Speak Now (5 page)

“I know. I want more time too.”

She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard and whispered, “What will we do?”

~*~*~*~

Cara’s words reverberated through his mind as he watched her disappear into the mountain of steel and glass.
We’ll take it one day—or date really—at a time. What else
can
we do?

She was right, of course, but that didn’t make the uncertainty any easier to swallow. The building faded from view and memory filled his vision with the sight of her seated on that bench, the sun beaming down on her. How had she been so comfortable with him observing—staring really? Her words whispered to him again.
Don’t be. I have a feeling you’ve come to a flattering conclusion. I’m the antithesis of the woman you loved. I find that remarkably complimentary.

Truer words—he hadn’t heard truer words in years
. Cara couldn’t be more different than his Lily. Barely five foot two, she personified the short, curvy body type. His eyes closed and he remembered the sprinkling of freckles across her nose. To his surprise; they delighted him. Her creamy skin wore them like an accessory rather than the blemish he imagined she thought them to be. Her blouse and slacks fit her perfectly, showing her curves to their best advantage. How had she managed to do that without seeming to draw attention to them?

That hair. He swallowed that lump that rose in his throat.
You can’t let yourself touch her hair again. It’s just not…safe.

~*~*~*~

At six, his car waited just outside the doors. She hurried as fast as a woman can on three-inch heels, and slid into her seat before he could exit the vehicle. “I need to go home and change.”

The drive to her town
home grew strained. For the first time since he’d met her, Jonathan felt awkward and uncomfortable with Cara. Without words, she directed him onto the loop, off the Westbury exit, and down city streets to the south side of town. At her garage, he pulled into her parking space and turned off the key.

“This won’t do.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Then stop kicking yourself for being human.”

His mind protested. His body language screamed that she didn’
t know what she was saying but knew she was right. Her voice permeated his thoughts. “You know I’m right. Now come open this door so I can change.”

Jonathan hurried to her side of the car, opened the door, and offered his hand. Her eyes issued a challenge, but he didn’t withdraw it. Slowly, she placed her hand in his and stepped from the vehicle. Mere inches separated them, her eyes making contact with his shirt buttons. The slightest leaning into him and—

He stepped back and swung the door shut behind her, locking it. Cara beckoned for him to follow and started toward a nearby gate. “Come on in. What do I wear, by the way?”

As he stepped into her house, Jonathan found her flaw. He’d wondered when she’d demonstrate some
thing that proved her lack of utter perfection. Her décor proved it. A shabby chic paradise, she had decorated the rooms with distressed white painted furniture, plastered with hand painted roses. Pink depression era glassware filled her door-less cupboards, and no flat surface held more than four square inches of bare space. In his mind, it was a clutter nightmare.

“Let me guess, you’re fond of Early American?”

He shook his head. “Mission.”

“That was my second guess. Meanwhile, what do I wear?”

He shrugged and tried to answer, but the overwhelming décor blocked his mental dictionary from providing the appropriate words. With a smile, she grabbed his sleeve, and pulled him down a short hallway. “Here, pick something appropriate. I’ll go put up my hair.”

After one look at his expression, she smiled. “Okay, so maybe I won’t. I’ll brush it though. Find me something.”

Her closet, in a room of more collections, burst with clothing. After a few wrong outfits, he pulled a simple black sheath from the closet and smiled. She’d be dangerous in it, but it couldn’t be more perfect. As he handed it to her, she smiled broadly.

“Oh my.” Cara pulled his tie to lower his head to her level. “You have excellent taste.”

“Are you saying that because you like the dress or because you know how much I’m going to like you in it?”

“Ooh… when he compliments, look out!”

She emerged minutes later. As he swallowed hard, his eyes gave her all the assurance she needed that she looked stunning. Her stocking feet padded down the hallway, and she reemerged with two shoes. One was a simple little slip on backless shoe with a low stiletto type heel; the other, four-inch strappy heels that he knew, instinctively, had been purchased to wear with the dress.

She grinned. “Yes, both are comfortable. I pay a small fortune for my shoes.”

“I’d say your clothes, too. They fit like they were designed for you.”

“They were. My mother sews almost everything I own.” She smiled as she slipped on the heels. “Yes, she
is
good. She manages to make things that don’t accentuate every curve I have.” His eyes spoke volumes, insisting that the dress she wore accentuated each curve perfectly. “Oh, you’re bad, Mr. Jonathan. You are very bad. Let’s eat.”

Cara and Jonathan enjoyed what Jonathan suspected both would eventually agree was the best meal of their lives. Though they spoke few words, the air around them grew charged with unspoken conversation. She admired his attire with a few lingering glances—and he returned the favor. Still speaking little, they managed to communicate their appreciation for their meals, occasionally sharing a bite.

Too soon, the meal ended. After refusing dessert, Jonathan led her down the steps of the restaurant, his hand occasionally grazing the small of her back as he directed her. “You’re killing me here.”

Jonathan’s eyes twinkled, sending another wave of weakness to her knees. The valet brought his car around to the portico and opened the door for Cara while Jonathan jogged to his side. As Jonathan slipped into his seat, Cara laughed. “He’s just doing his job.”

“Hmph.”

She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “He didn’t touch me. Exhale.”

They rode through the streets of Rockland, Cara realizing quickly that they weren’t going back to her office to get her car. “I need to ask a question, and I need an answer regardless of whether you feel like talking.”

After a sidelong glance, Jonathan’s quiet voice filled the vehicle as he answered her question before she could ask. “No. Not usually. I’ve never been the jealous type, but it’s difficult when I know it’s not wise—”

“I know. I didn’t think so, but I had to ask. Your reaction....”

