One of These Nights (10 page)

“Hey, Rosie girl,” she cooed as she opened the screen door and then turned the knob, actually looking forward to getting a little puppy time in. Two conflicting scents hit her at once—strong perfume mixed with cooking meat. Startled, she stepped inside and then stopped, barely hearing the door shut behind her. Jason looked up from where he was sprawled in a chair, his broken leg resting on the ottoman. Rosie bounced around her feet, growling in her funny way that made her sound kind of like a purring alien, and Zoe absently reached down to pet her when a woman's sharp voice carried from the kitchen.

“Jason, call off that dog! She's going to bite somebody!”

Zoe looked at Rosie's hopeful little face and without much thought reached down to scoop her into her arms. She was a surprisingly solid little thing, but willing enough to be held, fortunately. Zoe wasn't sure why she'd done it, apart from a strong burst of irritation that anybody would find Jason's dog anything but harmless. For her trouble, Rosie tried to wiggle herself around to face her, tongue working furiously. Zoe let her get a couple of kisses in on her chin before readjusting her.

“It's fine,” Zoe called to whoever had spoken. She took a few more steps in, curious, when Jason caught her eye. His expression wasn't one she'd seen on him before. He looked . . . relieved? Grateful? And there was something more she couldn't quite put her finger on. It had warmth curling through her, heating both her blood and her cheeks. Suddenly off-balance, she offered him a small smile. To her amazement, he returned it, though his expression grew shaded again when that voice piped up from the kitchen.

“Well, you just put her right out if she's bothering you. That dog is mouthy. Come on in! I'm just prepping some dinner for later. I think he was planning to feed me nasty leftover takeout tonight. Can you believe he ate that for breakfast?”

“Um.” Rosie started to wiggle again, so Zoe dropped a kiss on top of her head and lowered her to the floor. Another look at Jason's face as he started to maneuver himself out of his chair and Zoe put the pieces together. Somehow, the schedule had changed. His mother had arrived early . . . and no one had bothered to let her know. She'd dealt with worse last-minute changes of plans, but she still felt panic welling in her throat, forcing her to swallow it down. There was supposed to be some time. She and Jason were supposed to go over a few last-minute things. For God's sake, could the man not have
called
?

“Zo,” he said, and somehow hearing her nickname on his lips when he'd just let her walk into an ambush annoyed her beyond all reason. She gave him a look that she hoped promised doom, even while slapping a big fake smile on her face.

“Hey, baby,” she said, and the way his eyebrows shot up toward his hairline
was
sort of funny. If he thought she couldn't lay it on thick when the situation called for it, he was sorely mistaken. Besides, the sooner they got his mother out of town, the sooner she could drop the act and annihilate him. “You didn't tell me your mother was going to be here already. What a nice surprise!”

She walked over to where he was now upright and hulking over his crutches, his hair falling over his forehead in loose brown waves. His clothes looked clean, at least, though she suspected she was going to get tired of his baggy shorts and seemingly endless selection of slightly ragged T-shirts by the time they were through.

“Ooh, are you Zoe? I should have known! Not like he has so many girls visiting him. Just let me wash off my hands . . .”

Zoe looked into the kitchen, where a tall, attractive blonde was waving at her. She returned the wave, noted that the woman was still watching her and Jason expectantly, and bit back a sigh.

Well, here we go. Hope I'm not too out of practice.

Steeling herself, Zoe moved to stand directly in front of Jason, only inches separating them. He looked down at her like she might bite him, and the familiarity of that was weirdly comforting. She arched an eyebrow at him, hoping he got the message behind it:
It's only me, you idiot. Just go with it.
She wondered briefly how long it had been since he'd had any practice at this, whether it might be as sad as her own dry spell, and then pushed that thought aside. Looked like they were both getting a crash refresher course in Relationships 101. She supposed she should be grateful that he smelled good, kind of fresh and piney. Kind of . . . yummy.

That cologne is making me want to nibble on you, and I don't even know if that's helpful or not.
She rose on her tiptoes, heard him inhale softly, even as his eyes lowered to fix on her mouth. Whether it was with anticipation or horror, she had no idea.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his lips barely moving, the word a puff of air against her skin.

