The Manning Grooms: Bride on the Loose / Same Time, Next Year

“Carrie’s at the library with a friend,” she explained. “But I’m sure she’ll be back any minute.”

“I wondered what she was up to tonight.”

“I’ll put on the coffee,” she said self-consciously, going directly to the kitchen. “Make yourself at home.”

While she scooped up the grounds and poured water into the pot, she saw that Jason had lowered himself onto her sofa. He reached for a magazine and flipped through the pages, then set it back and reached for another. Since it was upside down, his attention was clearly elsewhere. He noted his mistake, righted the magazine, then placed it with the others. Apparently Seventeen magazine didn’t interest him after all.

There was no reason for him to be so nervous. It was funny; they’d chatted like old friends at the restaurant, but the instant they were alone, they became uncomfortable with each other.

“I thought you might like some cookies,” she said, as she carried the tray into the living room. She’d baked chocolate chip cookies that weekend, and there were plenty left over.

Being a single mother left her vulnerable to attacks of guilt—guilt that often led to an abundance of homemade cookies. There were so many things she didn’t know about family, so much she’d missed out on. It bothered her more than she wanted to admit. Whenever Charlotte was feeling anxious or contrite about something, she baked. And with the ninth-grade dance hanging over her head, she’d been doing a lot of baking lately. The cookie jar was full. The freezer was packed, too. Even Carrie was complaining about all the goodies around the house. Too tempting, she said. Her daughter claimed Charlotte was trying to raise her cholesterol and kill her off.

More guilt, more need to bake cookies. It was a vicious circle.

“Homemade cookies,” Jason said, sliding forward, far more appreciative than her daughter. “I didn’t know anyone but my mother baked these days.” He took one and downed it in two bites, nodding vigorously even before he’d finished chewing.

Charlotte smiled at the unspoken compliment and poured their coffee in plain white china cups. “There’s plenty more where those came from.”

Jason helped himself to a second and then a third.

Charlotte was pleased that he seemed to value her culinary skills. “I guess it’s true, then.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “What?”

“Never mind,” she muttered, sorry she’d brought up the subject.

“If you’re thinking the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, forget it. Others before you have tried that route.”

“Several dozen, no doubt,” she teased, amused by his complete lack of modesty. Not to mention his arrogance.

“I’ve suffered my share of feminine wiles.”

“Feminine wiles,” Charlotte repeated, trying hard not to laugh out loud. He acted as though she was setting a trap for him. She was about to reassure him that she had no intention of remarrying, then decided against it. She’d let him assume whatever he wanted. After all, he was helping her get rid of these cookies before they overran the apartment.

She did bring up another topic, though, one she couldn’t help being curious about. “Why aren’t you married?” She hoped he wouldn’t be offended by her directness; based on their previous conversations she didn’t expect him to be.

Jason shrugged and swallowed the last bite of the last cookie she’d set out. He seemed to be thinking over his response as he picked up his coffee and relaxed against the back of the sofa. “I learned something recently about the differences between a man and a woman. It’s information that’s served me well.”

They certainly had a routine going with this subject. “Oh, what’s that?”

“Tell me, all kidding aside,” he said, his blue eyes serious, “what is it women want from a man?”

Charlotte thought about that for a moment. “To be loved.”

He nodded approvingly.

“To be needed and respected.”

“Exactly.” He grinned, clearly pleased by her answer.

He was making this easy, and Charlotte warmed to her ideas. “A woman longs to be held, of course, but more than that, she wants to be treasured, appreciated.”

“Perfect,” Jason said, smiling benignly. “Now ask me what a man wants.”

“All right,” she said, crossing her legs, holding the saucer with one hand, her cup in the other. “What is it a man wants?”

“Tickets to the World Series,” Jason returned without a pause.

Charlotte nearly choked on her laughter. Fortunately she wasn’t swallowing a sip of coffee at the time. “I see what you mean,” she said after she’d composed herself. “There does seem to be a basic, shall we say, disconnect here.”

He nodded. “It was when Rich gave up two tickets for a Seahawks football game that I knew he’d fallen in love.”

