The Road To Love. Линда Гуднайт

gaze dropped and he restlessly shuffled his feet. “I was hoping that maybe this one Friday you could...” He paused and his head jerked up. “You don’t have a date, do you?” He sounded as if that was the worst possible thing that could happen.

      “Not this Friday.”

      “Oh, good. For a minute there, I thought we might have a problem.”

      “We?” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have a problem, but it sounds like you do.” She wasn’t going to let him con her into his schemes quite so easily.

      “But you’ll be here.”

      “I was planning on soaking in the tub, giving my hair a hot-oil treatment and hibernating with a good book.”

      “But you could still make dinner, couldn’t you? Something simple like seafood jambalaya with shrimp, stuffed eggplant and pecan pie for dessert.”

      “Are you planning to rob a bank, as well?” At his blank stare, she elaborated. “Honestly, Derek, have you checked out the price of seafood lately?”

      “No, but you cooked that Cajun meal not long ago and—”

      “Shrimp was on sale,” she broke in.

      He continued undaunted. “And it was probably the most delicious meal I’ve ever tasted in my whole life. I was kicking myself because Reed wasn’t here and he would have loved it as much as everyone else.”

      At the mention of Reed’s name, Ellen’s lashes fell, hiding the confusion and longing in her eyes. The house had been full of college boys, yet it had seemed astonishingly empty without Reed. He’d been with them barely a week and Ellen couldn’t believe how much his presence had affected her. The morning he’d left, she’d walked him out to his truck, trying to think of a way to say goodbye and to thank him for understanding the emotions that raged through her at the news of her mother’s remarriage. But nothing had turned out quite as she’d expected. Reed had seemed just as reluctant to say goodbye as she was, and before climbing into the truck, he’d leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips over hers. The kiss had been so spontaneous that Ellen wasn’t sure if he’d really meant to do it. But intentional or not, he had, and the memory of that kiss stayed with her. Now hardly a day passed that he didn’t enter her thoughts.

      A couple of times when she was on the second floor she’d wandered into her old bedroom, forgetting that it now belonged to Reed. Both times, she’d lingered there, enjoying the sensation of remembering Reed and their verbal battles.

      Repeatedly Ellen told herself that it was because Derek’s brother was over twenty-one and she could therefore carry on an adult conversation with him. Although she was genuinely fond of the boys, she’d discovered that a constant diet of their antics and their adolescent preoccupations—Pat’s basketball, Monte’s appetite and Derek’s Michelle—didn’t exactly make for stimulating conversation.

      “You really are a fantastic cook,” Derek went on. “Even better than my mother. You know, only the other day Monte was saying—”

      “Don’t you think you’re putting it on a little thick, Derek?”

      He blinked. “I just wanted to tell you how much I’d appreciate it if you decided to do me this tiny favor.”

      “You’ll buy the ingredients yourself?”

      “The grocery budget couldn’t manage it?”

      “Not unless everyone else is willing to eat oatmeal three times a week for the remainder of the month.”

      “I don’t suppose they would be,” he muttered. “All right, make me a list and I’ll buy what you need.”

      Ellen was half hoping that once he saw the price of fresh shrimp, he’d realize it might be cheaper to take Michelle to a seafood restaurant.

      “Oh, by the way,” Derek said, examining one of the envelopes in his hand. “You got a letter. Looks like it’s from Reed.”

      “Reed?” Her lungs slowly contracted as she said his name, and it was all she could do not to snatch the envelope out of Derek’s hand. The instant he gave it to her, she tore it open.

      “What does he say?” Derek asked, sorting through the rest of the mail. “He didn’t write me.”

      Ellen quickly scanned the contents. “He’s asking if the electrician has showed up yet. That’s all.”

      “Oh? Then why didn’t he just call? Or send an email?”

      She didn’t respond, but made a show of putting the letter back inside the envelope. “I’ll go into the kitchen and make that grocery list before I forget.”

      “I’m really grateful, Ellen, honest.”

      “Sure,” she grumbled.

      As soon as the kitchen door swung shut, Ellen took out Reed’s letter again, intent on savoring every word.

      Dear Ellen,

      I realized I don’t have your email address, so I thought I’d do this the old-fashioned way—by mail. There’s something so leisurely and personal about writing a letter, isn’t there?

      You’re right, the Monterey area is beautiful. I wish I could say that everything else is as peaceful as the scenery here. Unfortunately it’s not. Things have been hectic. But if all goes well, I should be back at the house by Saturday, which is earlier than I expected.

      Have you become accustomed to the idea that your mother’s remarried? I know it was a shock. Like I said, I remember how I felt, and that was many years ago. I’ve been thinking about it all—and wondering about you. If I’d known what was happening, I might have been able to postpone this trip. You looked like you needed someone. And knowing you, it isn’t often that you’re willing to lean on anyone. Not the independent, self-sufficient woman I discovered walking around my kitchen half-naked. I can almost see your face getting red when you read that. I shouldn’t tease you, but I can’t help it.

      By the way, I contacted a friend of mine who owns an electrical business and told him about the problem with the kitchen outlet. He said he’d try to stop by soon. He’ll call first.

      I wanted you to know that I was thinking about you—and the boys, but mostly you. Actually, I’m pleased you’re there to keep those kids in line.

      Take care and I’ll see you late Saturday.

      Say hi to the boys for me. I’m trusting that they aren’t giving you any problems.

      Reed

      Ellen folded the letter and slipped it into her pocket. She crossed her arms, smiling to herself, feeling incredibly good. So Reed had been thinking about her. And she sensed that it was more than the troublesome kitchen outlet that had prompted his letter. Although she knew it would be dangerous for her to read too much into Reed’s message, Ellen couldn’t help feeling encouraged.

      She propped open her cookbook, compiling the list of items Derek would need for his fancy dinner with Michelle. A few minutes later, her spirits soared still higher when the electrical contractor phoned and arranged a date and a time to check the faulty outlet. Somehow, that seemed like a good omen to her—a kind of proof that she really was in Reed’s thoughts.

      “Was the phone for me?” Derek called from halfway down the stairs.

      Ellen finished writing the information on the pad by the phone before answering. “It was the electrician.”

      “Oh. I’m expecting a call from Michelle.”

      “Speaking of your true love, here’s your grocery list.”

      Derek took it and slowly ran his finger down the items she’d need for his dinner with Michelle. “Is this going to cost more than twenty-five dollars?” He glanced up, his face doubtful.

      “The pecans alone will be that much,” she exaggerated.