“You will be,” she whispered back, then pressed her mouth to his for a quick, friendly, appropriate-for-in-front-of-moms kiss. At least, it was meant to be quick. Zoe had calculated that maybe three or four seconds was the right length. Not a peck, not awkwardly long, but clearly demonstrative. She'd worked it all out. Written it in the notebook, even. Except Jason's lips were soft. Really soft. And warm.

He lowered his head just a little before she could move away, those sinfully long lashes twining together when he closed his eyes. Zoe's slipped shut as well, every well-organized, perfectly reasonable thought she had in her head vanishing at once. Instead, there was nothing but Jason's warmth, drawing her in. Her hand found his shoulder, reassuringly solid, and she could feel his response to that simple touch ripple all the way through him. He tipped his head just slightly, changing the angle of the kiss, and moved his lips against hers to take a taste of her bottom lip.

The delicious shock of it was the only thing that brought her back to herself. But instead of heeding her body's sudden, shrieking insistence that she wrap herself around him, she pulled away with a sharp intake of breath. They locked eyes as Zoe lowered her heels to the ground. It had lasted only seconds, she reassured herself. A few seconds too long, maybe, but not as many as it had felt like. It was okay. It had been smooth enough for a casual observer to think nothing of it. Up close, though, there was no way Jason could miss the effect the kiss had had on her. That hot little nip at her lips—what was he
thinking
?

You did that on purpose,
she wanted to hiss at him. But she couldn't seem to do more than stare into brown eyes that looked both hazy and confused, as though she'd been the one to catch him off guard.

“Aren't you two cute? It's so nice to finally meet you! Well, I say finally . . . I didn't even know about you until two days ago.”

Zoe started to move away from Jason as Molly Evans approached, then remembered that right now she was actually
supposed
to stay close to him. She shot him a quick, awkward glance before positioning herself beside him, close enough to touch but not touching. Definitely not touching. Or even thinking about it—much.

Flustered, Zoe tried to focus her attention on the woman coming at her with her arms open wide. She didn't look scary. She looked . . . tall. Of course, being five-two, she thought a lot of people looked tall.

She quickly found herself enveloped in a heavily perfumed embrace. Zoe tried to relax into a quick, tight hug that felt stiffer than she'd expected. His mother pulled back quickly, holding Zoe at arm's length to examine her. She felt a little like she was dangling from a pair of hooks, being sized up for dinner. It was a fleeting impression, but one she couldn't shake.

After hearing the stories, Zoe had pictured Molly Evans as a frumpy sort of woman, with flyaway hair, mom jeans, maybe some ugly glasses. And of course, a permanently sour expression. This person, however, had the fit, tanned look of a woman who'd always been an athlete. Strong featured, with sharp brown eyes and blond hair cut into intricate, jaw-length layers, she wasn't soft enough to be called pretty. Attractive, though, definitely. Her tall frame was clad in yoga pants and color-coordinated athletic gear—her tee, hoodie, and sneakers all strongly featured the same bright shade of magenta—and several very large diamonds glittered on her fingers. Another solitaire glittered on a chain around her neck.

Lady of leisure,
Zoe thought, and then kicked herself for it. She didn't know this woman, and that was unkind. Just because she'd dealt with that type plenty back when she was at the gallery in Atlanta didn't mean Jason's mother was like them. It just meant that some people really liked to wear a lot of jewelry with their workout clothes . . . which they wore for a lot of things that weren't working out. They also tended to drive a specific type of crossover SUV in a couple of specific colors and
Oh God, I have to stop—I'm being awful already and she's done nothing.

“Well,” Molly said, “it's nice to see Jason still has some taste. Very pretty. I'm Molly Evans, Jason's mother. But I think you knew that.” She smiled, but despite the creases it produced at their corners, the expression didn't quite reach her eyes. Zoe hoped she was just being cautious. After all, they'd only just met. And Jason did have some kind of hated ex-wife.

“I'm Zoe,” Zoe said, hoping her own smile looked more genuine. “But I guess you knew that, too.” She was released, though Molly didn't move away.

“The kiss was a big clue, unless a whole lot of things have changed since the last time I was here. Jason never dated much. Not that I understand why he's still so bad at attracting women. I mean, isn't big and rugged and hairy kind of a thing right now? Or is that just in those books everybody's reading? With the restraints and riding crops.” Her laugh was loud, echoing to the high ceiling. “I might have a few of those at home,” she added in a stage whisper. “Kinky billionaire heroes. Love 'em.” Jason groaned.

“Mom.”

