“Those darn things are always coming untied,” she mumbled, wrapping her arms awkwardly around her stomach to tie her shoes.
“Let me do that,” Charles offered, getting down on one knee. He smiled up at her as he quickly and easily accomplished what took her plenty of heavy breathing to do. “Annette had trouble tying her shoes, too. And don’t get me started on pantyhose. It took her and me and a small crane to get her into those.”
Melissa laughed. “Hey, I quit trying to get into pantyhose four months ago. It was when I went to—”
Melissa stopped herself just in time. She was about to reveal that she’d last worn pantyhose when she met her lawyer at the Grand America Hotel for a fancy lunch to celebrate the signing of her divorce papers. It had been a great day and a great meal, even though the pantyhose had started cutting into her waist by the time the white chocolate cheesecake showed up for dessert. She’d only managed two bites of the luscious stuff because the pantyhose just wouldn’t budge.
Charles didn’t ask her to complete what she’d been saying, but he sobered and quickly stood up. She realized then that he probably thought she’d been about to refer to Brad’s funeral, that she’d last worn pantyhose at her dead husband’s funeral! Oh, that damn lie was going to torture her all week long!
“I’ll go home, Charles,” she said meekly, leaving him to draw whatever conclusions he wanted to from her sudden capitulation. She was just too tired to care right now. And another slip of the tongue could be disastrous.
“Good,” he said, then picked up her nanny bag. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Melissa couldn’t believe his kindness. She wanted to repay him somehow, and the first thing that came to mind was to bake for him. “Charles, thank you for being so kind!” she blurted out impetuously. “To show my appreciation, I’ll make you some cookies tomorrow. I have a wonderful chocolate-chip recipe that was handed down from my grandmother.”
Melissa was surprised when her spontaneously offered gesture of gratitude was received by Charles with a look of surprise, then a frown, then a fleeting expression of…scorn? “That won’t be necessary, Melissa.”
“But I want to. I really—”
“Have you got everything? Let’s go.”
Melissa felt hurried as Charles escorted her to the front door and outside to her car. She snatched quick glances at him, puzzled by his closed expression. Since mentioning the cookies, his mood had definitely changed!
It was still sweltering outside and it was quite a shock to go from Charles’s cool house into one hundred degrees of dry, suffocating Utah heat. Melissa could hardly bear the thought of driving home in her little hot car with only the windows and vents as cooling devices, as all the while she’d be trying to figure out what she’d said or done to make Charles suddenly so distant.
Melissa pried herself in behind the steering wheel as Charles waited and watched. He didn’t look angry or scornful anymore, just rather stern. Maybe, like her, he was simply tired, she reasoned.
Melissa turned on the ignition, smiled tentatively and waved through the open window.
“Better get those windows up and the air conditioning on, or you’re going to have a hot drive home,” Charles advised, not bothering to wave back or smile.
Melissa rolled up the window. No point going into an explanation about the car’s air conditioning being broken and her frugal decision not to fix it. He didn’t look receptive to any conversation, much less something so mundane and pathetic, anyway. Once she turned the corner at the end of the street and was out of sight, she rolled down all four windows.
HOW IRONIC, Charles thought, as he watched Melissa’s car turn the corner. Cookies.
He shook his head and chuckled, glad he was finally seeing the humor in the situation. It was history repeating itself.
He was smitten and couldn’t help being nice to her, so much so that he neglected his own concerns.
She was promising cookies as a thank you.
Well, it would be interesting to see if she actually came through this time. But if she didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. Not like it had mattered thirteen years ago.
Chapter Three
Melissa lived in Sugarhouse, about ten miles south of Charles’s place. It took her fifteen minutes to get home, but by the time she got to her building and climbed the stairs to her apartment, she was ready to die from the heat.
When she got inside, she turned up the air conditioning—which she always turned off completely while she was gone for more than a couple of hours—and plopped down on the couch directly in front of the window-mounted unit. She toed off her shoes and propped her feet on the coffee table. Sure enough, her ankles looked as though they were encircled by a couple of inflated inner tubes. When Charles had got down on his knees to tie her shoes, he’d been up close and personal with those poor, swollen ankles!
Melissa closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the sofa, lamenting the fact that she couldn’t have met Charles Avery under better circumstances. For example, when she’d had a figure, trim ankles and no ex-husband. Then she reminded herself that she had met him under those circumstances…thirteen years ago.
The baby kicked and Melissa rested her hands on her stomach, stroking it in a circular motion. She smiled dreamily. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she murmured to her unborn child. “I don’t really regret anything that got me to this place in my life. ’Cause I’ve got you.” Although she wouldn’t mind if Charles was the baby’s father and not Brad.
Melissa was shocked by this thought, coming unbidden to her mind just as she was about to doze off. After all, she barely knew Charles.
Melissa’s almost-nap was interrupted by the unmistakable three knocks, a pause, and two more knocks on the front door that was her mother’s calling card. Although she was tired, she was glad for the company. “Come in, Mom.”
Pam Richardson swung open the door and breezed into the room, looking not at all hot or uncomfortable from the heat. “How many times have I told you to lock your door, Missy!” she scolded, then scooped down to kiss Melissa on the cheek.
“I just got home. I didn’t have time to lock the door.”
“How long does it take?”
“Did you bring me something?” Melissa eyed the Tupperware her mother was carrying. There were five containers and one of them looked like brownies. Suddenly she was hungry again.
“I brought you lasagna, tuna casserole, beef stew with carrots and onions, fruit salad and—”
“Brownies?”
Pam handed her daughter the brownie container and took the rest into the kitchen, placing all but the fruit salad in the freezer. “You ate a decent dinner at that professor’s house, didn’t you?” she asked over her shoulder as she rummaged in the fridge, then emerged with a diet cola. She turned, pulled the tab on her drink and leaned her hip against the counter as she took a long swallow.
Melissa marveled at how slim, vibrant and young-looking her mother was at fifty-one. She dyed her hair to hide the emerging streaks of gray, of course, but who didn’t anymore?
Taking a bite of brownie, Melissa considered telling her mother she’d eaten a good dinner, but she never lied to her mother. She wasn’t any good at lying and it never got her anywhere, anyway. Today’s debacle was a perfect example.
She swallowed her bite of brownie and confessed, “I couldn’t eat. I was too tired.”
Pam immediately retrieved one of the Tupperware containers from the fridge, put it in the microwave and punched the appropriate