A Chance of a Lifetime (21 page)

When Calvin asked Bennie to pick, she'd done so without hemming or hawing. “Sweet Baby Greens.”

“Is that some kind of salad place?”

“No. It's the kind of restaurant Mama and Gran would open if they didn't fuss each other to death first, and if Gran knew how to cook. Remember the soul food place we used to go to?”

He nodded. The sign had called it soul food. He'd thought of it as comfort food.

“The old lady who ran it died a few years ago, and it closed down because her daughters didn't want to take it over. Her granddaughter Melia lived in Tulsa, and she kept entering dishes in soul food cooking contests, and she kept winning, so she decided to give it a shot.”

“Is it in the same location?”

“No, she moved a mile and a half south of town on First. You can't miss the sign. It's a longer drive, but there's plenty of parking.”

Calvin smiled. When they were kids, always starving, nothing had seemed worse than having to walk six or eight blocks to the old soul food restaurant downtown…except the same walk back to the cars when their bellies were stuffed to bursting.

Shifting in the seat opposite him, Bennie gave him a measuring look by the dashboard light. “You ever get serious about anyone while you were gone, Calvin?”  

“I dated.”

“Not what I asked.”

“Well, I didn't go off and get married, did I?”

If she noticed the edge to his voice, she didn't let it show. “But there must have been someone special in all that time. Some pretty girl must have caught your eye.” She swatted his arm playfully.

“Yeah, there were a couple. Never serious enough to write home about.”

“What were they like?”

You.
The answer surprised him as much as it would have surprised her if he'd actually said it aloud. But with twenty-twenty hindsight, it was true: in personality, character, mood, the ability to laugh and make him laugh, they'd shared a lot in common with Bennie, including the blond-haired, blue-eyed French lit major who should have fallen on the far opposite side of the spectrum from her.

“They were nice women.” Damn, that sounded lame. “We had good times. But they weren't…”
You.
“They weren't, you know,
the one
.”

A large neon sign ahead, looking as if the wearing o' the green for St. Patrick's Day had come early, caught his attention. Bennie had told him he couldn't miss it.

“What kind of name is Sweet Baby Greens for a restaurant?” he asked as he turned into the big parking lot.

“A cute one. They do serve greens—it's not soul food without them—and Melia's last name is Green, and her baby girl has the prettiest green eyes you ever saw.”

He chose a parking space on the last row where the nearest car was thirty feet away. “Don't want anyone to ding my ride,” he said as he opened the door for Bennie. She slid to her feet, tucked the seat belt with its broken retractor back inside, smoothed a piece of duct tape on the passenger window, then cringed as she carefully closed the door.

“Point made,” he acceded. “Silently, but made.”

She beamed at him. “One day you're going to meet a gorgeous woman and ask her out, and she's going to take one look at that POS and run the other way.”

“I wouldn't date a woman who'd run the other way. If she cares that much about my car, what's the point?” He wasn't sure what made him say the next part; the words seemed to come from some part of his brain he had little control over. “Besides, you're a gorgeous woman, and you're not running away.”

For one brief moment, he'd left her speechless, and it was impossible to tell in the dim light, but he thought she might have blushed just a little. Her only response, though, was to punch his arm before starting across the lot.

There was no particular style to Sweet Baby Greens: booths, tables, counters. Colors matching and clashing. Some seats older than him, some so brand new he could still smell the vinyl beneath the aromas coming from every part of the dining room. There were long picnic tables down the center of the room, shared by families, friends, and strangers. His gut twinged a moment at the thought of sitting there, people passing behind him, leaning around him, but it eased when the host, a none-too-cheerful elderly man, led them to a booth at the back.

“You keep frowning like that, Mr. Arnold, your face is going to freeze that way,” Bennie said as she slipped off her coat before sliding onto the bench.

“What frown?” Arnold asked, intentionally looking grumpier. “This is my best smile that's reserved for the prettiest girls.”

