More Than She Expected

“Who’s my father?”

And he was hardly going to get into it again with Laurel right down the hall. In fact, he heard the door open, sensed her stop to glance at one of the few photos Starla had from before. Nothing that would mean anything to Laurel, he wouldn’t imagine. Then she was there, in her skinny black pants and another floppy top in some blah color, no makeup, no jewelry, smiling at him—a friendly little grin, no biggee—and some crazy feeling that was almost unpleasant plowed right into his gut.

“All better?” Starla said.

“Much.” Then, to Tyler: “So lead me to this wall.”

“Sure,” he said, taking her through Starla’s orange-and-aqua kitchen, the window over the sink so choked with plants the light could barely get through, and out the sliding glass door. Like his, the yard wasn’t much to speak of, the small, grassy plot balding in places. But Ty took a lot better care of Starla’s yard than he did his own—since he didn’t have time for both—and the blooming rosebushes crowded against the wall certainly seemed happy enough.

Wordlessly, Laurel tramped across the damp grass and, yes, pressed both palms against the wall. Then she sidled close between his mother’s Mr. Lincoln and Chicago Peace and looked toward the far end—to check that it was straight, he assumed.

Then she gave him a thumb’s-up, and he chuckled.

He heard the patio door slide open, saw Starla come out onto the tiny patio with a tray holding a pitcher, some glasses, a plate of something. She’d changed out of her work clothes into something flowy and long, her hair hanging loose. What she called her “hippy dippy” look. An homage of sorts to her long-dead parents, he supposed.

“I know, I know,” she said, setting the tray on a small glass-topped table. “But if somebody doesn’t help me eat these cookies, I’ll end up sucking them all down myself. And that would be very bad.”

“Cookies?” Laurel said, hustling across the yard.

“Butterscotch chocolate chip,” Starla said, and Laurel looked like she might cry.

“You made these?”

“I sure did, honey.”

Almost reverently, Laurel lifted one from the plate and took her first bite. “Oh. My. God. These are incredible!”

“Thank you!” Starla beamed. “It’s my own recipe! Please—take as many as you want!”

Laurel laughed, that deep, genuine sound Ty was already coming to like way, way too much. “You might regret saying that,” she said, and picked up two more. Without even a single, “I really shouldn’t...”

“Here, let me put some in a bag for you...”

Starla scooted back inside, her dress billowing behind her, and Ty said, “You must be really hungry.”

Laurel grinned...and chomped off another bite. “These are really good. I mean, insanely good. Here—” She held one out. “Taste it—”

“Not a huge fan of butterscotch, but thanks. You, however, have made Starla’s day.”

Her forehead crimped. “The cookies are wonderful. So I told her so. No big deal.”

For her, maybe not.

Tyler thought about the girls he usually went with, with their done-up hair and made-up faces and pushed-up boobs, and how he’d always liked that, how they’d make all this effort to look good for him. How they’d have a little fun, for a little while, only then somebody would get bored, and it’d be all “No hard feelings, ’kay?” and that would be that. Because life was just easier with built-in expiration dates.

Except here comes this chick who clearly doesn’t give a crap how she looks, she’s not trying to impress anybody, especially not him, and suddenly it’s all wham-a-bam-ding-dong inside his chest? What the hell?

Starla returned with a plastic zipper bag, filling it with most of the cookies as her instant fan kept on with the gushing. And Tyler had to admit, it wasn’t exactly breaking him up, to see how happy that made the older woman. Who he knew hadn’t had a whole lot of happy, for a very long time.

Not wanting to think about that, however, he returned his attention to Laurel. “So. Does my work meet your exacting standards?”

A breeze came up, sending a strand of hair into her mouth as she chewed. She yanked it out, making a face. “Not that I know from walls, really, but...sure. Let’s do this. You said the block yard’s not far?”

“Maybe ten, fifteen minutes. Our houses are on the way, might as well drop off the dog. We can go ahead and order everything now, if you want.”

“Sounds good.” She hesitated. “Soon as I take another potty break.” Another faint blush swept across her cheeks. “That’s what I get for drinking way too much tea earlier, sorry.”

