One In A Million

Chapter Three

Had she already mentioned that the man was tall? Stephanie had to tilt her head back to meet Nash’s dark gaze. Once her eyes locked onto his, she didn’t think an earthquake would be enough to break the connection between them.

What exactly was the appeal? His chiseled good looks? The hint of sadness even when he smiled? A body big enough and muscled enough to make him the most popular guy in a “drawing the human form” class? Her sex-free existence? That voice?

I wasn’t playing.

She knew what he’d meant when he spoke the words. He wasn’t playing at being Mr. Repair. He was just trying to help. But she wanted him to mean something else. She wanted him to mean that he thought she was sexy, mysterious and, seeing as this was her personal fantasy, irresistible. She wanted him to mean he wasn’t playing with her. He wanted it to be real, too.

Yeah, that and a nod from a genie would miraculously get the piles of laundry clean, too.

“Stephanie? Are you all right?”

Good question.

“Fine.”

She forced herself to look away from his face and focus her attention on the nearly assembled washer. The scattered tools on the floor were enough to remind her of Marty, who had loved to play at fixing things. He knew just enough to be dangerous to both himself and her monthly budget. Like she needed that kind of trouble again.

“Tell me exactly what you did,” she said. She would need the information to tell the repair guy.

Before Nash could speak, Brett launched into an explanation that involved calling tools by their actual names and pointing out various washer parts on a diagram so detailed, she got vertigo just looking at it. She did her best to pay attention. Really. It was just that the utility room was sort of on the small side and Nash was standing close enough for her to inhale the scent of his shampoo and the faint hint of male sweat. It had been a really long time since she’d seen a man perspire.

And it wasn’t going to happen again anytime soon, she told herself firmly. Men, good-looking or not, weren’t a part of her to-do list. She was going to put any illicit or illegal thoughts of Nash Harmon right out of her mind.

The bad news was she’d assumed that her reaction to him that morning had come from a lack of caffeine and low blood sugar. As she’d had enough coffee to float a good-size boat and she was still full from lunch, she couldn’t blame her current attraction on either of those states. There had to be another explanation.

“Mom, you’re not listening,” Brett complained.

“I am. You got a little technical on me. I guess it’s a guy thing.”

She watched as her son tried to decide between being huffy at her inattention and pleasure at her calling him a guy.

“There’s a simple way to ease your mind,” Nash said.

Reluctantly she looked in his direction, careful not to get caught up in his lethal gaze.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re going to turn it on and prove to me that it works.”

“Exactly.”

He smiled and staring at that was nearly as dangerous. When his mouth curved, her stomach swooned. The sensation was more than a little disconcerting.

“Okay, let her rip.” She bent down to the twins and rested her hands on their shoulders. “You two brace yourselves. If the washer starts to hiss and shake I want you to run for cover. Okay?”

They nodded solemnly.

The three of them watched as Nash closed the lid, then pushed in the dial. There was a second of silence followed by a click. Then, amazingly, the old washer chugged to life. She heard the sound of the tub turning, followed by water gurgling down the drain.

“I don’t believe it,” she said. “It might actually be working.”

Brett grinned. “Mo-om. It is working. Nash and I fixed it.”

“Wow!” She brushed his cheek with her fingers. “I’m impressed.”

Adam tugged on her shirt. “I’m hungry, Mom. I want my afternoon snack.”

“Me, too,” Jason said.

“Meet me in the kitchen.” She turned her attention back to Nash. “I don’t know how to thank you. Of course I’ll discount your room for the work. The last time the repairman was here, he charged me a hundred dollars.”

“Forget it,” he said as he crouched down and began collecting tools. “You helped me out this morning. I’m returning the favor.”

“Jump-starting your car hardly compares with fixing my washer. I have to pay you something.”

He glanced up. “Then I’ll take an afternoon snack, too.”

That wasn’t enough, but it would have to do for now. Brett planted his hands on his hips.

“What do I get?”

“My undying gratitude.”

“How about a new skateboard?”

She winced. The one he wanted had special wheels or a secret finish or something that cranked up the price tag to the stratosphere.

“We’ll talk,” she told her oldest.

“You always say that, but we never have the conversation,” he complained as he stalked out of the room.

She watched him go and was pleased when he turned into the kitchen rather than heading toward the stairs and up to his room. Brett was twelve—nearly a teenager. She didn’t want to think about handling a teenage boy all on her own. She didn’t like to think about dealing with any of it all on her own. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a choice. The past few years had taught her that alone was a whole lot better than marriage to the wrong guy.

She turned back to Nash. “How about coffee and shortbread cookies?”

He finished putting the tools in the box and stood. “Sounds terrific.”

“I’ll bring them into the dining room in about five minutes.”

She started to leave, then stopped. The washer clicked over from spin to rinse. “I still can’t believe you fixed that. I have laundry piled up to the ceiling. We’ve been running out of clothes. I really do appreciate your help.”

“I was glad to do it.” He leaned against the washer. “My work keeps me pretty busy. I’m not used to having a lot of free time and this gave me something to do.”

She laughed. “Uh-huh. Next you’ll be telling me I was doing you the favor by letting you work on the washer.”

“Exactly.”

“Nice try, Nash, but I don’t buy it.”

She headed for the kitchen. Every single cell in her body tingled from their close encounter. Did sexual attraction burn calories? Wouldn’t it be nice if it did?

She started a fresh pot of coffee, then got out glasses for the boys. Brett poured the milk while she set out grapes, string cheese and a plate of cookies. By the time that was done, the coffee had finished. She poured it into a carafe, then set it on the tray, along with shortbread cookies, grapes and some crab puffs she’d been defrosting.

