Chapter Ten

Carter put the Jag in park and stared at the weathered building before them. The neon sign was broken. Only a few of the letters in D.C. Duckpin Alley were still lit. “Duckpin bowling?” he asked as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Really?”

Gwen was having a hard time not drooling at his Saturday casual appearance. There were no words to describe how amazing he appeared in dark blue jeans, a crisp, buttoned-down shirt, and soft brown cashmere pullover. Not to mention the hint of scruff below his etched cheekbones and along his sharp jaw line. Throughout their time at the museum, she found herself staring as he pointed out the various sculptures, describing their history and virtues. Though he had plenty to say, she’d barely registered a word.

It suddenly dawned that he’d asked a question. One she should probably answer. “Yeah. It’s great. My…grandfather introduced me to it.” Technically, Stan had been her foster father, but with his bushy white hair and long, untrimmed eyebrows, the former national duckpin champion and alley owner looked too ancient to be anything but a grandpa. He was a legend in the sport that featured a tiny three-and-a-half pound ball and miniature pins. She’d only lived with Stan during her last year of high school before she aged out of the system and headed to college. Back then, she spent more time in his alley than in school. It was, at long last, a safe harbor in her tumultuous upbringing. It was a shame she found it so late.

Scanning the pocked parking lot, Carter asked. “Is this the only place we can play?”

“No, but it’s the best. And one of the oldest.” The aging facility opposite the Maryland state line had seen better days. Though it wasn’t much to look at, the exterior wasn’t important. It was what happened on the inside that counted.

Carter’s lip curled. “I can believe that.”

“Look, I know it looks a little…”

“Run down?” he asked.

“Neglected. But that’s because the sport is dwindling. Duckpin’s a dying sport. Half the lanes in D.C. have closed in the last few years. Stan hasn’t had enough money to keep up the alleys like he used to. I’m afraid he might have to shut down. It’ll kill him.”

“Stan? You’re on a first name basis with the owner?”

“Well, yeah. He’s my…grandpa.”

Carter winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your grandfather’s business.” Drawing a deep breath, he said, “Okay, let’s go bowling.” Flicking a switch on the dash, the convertible’s roof raised, then locked into place. He stepped out of the car and made his way to her side, but she opened her door before he got there.

Once inside, the familiar scents of floor polish and machine oil meshed with stale popcorn and hot dogs cooked on a roller grill at the small concession stand. It smelled like home. Or the closest thing she’d ever had to one.

Carter sniffed at the air. “It’s musty.”

“A little. Come on.” Gripping his arm, she steered him toward the shoe rental stand.

His eyes popped from their sockets. “What are those?”

She glanced at the cubbies filled with red-white-and-blue striped footwear. “Shoes.”

“Yes, I can see that. But surely you don’t expect me to wear them.”

“Of course I do. You can’t wear regular shoes on the hardwoods. You’ll scuff them up.”

He pointed to his dark brown leather loafers. “Do you have any idea where these came from? What they’re made of? They don’t scuff anything. Ever.”

Crossing her arms, she looked at him. “I thought you wanted to have fun.”

“I do. I just don’t want to look like a clown.”

She sighed. “Haven’t you ever gone bowling before? You have to wear special shoes. Look, everyone’s wearing them.” Gwen gestured toward the few lanes in operation.

His leveled his gaze at her. “I’m well aware of the rules. And if I’d known we were coming, I’d have brought my own personal pair.” Turning his attention to the well-stocked cubbies, he asked, “It doesn’t bother you that other people have worn them?”

She snorted. “No. They use an anti-fungal spray after each use.”

His lips screwed up as if he’d smelled rotting clam shells. “That is disgusting.”

Laughing, she stepped behind the counter and selected two pairs of shoes. “I’m guessing you’re a twelve?” As his jaw dropped in amazement, she chuckled and handed over the pair. “I used to work this counter. After a while you develop a sense for these things.”

Just then, Stan walked out of the small office in the corner of the building. “Gwen!” He gave her a big bear hug. When he pulled away, she caught him glance, just for a moment, at her midsection. A quizzical expression crossed his face, but then he immediately seemed to recover. Had he felt the hardened mass in her belly when they embraced? It was hard to tell, but this wasn’t the time to get into it. Better to change the subject.

“Hey, Stan. How’ve you been?” she asked, scanning for signs that he wasn’t taking care of himself. He had a tendency to stock up on hot dogs and forsake anything that was green or grew out of the ground.

“I’m great. Just like always.” He patted his beer belly.

“You taking your blood pressure medicine?”

He smiled. “Yes, Mom. And in case you’re wondering, I’ve also scheduled my colonoscopy.”