“That’s sweet,” Charlotte said with a sigh, enjoying the romance of it all.

“Don’t go all soft on me. It wasn’t like it sounds. He gave the tickets to a friend as a bribe. Rich didn’t want to date Jamie himself, he wanted someone else to fall in love with her.”

“He bribed another guy to take her out?”

“Yup. He was in love with her himself, but like the rest of us, he’s useless when it comes to romance. I figured it out before he did, and I know next to nothing about that kind of stuff.” Jason grinned. “From that point on, it was all downhill for Rich. He’s married and has a couple of kids now. A girl and a boy.”

“I don’t care what you say. That’s sweet.”

“Perhaps.”

Charlotte was relaxed now. She removed her shoes and propped her feet on the coffee table, crossing her legs at the ankles. “Have you ever been in love?” At Jason’s hesitation, she hurried to add, “I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“I don’t mind, if you won’t take offense at my answer—which is, I don’t know. I thought I was once, several years back, but in retrospect I’m not sure. It hurt when we broke up, and I was sorry we hadn’t been able to work things out, but I don’t have any real regrets.”

“What was her name?”

“Julie. She’s married now.”

Charlotte didn’t understand where she found the courage, but she reached forward and brushed her index finger down the side of Jason’s face. She wanted to ease the pain she read in his expression, the pain he discounted so casually. A pain she recognized, since she’d walked through this valley herself, with the cold wind of despair howling at her back.

Jason’s gaze met hers and she felt immersed in a look so warm, so intense, that her breath caught. She couldn’t remember a man ever looking at her that way, as though he wasn’t sure she was even real. As if he was afraid she’d vanish if he touched her.

Jason removed the cup and saucer from her hands and set them on the tray next to the empty plate.

He was going to kiss her; she realized it in the same moment she owned up to how much she wanted him to. All night she’d been looking forward to having him do exactly this, only she hadn’t been willing to admit it.

His mouth was gentle and sweet with the taste of coffee and chocolate. He kissed her the way he had the night before, and Charlotte could barely take in the sensation that overwhelmed her. She’d never thought she’d feel anything so profound, so exciting, again. She hadn’t believed she was capable of such a rush of feeling….

She whimpered and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on to him in a world that had started to spin out of control. His hands framed her face and he slanted his mouth over hers, answering her need with his own.

Jason kissed her again and again.

The sound coming from the front door barely registered in her passion-drugged brain.

“Mom … Jason …” was followed by a shocked pause, then, “Wow, this is great.”

Charlotte broke away from Jason and leapt to her feet.

“Gee, Mom, there’s no need to get embarrassed. People kiss all the time.” Carrie floated across the carpet, then threw herself into a chair. “So,” she said, smiling broadly, “is there anything either of you want to tell me?”

“Like what?” Charlotte asked.

Carrie shrugged with utter nonchalance. “That you’re getting married?”

Four

On his way back to his apartment, Jason had to admit that Charlotte’s daughter possessed a knack for the unexpected. Arriving when she did was only the beginning; introducing the subject of marriage had nearly sent him into hysterics.

Him married? It was downright laughable.

Thinking about it, Jason realized Charlotte had brought up the subject herself, wanting to know why he hadn’t married, asking him if he’d ever been in love. Typical women questions.

Perhaps mother and daughter were in cahoots, plotting his downfall. No, that was equally laughable.

Jason simply wasn’t the marrying kind. Not because he was a womanizer or because he had anything against the opposite sex. He liked women … at times, enjoyed being with them … occasionally. Liked kissing them … definitely. But he relished his freedom too much to sacrifice it to commitment and responsibility.

No, he told himself resolutely, Charlotte wasn’t involved in any scheme to drag him to the altar. She’d been so embarrassed and flustered by Carrie’s suggestion, her face had gone bright red. The woman’s face was too open to hide her feelings. She had chastised Carrie, asked for and received an apology, and looked genuinely grateful when Jason said it was time he left.