His grimace looked a lot like the closest Calvin had gotten to a smile for a lot of months. But the old man proved he was able to laugh by doing so as soon as his last words were out. Back then, it would have killed Calvin if he'd tried.

“Mr. Arnold is Melia's grandfather,” Bennie said after he left them to study the menus, twisting to look around the room. “That's her over there, in the red. Isn't she stunning?”

Calvin found the woman in red: tall, willowy, a pair of legs that went on forever, and heels that defied good sense; black hair, golden-shaded bronzed skin, an exotic tilt to her dark eyes. She chatted with guests while holding a wriggly little girl with the same warm skin, curly dark blond hair, and green eyes. Daughter was adorable, and mom was stunning, but she didn't take his breath away. She didn't make his hand tremble at the thought of touching her. She wouldn't inspire in him dreams of touching and kissing and a lot more.

Bennie did.

Bennie, his ex–best friend.

His other ex–best friend's widow.

Was this how J'Myel had felt when he'd realized after that leave home that he was falling for their buddy? It was damn sure how Calvin had felt when he'd heard about it, like it couldn't be real. It was like falling for your cousin. Cousins could be really close and know everything about each other and the best friends ever, but there wasn't supposed to be any romance between them.

But he'd had time since then to think of Bennie not as their buddy, not as a friend close enough to be family, but as a woman. There was a lot between them, both good and bad, but being blood relations wasn't part of it. She was just a beautiful, tenderhearted woman whose laugh made him happy and whose smile gave him hope. A man could forget how important those things were.

And a woman who didn't have a clue what he was doing here in Tallgrass. That he had “issues.” That the Army didn't want him anymore. That while so many people had fought to live, including her husband, he'd chosen, like a weak-spined coward, to die. The families of every single combat casualty would be thrilled to have their loved one back, and Calvin had disrespected every one of them by trying to kill himself.

Tell her,
Jessy had said.
Trust her.

How could he? He couldn't discuss it with his own family. It was difficult, but they were waiting until he was ready to discuss it with them. Bennie wouldn't wait. When she wanted answers, she would get them one way or another, whether she had to sit in silence and wear down his resistance like water dripping relentlessly on a rock or pestered him until telling her was the only way to maintain his sanity.

She would want every detail, and it would change the way she looked at him. It would change the way she felt about him. Friendship and affection would become disappointment, pity, fear. Maybe loathing.

He wasn't strong enough to bear that. Not yet.

“Yoohoo.” Slender fingers waved in front of his eyes, pulling him from his thoughts. Bennie was looking at him, the menu open in her free hand. “My stomach's starting to growl in anticipation of all the wonderful choices to make, and you're off in Calvin's World. Food now. Mind wandering later.”

He forced his attention to the menu. Reading it created visual images of every holiday Gran's family had ever shared. There were a few attempts at healthy offerings, but seriously, what were green beans without ham shanks and bacon fat? Fried chicken meant
fried
, not baked until crispy in the oven, and gravy without drippin's was just paste.

They both ordered, then she asked, “Where is Thanksgiving this year?”

“Auntie Mae's. What about you?”

“Our house. Mama doesn't like to travel, so Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Roland bring their families here. Poor Diez…he's in for an experience.”

“He grew up with two brothers, two sisters, an unfit mother, and various men coming in and out. I think he's used to chaos.”

“Yes, but loving chaos, where he gets to be treated like the kid he is…that'll be new for him.”

All of Calvin's aunties and the older female cousins would fawn over Diez, feeding him, pampering him, pinching his cheeks until they hurt. The uncles and older male cousins would draw him into the no-holds-barred football game after dinner, and if there were girls his own age, he was in for a hell of a lot of fluttering eyelashes.

Just the thought of all that fun made Calvin grin.

That would teach the kid to run away from home and join Calvin's family.

D
oes ol' Harley still keep a bull in the pasture here?”