He watched her walk back into the house, thinking, this was somebody who was cool with who she was. What she was. Who could talk about peeing without getting all coy about it...who Tyler guessed never faked anything. Which, even more than all the surface stuff, was why this wham-a-bam business was for the birds.

Because Tyler didn’t know who he was. Not entirely. His whole life...it was like one big lie, wasn’t it? Okay, maybe not a lie, exactly. A mystery, then.

He looked at Starla, snapping the top back on the cookie container, the only person in the world, as far as he knew, who held the key that would unlock that mystery. And until that happened—if it ever did—the Laurels of the world were strictly off-limits.

No matter how warm inside their laughs made him feel.

Chapter Two

“Mind if I put on some music?” Tyler asked when they got back in his truck. Because right now, his brain—among other things—needed to chill. And if he couldn’t make Laurel stop smelling so good, or her eyes less blue, or her laugh less arousing, maybe music would distract him from noticing. At least, not as much.

“Not at all,” she said, clutching her giant purse like it might make a break for it if she didn’t. And yes, he caught the slight smile when, from his docked iPod, his favorite band started playing. Followed by an almost-imperceptible headshake.

“You don’t like Green Day?” he asked.

“It’s just been a while since I listened to them,” she said, still with the irritating little smile. Tyler tapped the button on the steering wheel, turned the music off.

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“Wasn’t in the mood, anyway.”

They reached the end of the block, turned onto the main drag. Behind them, the dog panted. Laurel shifted a little in her seat. “Starla’s certainly a sweetheart, isn’t she?”

Great. Now she decides to talk. When talking was the last thing he wanted to do. Being around Starla did that to him, never mind how annoyed he got for letting it—her—get to him. However, instead of taking his noncommittal grunt as her cue to drop the subject, Laurel said, “She reminds me a little of my mother. Although Mom would’ve been, let’s see...sixty-one by now. Wow. There’s a weird thought.”

Tyler glanced over, frowning. “Would have been?”

“Yeah,” she said on a sigh. But not one of those pouty, poor-me sounds that drove him nuts. “She died when I was eleven.”

“Oh.” He looked back out the windshield. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago. More than twenty years. Speaking of weird. They say time heals everything, but I’m not sure that’s true. Wears down the sharp edges, maybe, so they don’t hurt anymore. Or at least not as much...” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “And I’m rambling, sorry. Must be the sugar rush from the cookies.”

“No problem.” Since as long as she talked, he didn’t have to. Or deal with the crazy thoughts swirling inside his head. But since she’d brought up the subject...

“And your dad...?”

She hesitated, then said flatly, “Heart attack when I was fifteen. But I didn’t see him much, anyway, after my mother died.”

Pain flashed, like stubbing an already-sore toe. “Why not?”

“Who knows? Wasn’t as if we ever discussed it. Although my guess is that he couldn’t see himself as a single father. Or any kind of father, frankly, since he’d never been real hands-on before.”

He spared her a quick glance. “So where’d you end up living?”

“With my grandmother. My mom’s mom.”

“And was that...okay?”

“Actually it was the best thing that could have happened. I adored her, for one thing. And at least she wanted me. My father obviously didn’t. And since my grandfather had died a year or so before, well...we kept each other from falling apart. I know Gran did me, anyway.”

They stopped for a red light. “What a crappy thing to do to a kid. Your dad, I mean.”

She was quiet for a moment, then said, “People are who they are. They don’t change simply because you want them to.” Her shoulders bumped. “So like I said, it worked out the way it was supposed to—”

Boomer started barking at some dog in the car next to them. Tyler reached around and yanked the mutt back from the window. “You don’t own the street, dumbass— Hey! Knock it off! Lay down!”

On a frustrated sigh, the dog obeyed. Only to whumph-whumph under his breath for the next several seconds, making Laurel chuckle.

“So is your grandmother still around?” Tyler asked as the light changed.

“Oh, yeah. You might’ve seen her. Tiny, white-haired? Drives a Prius?”

“That’s your grandmother’s?”

“Yep. She sold her house a few months ago and moved to Sunridge—”

“The retirement community over by the outlet mall?”

“The very one. You ever been there?” When he shook his head, she chuckled. “I swear, if the age limit wasn’t fifty-five, I’d be tempted to move in. Gran says it’s to prepare everyone for heaven, since it’s highly doubtful it could be much better than Sunridge. Anyway...so that’s when I bought the house.”