Despite the episode with Carrie, Jason had thoroughly enjoyed his evening with Charlotte. He hadn’t expected to. In fact he’d originally regretted having asked her out, but in the end their date had been a pleasant success.

Once again he was bewildered by the strong desire he experienced when he kissed her. He had ordained a hands-off policy for the night, but had shelved that idea the minute she’d sat next to him, gazing up at him with those pretty eyes of hers.

Actually, he’d known he was in trouble when he accepted her invitation to come inside for coffee. He’d thought of it as a challenge; he’d wanted to see how far he could push his determination. Not far, he concluded. When she’d looked at him, her eyes soft and inviting, he was lost. His hands-off policy had quickly become a hands-on experiment.

There was something about Charlotte Weston that got to him. Really got to him.

All that outward confidence she worked so hard to display hadn’t fooled him. Beneath a paper-thin veneer, she was vulnerable. Any fool with two functional brain cells would have figured that out on the first date.

Only she didn’t date.

Carrie had told him it’d been years since her mother had even gone out with a man. Undoubtedly she’d been asked—and if she hadn’t been, why not? She was attractive, intelligent and fun. Offhand, he knew a half-dozen men who’d jump at the chance to meet a woman like Charlotte.

If she’d turned down offers, and surely she had, then there must be a reason. The question that confused Jason was: If she didn’t date, then why had she agreed to have dinner with him?

Probably the same reason that had goaded him to ask, Jason concluded. The kiss. That infamous first kiss. It had rocked them both. Taken them by surprise, leaving them excited—and unsure.

As for the other questions that hounded him, Jason didn’t have any answers. Nor did he understand everything that was happening between him and Charlotte. One thing he did know—and it terrified him the most—was that they were, in effect, playing with lighted sticks of dynamite, tossing them back and forth. The attraction between them was that explosive. That dangerous.

Carrie’s arrival had been more timely than she’d realized.

All right, Jason was willing to own up, albeit grudgingly, that he was fascinated with Charlotte. He suspected she’d confess to feeling the same thing. To his way of thinking, if they were so strongly attracted to each other, they should both be prepared to do something about it.

In other words, they should stop fighting the inevitable and make love. That would get it out of their system—he hoped.

Naw, Jason mused darkly. Charlotte wasn’t the kind of woman who’d indulge in an affair. She might wear only straight, dark business suits to work, but deep down she was the romantic type, which made her impractical. Most women seemed to be. If they were going to make love, they wanted it prettied up with a bunch of flowery words, a declaration of undying love and promises of commitment.

Well, Charlotte, along with every other woman, could forget that, he told himself. As far as he was concerned, romance and commitment were out of the question.

What he wanted in this relationship was honesty. If it were up to him, he’d suggest they do away with the formalities, admit what they wanted and then scratch that itch.

He mulled that over for a few minutes, knowing it was unlikely that Charlotte would see the situation his way. He might not know her well, but Jason readily acknowledged that she wasn’t going to be satisfied with so little. Women tended to see lovemaking as more than just the relief of a physical craving.

Well, he, for one, wasn’t going to play that game. He liked Charlotte—how much he liked her surprised him—but he knew the rules. Either they dropped everything now, while they still could, or they continued driving each other insane. Sooner or later, one of them would have to give in.

Without a second’s hesitation, Jason knew it would be him.

Charlotte affected him deep down. He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her or causing her one second of unhappiness. In the end he’d say all the words she wanted to hear, and he’d do the best job he could, because pleasing her would mean so much to him.

Then he’d get what he wanted; she’d make love to him willingly, with everything in her. He’d give her all he had, too. The problem was—and he knew it was inevitable—that before he’d quite figured out what was happening, they’d be talking about marriage, which was something he hadn’t done since Julie.

Jason stopped right there. If he started thinking along those lines, everything would change. Soon Charlotte would be organizing his life, straightening up his apartment, making suggestions about little things he could do to improve his sorry lot. Women always saw his lot as sorry. He was happy living the way he was, but women couldn’t accept that. They didn’t believe a man could survive without them constantly fussing over him, dictating his life.