Zoe was amused despite herself. She'd never seen Jason turn that particular shade of red before. “I don't know about any of that, but I like Jason just fine. Broken leg and all,” she added, remembering why she was here in the first place.

“It shows,” Molly said, widening her eyes along with her smile, which Zoe had begun to feel was unnaturally sunny. “Not everybody would come out here and try to keep things running out of the goodness of their hearts! I expected a mess, but it isn't nearly that bad.”

The half compliment, half insult hit Zoe like a cold slap of water, and she knew right away what she was dealing with. She also knew that whatever Jason might purchase from the gallery to repay the favor, he was the one getting a bargain here. She glanced up at him, saw a jaw in his muscle twitch, and realized he was more irritated than she was. Of course, she hadn't had to grow up with this.

“You don't like it, you can take it up with my cleaning service,” he said flatly. “Are we going to go to lunch or what?”

“We are?” Zoe asked.

“You need a cleaning service for a log cabin?” asked Molly.

He looked between them. “Merry Meet works for me. I'll get my shoe.”

Molly shook her head as she watched him head for the sandals by the back slider. “Well,
some
things haven't changed.”

Zoe eyed her before returning her attention to Jason and the impressive way he managed to stalk even with crutches. Maybe that wasn't surprising, but as for everything else? She couldn't disagree with Molly more.

Everything had changed. In a matter of minutes, Jason's goal—to get his mother the heck out of Dodge—had become her own.

From here on out, they were a team.

M
erry Meet sat at the bottom of the square, a squat, curious little building of aging brick that tended to put people in mind of a ramshackle witch's house—an association the owners had unabashedly played up. There was a peaked roof, and just beneath it a circular window where the silhouette of an arching black cat could be seen, especially in the evening when a light came on behind it. The curtains in the windows were cheerfully mismatched, and a carved wooden sign, adorned with both the name of the restaurant and the outline of a cauldron for good measure, moved gently in the breeze.

Zoe found a parking spot not far away, in front of Jasper's Used Books, and pulled in. Jason sat in the passenger seat, and she wasn't sure it would ever be adjusted correctly again considering how far back he'd pushed it. Molly had insisted upon driving Jason's SUV, since she “had some errands to run” after lunch. She appeared to have also taken a detour on the way to the square, since the truck was nowhere to be seen.

They'd spent the ten-minute drive over in silence, and when Zoe killed the engine, the complete absence of conversation filled the car. She made no move to get out, simply sitting with her hands on the wheel. After a moment, Jason sighed.

“So, my mother.”

“Mmmhmm,” Zoe replied. She tapped her fingers on the wheel. She actually kind of liked the silence. The entire process of deciding who was taking which car where, and with whom in it, had been the opposite of silent.

“She's got some issues,” he said.

Zoe widened her eyes and looked ahead of her, through the windshield, where there was a couple browsing Jasper's shelves with smiles on their faces. She bet it was quiet and sane in there, too. “Yes,” she finally replied, since it seemed like Jason was waiting for some sort of acknowledgment. Jasper Reed, a tall, lanky Brit in his late fifties whose short little ponytail and hoop earring made him look like an aging pirate—which worked on him, everyone agreed—moved to help the male half of the couple, looked through the glass, and spotted Zoe. He waved and gave her a cheeky grin, and she was glad to raise a hand and return the greeting before he went about his business.

Life went on normally in the Cove today, it seemed.
Almost
everywhere.

“So, are you going to wait for me to get out and then take off like a bat out of hell?”

Now she turned her head to look at him. He was, it pained her to note, adorable even in his misery.

“Ye of little faith,” she said. “You think I'm afraid of a woman who takes twenty minutes to decide how she can get her own car to drive so she can keep everybody waiting on her?”

“Not afraid, exactly,” Jason replied. “More like annoyed beyond all reason.”

Zoe watched him steadily. “Jason Evans. I have been dealing with people professionally for my entire adult life. I have been screamed at, called ugly names, had things thrown at me, my boss called, and once had the meanest toy poodle in existence sicced on me because I wasn't offering its owner enough of a special-person discount.”

His mouth curved up ever so faintly in that almost-smile he had that made her brain fuzzy. “So you don't think she's annoying?”

“I didn't say that. And stop making puppy-dog eyes at me. I'm not going anywhere.”

Jason wrinkled his nose and frowned. “I don't make puppy-dog eyes.”

