Catching His Eye

Plane tickets flashed in his mind for a second, but he chased them away. If he started down that path, he’d never find his way back. “I know, Mrs. Weeks, and I’m very grateful you watch out for her.”

“I do my best.”

He presented his tomato on his open palm. “Here she is. Best tomato in the place.”

Mrs. Weeks smiled as she took the vegetable in her hands. She smelled it and smiled. “Like father like son.”

I hope not. The uncharitable thought caught him off guard. What a thing to think. His father had been a fine man. Honest and thorough and kind, even though he was tough. He’d worked his whole life so that the family would have a decent house and cars, and so that Scott could go to college.

“You tell Mary I’ll come by on Tuesday.”

“I will, Mrs. Weeks.”

She headed toward the checkout counter. He wondered if her daughter came to visit. Probably. Probably called all the time. Franny Weeks was eleven years older than him, and she used to be his baby-sitter. She’d been a piece of work. Always had her nose in a book. Hated sports, even watching them.

He headed toward the bread aisle to see what he had to bring from the back. For nine-thirty on a Sunday morning, there were quite a few people in the small store. Neighbors, each one.

He noticed Jack Gates, who had retired after a lifetime of working at the hardware store. Scott remembered when Jack had helped him build a doghouse for Knute, Scott’s old mutt. Knute had passed on fifteen years ago, but the doghouse, still in the backyard, looked weathered but sturdy. Just like Jack himself.

Aura Lee Merchant studied the salad dressing, her body shaking with Parkinson’s disease. She’d been a teacher at Sheridan Elementary, although he hadn’t been in her class.

Ted Cooper, Mrs. Freed, Karen Crane. They’d all been coming here for years. No superstores for them. They liked the personal service, but more, they liked the continuity. At least that was his theory.

But whatever the reason they liked the store, they would stop coming if things didn’t improve. The rolls were almost all gone. Half the name brand breads were gone, too. He’d better call the distributors and find out what was going on.

A young man, surprising in this store of older customers, approached him tentatively. “Mr. Dillon?”

“Yep.”

The boy cleared his throat. Wiped his hands on his jeans. He looked to Scott to be about thirteen. His Cowboys T-shirt had seen better days, but it was clean. “I’m Jeff Grogin.”

“How you doing?”

Jeff thrust out his hand. Scott shook it, wondering if this was his next stock boy.

“Is it true that during the state championships you threw for 549 yards?”

A fan. Too young to have seen Scott play. But in a town this size, his football career was as well-known as the Pledge of Allegiance. “Yep. It’s true.”

The boy blinked a couple of times. “I play some football, too.”

“Do you?”

“For the Tigers. I’m the varsity quarterback.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen, sir.”

Sir. Suddenly Scott felt like he was a hundred. “Well, what can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to, um maybe have a Coke or something?”

Scott raised his eyebrow. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Bobby’s face flushed scarlet. “No! I mean, no, sir. I just thought—”

Scott waved away the boy’s explanation and smiled to show he’d been kidding. “I know what you mean. Sure, sure. We can do that. Just not today.”

“Anytime, sir.”

“But we can’t go if you keep calling me sir. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. I mean—”

“Scott. Scott is the name you’re looking for.”

The boy, who Scott still couldn’t believe was old enough to play football, grinned like he’d just won a new car. “Great. Maybe tomorrow? Or Tuesday. Tuesday would be just fine.”

“You seem to have some free time on your hands.”

“I do. A little, I mean. With school and practice and homework—”

“How’d you like to talk about football three, four times a week?”

Bobby’s eyes widened until they were almost as large as Mrs. Weeks’. “Oh, man! Are you serious?”

Scott nodded. “I need a stock boy. Part-time.”

“A job?”

“A job.”

“Wow. I’d have to make sure the hours wouldn’t interfere with practice. Coach says—”

“I know what Coach says. What do you say tomorrow you give me your schedule, and we’ll work around it. When we have our soda, that is.”

Bobby nodded vigorously. “Sure thing, Scott.” He said the name as if it were underlined.

It was Scott’s turn to thrust out his hand. The boy took it eagerly and, after a rousing shake, he let go and headed out of the bread aisle.

Scott wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this little conversation. He was glad to have the help at the store, but he wasn’t very comfortable with all that sir stuff. And he didn’t want to talk about football. Not much, anyway.

He didn’t want to be one of those guys who sat in bars and talked about the glory days. Not at twenty-six.

He looked at his watch. Another hour until he could get out of here. Meet with Emily. That would be good. Of all the people he knew in Sheridan, Emily and Coach were the two he respected most. Coach, because he was the best strategist in high school football. And Emily? Emily because, well she was Emily.

As he walked to the stockroom, he wondered if she was married. Probably. Smart men snatched up women like her.