Hunger sated and feeling content, Bennie gazed across Calvin to the field they were passing. “He does. A big ol' black-and-white one that looks like an Oreo cookie. I can't remember its breed, but Jessy'll know. Dalton raises them on his ranch.”

“Remember when we told you the pasture was empty and bet we could outrun you to the fence on the other side?”

She swatted his arm. “You were even so kind as to give me a head start.”

“We didn't know that (a) you could run so fast, or (b) that in a few years the track and field coaches would be recruiting you for the long jump.” Calvin chuckled. “Instead of being pissed or scared, you climbed on the fence to do a victory dance.”

“When you've outrun charging bulls, victory dances are most definitely required.” She sighed as she turned her head to watch the old Ford house pass. “Before I came here, I was the best behaved kid. Seriously. Daddy was going through a tough time, with my mother leaving and him trying to work and go to school and doing the single-parent thing. I made myself as helpful and as less a chore as I possibly could. Then I came here, and…”

“And Mama didn't need your help. She had that whole single-parent thing down pat. She just wanted you to be a kid.”

She did, Bennie thought with an affectionate smile. “Even if that meant hauling my butt out of trouble—and spanking it half the time.”

Calvin slowed to pass the Sweet house. Only a porch light was on at Gran's, while the living room and kitchen lights were on in his folks' house. “Gran's in bed early,” Bennie remarked. She and Calvin had stayed at Sweet Baby Greens until the staff began cleaning around them. Still, ten thirty was a late bedtime for Mama and a few hours early for Gran.

“She stays later at the house these days. She and Diez watch movies, play poker, whatever, then he walks her home when she's ready to go.”

The tires crunched a few acorns that had fallen onto the pavement, then Calvin was turning into her driveway. Mama had left two porch lights on, plus the lamp beside her recliner in the living room and probably the light over the kitchen sink. She wasn't scared of the dark, but she sure didn't want her granddaughter walking into an unwelcoming house.

“Want to come in? Mama has an amazing collection of gourmet coffees from around the world.”

Calvin shifted into park, the dash lights casting shadows across his face. “Mama, who couldn't start her day without two cups of Maxwell House coffee?”

“What can I say? The Internet has expanded her horizons.” Bennie waited, her breath caught just a little in her chest. She wasn't quite ready to say good night to him. She didn't even know why. He wasn't home on leave. This wasn't a quick visit on his way to someplace else. The Army had assigned him here, and he would be here tomorrow and next week and next year. She could thank him for dinner tonight and spend more time with him tomorrow.

Or lure him inside tonight. Or both.

“Does she still sleep like a rock?”

“It's like all switches are off. She doesn't hear anything, see anything, feel anything.”

“Then coffee sounds good.”

Whew. Relief. Bennie climbed out and closed the door as carefully as she had at the restaurant. She half expected parts to fall off it the moment she exerted any real force on it, and Calvin would never let her forget that she'd damaged his ride.

Just like she would never let him forget that it was a public health nuisance and should be put out of its misery immediately.

They went inside quietly. She kicked off her shoes and went barefoot into the kitchen, flipping on the overhead light and taking three large metal baskets from the countertop. “They're divided by continent,” she said quietly. “Central and South America are what we typically associate with coffee, the African beans are a little more exotic, and the Asian beans have the most complex flavors.”

“I'll try something Asian.” Calvin stepped back to glance around the room. “Nothing's changed in here.”

Bennie selected an African blend for herself, then measured water from a bottle in the fridge to pour into the machine. “Uh, yeah, one thing has. She traded her black dishwasher for a stainless one.”

His brow wrinkled. “I don't remember her having a black dishwasher—” At the appearance of her grin, he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that old model used to whine a lot.”

After a moment, a heavenly rich flavor began rising from the coffeemaker. “‘The best part of waking up,'” Calvin sang off-tune.

“That's Gran's Folgers. And Maxwell House was always—”

“‘Good to the last drop,'” they said in unison before laughing, then abruptly shushing themselves.