“Wait—you’d been living with your grandmother all that time?”

“Oh, I was away for a few years, during college, and then after, when I lived in the city. Then I moved back,” she said without a trace of shame in her voice. “One, because I couldn’t stand the thought of her being alone as she got older, and, two, because staying there let me sock away a nice chunk of change for my down payment. Between that and the low interest rate I got on my mortgage, my payments are like nothing.”

“But wasn’t that a little hard on, um, your personal life?” At her silence, he sighed. “And I just stepped way over the line, didn’t I?”

Another light laugh preceded, “That’s assuming I have one.”

“A line? Or a personal life?”

“Either. Both. Although Gran always made it clear my life was my own. Well, within reason, of course. And not until I’d reached what she called the ‘age of reason.’ But she always encouraged me to make my own choices, to do what feels right for me, without worrying about what anyone else thinks of those choices. So it was my choice to move back to Jersey, to stay with Gran as long as she wanted me around.”

“Then she moved out on you.”

“Pretty much. Said I was cramping her style. But we still see each other at least once a week. She’s my rock,” she said softly, then smiled. “Even if she does drive me nuts on a regular basis. And it sure beats talking to myself all the time.”

“You don’t date? Go out?” She gave him another look, her mouth twitching at the corners. “Hey. You’re the one who said there’s no line. So I’m curious why you’re always home. Since you seem really nice,” he pushed on. Because he was an idiot, for one thing, and it wasn’t like he ever intended to make a move on the woman, for another. “And you’re okay looking—”

She laughed again. “So much for thinking you were one of those charmer types.”

“And you’ve got a really nice laugh—”

“Dude. Awesome last-minute save.”

“Not to mention a pretty decent sense of humor.”

“Why, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused. “You think I’m a charmer?”

“I’ve seen you with your lady friends. From time to time. So, yeah. You definitely know how to work it.”

“You’ve been spying on me?”

“Says the man who wonders why I’m always home.”

“Touché.” They turned back down their street. Sensing they were almost home, Boomer plopped his drooly chin on Tyler’s shoulder, whining softly. “Still. You make it sound like your grandmother’s the only person you ever see. Which—no offence to your grandmother, I’m sure she’s a great lady—but—”

“I like being alone,” Laurel said quietly. “Not all the time, no, but...alone is my safe place. Really. Besides which, I’m a writer. I don’t go out much because I work from home. And my girlfriends—from school, from when I worked in the city—they’ve all moved on. Or moved away. They got married, started families... I mean, sure, we all meant to keep in touch, but then everyone got busy, and...” As they pulled into Tyler’s driveway, she shrugged. “That’s life, right?”

Not sure what to say to that, Tyler mumbled a noncommittal “I guess,” then got out of the car, herding the dog back inside the house and quickly shutting the door. Much offended howling ensued.

“Puppy’s not happy?” Laurel said when he returned.

“What was your first clue?” he said, backing out of the driveway again. “And he usually goes with me wherever, but I don’t know if I can take him in with us at the brickyard, and I don’t like leaving him in the truck.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said. “So I take it you’ve known Starla for a while?”

“Jeez, lady—signal before you turn, okay?”

“Sorry, got tired of talking about myself. Another hazard of living alone, you forget the finer points of human interaction. And being a novelist, curiosity is my default mode. Relationships fascinate me. People fascinate me.”

“You think I’m fascinating?”

“I was talking about Starla?”

“Oh. Right.”

“I’d love to know her history. What, or who, made her who she is today. It’s like...her past shimmers through her. Don’t you think?”

He had to laugh, even though the conversation was making his chest ache. “You got this from like five seconds?”

“Well, it does. And anyway, I pretty much think that about everyone I meet. I love people.”

“Just not being around them?”

Now she laughed. “Guess that does sound a little weird, huh? But as I said, she reminds me a little of my mother. That whole free spirit thing she’s got going on. Love it. Especially since I’m so not a free spirit.”

