Somebody Like You (41 page)

He swallowed a bite of seasoned meatball. “You always could
get Mom to laugh when she was all set to yell at us. I never figured out how to do that.”

Why hadn’t he realized that Sam wasn’t against him and Dad—that he was just worried about Mom?

He sat in silence, finishing off his spaghetti before putting the last piece of garlic bread on the plate across from him. “It’s yours. I can’t eat another bite.”

Stephen wiped his hands with a napkin and then settled back in the booth. “So . . . I met Haley. And I can see why you fell in love with her. The thing is, I thought I was falling in love with her, too. She’s gorgeous, by the way. Not supermodel, knock-you-off-your-feet gorgeous . . . she’s just Haley. Uncomplicated. Her eyes say more than she realizes and her smile—when you can get her to smile—well, she looks like she’s sixteen.”

Stephen cleared his throat. “Sorry. I lost my train of thought. What I wanted to say was I realized I’m in love with Haley—well, I thought I was. She’s a way to feel close to you again, you know? And now there’s Kit—your daughter. And I let my feelings get all mixed up. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

He hadn’t really expected an audible answer. What he wanted was peace. He had his head screwed on straight now, his emotions under control. He was Haley’s brother-in-law and Kit’s uncle—nothing more.

Stephen looked up as the waiter approached the table again. The conversation was over.

“Do you want me to box this up for you?” The waiter motioned to the untouched meal.

“No.” As he stood, Stephen pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. “This ought to cover it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me. My brother was always a big tipper.”

H
aley inhaled the faint scent of something floral and sweet lingering in the night air. A walk always helped her relax. The solo stroll through the neighborhood near Miriam’s had eased both the mental and physical tension from her body. She paused at the end of the walkway leading to her mother-in-law’s house. Someone stood just outside the front door.

The height, the shape of his shoulders, even the ease of his gait as he moved toward her . . . Haley knew it was Stephen even though the streetlight behind her didn’t cast enough of a glow to reveal his face.

“I thought I’d missed you.” His voice reached out to her—no echo of Sam lingering in his words.

“Just took a walk to unwind.” She stopped again so that a few feet separated them. He’d changed out of his suit into a short-sleeved polo shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. And yes, he smelled of his familiar citrus scent.

“Long day?”

“Yes—for everyone. Miriam. Kit.”

“You.”

“Me, too. It was a nice memorial service. And tomorrow your mom wants us to visit Sam’s gravesite. That’s important to do, although it doesn’t mean anything to Kit. Not yet.” An Oklahoma breeze tangled her hair about her face. “I met your father tonight.”

“So he said.”

How . . . distant they sounded with each other. Short sentences. Brief questions and answers. Had their relationship—their friendship—really come to this? She wanted to explain what he’d heard . . . to fight past the “How could you?” or “Why did you?” questions, but they stalled in her throat. Her gaze skimmed his shadowed face—eyes, nose, jaw, cleft chin . . . mouth. The memory of the kisses they’d shared seemed scorched at the edges, dry and brittle, ready to crumble and blow away.

“Are you staying much longer?”

Haley forced herself to look up, to not break the tenuous eye contact with Stephen. They were just catching up. “A few more days, then back to the Springs. You?”

“Dad and I leave tomorrow afternoon.”

She closed her eyes, fighting the squeeze of an invisible fist inside her chest that made it hard to breathe, to keep the conversation light. Casual. “Back to Oregon?”

“Yes. I told Jared I wouldn’t be gone too long.”

“So the business is a go?” There. She’d sounded interested, but not too much. And she could breathe again. Almost.

“Yes. Designing . . . houses will be challenging.” Stephen shifted his weight right, then left. “I wanted to apologize for not driving you to the airport—”

“I managed.” Haley’s smile felt forced. Could he even see it in the darkness? “Claire got us there just fine.”

“Then maybe I could explain about some other things.”

How exactly was he supposed to do this?

The plan had been to come by his mother’s house. Talk to Haley. Untangle the past few months. Say good-bye. And move on.

But when he’d shown up, Haley wasn’t there. Which gave his mother time to share her hope for better days ahead for Stephen and her—and his dad.

His father had said he’d met Haley and Kit—and that he’d forged the barest beginnings of peace with his ex-wife. But still, this more hope-filled version of his mother rocked Stephen’s world.

And then he’d looked in on Kit . . . and wavered from his objective. Stephen forced himself to stand back from the portable crib. Not lean over and inhale his niece’s baby-fresh aroma. Or give in to the longing to pick her up, cradle her close to his heart.

That would be his undoing.

He’d whispered a prayer for her and a promise to always watch over her—even from a distance—and a good-bye, his eyes memorizing the outline of her profile: forehead, tiny nose and chin. She’d change so fast, this version of Kit would be outdated within weeks.

And now he faced the final challenge: saying good-bye to Haley.

“When I came looking for Sam back in January, I met you . . . and I got confused.” Stephen cleared his throat even as he searched for the right words—the necessary words. “I was broken. You were grieving. I let my emotions get turned upside down. I thought I was falling in love with you, Haley.”