Bennie didn't know what prompted her. Maybe it was all the memories she and Calvin shared. Maybe it was something about the complications between them that wanted to be made simple. Maybe it was nothing more than the fact that it was Friday and she was on a date and the hunger in her belly had been satisfied and she was feeling more like her old self than she had in a very long while.

Whatever the reason, when she turned to get the sugar and found herself standing only a few tiny inches from Calvin, she just naturally closed that distance and lifted her mouth to his.

She kissed him. Oh, God, she was
kissing
him, and he was kissing her back. Never in her whole life had she even imagined locking lips with her best old bud. Never in her whole life could she have imagined it would feel so incredibly right. Perfect. As if nothing stood between them—no past, no disagreements, no J'Myel. As if they existed, had always existed, only for this moment.

Calvin laid his hands on her shoulders, his fingers kneading for a moment before settling firmly, lifting his head, and pushing her back a few inches. His gaze was shadowed, troubled. “You can't…I shouldn't…” Briefly he squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth thinning in frustration, then he looked at her again just for the time it took to bring his mouth to hers.

Bennie had had too many kisses to wax poetic about them. She'd dated one guy whose kisses had been legendary, the sort she wanted to get lost in for hours, but turned out, they were all he brought to the game. She'd known guys who'd mastered the skills of lovemaking, but their kisses were as exciting as watching paint dry. Most of the men she'd known were squarely in the middle: kisses so-so to good, sex so-so to good, attention to foreplay so-so to middlin'.

But these kisses from Calvin…they were sweet and greedy and made her feel like the only person in his universe, like her pleasure was at least as important as his. He understood a kiss was just a kiss but knew it could also be the reason for a person's entire existence.

A sound came from behind her, almost like the
whisk-whisk
of Mama's house slippers on the wood floors, but Mama waking up in the middle of the night was about as likely as a total eclipse of the moon on the thirty-first of November. Probably it was just the hiss of water as the last of it drained from the coffeemaker.

Bennie smiled when the kiss ended. She wrapped her arms around Calvin's neck and rested her cheek gently against his chest. His heart thudded, strong and steady.

It took him a moment to mentally recover, she suspected, from the fact that he'd kissed J'Myel's wife—and he would think wife rather than widow. He was funny that way. And though she would always be J'Myel's widow, though she would always love him, was it selfish of her that right now she didn't want to be anything but Bennie, a woman whose heart was free and whose life needed filling?

Not selfish, she decided. Normal. Natural. She couldn't grieve forever. Nobody expected that of her, including herself.

Coffee and cologne, both hers and his, scented the air she breathed as very slowly, he brought his arms around her. Not tightly, not the sort of embrace she missed like crazy, but he held her, and for now that was enough. Would he enjoy the good feelings for a moment, then pretend it had never happened—yeah, like she'd let him do that—or worse, that it had been a mistake?

She would snatch his hair from his scalp if he did.

The embrace slowly, naturally, fell away. She set the two mugs of coffee in front of him, next to sugar and creamer, then began fixing hers to taste. He silently followed suit.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. They'd eaten like bears preparing for hibernation, but that meant nothing. Their parents had called them the bottomless pit and the hollow leg because of the enormous amounts of food they could put away. Besides, Calvin had been on the peaked side when he returned. He had a few pounds to go to get back to fighting weight.

“I could eat,” he allowed.

She grabbed a cookie jar in the shape of a teapot, a couple of napkins, and her coffee and led the way into the living room. After emptying her load on the coffee table, she sat at one end of the couch, turning to face him at the other. Giving him a chance to ignore what had happened wasn't an option, so she carefully sipped her coffee, then remarked, “Nice kiss.”

His hand trembled just a bit as he lifted his own coffee. The shadows were back in his eyes, but they faded before taking up permanent residence. “You've gotten some practice since you were fifteen and trying to kiss around your braces.”

