Susan Mallery - Just One Kiss

“Who did you meet?” Ava asked, holding open her arms.

Lillie ran toward her and retrieved her afternoon hug. They hung on to each other for several seconds, a daily ritual Patience always found gratifying.

“Justice Garrett,” Patience said, standing in the doorway to the study.

Her mother stared at her. “That boy who disappeared?”

“That’s the one. He’s back in town, and he’s not a boy anymore.”

Ava smiled. “I would hope not. As it is, he has plenty of explaining to do. What happened? Did he say where he’d been?”

“He was in the witness protection program.”

Ava’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

Patience glanced at Lillie, a signal that she didn’t want to go into the details right then. Her ten-year-old didn’t need to know there were parents awful enough to want to kill their own children.

“We invited him to dinner,” Lillie said. “He said yes after I told him about the lasagna.”

“Of course,” her grandmother said. “Who could resist lasagna?”

Lillie laughed.

“He’ll be here at six.” Patience glanced at her watch. That gave her barely enough time to shower, put on makeup and obsess about what to wear.

Ava’s brown eyes twinkled. “You probably want to go get ready.”

“I thought I might change my clothes. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Of course not.”

“He’s just an old friend.”

“Yes, he is.”

Patience grinned. “Don’t make this more than it is.”

“Would I do that?”

“In a heartbeat.”

* * *

AT TWENTY MINUTES to six, Patience was in her bedroom. She’d showered, blown out her long, wavy hair until it was straight, traded in her work T-shirt for a light green twin set in a fine-gauge knit and her black jeans for a dark blue fitted pair. Then she’d put on a dress, followed by a shirt and blouse before settling on jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that proclaimed her the queen of everything. She was the single mother of a ten-year-old who also happened to live in the same house where she’d grown up, with her mother. There wasn’t an outfit on the planet that could disguise the truth. Not that she wanted to change anything about her life. Or apologize. She’d made a good life for herself and her daughter. It’s just that thinking about Justice made her nervous. He would either respect her choices, good and bad, or he would go away.

She went downstairs and found her mother and Lillie in the kitchen. The table was set. The last of the tulips in the garden had been cut and placed in a glass vase. The smell of lasagna and garlic filled the house.

“Relax,” her mother told her.

“I’m relaxed. Shrill and relaxed. It’s a great combination.”

Ava smiled with amusement. “So, is Justice coming alone?”

“Yes. He said he wasn’t married.”

“And he doesn’t have kids,” Lillie offered. “He should have a family.”

Patience turned to her mother. “Don’t you start anything.”

“Me? I’m happy to welcome one of your school friends back to town. Nothing more.”

“Uh-huh. Let’s keep it that way.”

“I am curious about his past, though.”

Patience held in a groan. “Please, Mom, you can’t.”

“I’m the mother,” Ava reminded her with a wink. “I can do just about anything.”

* * *

JUSTICE STOOD ON the sidewalk and stared at the familiar house. Very little had changed. The color, maybe the garden, but nothing else. Off to the side, he could see a wheelchair ramp, but it led to the back door rather than the front. For Ava, he thought.

As he walked up the stairs, he braced for what he might find. Patience’s mother had always welcomed him into their home. She’d been kind and motherly. As a kid who’d grown up surrounded by a lot of fear, he’d soaked up the affection she’d offered. She provided an emotional haven and he’d missed her nearly as much as he’d missed Patience when he’d had to leave.

He didn’t know a lot about her disease, but he knew it was relentless and cruel. He told himself he’d seen worse. That his job was not to react. Then he rang the bell.

Lillie opened it seconds later and smiled at him. “Hi,” she said cheerfully. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m starving and the garlic bread smells so good.” She stepped back to allow him entry, then turned to yell, “Mom, Mr. Garrett is here.”

Patience walked into the living room. “Indoor voice, remember?” She glanced at him. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. Thanks for the invitation to dinner.”

She looked good. Her hair was long and sleek with the kind of shine that invited hands to touch. She wore jeans and a T-shirt with a girl in a crown on the front. “Queen of Everything” was written underneath. She was curvy enough to keep things intriguing, and when she smiled, he felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Fourteen-year-old Patience had made his voice crack. Grown-up Patience was physically beautiful, emotionally sweet and intellectually challenging. A lethal combination.

He’d always tried not to be like his father. When in doubt he thought about what Bart would do and did the opposite. Now he realized that the decent thing was to walk away. Only he didn’t want to.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “It’ll be fun to catch up.”

He passed her the bottle of wine he’d brought. A nice California Cabernet the store owner had promised would go with pasta. Their fingers brushed and he felt a jolt of attraction. Swearing silently, he took a deliberate step back. No way. Not with Patience. He refused to screw up one of the few decent memories he had in his life. She was his friend, nothing more.

“There you are. All grown up.”

He shifted toward the voice and saw Ava walk into the room.

She looked the same, he thought, accepting the relief as both truth and a statement that he really had to work on his character. But it was a flaw he was willing to accept. He needed Ava to be okay, not just for herself, but for him, as well. To keep his connection to the past.

She was a couple of inches shorter than Patience, with the same brown hair. Hers was in tight curls that brushed her shoulders. She had big brown eyes and an easy smile. When she held out her arms, he moved into them instinctively.

She hugged him close. He’d forgotten what it was like to be hugged by Ava. To be engulfed in a circle of acceptance and affection. She held on as if she would never let go, as if she would always be there. She hugged like a mom who genuinely loved all kids and wanted you to know. When he was a kid, Ava had been something of a revelation. The marshals had done their best to give him a stable home, but they’d been employees on the clock. Ava had been his best friend’s mom. She’d made him cookies and talked to him about going to college. Just as if he was a regular kid.

“I was nervous about seeing you,” he admitted, speaking softly so only she could hear.

She squeezed tighter, then released him. “I have good days and bad days.” She tilted her head.

He followed her gaze and saw the wheelchair folded up in the corner of what was clearly her home office.

“This is a very good day,” she told him, still holding his gaze. “We were so worried about you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I would have told you if I could have.”

“You came back. That’s what matters.” She turned to her granddaughter. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

Lillie danced in place. “Yes. Very. I’m starving.”

Ava held her hand out to the girl. “Then let’s get the salads on the table. Patience, why don’t you have Justice open that bottle of wine he brought?”

Patience waited until they’d walked into the kitchen to lean close. “She’s still running the world, as you can see.”