Bit by bit, Charlotte would dominate his world, eroding his independence until he was like every other married man he’d ever known—willing to change his ways for a wife. Picking up his socks, getting hassled about sports games on TV, the whole deal.

No, the domesticated life wasn’t for him. Still, Charlotte tempted him more than anyone else had in ages, and he could almost imagine their lives together. Not quite, but almost.

He stared at his apartment door, wondering how long he’d been standing there mulling over his thoughts. He was light years ahead of himself, he realized. Good grief, he was already trying to finagle his way out of marrying her and they’d only gone out on one date. He’d only kissed her twice.

But, oh, those kisses …

Like he’d told himself before, they were playing with explosives, and the best way to avoid getting hurt was to get out now, before they became too involved. Before he lost the strength to walk away from her.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” Carrie demanded.

“About what?” Charlotte returned calmly, feigning ignorance. She glanced up from her novel, looking over the rims of her reading glasses with practiced innocence.

“Jason!” Carrie cried. “You haven’t heard from him in a whole week.”

“Has it been that long?” Seven days, two hours and three minutes, but who was counting? Certainly not her.

“Mom,” Carrie insisted, hands on her hips, “you know how long it’s been. You jump every time the phone rings. You keep making excuses about checking the mail and getting the newspaper. We both know you’re hoping to run into Jason.”

It hurt Charlotte’s pride to learn she’d been so obvious.

“You like him, don’t you?” Carrie asked. Her expression said that if she were in charge, this romance would be making far greater progress. Charlotte, however, had no intention of letting her daughter take control of her relationship with Jason Manning.

“I think Jason’s wonderful,” Charlotte admitted softly. She did like her landlord. Yet, at the same time, she was grateful he hadn’t taken the initiative and contacted her again. If he had, she wasn’t sure how she would’ve responded.

“If you’re so crazy about him, then do something about it,” Carrie said again.

“Like what?” Even if Charlotte had a drawerful of ideas, she doubted she’d ever find the courage to use any of them. She didn’t know how to chase after a man and had no interest in doing so.

“You’re asking me?” Carrie asked. “C’mon, who’s the kid here?” She launched herself onto the cushion beside Charlotte. “What went wrong?” she asked, looking up at her mother with mournful eyes. “The two of you seemed to be getting along really well when I walked in last week.”

Charlotte slid her arm around Carrie’s shoulders. Despite her efforts not to, she grinned, remembering when she, too, had been so wise and confident.

“It might’ve had something to do with the subject of marriage—which you brought up. He seemed to get a bit green around the gills at that point.”

“You think it frightened him off?” Carrie asked anxiously.

Charlotte shrugged. She’d brought up the subject herself, not quite as directly, but she had mentioned it. If ever there was a born bachelor, she decided, it was Jason Manning. Together, mother and daughter had managed to terrify the man. He must think they were sitting in their apartment ready to ambush him, tie him up and drag him in front of the closest preacher.

Charlotte wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore. Perhaps she was protecting her ego by convincing herself that she wouldn’t have gone out with Jason if he’d asked again. Perhaps it was just her pride. Charlotte didn’t know because the opportunity hadn’t come up.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but what Carrie had said about her hanging around the mailbox hoping to accidentally run into Jason was true. But she wasn’t looking for a way to get him to ask her out, she told herself. She only wanted to set things straight. Since they hadn’t met, accidentally or otherwise, Charlotte was content to let it drop. He apparently was, too.

Jason Manning had been a brief but pleasant interlude in her—she had to acknowledge it—humdrum life.

She was grateful for their time together. He’d taught her everything she needed to know about basketball. He’d challenged her in a battle of wits about male and female roles in society. Convinced her never again to eat a jalapeño pepper to prove a point. And most important, he’d kissed her in a way that made her believe, for those few minutes, that she was whole and desirable. It’d felt so good to surrender her fears and her doubts. If nothing else, she’d always be grateful for that.

“Maybe he’s waiting to hear from you,” Carrie said next. “It’s your turn to ask him out, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t work that way with adults, sweetie.” Although Charlotte had no idea if that was even true.

