover against hers, like a perfect, well-honed shield. With a last sound of wrangled desire, JB stepped back. His breathing was shallow. “Take out your keys.” He almost growled the words, needing to put some distance between them before his senses overtook his rationale.
“Huh?” Her eyes were glazed and heavy.
He traced her jaw with a fingertip. “Take out your keys. I want to make sure you get in before I leave.” He looked her straight in the eye, knowing his battles were visible. Still, he maintained restraint. “I need to leave.”
Only then did he realize Monica’s purse now resided on the ground at her feet. It had slid off her shoulder, unnoticed. Before she could move, JB bent smoothly and retrieved it for her, handing it over—though he kept a safe measure of physical distance between them.
“Ah—thanks.” Her voice, of smoothest whiskey, stirred a warm throb of life, a shivering echo of their touch, their kiss.
“Inside,” he directed once more, his own voice husky, and abrupt. The only thing that kept him from stepping over a moral boundary was his inbred belief system, and the pure sense of reverence he felt toward her.
“Inside,” she murmured in agreement, fumbling for her keys. It took two tries, but the key found home in her doorknob. Inside, Toby went nuts. She swung the door wide, clicking on a nearby light switch. The dog bounded forward, jumping, grunting, wagging his tail. Light, sound and Monica’s exuberant pet helped dissipate a few more of Jeremy’s mental fog curls. He made quick work of greeting his new four-legged friend, and set the remainder of Monica’s gear inside the entryway.
When he walked down the porch steps, Monica looked back at him and said softly, “See ya.’”
He turned, intending to give a wave. Tempting. So tempting. Instead, Jeremy buried his hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket to keep himself in check.
“You knock me out, Jellybean,” he murmured. “You absolutely knock me out. See ya.’”