EMILY SAW THE CHIP in her nail polish just as Scott walked up to the table. She smiled as if her manicure was perfect. He slid into the booth with a sigh.

“Hey, Em,” he said so casually anyone would think they met like this every week. In fact, she’d figured out exactly when they’d last sat down to talk. Senior year, graduation. Just before the ceremony was about to begin, Scott had walked right up to her, taken her hand, and led her to a bench on the quad. Her heart had pounded so furiously she was sure he could hear it.

But his stealing her away wasn’t quite as romantic as her imagination presumed. He thanked her for all the times she’d listened to him go on about school and Cathy and football. He thanked her, in his shy, stumbling way, for helping him with English. And then he said goodbye, even though it wasn’t even summer yet. He’d said goodbye like he wasn’t ever coming back.

Who would have guessed that nine years later they’d be sitting in the last empty booth at Zeke’s Place? That the afternoon sun would stream through the holes in the plastic window shades in such a way. That he’d look at her with the same friendly eyes. As she thought it, she realized with a start that his eyes weren’t the same at all. They were older, although not by much, but that wasn’t the thing. Her memory of that day in the quad was vibrant inside her, and the most vivid of the memories was the look of excitement in Scott’s eyes. A look that held every promise, a look a man might have just before a great voyage. Now, his eyes seemed dull, defeated. She hoped it wasn’t so. “You look tired.”

“I am.” He signaled the waiter, who came right to the table. “I’ll have a Corona.” He looked at Emily.

“Iced tea, please.”

The waiter nodded and left to get their drinks. Then it was just her, Scott and the butterflies in her stomach. Tired or not, he still did it for her. Did it in a major way. A small part of her wanted to tell him how she’d loved him back in high school. But then sanity reared its blessed head. “So,” she said, steering the conversation in the direction it was supposed to go, “why are you so tired?”

He shook his head and her gaze was caught by his hair. The overhead light showed his subtle highlights, but it was the thickness that made her want to touch it. “The store. It’s taking a lot more work than I imagined.”

“I was so sorry to hear about your father.”

“Thanks. I miss him.”

“I’ll bet,” she said, amazed that even though he still made her nervous, it wasn’t all that hard to talk to him. In fact, it was more like old times than she ever would have imagined. “And I’ll bet your mother misses him, too.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s having a hard time of it.”

“How wonderful that you could come back to help.”

His jaw flexed, and his gaze shifted away. He put down his menu, then moved his water glass an inch to the left.

“Rather be somewhere else, eh?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “How did you…?”

“You may be a great football player, Scott, but you’re as subtle as a bull moose.”

He grinned. “Boy, some things never change.”

“Pardon?”

“You never did have a problem telling the truth, did you?”

She shrugged. “Only to myself.”

He studied her for a long while, as if he’d just realized who she was. What was he seeing? Was he marching down memory lane, too?

The drinks came, distracting him.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked.

“What?”

“Where you’d rather be?”

The left side of his mouth quirked up. “This is just like high school, remember?”

“The library.”

“And the bench by the fountain.”

She remembered each and every time they’d talked like this. In fact, her diaries, long relegated to the back of her closet, held almost verbatim transcripts of their discussions. Every word had been golden to her, and she’d thought him the funniest, sweetest, smartest guy in the world.

At least that had changed. Oh, he was funny and sweet and smart, he just wasn’t a deity anymore. But he sure was gorgeous. All sorts of muscles in her body contracted at that thought. She knew he was human, that he had faults, that he more than likely wasn’t the least bit suitable for her, but she didn’t care. She still wanted her night. One night where she’d catch him staring, unadulterated lust shining in his eyes. Was it too much to ask for?

“Those were good times,” he said. “I’m not sure if I ever really thanked you for your help with Cathy.”

Pop. Her bubble burst at the mention of Cathy Turner. The belle of Sheridan High, and the one person in the whole world that Emily hated. Not that she knew Cathy all that well, but every time she’d run into her over the years, Emily had been left with a bad taste in her mouth.

Cathy had been the head cheerleader, and that about said it all. Perfect little body. Perfect hair. Perfect clothes. And most annoying, a perfect boyfriend.

She waved away the thanks. “I want to hear what’s going on now.”

“I’m glad to be helping Mom out with the store, but…”

“But?”

“But the timing sucks.”

“Why?”

“I was supposed to go for an interview tomorrow. At ESPN. The sports network.”

She nodded. “An interview for what?”

He leaned in, his eyes lighting with a hint of that old inner fire. “It’s a brand-new idea. Something no one’s tried before. They’re going to send someone to all the high school teams to profile the best players, the stars of the future. And they want someone young to do it.”

“You’d be good at that.”

He nodded unselfconsciously. “I would. That’s the thing. I’d be perfect for the job, except—”

“Except you’re back here, and ESPN is in Connecticut.”