She watched him, the only movement caused by the wind sweeping her hair around her face.

“But I realize I was . . . It was wrong. I missed Sam. And you were his wife . . . Kit is his daughter . . . Loving you was a way to be close to him.” The words that should have been so freeing left a bitter taste in his mouth. “You still love Sam. Now’s not
the time for you to be getting involved with anyone else—especially his twin brother. I mean, that’s crazy.”

Still no response from Haley. Why wasn’t she agreeing with him?

“I can understand why Sam fell in love with you . . . and I know I probably confused you, too—”

“At first.” Haley shook her head, raking her fingers through her hair, shoving it out of her eyes. “But now I’d never mistake you for Sam.”

And what was he supposed to say to that? Of course she wouldn’t mistake him for Sam—because Sam was dead. But if Sam were still alive, there’d be no question of who she’d choose. No question of choosing.

Haley’s eyes closed for a brief moment, and then she looked at him. “Thank you for all your help with the house projects. The crib. And for, um, being there when Kit was born.”

“No problem—”

She waved away his response, her fingers coming to rest on her lips as she paused to catch her breath, as if she were preparing to sprint. “Let me say this. Thank you, Stephen Rogers Ames, for everything. For being you. I—I . . . appreciate you.”

“May I call and check in on you and Peanut?”

“Sure. Kit will want to hear from her uncle.” Haley’s inhale seemed ragged. “Well, I need to get inside before Miriam worries that I got lost. You take care, okay?”

“I will. You, too.” His arms stayed by his sides, even as the thought of taking back everything he’d just said, of pulling Haley close—kissing her—flamed to life. He inhaled, forcing himself to swallow the words he wanted to say. He stuffed his fists in his pockets, moving forward and stepping off the sidewalk into the grass so that he wouldn’t touch her, his action finally propelling her into the house.

Neither of them said good-bye—not out loud.

S
even thirty in the morning? Someone was knocking on her door at seven thirty on a Wednesday morning?

Haley shoved her arms through her gray sweatshirt and pulled it on over her camisole. She pushed away thoughts of grabbing her 9mm from the gun safe. Probably some guy wanting to sell her siding. Or window washing. Or driveway resurfacing. She yanked the front door open and caught Sterling Shelton III midknock, with his arm raised.

“Mr. Shelton, do you know what time it is?”

“Of course I do.” He lowered his arm, pulling at the sleeves of his coat. “I wear a watch.”

“What do you want?” Haley kept the screen door shut. She’d talk to him—but he wasn’t getting in her house.

“I want to discuss your tree.”

“The tree next to my garage?”

“Of course not.” He held up a sheaf of papers, shaking them so that they rattled. “The tree I’ve sent three letters about.”

“Do you have nothing better to do than hassle homeowners?”

“I am not hassling you, Mrs. Ames. I am ensuring covenants are enforced.”

“I can see that. Mis-sized house numbers are a horrible covenant infraction.”

“I cannot exempt you from them just because you are widowed.”

Haley shoved open the screen door, causing the man to step back. “I have never asked for special treatment because my husband was killed.”

Shelton may have stepped back, but he didn’t back down. “And I cannot overlook infractions just because you have a baby.”

“Mr. Shelton, what do you want from me?”

“Remove your tree, Mrs. Ames. It’s a danger to the neighborhood. I’ve had a tree doctor examine it—”

“You brought someone on my property?”

“Of course not. I had him look at some photographs—”

She’d been awake all of thirty minutes—talking to Shelton for five—and already her blood pressure was jitterbugging through her veins. “Who took photographs of my tree?”

“I did—from the sidewalk behind your house. Nothing illegal about that.” He slapped his palm against the papers in his other hand. “I’ve had a certified tree doctor examine the photographs and verify parts of the tree are dead, while others could be diseased and dying.”

“Arborist.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” Now was not the time to quibble over proper terms—or to recall a similar conversation with Stephen. “Could I see that report, please?”

“Absolutely.” He flipped open a brown folder and pointed
to several photographs clipped to the top of an official-looking report. “I’m sure you’ll agree—”

As he handed her the documents, Haley held up her hand. “I am not agreeing to anything until I look at this so-called report.”

She shuffled through the photos and then skimmed over the report. Shelton was right—the tree was mostly dead. She slipped the report back into the folder and went through the photos one more time. Stopped. What was that?

When she closed the folder, she left one photograph on top. “You’re correct—there is a problem.”

Shelton’s thin-lipped smile spread across his face. “I’m glad you’re finally agreeing with me—”

“Oh, I’m not agreeing with you.” She held up the photograph. “I’m talking about this problem.”

“It’s a photograph of your tree—”

“A rather blurry photo, wouldn’t you agree? Look closer. You also managed to photograph
me,
in the privacy of my home. And that is most definitely a problem. A legal one for you, as I’ll be contacting the authorities about this.”