A half hour later, he poured himself a cup of coffee and went back to drawing.
He knew a couple more hours had passed when he heard a horn blow outside in the driveway.
Sara is home
, he thought, remembering the routine from yesterday.
Shane walked to the door and held it open for her. When she saw him, she squealed in surprise and ran to the house. He waved as nonchalantly as he could to the school bus driver as she drove off.
“What are you doing here?” Sara asked. “You were just here yesterday.”
“Yes, I was. Your Aunt Teresa was very tired today, so I came to help her. She’s still sleeping so let’s be really quiet okay?” Shane suggested.
Sara nodded. “Are you making me lunch?”
“Yes—I think I can do that. What do you usually eat?” he asked.
“
Neenut utter
and jelly,” she said.
“Peanut butter and jelly?” Shane asked, repeating the words correctly.
“That’s what I said,” Sara told him. “Weren’t you listening?”
“Sorry,” Shane said, not sure what he was apologizing for, even when Sara smiled nicely at his regret.
Then it occurred to him that maybe Sara was mispronouncing on purpose. The little monkey wanted everyone’s constant attention and had some very charming ways of getting it. It was going to be bad for future men in her life if she found out the true power of that ability.
“Let’s go to the kitchen,” Shane told her. “I’ve been working in there. You can keep me company while I make lunch.”
“Okay. Do you cook?” Sara asked.
“Not really,” Shane asked honestly. “But I can handle
neenut utter
and jelly.”
Sara laughed. “You’re not saying it right.”
“What?” Shane asked, feigning surprise.
“
Neenut utter
and jelly,” Sara corrected.
“That’s what I said,” Shane told her, frowning. “Weren’t you listening?”
“Shaney—you are not that funny,” she said.
“Right. I think I’m losing my touch. Blondes used to like me better,” Shane told her, lifting her into a chair at the table. “Want me to teach you to draw?”
“YES!” Sara said. “I would like that very much.”
“Okay. Let me make us lunch first,” Shane told her.
***
Reesa woke to a brightly lit room and wondered where she was. She rolled her head to the side and saw the clock read twelve fifteen. Sitting up quickly, she realized she’d missed Sara coming home, but—she could hear Sara talking.
Who is with her?
she thought.
She ducked into the bathroom, took care of things and washed her face before going to investigate. In the kitchen, she saw two blonde heads bent over many sheets of paper spread out on the table.
“Hi,” she said, coming into the kitchen, still dressed in her sweats and tank top.
“Aunt Teresa, I’m drawing,” Sara said, lifting her head briefly and then going back to what she was doing.
“I see that,” Reesa said, feeling Shane’s caressing gaze taking in her appearance.
“Hi,” Shane said, smiling. “You look much better.”
Reesa nodded. “You two look awfully busy. I didn’t expect you to stay, Shane.”
Shane shrugged, meeting her direct gaze with his. “I stole some paper and started drawing. I actually got quite a bit done. Thought I might hang around to see what kind of plans you had.”
“I have a ton of errands to run this afternoon,” Reesa said, sighing and letting her gaze go flat. “Tomorrow morning I have to go to—”
Her gaze darted to Sara’s head bent over her drawing.
“I have a hearing at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. Thursday morning I have to meet with Brian’s counselor. I won’t have another free day until next week,” Reesa said, sounding disappointed when she had been meaning to sound unapologetic.
When Shane’s gaze softened on her, she had an urge to cry. Fighting that, she turned her back and saw the remnants of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on plates on the counter.
He’d made lunch for Sara. She turned back to him. “If I’d known you were making lunch, I’d have had you make me a sandwich too. Peanut butter and jelly is my favorite.”
Shane’s face creased with a smile. “I make a mean sandwich. I can fix one for you now if you want.”
Reesa shook her head. “No—I think I’ll make a grilled cheese instead. How do you feel about grilled cheese sandwiches? Maybe I could toss in some tomato soup too.”
“Sounds good to me. I had a sandwich with Sara, but I could eat again. Neenut utter and jelly just doesn’t do it for me,” Shane said, laughing when Sara looked up at him frowning.
“It’s
peanut butter and jelly
, Shaney,” Sara said loudly.
“Sorry—my bad. Did I mispronounce it again?” Shane asked her.
“Yes. I told you that is not funny,” Sara said, going back to her drawing.
Reesa raised one eyebrow at Shane. What she wouldn’t have given to have heard the whole conversation. Sara definitely knew how to pronounce the words. She just had a habit of choosing not to do so. The grief counselor had said it was a form of intentional regression.
Reesa turned back to counter and stove, and made a couple sandwiches.
When she brought Shane’s to the table, she sucked in her breath and looked in complete awe at the mass of drawings laid out in sequence.
“Wow. You really are an artist,” Reesa said. “Is that the next novel? Hey—that looks like
me
.” She pointed to the woman in several of the panels.
Shane watched expressions of wonder, embarrassment, and something he couldn’t quite name flitter through her gaze on his work.
“It is you. I gave the heroine your face after our first—
date
,” he said finally, hoping she wasn’t upset.
“You made me a superhero?” Reesa asked, laughing. “I don’t know what to say.”
“No—you already were a superhero. I just didn’t know it then—well, I guess I must have on some level. Want to see the first picture I ever drew of you?” Shane asked, reaching into his back pocket to pull out the folded picture he kept there.
Reesa couldn’t even nod. What could she say? She was overwhelmed that Shane had drawn her image at all. She certainly didn’t know what to think about it.
“I need to get ready. Sara has a costume fitting for her dance recital and we’ll need to leave soon. I think I’ll just take my sandwich back to eat while I’m getting dressed,” Reesa said, turning away to flee the kitchen and his gaze on her.