“Want to guess where we’re going?”

She grinned. “You want me to talk. I can talk.”

“I like hearing your voice.”

“Well,” she suggested, pulling out her phone to check the time, “I’d say a concert, but it’s a little late for that.”

“No, but I have tickets for the Tom Sawyer musical tomorrow.”

Her eyes brightened. “I’ve wanted to go to that for ages, but I couldn’t afford the tickets!” A new thought crossed her mind. “Are you choosing things like this because you think you need to find activities for us where talking isn’t an option?”

“You’d think so,” he said chuckling. “I just asked Trev to see what Julia knew you might enjoy, and she said the musical.”

At the light, he watched her eyes grow wide as Cara pondered the meaning behind what he’d said. For any man to call a nephew
on his honeymoon
to ask for dating tips implied something serious, but for
Jonathan Lyman
to do it…

“Oh, Jon—”

He exhaled slowly, relieved. She understood. With one phone call, Jonathan had put his heart on the line. By sharing the call with her, he’d let her know it.

“You have about four minutes to guess where we’re going, so…”

“I’m too lost in amazement to guess. You’ll just have to surprise me.”

He parked around the corner, opened her car door, and waited to see her reaction as they walked the rest of the way to the opening night of an art exhibit at the Wellington Gallery. “Oh! Is this that guy who uses minerals to paint his stuff?”

“That’s the one. Jake Marsden.”

Inside, a man glanced up from a group of patrons and nodded at Jonathan. He excused himself and strode across the gallery, barely pausing when people tried to stop him. “Jonathan! I’m so glad you made it. This must be Cara?”

Cara, giving Jonathan a covert smile, extended her hand. “I’m very happy to meet you. I didn’t realize that Jonathan knew
the
Jake Marsden.”

“Oh, I’m not Jake—”

“Your picture just behind you says ‘Jake Marsden, Artist.’ And look, a picture—of you.”

Laughing, Jake shrugged.
“I tried.”

“At times like these, my mother usually says, ‘Yes, you are very trying,’ but I doubt Jonathan wanted me to have a ‘very trying evening, so…”

“She’s a keeper, Jon. Don’t let this one get away.” Without another word, Jake made a quick sweep around the room, speaking to each person who detained him, before returning to a group near the center of the room. Seeing her already engrossed in the artwork before her, Jonathan offered to bring her a drink and hors d’ oeuvres while she perused the exhibit.

Cara wandered through the room, pausing before this or that painting until she found
a picture of a baby snuggled against her mother, the mother’s hair shielding most of both of them. Emotion slammed into Jonathan, knocking the wind from him as he watched her gaze at the painting. Did she see the look of absolute trust and absorption in the baby’s eyes? Did it captivate her as it did him? He set the glass and plate down on a table near the corner and fled to the bathroom to rein in his emotions.

Minutes later, he returned to her side and found her still absorbed in the painting. “You like it?”

“It’s incredible. If I could afford it—”

“You can’t. The owner wouldn’t sell it for anything.”

Cara tore her eyes from the portrait and looked at him curiously. “You bought it.” It sounded more like an accusation than a statement.

“Jake gave it to me. I have the original.”

For several more minutes, she stared at the painting until she caught her breath. “It’s Bryson?”

“Riley.”

“Oh.” She glanced at him, at the painting, and back at him again. “I guess you never did tell me what happened. I just assumed—”

“She never recovered from Riley’s birth. We just thought it took a lot out of her and it would take time. By the time we got her help, it was too late.”

“What—” Cara choked back the question a moment too late.

Jonathan sighed. “Cancer. Started as stomach, but after the birth it spread—everywhere. They couldn’t get it all with surgery; she wasn’t strong enough for chemo. One week she was weak and asking for vitamins to help her get back on her feet, and the next week she was on morphine to control the pain of her last days.”

Cara tossed aside their silent “hands-off” agreement and slid her arms around his waist, burying her head in his chest. “I am so sorry,” she whispered into his shirt.

For a moment, he stood, unmoving, but a killer glance from Jake snapped him out of his internal turmoil. “Thanks…” Jonathan whispered, his voice raspy and choked with suppressed emotion on many levels. He smoothed her hair absently
and wondered what had prompted him to discuss something so emotionally charged in such a public place.

Seconds ticked by—minutes.
Then, embarrassed at her loss of self-control, Cara stepped away from him, wiping at her eyes. “I need a restroom. I’m probably a mess and—” She glanced ruefully at his shirt. “You need to button your jacket so your tie can hide the stains I just left on your shirt.”

Jonathan found her back in front of the picture several minutes later. “Does Jake sell prints of his work?”

“No. He has a few made for showings like this, but he doesn’t sell them.”

She sighed. “I’d give anything I own for that. I love it.”

He stored her words in his heart, feeling for the first time in his life as if he understood Mary the mother of Jesus. She wanted the picture of his wife and daughter. What kind of woman had he found; and how, he argued with himself, was he ever going to get on the train for Atlanta again?

~*~*~*~

Long after the gallery closed, Jonathan drove her back to the parking lot at the Mayflower Building. They stood, leaning against her car and talked nearly wordlessly for an hour. He learned that she had a temper, while she discovered a protective side that extended beyond people he knew.

“I have to go. Work in the morning.”

“I’ll follow you home.”

She shook her head. “It’s not necessary. Go get some rest.”

“I’m ready when you are.”

With a shrug, Cara handed him her keys and waited for him to open her car door. Once inside, she started the car, turned on the lights, and put it in reverse. Then she waited. Once he realized she would wait for him, Jonathan returned to his vehicle and backed out of the parking space.