Page 69 of Where Dreams Begin

“You make it sound so simple.” She sighed.

“Nothing is ever simple. Didn’t Sam ever do anything to disappoint you?”

“Other than to die, you mean?”

Luke released her instantly. “God, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to provide a demonstration of how stupid men can be. But I shouldn’t have asked that.”

She was more appalled by her own flippant response than by his question. When she turned toward him, he looked so angry with himself that she raised her hands to frame his face and kissed him soundly. She wasn’t certain when it had happened, but she could talk about Sam now without dissolving in tears. That it might be due in part to the healing nature of Luke’s affection wasn’t lost on her.

“I don’t compare the two of you,” she stressed. “But we can’t pretend I wasn’t married to Sam, or that Marsha wasn’t your wife. But those days are over. You may ask me about Sam whenever you like, but frankly, I don’t give a damn about whatever Marsha might or might not have done.”

Luke still looked mortified. “I am sorry, though. It was a thoughtless question.”

“No, it was a logical one. Upon occasion, Sam and I did argue. I recall throwing a bright red shoe at him once, but I always knew he’d be there for me if I needed him. That’s why Joyce is so upset. Shane didn’t merely disappoint her. He abandoned her when she needed him.”

“So he’s toast,” he offered.

“Looks like it, but I’m hoping Joyce means so much to him that he’ll fill her house with roses and convince her to forgive him.”

He’d relaxed enough to lean back against the counter, but he pulled her along with him. “I was in junior high when I learned not to meddle in my friends’ romantic adventures. It always backfires.”

“Was asking you for advice meddling?”

“It could be considered borderline, Mrs. Brooks, so be careful.”

She slipped from his grasp and moved back to the stove. “I will. Come on, let’s talk about something else while we eat. I know a little about you, but tonight I want you to tell me about an embarrassing incident, or even a scandalous one, if you like. It could even be something stupid you did as a child and lived to tell about.”

A slow smile tugged at the corner of Luke’s mouth. “I wouldn’t want to shock you and ruin your dinner when you’ve gone to so much trouble preparing it.”

“Yes, do, please,” she begged. “What’s the most shocking thing you’ve ever done?”

“There’s only one thing that comes to mind, and you’ll have to wait until after dinner for me to show you.”

She waved the rice spoon at him. “Oh, no, I already know what a wild man you are in bed. You’ll have to use something else.”

“I wasn’t talking about sex,” he promised.

His sly grin was so charming, she gave in. “All right, that means I’ll have to go first, but I’ll warn you right now not to laugh.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised, but his smile was too wide to be convincing.

With his help, she served their dinner outside on the patio table, and she gratefully acknowledged each of his compliments. “It’s a very simple recipe, and one that always tastes as though I spent days preparing it.”

“Well, whatever you do, this is the best chicken I’ve ever tasted.” He scooped up another mouthful with rice and closed his eyes to enjoy it fully before he swallowed. “If you’ve taken the edge off your hunger,” he then suggested, “go ahead and tell me something you wouldn’t list on your resume.”

She finished a bite of salad first. “It’s funny you mentioned junior high, because it brought back the memory of one of the worst days of my life. Now you might describe this as a trivial incident, but it left me scarred.”

“I assume these are metaphorical scars?” Luke asked.

“Definitely. Now, I’ve been this tall since the summer after seventh grade, and the boys I’d always thought were cute were suddenly no taller than my shoulder. I felt as clumsy as a newborn giraffe. I even began to collect little giraffe figurines.”

He took another slice of garlic bread from the wicker basket. “I can’t even imagine your being clumsy. You move like a dancer.”

“That’s my mother’s influence. She insisted tall girls needed ballet lessons, and I actually enjoyed them. But junior high isn’t really about the facts of the situation, is it? It’s about how it feels.”

“That’s not only junior high, but you’re right, feelings are much more intense then, and even the slightest hurt can be excruciatingly painful.”