“How’d you know that?”

She smiled enigmatically. “I know everything, Scott. Don’t you remember?”

He laughed at the old joke, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Your mother, does she know?”

“Oh, no. She doesn’t have a clue.”

“And I suppose you’re not going to tell her?”

“I don’t want her to feel worse than she already does.”

“What are you going to do?”

His answer was delayed by the arrival of their waiter, finally ready to take their orders. Scott wanted a burger with all the trimmings. So did Emily, but she ordered a salad instead, dressing on the side, of course.

“I’m going to work at the store,” Scott said as soon as the waiter left. “Mom won’t sell it. I’ve already asked about that.”

“And no one else can run it for her?”

“She doesn’t trust anyone but me.”

“I understand.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know if I do. I mean, why would this plum of a job fall in my lap, just to be snatched away like this? It doesn’t seem right.”

“It isn’t right or wrong, Scott. It’s not personal at all, even if it feels like it is.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried being stoic, and it works for a while. But then the reality of what I’m missing comes up and whacks me in the face.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” He sat for a moment, lost in the thought of a future that wasn’t to be his, then took a big swig from his beer. “What’s your story?” he asked.

“Me? No story. I teach. I enjoy it. I’m still tight with The Girlfriends.”

“Oh, man. I haven’t thought of that in years. You guys were crazy.”

“We still are.”

“Good. Some things shouldn’t change.”

Emily watched as he leaned back in his chair and looked around the diner. There were lots of places to eat in Sheridan, but when someone asked if you wanted a cup of coffee what they really meant was if you wanted to meet them at Zeke’s Place. The service was good, the decor inoffensive if bland, and the coffee strong and pure, none of that latte half-caff for Zeke.

Emily had been coming here since she was a girl, and she’d sat in this very booth and whined about the man across from her. How he didn’t know she was alive. How he kept going out with that horrible Cathy Turner.

She’d loved him for so long, it was as much a part of her as her hair, her eyes. Why couldn’t she get over him? It would make life so much easier.

“You have a husband?” Scott asked.

She shook her head.

He shrugged and her gaze went to his broad shoulders, but she couldn’t think about those now. “I figured you’d be married by now. Have a kid or two.”

“Me?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t even have a boyfriend. I mean right now. I have had a boyfriend before, don’t get me wrong, but he moved to San Antonio. So no, I don’t have a…” She shut her mouth before she made things worse. Change the subject, Em. “What about you? You must have a wife.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Not really.”

“What does that mean?”

“I was seeing someone, but it wasn’t serious. She wouldn’t like it here anyway. She’s a city gal.”

“Ah. No Cathy Turner, eh?”

“That ended after high school.”

The food arrived before she could shout “Yippee,” saving her from utter humiliation. Her salad seemed as interesting as a brown paper bag, while Scott’s burger looked amazingly delicious. She poured on a little dressing, and dug in with all the enthusiasm she could muster.

He didn’t have a girlfriend! Of course, she’d known Cathy Turner was history. Cathy had married and divorced. She and Scott had been apart for ages, and yet there was a small part of her that couldn’t help putting the two of them together.

“I never thought I’d be back here,” he said. “Not to live, I mean. I worked so damn hard to get out.”

“You don’t like Sheridan?”

“You do?”

She nodded. “It’s a wonderful town.”

“It’s in the sticks. There’s nothing here. Nothing.”

She took another bite of salad as the roller coaster that was her life shot downhill. He hated it here. Once he figured out what to do about the store, he’d be gone. And she couldn’t blame him. ESPN was an exciting job opportunity, and if that didn’t come through, there would be something else. Something glamorous, someplace exciting. The high school teacher from Sheridan would disappear from his consciousness once more, as if she’d never been there at all.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his burger halfway to his mouth.

“Salad,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’m not a big fan.”

“Want some of my burger?”

“No, thanks. I’d better eat my vegetables.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes and Scott devoured his burger. What an appetite! He’d always eaten a lot, more than anyone she’d ever met, and yet he had a six-pack stomach and the best butt in five counties. Another two bites, and the burger was gone. She hadn’t put a dent in her salad.

“When did the Red Rock close?” he asked.

“About two years ago,” she said, remembering the old theater that had been such a part of her teenage years. “It just couldn’t compete with the Cineplex.”

He shook his head. “Too bad. It was a great place.”

“Things change. It’s inevitable.”

“Not all things,” he said with a smile.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the same. The same Emily I remember. Your hair, your laugh. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“I don’t think that’s a compliment,” she said, her voice cool as a cucumber despite the fact she was screaming inside. The same hair? Oh God, he was right. She did have the same hair. And the same clothes, and the same dumpy body.

But not for long. Scott or no Scott, she was about to become the brand-new Emily Proctor.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.