Shane slid the still folded paper back into this pocket and wondered how much longer Reesa was going to run from what was between them.
***
Drake Barrymore was practically jogging down the street as he checked the watch he forced himself to wear. He sighed at how late he was running for the appointment. Fortunately, he was in good enough shape that he wasn’t yet breathing hard from his concrete jog. His ponytail swung a bit with his long strides, but not enough to annoy him. He knew he needed to cut it, but it reminded him of happier times in his life. It was the only thing that still did.
Drake checked his watch again and picked up his pace a little more.
He hoped he hadn’t missed Dr. Daniels and her group. It would be a real boost to his department if they could offer senior art majors a place to show and sell their work, not to mention his own. Hard to find time to market yourself when you were teaching a full load every semester and functioning as chair—damn the cutbacks anyway.
He rounded the corner and saw the door still open. Relieved, he rushed in and up to the tall red-head standing in the middle of the room. She looked just like her picture, except for the strands of gray in her hair. Drake would guess the woman was more like his age despite the Internet picture looking much younger.
“Dr. Daniels,” he said sticking out his hand. “I’m Drake Barrymore. Nice to meet you.”
Jessica automatically put her hand in the man’s and gave him a complete once over that ended with a perusal of his gray-streaked hair. He was five-ten, in good shape, and had a nice handshake. He was also very good looking as most artistic types were. While he wasn’t as manly as Will Larson, he wasn’t bad either.
“Mom—behave,” Brooke said, walking up. “Dr. Barrymore—
I’m Brooke Daniels
. It’s nice to meet you. This is my mother, Jessica Daniels—soon to be Larson.”
Brooke nudged her mother out of the way to shake the stunned man’s hand. “Thank you for coming down to meet us.”
Drake’s gaze swung from the taller older version of the woman to the shorter younger one. It was like looking at an exact clone that had been down sized.
His assessing gaze raked the younger woman from hair to toes, taking in all the details on this trip. Wow. Brooke Daniels looked
exactly
like her school website picture, only even younger. She was remarkable really, just perfect with her cascading red curls and flashing blue gaze full of intelligence.
His gaze fell to her breasts and dropped to her hips. Proportionally perfect, he thought, straightening when he felt a tightening in his body.
Oops—lingered a bit too long
, Drake decided. How intriguing…he was physically attracted to Brooke Daniels. Normally, young women were nothing more to him than beautiful scenery. He liked to paint them, but he didn’t usually want to get to know them.
Then again, he hadn’t wanted to get to know anyone in a really long time. Maybe it was her freshness that appealed to him. She looked about as green as they made them.
“How old are you, Dr. Daniels? You look like you’ve barely graduated,” Drake said sharply, sweeping her body again. Rude or not, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from checking her out.
Brooke narrowed her gaze on Drake Barrymore and dropped her hand out of his. Barrymore was good-looking, but not good enough to tolerate his attitude. “Yes. I have a diploma and everything. My mommy bought it for me, jackas—”
“Dr. Barrymore,” Jessica interrupted loudly before Brooke could tear a bigger piece out of him. “It was kind of you to come meet us today. My daughter and I are both here with Carrie Larson, who is the potential gallery owner.”
Wanting to draw the man’s attention away from her scowling daughter, Jessica raised a hand to point at Carrie who was walking around the space now with the realtor. “I’m sure Carrie would love to hear what kind of help you could be to her in this decision.”
“Of course,” Drake said, pulling his awareness away from his reaction to Brooke Daniels to the reason he had come tearing through campus to meet them.
He supposed he owed her an apology. She was, after all, a colleague of sorts. Young women were so insecure about themselves. She might have been truly offended by his questions.
“Dr. Daniels—forgive my rudeness. I’ve—I’ve had a stressful morning, but that’s no excuse for my comments. My socially polite filter seems to be failing me today. I tend to speak my thoughts a bit too freely at times.”
“Sure. Whatever,” Brooke motioned his lame apology away with her hand, like she’d shoo a child. “Go talk to Carrie. Try not to insult her, too.”
Drake felt a flush climb his face at her chastisement. God, the woman had a temper and an irreverent mouth.
“I don’t make a habit of judging books by their covers, no matter how unexpected they are. Your appearance just surprised me based on the limited communications we’d had. I saw your mother and thought the photo on the website might have been a slightly older one. It was an honest mistake.”
Jessica’s eyebrow rose on that comment and she crossed her arms to look at him intently.
Old?
she thought. The man wasn’t that much younger than she. Who was he calling old? She gave him an more assessing look and wondered how badly Carrie needed his money.
Brooke rolled her eyes at her mother’s defensive stance. At this rate, it was going to be a toss-up which one of them skewered the socially inept Dr. Barrymore first.
“You just don’t know when to stop digging the hole deeper, do you? For your information, I don’t fake anything, and it’s none of your business how old I am,” Brooke said.
“Beg pardon?” Drake said, narrowing his eyes.
“Holy hell—never mind—this conversation is pointless,” Brooke said firmly, letting her exasperation show.
She was too irritated to debate how dense he was being any longer, but had the sudden realization that she’d let the man push her buttons for no good reason. Dr. Drake Barrymore’s opinion of her credentials to teach and her youthful appearance were nothing to her.
Besides, she couldn’t afford to alienate him today—or any day.
She would play nice until he helped Carrie get her gallery. It was important to her mother, and her mother’s happiness was important to her. Other than helping that cause, Barrymore was not important. And this was how she would treat him. He was useful to her only for the purpose he would serve today.
New resolve in place, Brooke walked up and hooked her arm through Drake Barrymore’s, wanting to laugh when he tensed at her touch.
All talk and no action
, Brooke decided, unable to fully constrain a derisive snort when Barrymore tried to pull away.