“Judging from this conversation? Don’t underestimate yourself. And didn’t you say you live life exactly the way you want to? How much freer could you be?”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t like structure. Or order. I’m a bit of a neat freak, actually. In fact, sometimes I think that’s why I like living by myself, because I’m sure I’d drive someone else nuts.” She wrinkled her nose. “God knows I did Gran.”

An image flashed through Tyler’s head, of his own house. A neat freak, he wasn’t. “So I’m guessing you’re not a risk taker?”

He’d only meant to tease, to follow the lead Laurel had given him. So her stillness threw him, made him glance over at her. “Not generally, no,” she said quietly, then offered him a slight smile. Facing front again, she nodded toward the brickyard’s large sign about a half block away. “Is this it?”

“Uh...yeah.”

Tyler pulled the pickup into the parking lot, inexplicably annoyed that Laurel didn’t wait for him to come around and open the door for her. Even though there was no reason for her to wait. Or for him to play the chivalry card.

Same as there’d been no real reason for him to sidestep her completely innocent query about Starla. Other than habit. And self-protection. Which he supposed was the habit. He’d just never been keen on talking about stuff he hadn’t worked through himself. Especially with strangers. He did wonder, however, as he grabbed the glass door to the showroom before Laurel could, whether she realized he’d dodged her question.

And why, even if she did, that should bother him.

* * *

The block yard blew Laurel’s mind.

Mountains of the things, in a staggering number of colors, shapes and sizes, stretched before her like some ancient religious site. Oh, sure, she and Tyler had settled on brown, rather than prison gray, but what shade of brown? Light, dark, reddish, taupish...?

She jumped, knocking into Tyler when a forklift beep-beeped right behind her, then rumbled past them across the packed dirt field. He caught her long enough to steady her, to slightly rattle her...to remind her of their conversation in the truck coming over. The thrust and parry of it, the gentle, comfortable teasing—which she’d never experienced with any guy, ever—interspersed with the occasional avoidance. As in, Tyler’s—

“You okay?” he asked, still gripping her shoulders.

Oh, my. “Sure.”

Not that either of them owed the other anything, of course. Whatever he chose to tell her, or not, was his business. They were only here to buy blocks. To build a fence. So his dog wouldn’t get loose anymore—

“So whaddya think of this one?”

Tyler had walked over to a display of the various offerings, centered by a largish, gurgling fountain, to point to a row of clay-colored blocks that actually looked...not terrible. “Sure—”

“Or...I dunno.” Bending over, he rested his palm on one that was a lighter color, more beigey. Guy had a nice butt, she had to say. Well, think, anyway. “Maybe this?”

Laurel dislodged her eyeballs from his tush. “Which goes better with what you already have?”

He straightened, dusting his hands. “Either would work. You?”

“Same here. Price?”

“They’re the same. But you know...” He slugged his fingers into his jeans’ pockets. Which already sat kind of low. Then he looked at her with a little-boy grin that, when paired with the streaked, dirty-blond hair—not to mention the low-slung jeans—got all sorts of things fluttering and sighing and giggling. How old was she, again? “No reason we couldn’t do both.”

The baby stirred, jolting her back to reality. “Both?”

“Use two colors, make a pattern. Nothing weird or wild, just...not boring. It won’t look stupid, I promise.”

“Then...sure. Why not?”

More grinning. “Yeah?”

Honestly. The kid in the ice-cream store, getting to pick two different flavors for his ice-cream cone. Laurel laughed. “Yes. Because you’re right. One color would be boring.”

She laughed again when he did a quick fist-pump, then pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket he’d shown her earlier, with all the specifications already figured out. Fifteen minutes later, their order placed and delivery arranged, they were back in the truck, Tyler practically buzzing with excitement as he went on about how he’d demo the old fence that night, if it was okay with her, then get started digging the trench for the new wall so he could get on it by the weekend.

His enthusiasm, if not contagious, was definitely endearing. Except then he seemed to catch himself. “And you’re not the least bit interested in any of this, are you?”

“In how this wall is going to happen? Not really. But I think it’s terrific you are. Seeing as you’re the one who’s going to make it happen.”

With a grin and a shrug, he looked back out the windshield. “I like...putting things together. Making the pieces fit. Even if it’s only a wall. Because there’s something really satisfying about building something from nothing, you know? No matter how long it takes, or how much you might swear in the process,” he said, and Laurel chuckled.

