The Chance. Robyn Carr

      Eric got out of the car and handed over the key fob. He pulled out a receipt from the inside pocket of his jacket. “We serviced the brakes, changed the oil, gave it a lube, rotated the tires and I checked over everything. You’re in very good shape, no surprises. I’d recommend service checks regularly, which depends on how much driving you do. Your car is well cared for.”

      “You should’ve just called me,” she said. “I would have come for it.”

      “No problem. I was happy to bring it over.”

      “But I was going to use plastic to pay for it.”

      He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket. “You can do that now if you want to or you can come by the shop another time.” He popped an attachment for scanning onto his phone. “Whatever works for you.”

      “I didn’t expect you to get to it today,” she said, obviously still surprised.

      “We weren’t busy. But there’s no rush on—”

      “No, I can pay you now. Come inside, Eric.”

      “I don’t mind waiting....”

      “For Pete’s sake, come inside!” And she turned to precede him into the house.

      Eric stood there for a second. He hadn’t meant to disrupt her day, just wanted to make an effort, show he was both a businessman with great customer service and...well...a gentleman. He followed her a bit slowly. She’d left the door standing open and he entered. It was just a few steps past the foyer staircase into the great room.

      “Wow,” he said.

      There was a fire ablaze in the hearth, cozy furniture complete with pictures and hangings on the walls, throws on the chair and sectional sofa, a panoramic view of the bay out of the back windows, flowers on the table and wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. Something was simmering on the stove and Laine used an oven mitt to pull something out of the oven.

      “Wow?” she asked.

      “It’s so...domestic,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, looking around. It was earth tones with splashes of lavender and blue here and there. And there was some red but just some, not much. Welcoming. Warm.

      “It’s a home,” she said with a laugh.

      “I know, but aren’t you single?”

      “I am.”

      “I’m sorry. I’ve only seen you out for a run and you said you do computer research. The only girlfriend I’ve had in the past few years was that web designer. I don’t think she knew where the kitchen was. And she was allergic to housework. But she loved her computers.”

      Laine took off the oven mitts and grabbed her purse. “If I’m going to live here, it’s going to be comfortable. And I like to cook. Not all the time, but it relaxes me. I’m having company for dinner tonight, but I also do this for myself. What happened to the girlfriend?”

      “She dumped me for a computer programmer. I bet they live in squalor and are either thin from starvation or getting fat on take-out.”

      He saw a framed picture of Laine with a man—a very good-looking man. They appeared so happy. Then there was a second picture on the sofa table, a picture of two little girls. For a second he felt almost sick. She couldn’t have lost her family! That would be too cruel.

      She found her credit card and presented it. “My nieces,” she said. “You don’t seem to be too traumatized. About the computer girl.”

      She didn’t explain the man, but that was all right. He swiped the card and presented the screen for her to sign. “We probably weren’t right for each other anyway. The biggest thing we had in common was that we worked a lot.”

      “Well, what drew you together? Ever ask yourself that?” She scrawled her name across the small screen.

      “A friend. You know—one of those friends who can’t stand to see a single man on the loose and has to do something to hook ’em up. Don’t friends do that to you?”

      “No,” she said. “Apparently none of my friends were ever concerned.”

      “Never married?” he asked.

      She just shook her head. “I haven’t dated that much. I travel a lot in my job.”

      “But you do computer work. How do you travel for that?”

      “No one likes sending people to training, seminars, leadership workshops or temporary duty to other divisions like the government does. To me, the computer is a tool. I’m no more fascinated by it than that. When I’m not working overtime or on the road, I have other interests. I’ve always liked to cook. It reminds me of my mother, who loved to cook.”

      “Wow.”

      “You’re getting turned on.” She put her card back in her purse. “You just met a woman who likes to cook and live in clean environs and you’re actually getting turned on.”

      “No, I swear...”

      “Yes, you are! I think you’d marry me right now if I’d promise to love, honor, vacuum and cook.”

      “Seriously, no...”

      “It’s because you live in a motel. And probably because none of your friends are trying to fix you up,” she said. “You’re looking for a domestic.”

      “Hey, I am not. I’m a good cook, too. Very good. In fact, I’ll be happy to cook for you....” He stopped and rubbed a hand around the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I’d have to borrow your kitchen, however.”

      She laughed.

      “I’ve been renovating and updating the station. From early in the morning to late at night...”

      “You’re welcome to join us tonight, if you like. It’s just my friend Devon, her fiancé, her three-year-old and her friend, Rawley.”

      “Thanks, that’s very nice, but I don’t want to intrude.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “I’ll probably run into you at the diner or something. Let me know if the car is unsatisfactory in any way.”

      “Can I give you a lift back to the station?”

      “Nah, I like the walk. Have a nice evening.”

      He walked outside, into the brisk, moist air. He took a deep breath.

      Not only had finding a woman been the last thing on his mind, but he also thought it made perfect sense to avoid such attachments in a little town like this, a town where he needed to make a living, needed to be respected by his friends and customers. He really couldn’t risk things like romantic drama. Plus, the only female who really had his attention was Ashley, his seventeen-year-old daughter. And he was making a real effort not to dominate her time—she was a high school senior and had better things to do. Besides, he needed little more than work, peace of mind, a little time with Ashley and an opportunity to watch her complete her growth into a fine young woman.

      But then he noticed Laine. And damned if all those resolutions started to grow weak.

      * * *

      Laine had a very nice dinner with her friends. Spencer brought his son, Austin, a polite and funny ten-year-old. She got the biggest kick out of Rawley, who did very little talking, but was constantly finding things to point out to Mercy. He asked if she wanted her doll to sit at the table with them, prompted her to scrape up red sauce onto her garlic toast, asked if she had drawn any pictures of him lately and wanted to know what movies she’d been watching on her hand-me-down portable DVD player. To the adults, he didn’t have that much to say unless he was asked a direct question.

      Two days later she ran into Eric in the diner. True, she thought she might and timed the end of her run specifically for that purpose. And of course he asked about her little dinner party and if her car was running all right. Two days after that she