“So have you. I believe after the first time you kissed Mary Watashe, she said never again, not even if you paid her.”

He snorted. “Kissing her was like kissing an evil life-force-sucking monster.”

“I've heard that. She moved away after high school.” Bennie casually added, “Last I heard, she was a lip model for some cosmetics company.”

That made his eyes pop, as she'd known it would. “A
lip
model? You mean, people pay to take pictures of her mouth?”

“Scary thought, isn't it?” She gestured. “How's your coffee?”

“Good. But it's more like the good-you-should-take-the-time-to-savor-it than the it's-morning-I-need-caffeine sort.” He took a cookie from the jar, the scents of raisins and oatmeal wafting between them, took a bite, then tilted his head to one side and studied her.

Serious talk ahead? she wondered. Or memories he didn't want to discuss?

She'd been right the first time.

“How did you and J'Myel end up together? When we left home, you were still our best bud, the younger sister neither of us had, and then one day, I heard you and him hooked up.”

Was she imagining that extra emphasis on
heard
, to remind her that she'd never told him they were dating, or was that her own guilt? She'd wanted to tell him, but by then it was impossible to discuss one with the other, and she'd felt sad and conflicted and disloyal. As her boyfriend, J'Myel had claimed, her first priority was him, but she'd been friends with Calvin every bit as long and maybe a little bit better.

She tucked her feet on the seat, wishing she'd built a fire to chase away the chill inside her. But the room would have overheated too quickly, and external temperature had nothing to do with the shame she'd felt so long for the way she'd let Calvin down.

“He'd come home on leave,” she began slowly. “He'd just finished a tour in Helmand Province, and he'd been happy to get away from the war and the Army and to have no worries beyond having fun, chilling out, drinking a lot of cold beer, and kissing some pretty women.”

“And the first one he kissed was you, and after that there weren't any others.”

She shrugged with a tight smile. “I never did learn to share graciously.” After another sip of coffee, she wrapped her fingers around the cup. “He was the same J'Myel he'd always been, just grown-up. All those years I thought I was immune to his charm, but his first night here, he looked at me with those brown eyes and that ear-to-ear grin of his, and I…”

She'd done what girls had always done with J'Myel: fallen hard and fast. It was never permanent; he always moved on before the girls could start bringing up marriage and babies, and she'd known that. She hadn't been totally sure it was permanent for her, either. She wasn't about to let him break her heart, not until he showed some serious commitment. That was why it had taken them three years to get married.

“We spent as much of his leave together as we could. He was stationed at Fort Irwin, and we flew back and forth for long weekends. It was all kind of surreal. I never, ever dreamed I'd grow up and fall in love with the mouthy kid I'd pushed around all those years, but it happened. We got married, had a sweet honeymoon, then went back to living apart. He was deploying again soon after, so we never actually lived together.” She stared into her coffee, remembering the last time she'd spent with him. He'd talked about the future, coming home again, getting out of the Army, finally living as a couple and doing all the things couples did, like sleep in the same bed every night.

Neither of them had had a clue that it
was
the last time they'd spend together.

What would the future have held for them? she wondered wistfully. Would he have been happy living the rest of his days in Tallgrass, or had he wanted to move away, like Calvin said? If he'd chosen to leave for good, would she have gone with him? Would she have left Mama here to pass her final years alone?

Would she and J'Myel have loved each other forever?

No one was guaranteed forever. With the divorce rate somewhere around fifty percent, though, she liked to think they would have been one of the lucky couples whose marriage succeeded.

Shifting her cup to one hand, she rested her other arm on the back of the couch and twirled one of her curls around her index finger. “Any more questions?”

“Just one.” He hesitated before meeting her gaze. “Did you ever dream you might grow up and…get involved with me?”

She'd said
fall in love with
, not
get involved
. His change of words made her smile faintly. She stretched out her hand to touch his, also resting on the back of the sofa, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Life is a wonderful surprise, isn't it?”