“I can relate, believe it or not. Even though I’m working with words and ideas and not cement and blocks, it’s sort of the same thing, isn’t it?”

“I never thought about it like that, but...yeah. I guess so.”

They rode in silence for a while until she said, “You know, that Green Day song you were playing earlier? I haven’t heard it in forever. You mind putting it on again?”

Tyler frowned over at her. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

A moment later, the cab was filled with sounds from Laurel’s past, from a time when her future stretched out in front of her, ripe with promise. Not that it still didn’t—the baby shifted again, bumping almost in time with the music—but boy, could her life be any more different than she’d imagined?

“Hey...you okay?” Tyler asked, which is when she realized her cheeks were wet.

Laurel dug in her purse for a tissue, wiped her eyes. Blew her nose. “I’m fine. This takes me back, that’s all.”

“To a better time?”

“To...a different one, maybe. But not better.” She paused. “Or worse. And I have no idea why I’m reacting like this,” she said with a little laugh. “It’s only a song, for heaven’s sake. And it’s not like I don’t listen to old music all the time. Music I have a connection with, even. Like the music my grandmother played—old jazz, Big Band. Perry Como,” she said, chuckling. “But...that was her past, wasn’t it? Her nostalgia? Not mine.”

“I...guess?”

“Sorry. Another hazard of living alone, I spend way too much time in my own head. And it can get kind of creepy in there.”

“Tell me about it,” Tyler muttered as they pulled into her driveway. From his house, they could hear Boomer barking. “Dumb mutt recognizes the sound of my car.”

“Which would make him not dumb at all. Confused, though, since it’s in the wrong spot.”

“You’re probably right.”

And that should have been where she got out of the truck, he switched from her driveway to his and that was that. A total nonevent.

Not their facing each other at the same moment and her saying, “Wanna get a hamburger or something? My treat.”

The music stopped. The dog kept barking, barking, barking...

“Uh...it’s only three o’clock?”

“Oh.” Laurel mentally slapped herself. And not only for not knowing what time it was. “Of course, you’re right. But tell that to this...my stomach.”

“Actually,” he said—very gently, like the way you talk to the crazy woman, “I gotta get back to work for a little bit—”

“Of course, sorry—”

“No, it’s okay. Another time, though?”

“Sure, absolutely.” She climbed out of the truck as gracefully as she could, which wasn’t saying much, and shut the door.

Tyler leaned across the gearshift to talk to her through the open window. “But I’ll still start taking down the fence this evening. You don’t have to be around or anything. If the noise gets too loud, though, let me know—”

“I’ll do that,” she said, backing away, suddenly anxious to get back to her own safe little space, where she could coddle her embarrassment without witnesses. “Thanks. For everything.”

With a little wave, he pulled out of her driveway, and Laurel mustered whatever vestige of dignity she had left to sedately walk across her yard and up her steps.

Instead of, you know, bolting like a freaked-out rabbit.

* * *

“Jeez, what’s with the frowny face?”

With a grunt, Tyler walked past his sister Abigail, sitting cross-legged on the dusty warehouse floor as she sanded flaking black paint off a late-nineteenth-century, wrought-iron chandelier, which she’d then refinish and slap up on eBay...and probably resell for ten times what they paid for it. Naturally, she got up and followed him to the office, a blond terrier in a ponytail and combat boots.

“So did you get the blocks and stuff for the wall?” He threw her a look. “I think that’s called an opening gambit,” Abby said, and he grunted again. “Oooh...frowns and grunts?” She planted her skinny butt on the crappy folding chair across from his equally crappy metal desk. This was a salvage company, not some chi-chi Manhattan office. “Intriguing. But God forbid you clue me in.”

He caught the edge to her voice, tossed it aside. Whatever was going on inside his aching head—and right now, he couldn’t explain it even if he wanted to—it was none of his sister’s business.

“Back off, Abs,” Ty said, reaching for a bottle of pain reliever in his desk. He dumped out a couple of pills, tossing them back without water. With a pushed-out sigh, Abs got to her feet; a moment later he heard the water cooler’s glug-glug as she filled a paper cup.

“Here,” she said, handing him the cup, which he drained.