Admit it, Leigh, she told herself. A man in your life could be a lotta fun.
Yeah. In my dreams!
There had been guys.
After Charlie.
A handful. Maybe even more. But her life had always been too busy for a full-on relationship.
Because there’d been Deana. Not counting the restaurant. Plus the hard work that went with all of that.
The late nights. Early mornings.
There’d been no time, no place for a permanent man in her life.
Looking back, there’d only been one who’d even remotely fitted the bill. He’d have married her like a shot if she hadn’t been so goddamned intent on her career.
Ben.
What a fool I’ve been.
He’d have made the perfect partner.
Meeting Cherry today brought all those memories flooding back…
“Something on your mind?” Mace placed a warm hand over her cool one.
She started. “Sorry. I… met someone today. Someone from the old days. Triggered off a few memories, I guess. A blast from the past, you might say.”
She smiled into his eyes. They were dark; she hadn’t noticed how dark before. Looking into them now, she saw warmth and concern—and behind that, a raunchy twinkle.
He likes me, Leigh told herself.
Mace likes me.
A squirm of excitement stirred between her thighs. It had been far too long…
“Come and get it!” Deana bustled in with the coffeepot, cream, and sugar on a serving tray. She paused, sensing the atmosphere.
Seems like I’m interrupting a special moment here.
Good.
“Uh-huh.” Clearing a space on the table in front of them, she plonked the tray on it.
“I feel a date with my TV coming on. According to TVS, Sleepy Hollow’s showing after the news. So it’s coffee for two, I’m afraid, folks.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” Mace almost sounded sorry. “Well, don’t wait up. I’ll stay and chat with Mom a while longer.”
Deana threw Leigh a questioning glance.
Is this really what you want?
Leigh’s face stayed bland.
“Okay, honey. Try to get some rest, now. I won’t be long.” With a thoughtful face, Leigh watched Deana go.
“Hey. The kid’ll get over it. Kids do. It’s been a real bad experience for her—for you both—but she’s a survivor. She’ll be okay.”
“Think so, Mace?” Leigh seemed unsure. She concentrated on pouring the coffee. Black for Mace; white, no sugar for herself.
“Right on. Few weeks from now and it never happened.”
She still wore a worried frown, and he took her hand in his.
“Nice place you got here, Leigh. Great view of the Bay. I’d sure like to take some shots. All that perspective, sweeping down to the Gate. Wonderful vantage point—best I’ve seen.”
“Shots?”
He laughed. “Not those kinda shots. Shots as in photographs.”
“Oh, you take pictures. Professionally?”
“Nah. Just a hobby. But I like to think, once in a while, they’ll be good enough for exhibition. Had one or two in an L.A. gallery last year. Got some okay reviews.”
“Nice going, Mace. And sure. Feel free. You’re welcome to take shots from my window anytime!”
They exchanged glances and smiled.
Sharing the joke.
They lapsed into silence. It was one of those rare, comfortable moments when Leigh felt at peace with the world.
It was a good feeling.
“Mace?”
“Uh-huh?”
“This is great. Y’know that?”
“Mmmm… Yeah. Suits me, too.”
“Do you… have anyone? I mean, anyone special?”
“Me? Nope. Girl I met at college was the last special one that I recall. Wanda Baker, her name was. Yeah. She was something special. Till she got herself carved up, that is.”
“Mace! Whatever happened?” She glanced at his face. It looked dark. Closed. She shivered a little, then said, “There’s no need to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“That’s okay. I don’t have a problem with that. Not anymore.”
He leaned forward, studying his Nike sneakers, arms resting on his knees, hands hanging slack between his thighs.
“She was the prettiest little thing,” he said. “Blond. Five two and a bit, and neat with it. Y’know? Her dad died when she was a year old. Her mom committed suicide, so she was brought up by an old aunt.
“Wanda was an old-fashioned kinda girl. Quiet. Kept to herself.” He eased back into the sofa, staring through the glass wall into the night.
“Oh, Mace. What a terrible story. And for her to get murdered…”
“You move on, Leigh. Have to. Otherwise you break. Anyway,” he said, looking deep into her eyes, “you said you met someone from your past. Tell me about it.”
“How about a Courvoisier?” Leigh asked him.
“Long story, huh?”
“No. That time of night, is all.”
“Sure. I’m not on duty. A drink’d be fine.”
Leigh stepped over to the bar and decanted cognac into two balloon glasses. She handed one to Mace, took the other, and sat sideways on the sofa, facing him.
“It was eighteen years ago. I was pregnant with Deana. Mom and Dad sent me to an aunt in San Diego…” She caught the question in his eyes. “I was eighteen and single,” she explained. “I needed somewhere to have my baby.”
Mace frowned.
“I had my baby. Made a life for myself. Oh, I was capable, all right. Knew it all. Rebellious. Anti-everything, so Dad said. Practically a member of the Great Unwashed…” She grimaced at the thought. “I went on marches, though. Did demos.”
Mace grinned. “You were a hippie?”
“Looking back, I suppose you could say that. But it wasn’t all flowers in the hair, peace, man, and all that jazz. Sure, I did demos. Got involved with the cops.
“Anyway, that was here in Tiburon. Before I got myself pregnant. After that…” She paused. “When I went to San Diego, I met a young art student, Cherry Dornay. She was a great kid. Free as the wind, happy, and a real pleasure to be around, I guess.
“She had a brother, Ben. Now, he was a real hippie. Long hair, beard, wild shirts, Jesus boots. Into the Beatles. The works.”
She broke off, embarrassed. She felt awkward. Guilty, divulging this piece of her personal past to a comparative stranger. She hadn’t even told Deana about her friendship with Cherry and Ben.
Mace was smiling at her. She relaxed again. The mood was just right: warm, friendly, with more than a hint of sexual awareness, which she knew they both were feeling. Her heartbeat quickened, bringing a flush to her cheeks.
“Sounds like you really enjoyed life back there,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
“And you met this girl again, today?”
“Right. It was a… wonderful surprise. We had a lot of catching up to do.”
“You never kept in touch?”
“No,” Leigh gave a wistful smile. “I guess I was too busy. Too busy making plans. Set my heart on having my own restaurant. Not easy, with a baby. But I managed; Mom and Dad helped me financially. Kept us both clothed and fed…”
“You didn’t go back there. Home, I mean?”
“Not straightaway. I was proud. Wanted to prove myself. Wanted to redeem myself, I guess. Show Mom and Dad I could be a success. Show them I’d grown up and could look after my daughter okay.”
“You’ve sure done all of that, Leigh. You’ve got a great kid who’s going to college in the fall, and a successful restaurant. Your folks must be real proud of you.”