She was still embarrassed about the weirdness that had happened in the office—that was what he was seeing in her eyes. So he caught her arm—nice arms, oh Jesus, he was an idiot—and even though her skin beneath his fingers was almost unbearably soft and smooth, he made himself hold on until she met his gaze again. At which point, he said, “I’m great at a lot of things—” okay, whoa, back it down there, Bozo “—I’m a SEAL, so I’m highly trained and highly skilled, and frankly I’m even more proud of my chops as a BUD/S instructor, but the truth is, I’m a fuckup when it comes to women, Lisa being Exhibit A. I’ve never really had a woman as a friend—” he caught himself again “—one who’s not married or engaged to a teammate, anyway. And you’re really pretty, and you’re funny, and Jesus, you’re smart, and that’s really attractive. And every now and then, I slip and run the pattern—the bar hookup pattern—and stupid things come out of my mouth, or I do something disrespectful, like help you down but then not let go. I just wanted to, well…I apologize. Your friendship means a lot to me, and I don’t want to mess it up.”
She was sitting there, gazing up at him, and for a moment he just lost himself in the dark brown warmth of her eyes, in the full curve of her lips….
Which was exactly what he was trying not to do. He cleared his throat, and forced himself to take a step back instead of leaning even further in, because yeah, he was doing that, too. Shit.
“Well, I happen to be great at a lot of things, too,” Shayla said. It was possible she was mocking his rocky start, but then she added, “I am, after all, a mother of teenagers, and that training’s pretty intense. Maybe not as physically intense as BUD/S. I was curious so I did a little research on that last night. But Quitting is not an option”—she quoted a well-known SEAL motto—“and The only easy day was yesterday absolutely apply.”
And huh. Last night while Pete had Googled her, she’d also been Googling him. Well, maybe not him per se—unlike her, his work tended to be secret, so he didn’t have a website. But she’d clearly been interested enough to seek more info.
“One of the things I’m very good at is being a friend,” she told him. “So relax. I appreciate that you caught yourself—what did you call it? Running the pattern. Nice arms was good subbing in for whatever your animal-brain was reacting to—I won’t bother guessing—because I do have nice strong arms, thanks.” She held them out and her triceps moved. “Not as strong as yours, but strong enough, and trust me, as a woman, I’ll never turn down a compliment about my strength.”
“Well, good,” he said, except now that he’d said all that, he was oddly discontent. Or maybe that was just his—what did she call it? Animal-brain. His animal-brain was stuck on the image of him Googling her while she Googled him. And his animal-brain was fourteen years old and thought that Googling sounded more like something one did to another person with mouths, hands, and genitals rather than alone with a computer.
“Yeah,” Shayla agreed, “it is good. In fact, it’s great. For someone who claims to be communication challenged, you’re doing really well. So, where to now? What’s next on the Find Maddie to-do list? And please say, Now is when we get coffee.”
Pete laughed as he closed her door and humped it around the front of the truck. “Coffee sounds lifesaving,” he told her as he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine with a roar. “Breakfast sounds even better—if you’ve got the time. When do I need to get you home?”
“I’m yours for the day—really for the entire weekend—if you want me,” Shayla told him. “The boys’ll be at Carter’s, starting tonight, through Sunday. And I thought while we’re waiting—to hear from Lindsey, and for Susan Smith’s office to open—maybe we could work on Chapter Two. You know, to send to Maddie? How Peter Met Lisa.”
Her generosity made Pete’s words catch in his throat. At least he thought that was what made his throat feel tight, but his animal-brain had finally stopped toying with Google and was now replaying her words I’m yours…for the weekend…if you want me.
Pete’s animal-brain said, Woof, but he smacked it down and cleared his throat, and said, “Thank you. So much. That would be unbelievably great.”
“Why are you really here?”
Great-Aunt Hiroko’s words made Dingo look up warily from his eggs and toast, but Maddie didn’t even pause. She just kept shoveling the food into her mouth.
It tasted good, although Dingo had hoped for more interesting spices than mere salt and pepper. In fact, he’d expected a far more Japanese feel to the entire cottage, but not only had they kept their shoes on as they’d gone through a slider into the house, but the living room had a regular sofa and chairs, and the art on the walls was sharp and bright and very modern. The kitchen they were sitting in now was just a normal kitchen. Old-fashioned, for sure, but there wasn’t even so much as a wok in sight. Was that racist? Fack, it was—subtle for sure, but he was guilty of that stupidity. He hated when people looked at him and made idiotic assumptions, and here he’d gone and blithely done the same.
Maddie finally swallowed and started in again with her spiel about the school history project, but the old woman cut her off. “No, why are you really here?”
There was silence for a moment as the question seemed to hang there in the air.
Maddie surprised the crap out of him when she put down her fork and said, “I miss Lisa and I thought…”
Dingo held his breath as Hiroko locked gazes with Maddie. The old woman didn’t speak—she just stared, waiting for the girl to finish her sentence. The only sound was that of a clock ticking from its perch above the door that led into the dining room. Tick, tick, tick.
Maddie’d hunched so far in on herself that her shoulders were nearly up to her ears, and her eyes had actually filled with tears. Dingo wanted to reach for her, to comfort her by taking her hand, but his new rule was No touching the fifteen-year-old. He knew himself well enough not to allow any exceptions. Never, ever.
As he watched, Maddie seemed to shake herself. “But she’s gone, and you’re not her—you’re not even close.” She gave a huge whatever shrug with a massive eye roll that was supposed to telegraph just how little she cared, but Dingo knew better as she added, “Also? I thought maybe you could lend me some money.”
“Ah,” the old woman said as Maddie went back to eating.
“No, wait, she meant it—what she said,” Dingo spoke up. “Yeah, we’re low on funds, but really we’re here because she misses her ma.”
“Dingo, shut up.” Maddie glowered at him.
He spoke over her, leaning across the table toward Hiroko. “And her father just told us the story of how he met Lisa here, that you and him became chums because he stopped to help when you had a flat tire.”
“Dingo!” Now Maddie was shooting daggers at him with her eyes. “Just finish your eggs, and we’ll go. She doesn’t want us here—”
“Did you know that? That he met her—Lisa—right here, in your yard?” Dingo asked the old woman, who’d calmly risen to her feet to carry her plate to the sink. “He was taking a rinse in your outdoor shower-thingy, and there she was.”
“I did know, yes.” Hiroko turned to face them and her mouth was tight. “I didn’t approve of their relationship.”
Maddie was intrigued despite her desperate need to look and sound disaffected, so her tone was combative. “Why, because he wasn’t Japanese?”
Hiroko made a raspberry sound. “That may have been Kiyo’s—your great-grandmother’s—thinking, but I couldn’t’ve cared less. I liked the boy.” She looked at Maddie. “Peter was different, and Lisa was, well, she wasn’t good for him.”