“Uh-huh. Come on, let's get moving. You're so slow it'll take us an hour to get where we're going. Maybe by then she will have shown up.”

Zoe got out of the car, catching a few choice words from her passenger that made her grin as she did. Rather than wait for him, she rounded the car and opened Jason's door. He looked up at her balefully.

“I could have done that.”

“No kidding. I don't have a year, though.”

“Keep calling me slow,” he warned her. “You'll be walking along and one of these crutches will take your feet out from under you before you even know what happened.”

“Am I wearing earplugs in this scenario? Or are you going to hire a ninja to do your dirty work for you while you watch from a bench somewhere? I'm not sure how this works, otherwise. Nice fantasy, though.”

He handed her his crutches to hold while he got up, then took them back while she shut the door and locked the car. They walked together up onto the sidewalk, and he
was
slow, but Zoe found she didn't much mind. It was too much fun teasing him about it. They were only a block from the Cove's small harbor here, where various boats bobbed in the choppy waves. The sound of the ever-present gulls looking for fish or whatever else they might manage to stuff into their gullets had come to sound like home to Zoe. She listened to their cries and debated about wandering down here by herself later to have a walk on the short stretch of sandy beach that was always covered with people during the summer. This time of year it was far more peaceful, the tourists sticking to the town itself. Harvest Cove was a treasure in any season, but fall was when she came into her own. Supposedly founded by witches, the Cove had proven irresistible to people seeking a historic New England town with a bit of spooky charm. They even had a magic tree.

Well, that was the story, anyway . . . that the founding witches had planted the tree, and that as long as it grew strong so would the town, its families rooted here in a way that tended to bring even the most prodigal locals back eventually. Zoe didn't buy the magic part, but the gorgeous old oak in the park that sat at the center of the square, its branches numerous and gnarled, stretching to shelter whoever chose to spend some time with it, was a beautiful symbol for the town. And she supposed Sam, who had loved to sketch beneath it as a girl before she'd run as far as she could from here, would argue that there had to have been
some
magic in the Cove to have brought her back permanently.

Zoe was of the opinion that Sam's current living situation had more to do with a sexy smile and a nice butt than a tree, but what did she know?

“What are you smiling about?”

She turned her head, startled out of her thoughts by Jason's deep voice. He was watching her curiously, his brown eyes warmer and more open than she was used to. It was a nice change, even if it left her feeling at a bit of a loss. They hadn't had much in the way of normal conversation yet. But they were in her place now—she thought of the square as one of her places, at least—and all of the familiar sounds and smells put her more at ease than she might have been otherwise. She was just a girl talking to a guy on their way to lunch. No crazy mothers, no fighting, no weirdness. Just a normal date.

That makes it pretty abnormal for me, actually, but I'll try to go with it.

“Just thinking about Sam and her Witch Tree,” Zoe replied, and the look on Jason's face told her that wasn't the answer he'd expected. “She likes to go sketch under it on her lunch breaks when the days are nice. I'm sure she'd be there right now if I hadn't left her in charge for the rest of the day.” She arched an eyebrow. “Why, what did you think I was smiling about?”

“The thought of tripping me, maybe.”

She laughed and shook her head. “You have an inflated opinion of my meanness, Jason. I can't decide whether I should encourage that or not.”

“You're pretty mean when I come into the gallery.”

“Well, you're pretty annoying when you come into the gallery, so . . . you might want to consider that there's a cause-and-effect thing going on there.” They crossed a narrow street, moving past buildings of brick and stone, all the storefronts decked out in autumn finery. Little flags on the wrought-iron lampposts were bright orange, bearing a silhouette of the Witch Tree and the words “Welcome Home to Harvest Cove.”

“Those are so cute,” she said, indicating a flag with a wave of her hand. “Makes me excited for the Jack o'Lighting.”

“Really?” he asked. They stopped just in front of Merry Meet, which Zoe thought smelled like heaven itself. She was hungry. Much to her chagrin, she was her father's daughter that way. She liked her meals on time, and thanks to Molly's machinations, her stomach was complaining about the delay. She only hoped that Jason wouldn't hear it growling. That or just be nice enough not to mention it, which was a long shot.

“You don't like the flags? How can you not like the flags?” she asked. “And don't even think about hating on the Jack o'Lighting. If you do that, I
will
trip you.”

