"How did you get my address?"
"My fingers did the walking."
Next year she'd go unlisted in the phone book. "It's late."
"Planning to turn into a pumpkin?"
She placed her hand over her stomach. She felt like a pumpkin in her gray sweats with the orange baseball stripes. Her belly was now round and protruding. And five pounds heavier than when she'd left the auction.
He looked at her over his wire rims and noted, "You've got chocolate on your chin."
"On my chin." She swiped at the spot. "Also on my sweatshirt." She looked down at the smear of
Chunky Monkey on her left breast. "On my sweatpants." A dribble of hot chocolate. "On my bedroom slippers." Her gaze dropped to the long-necked, fuzzy pink flamingos. A gift from Jacy, now splotched with Cherry Garcia. She appeared as chocolate-dipped as the strawberries.
"I'm a mess," she confessed. He stood before her, all clean and pressed in his navy blue shirt and khakis, while she needed Shout and a full-cycle wash.
Tilting her head, she looked into his dark brown eyes. "Reason behind your visit?"
He took in her comfort food. "I came to steal your spoon. No more ice cream. Chocolate won't bring Aaron back."
He'd left the stadium before Aaron's announcement. "Word sure spread fast."
"Small town. Chatty cab driver."
Her shoulders slumped. Aaron and Natalie were hot news. She felt chilled to the bone.
Zen limped passed her, straight for the kitchen table. After sweeping the Hershey's foil onto his palm, he collected the half-eaten containers of ice cream and dumped them in the trash. That's when he spotted the empty bag of M&M's and the torn box of Junior Mints.
He shook his head, returned the chocolate-covered strawberries to the refrigerator. After pouring out the hot chocolate, he tossed her spoon in the sink. All that remained on the table was a bat-and-ball set of salt and pepper shakers and a ceramic catcher's mitt filled with artificial sweetener.
With one hand on the table to steady himself, Zen dropped onto a chair, stretched out his leg, and asked, "You holding your own?"
Zen would see through any facade she might put up. There was no point lying. So she openly admitted, "I'm hanging on by my fingertips and slipping fast."
"I'm sorry Aaron hurt you."
"Me too." She ran sudsy water in the sink, swishing the spoon around. "How late did you read to El-lie Rosen?"
He rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. "Until she fell asleep. Around eleven. I promised to return tomorrow and take her to the bookstore. Buy her a set of Junie B. Jones. She's a sweet little girl."
Stevie could picture him reading to Ellie. Zen seated on the couch, the six-year-old snuggled up against him. She would turn the pages, absorbing every word, adoring the man with the dark eyes and deep voice. The man who "looked like he could read." Jacy had shared Ellie's comment. He'd make a good father.
"Spoon's clean," Zen stated, after she'd dipped and swished it a dozen times. He patted the seat on one of the chairs. "Join me."
She hesitated. "I'm not feeling talkative. I was about to heat some warm milk, then head to bed when you arrived."
"No, you weren't," he contradicted. "You were sitting at the table, poring over yearbooks, wishing you could turn back time." He kicked the chair leg with his good foot and slid it back from the table.
"Neither warm milk nor a hot bath will cut it. Sugar combined with shock will have you staring at the ceiling for hours. So sit, Stevie."
She slowly did his bidding. As discreetly as possible she closed her high school yearbook, only to have Zen tug it toward him and flip to the dog-eared page. His expression remained impassive as he took in a photo of her and Aaron, arms wrapped about each other, big smiles, and "Most Likely to Marry" cap-tioned beneath their picture.
He raised one brow. "At eighteen you believed in happily ever after?"
"Still do." She cracked her college yearbook and found a small photo of the two of them at a fraternity dance. She could still hear the music, the laughter, his words of promise. Words now whispered to Natalie Llewellyn.
"Life shifts, sometimes shakes like an earthquake." He spoke as if from experience. "Little remains constant. No matter the heart's involvement."
"I still believe in Aaron," she stated. "Somewhere deep inside him is the memory of how good we were together."
"A good memory, I'm sure," Zen returned. "But a memory nonetheless."
His words made her bleed. "You trying to hurt me?"
"I'd say you were hurt long before I arrived."
She took a deep breath and asked, "Did you know Aaron was engaged?"
Zen turned the page in her high school yearbook. "Heard the rumor."
"No surprise to you then." She rubbed her chest, feeling vulnerable and bruised. "Unfortunately, I hadn't a clue. Being the last to know sucks."
Returning to her college yearbook, she flipped through several more pages and found Aaron pictured in Sports: an action shot of him on the mound, releasing a pitch. She remembered that game. A major win that had cemented his contract in the minors.
Tears filled her eyes, yet she refused to cry. "Ever been in love, Einstein?"
He rubbed the back of his leg. "I've never loved blindly. I evaluate the strengths and weaknesses in the women I date. Then determine on what levels we best connect."
"Sounds calculated."
He shrugged. "Perhaps. But when boundaries are set in advance, there shouldn't be any kicking, screaming, or tears of regret when two people call it quits."
Stevie couldn't help smiling. "You've had a screamer?"
He grimaced. "She had the lungs of an opera singer."
"I cry. Eat chocolate."
"I'll get Kleenex, but no more sweets."
"Chocolate-covered strawberries are great comfort food."
"Find comfort elsewhere."
"Why all the concern?"
His gaze darkened to jet, dropped to her breasts, then to her belly. "I told you at the coffee shop, I'm a sucker for hazel eyes and freckles."
Her nipples puckered and heat speared low. A heat she hadn't felt since the last time she and Aaron made love. A heat that left her flustered. And wet.