“Then it should. I’m not going to sit home and wait for a man to call me. If I like him, I’ll phone him. It’s ridiculous to be a slave to such an outdated tradition.”

Charlotte agreed with her daughter, but in this instance she planned to do nothing at all. And that included hovering around the mailboxes.

It had been a long day, and Jason was tired when he pulled into the parking lot outside his apartment complex. He scanned the limited spaces, looking for Charlotte’s car. The blue PT Cruiser was in the appropriate slot, so he knew she was home.

It wasn’t that he was trying to run into her, but he wouldn’t mind seeing her, finding out how she was doing—that sort of thing. He didn’t intend anything more than a wave and maybe a friendly “I’m-fine-how-are-you?” exchange. Then he’d go about his business and she could go about hers.

Not calling Charlotte was proving to be more difficult than he’d ever expected. He thought about her even more now. He dreamed about her. Just that morning, the alarm had gone off and he was lying there in bed, trying to force himself to get up, when Charlotte casually sauntered into his mind. He couldn’t help thinking how good it would feel to have her there beside him, how soft her body would feel next to his. He’d banished the thought immediately, angry about indulging in such a fantasy.

It had started the night before. When he’d arrived home from work, he’d found himself checking out the rear tire of Charlotte’s car. From a distance it looked like it might be low on air. On closer examination, he realized it wasn’t. He felt almost disappointed not to have an excuse to speak to her.

This evening he could tell from a distance that there wasn’t anything wrong with her tires. Once again he wished there was, so he could talk to her.

Inside his apartment, he reached for the remote control and automatically turned on the television. The six-thirty news crew made for excellent company.

As the forecaster gave dire warnings about the weather, Jason checked out the meager contents of his refrigerator. One of these days he’d have to break down and buy groceries.

As he suspected, nothing interesting presented itself, at least nothing he’d seriously consider eating. An empty cardboard carton from a six-pack of beer. A can of half-eaten pork and beans. A leftover taco, probably harder than cement, wrapped in a napkin, and a jar of green olives. He opened the jar, stuck his hand inside and fished out the last two, returning the container of liquid to the shelf. Chewing on the olives, he closed the door.

What he was really in the mood for was—he hated to admit it. What he’d really like was chocolate chip cookies. Well, he could forget that. The store-bought ones tasted like lumpy paste, and his mother would keep him on the phone with an endless list of questions if he were to call her and request a batch. Besides, it wasn’t his mother’s recipe he craved. It was Charlotte’s.

Well, you can forget that, ol’ boy.

A box of macaroni and cheese was the most interesting prospect his cupboard had to offer. He took it out and checked the freezer compartment of the refrigerator and brought out two frozen wieners wrapped in aluminum foil.

He was adding water to a pan when there was a frantic knocking on his door. Whoever it was pounded again before he had time to cross the apartment.

He saw Charlotte, pale and stricken, her lavender cardigan covered in blood. Her eyes were panicky. “A dog … someone ran over a dog … they didn’t even stop. Please … can you come?”

“Of course.” He kept a black bag at the house for just such emergencies. He grabbed that and hurried after her.

Charlotte was waiting for him, her eyes bright with tears. “He’s unconscious.”

“You moved him?”

“Only to get him out of the street.”

“Did you see it happen?” he asked, trotting along behind her.

“No. I heard tires screech and a yelp, and that was it. By the time I got outside, a few kids had gathered around, but no one knew what to do.”

Her pace slowed as they approached the injured animal. A group of neighborhood children had gathered around. Jason knelt beside the small, black dog. He was a mixed breed, mostly spaniel, Jason guessed. He was badly hurt and in shock. Probably a stray, since he wasn’t wearing a collar, and the poor thing looked mangy and thin.

“Does anyone know who he belongs to?” Jason asked.

“I don’t think he belongs to anyone,” a boy on a bicycle answered. “He’s been around the last couple of days. I never saw him before that.”

“I’m going to take him to my office,” Jason said after a preliminary examination. He didn’t feel too positive about the dog’s chances.