Jason shrugged. “I like all of that fine. I just didn't know you went in for that sort of thing.”

“Meaning . . .”

“You know, the cutesy cornball townie thing.” When she just leveled a blank look at him, he continued. “You just, you know, you own an art gallery. You get written up in the
Globe
and host private artsy cocktail parties. You're carrying a giant purse with a designer name on it even I recognize, and trust me, that's saying something. And Jake said you have some kind of tea . . . thing.”

She paused to digest all of that before shaking her head. “I'm going to be honest with you, Jason. I need to order some food before I even get started on all of that. So let's go get a table, okay?”

“As you wish,” he said. When she stopped and stared at him, he asked, “What?”

She hesitated, thinking that she was just imagining things, but there was a sly humor in his expression that insisted otherwise. After a moment, Zoe decided to test him. “Nothing, farm boy. I just didn't realize I was walking into a battle of wits.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Jason replied, and Zoe rolled her eyes to cover her embarrassment. Of course he didn't know. He'd probably grown up on movies about manly men who liked to shoot things and smash up fast cars in realistically gritty settings. Or maybe he just watched a lot of Discovery Channel or something.
When Wildlife with Sharp, Pointy Teeth Attack.
One of the hostesses opened the door for them, and just as Zoe started in, she heard Jason mutter, “Should have brought the iocane powder for my mother.”

She burst into delighted laughter. “Treebeard quoting
The Princess Bride
? I would never have . . . um . . .” Her eyes widened as she realized what she'd done. She'd taken care never to let him know her nickname for him, and that had been easy enough when all of their interactions had been short. Now, though, she'd relaxed too much and slipped. The confusion on his face would have been a lot more entertaining if she didn't think she was going to catch hell once he figured it out.

“Treebeard?”

“Let's go get a table.” She hurried past the hostess, who held the door for Jason and then led them to a table beside a large painting of a coven of traditional-looking witches kicking up their skirts (to reveal striped stockings, of course) beneath a full moon. It was cute and kitschy, much like the restaurant itself, with its warm and rustic interior decorated with all manner of witch-themed memorabilia. Each table had a candle situated inside a glass pumpkin, making the tables glow in the dim light. Zoe settled herself in the seat closest to the wall and looked around, trying not to notice the look Jason was giving her. The place was busy, as it usually was. She ordered things to go from here sometimes, but rarely came in to sit down and eat.

Now if she could just manage to enjoy it.

“We're waiting on a third before we do appetizers,” Zoe told the server who came to take their drink order. She ordered a cream soda, while Jason got a root beer. He was silent when the server walked away, and Zoe continued looking around, pretending she couldn't feel his eyes boring into her skull.

“
Where
is your mother?” she asked.

“Treebeard? Seriously?”

She made eye contact then, and discovered something new—the face Jason made when he was trying to figure out whether he was mad or not. His nose was slightly scrunched up, his dark brows drawn together, and he looked as though he'd just been told there was nothing to drink here but toilet water.

“I don't know why you're all bothered,” Zoe said, unfolding her silverware from her napkin and setting the linen on her lap. “I'm not the one who accused you of being a snob.”

“I didn't say you were a snob. And what the hell are you doing? We're not eating yet.”

“I'm exhibiting a strange behavior called manners,” Zoe replied. “My mama always made us put the napkin on our laps right away, and since she is a lady with class, that's what I do.”

“Well, I'm not doing that until the food gets here.”

“Fine.”

“And I didn't say you were a snob.”

“You implied I think I'm too good for the cute little traditions the Cove does. That I walk around with my designer purse judging things.”

“No, I didn't. And why am I named after a big, stupid talking tree?”

“Maybe because you drag half the forest around with you on your shoes, at least when I see you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I'm sure the big and stupid part has nothing to do with it.”

She realized he'd decided to get offended about it, which was going to ruin lunch if she didn't do something to stop it. The problem was, she was still smarting from having been called a snob. It was a barb slung at her often enough when she was home, seeing people who'd never ventured outside of the little world that was small-town Georgia. It didn't sting from those people as much as it once had, but getting it from Jason was less expected and decidedly more painful. She silently counted to ten, breathed deeply, and looked directly at Jason.

“If I thought you were big and stupid, I wouldn't be sitting here. And if I were a snob, I wouldn't be living in the Cove. I like small towns. I grew up in one. So maybe give me a little credit before you make a bunch of assumptions about me.”