Placing her fingers in her ears, she winced. “Okay, that’s enough information.” She chuckled, knowing how much he liked to rib her for taking care of him, but she didn’t care. He didn’t have anyone else. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Carter.”

Stan peered at him, giving him a thorough once-over. “Nice to meet you. You must be someone special for Gwen to bring you around here.”

Damn. He knew. And unfortunately he assumed Carter was the father. She had a lot of explaining to do. But that was a conversation for another day. In private.

Carter smiled. “No. I think she just wants to beat me at duckpin to prove how ordinary I am.”

Stan bellowed as he slapped Carter’s shoulder. “Then prepare to be humbled. She’s got a pretty decent throwing arm. For a girl.” He winked at Gwen.

She crossed her arms. “Ha ha. No one’s playing anything until he puts on his shoes.” She pointed to the size twelves still sitting on the counter.

Narrowing his eyes, Carter slipped out of his Italian loafers and exchanged them for the red-white-and-blue lace-ups. She had to give him credit. As much as he looked like he might vomit, he forced his feet into the pre-worn and deodorized rentals.

They chose a lane on the end of the alley, far from Stan’s office and the other players. Gwen explained the simple rules to Carter, showing him how to release the smaller ball. At first, he had trouble knocking down the diminutive pins, but with a few practice tries he became good. Very good. As in, this was either an exceptional case of beginner’s luck, or this wasn’t his first time playing duckpin.

Crossing her arms, her gaze bored into his navy blue eyes. “Are you hustling me?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” He threw the ball remarkably straight down the alley, knocking down nine of the ten mini pins.

Anchoring her hands on her hips, Gwen pointed at the one remaining pin. “That. That’s what I’m talking about. Do you know how difficult it is to throw a spare on your first frame? That’s why you get three chances instead of two like in regular ten pin. It’s really hard. Like, so hard, no one’s ever thrown a perfect game of duckpin. It’s like the Holy Grail.”

Grinning, he shrugged. “What can I say? I guess I’m a natural.” His ball shot out of the slot on the retrieval machine. Carter grabbed it, walked to the lane and threw it again, this time taking out the one remaining pin. “Yes!” he shouted, clenching his fist, then winked at her.

They played three games. She won the first, but while their scores in the second and third were close, he took them both. Her loss could be attributed to her tiny baby bump and inability to bend and twist as deeply as she might otherwise. But the defeat was hardly worth crying over. By the end of the afternoon, Carter seemed like a different person than the man she’d walked in with. He’d eaten the French fries and pizza she’d ordered, and drunk a glass of the cheap, domestic beer on tap. As much as she hated to admit it, she liked this Carter. He was loose and almost carefree with an easy smile that, if it were possible, made him even more attractive. Throughout the afternoon, he hadn’t brought up her living situation or the baby once, and had even let her pay for their excursion without arguing. If this was the real Carter Anderson, maybe they could be friends. Or at least non-enemies.

…

Carter pulled the Jag into River View’s gravel driveway and shut off the engine. He twisted toward her. “Thanks for giving me another chance. Today was fun.”

Gwen nodded, surprised at how much she’d enjoyed herself. “The whole thing was. I know you don’t think I enjoyed the museum, but I did, except for that devil sculpture.”

Leaning against his headrest, he chuckled. “It is pretty horrific. I hope it doesn’t give you nightmares.”

“Probably not. Though, if it does, I’ll come get you in the middle of the night to make sure you suffer along with me.”

“Deal.” He held out his hand for her to shake.

She stared at it for a moment before grasping it. Though she’d only been joking, and thought he must be, too, the gesture felt oddly intimate. Sure, she’d reached out to tug him in one direction or another while bowling, but this was different. He was extending himself toward her. Was she ready to accept it?

Don’t be an idiot. It’s a handshake. He’s a businessman who pumps strangers’ hands all day. It doesn’t mean anything. Plus, it’s rude to leave him hanging. Gwen shoved her thoughts aside and slid her palm against his, then clasped his fingers. He squeezed back. His hand was strong and wide, yet pliable. “Deal,” she responded as her breath caught, suddenly drowning in his dark blue gaze. “And thanks for being such a great sport,” she managed. “I know duckpin wasn’t exactly on your agenda.”

“Are you kidding?” Carter smiled as his brow arched. “I love a good game. Especially when I’m up against a strong competitor. It brings out the best in me.” His grip tightened.

She wiggled her hand free. “Considering how well you played today, I guess you’ve met your match.”

“Perhaps. Though I must warn you, I play for keeps. And I rarely lose.” His gaze bored into her.

She shrugged, feigning indifference, even though her chest was tight. “That’s all right. Winning isn’t everything.”

Reaching out and brushing a stray hair off her forehead, he said. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. It’s all there is.”