“Be right back,” she told her children as she picked up the tray and walked toward the dining room.

Nash stood by the front window, staring out onto the street. When she entered, he turned and smiled.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She put down the tray. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will.”

She would like to tell herself that he was talking about more than just the food. While she was busy imagining that, she could pretend that his gaze lingered on her face and that his relaxed stance belied pulsing erotic tension building just below the surface of his calm facade. Or she could be realistic and get her fanny back to the kitchen.

Being reasonably intelligent, she chose the latter and left Nash in peace. The poor man hadn’t asked for her sudden rush of hormones. If she didn’t want to embarrass them both, she was going to have to find a way to get her wayward imagination under control. If logic wasn’t going to work, she was going to have to think of more drastic measures.

“Tell me about school,” she said as she slid onto the chair between Adam and Jason.

Her twins were in third grade, while Brett had just finished his first year in middle school.

“Mrs. Roscoe said we’re her best class ever,” Adam told her. “We beat all the other classes.” He gave his twin a triumphant grin.

Jason ignored him. “We got our summer reading lists today, Mom,” he said. “I’ve picked out five books already. Can we go to the library this week?”

“Sure. You’ll all want to think about summer reading. We’re going to have to talk about how many books you’ll be getting through. Are there book reports?”

Adam reached for the backpack he’d left on the floor and pulled out a folder. He passed a single sheet of paper to her.

Stephanie scanned the directions, then glanced at Brett. “What about you?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s up in my room. We have to do about two pages. I want to do mine on the computer. Are we getting a new one? You said we’d talk about it when school was out.”

“You’re right. And unless I’m reading the calendar wrong, school isn’t out yet.”

“We’ve got four days left.”

“Which gives me ninety-six hours until you can start bugging me.”

Brett tried to hide his smile, but she saw it. He’d been after her for a new computer for the better part of a year. While there was nothing wrong with the one they had, it didn’t play the really cool games. She figured she could probably put him off until Christmas when her “twenty dollars a week” fund would have reached computer size. Then the new computer would be a family gift.

Adam bounced in his chair. “I have a new joke,” he announced. “Knock knock.”

“Those are baby jokes,” Brett said as he took a cookie.

“They are age-appropriate,” Stephanie told him. “I listened to yours when you were his age.”

Brett sighed, then dutifully went through the joke with his brother who squealed with delight when he repeated the word who enough for Adam to ask him why he was being an owl. Jason giggled at his older brother.

As the three of them took turns talking about their day, Stephanie found her attention sliding to the man in the next room. He was sitting out there alone while she was in here with her family. She kept having to fight the impulse to invite him to join them. Which was crazy. She’d never once encouraged guests to befriend her children. Besides, if Nash was alone, it was by choice.

He was probably married, she told herself. Or he had a serious girlfriend back in Chicago. She knew he had family here—he’d mentioned the Hayneses, although not how he was related to them.

Indecision made her fidget in her seat until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I’ll be right back,” she told the boys and stalked out of the room.

This was insane, she told herself. She was asking for trouble. Worse, she was asking for humiliation. She needed therapy.

As there was no psychologist standing by to offer advice, she walked into the dining room only to find Nash where she’d last seen him. Standing in front of the window looking out onto the street.

A quick glance at the tray told her he hadn’t touched the food she’d brought him. He hadn’t even poured any coffee.

He turned around and raised his eyebrows in silent query.

After clearing her throat, she tried to figure out what to say. Nothing brilliant occurred to her so she was left with slightly awkward.

“You must miss your family,” she said.

His eyebrows lowered and drew together. “I haven’t met them yet.”

What? Oh. “I meant your family in Chicago.”

“I don’t have any there. I’m not married.”

Score one for the hormones, she thought, trying not to feel or look relieved. The good news was that when Nash left, she would have a great time remembering all the surging feelings she’d experienced while he was here. It would be a lot more interesting than sorting coupons or ironing.

“Okay.” She sucked in a breath. “You can tell me no. It’s completely crazy and not even why you’re here. I don’t usually even ask. Why would you want to?” She shook her head. “Forget it.”

She took a step back.

He blinked at her. “Was there a question in there for me?”

“I don’t think so.” She waved toward the kitchen. “We’re just hanging out in there. The boys tell me about their day at school and they have a snack. You seemed…” She tried a different line of thought. “You’re welcome to join us if you’d like. Or you can simply run screaming from the room and I’ll get the message.”

He looked surprised, and not exactly comfortable with the idea. Of course. He was a sexy, successful, single guy. Men like that didn’t hang out with three kids and a single mom.

Heat crawled up her cheeks and she had a bad feeling there was a blush to match. “Never mind,” she said brightly. “It was a silly suggestion.”

She started toward the closed door that led to the kitchen, but before she’d gone more than two steps, he called her back.

“I would like to join you,” he said.

She eyed him. “Why?”

He smiled and her internal organs did a couple of synchronized swimming moves.

“Because you asked and it sounds like fun.”

“I’m not sure about fun, but I can promise loud.”

“Close enough.”

Now that he’d accepted, she felt foolish about her invitation, but it was too late to retract it. She moved to the table and collected the tray, then tilted her head in the direction of the kitchen.

“Brace yourself,” she said and pushed open the door with her shoulder.

All three of her boys were talking at once. They barely noticed her, but the second Nash walked in behind her three pairs of blue eyes widened and three mouths snapped closed.

“This is Mr. Harmon,” she said as she put the tray on the counter.

“Nash,” he said easily.

“Okay. Nash. These are my boys. You’ve already met Brett, who is rapidly becoming a macho tool guy. And these two—” She walked to the table and put her hands on their shoulders. “—are my twins. Jason and Adam. Say hi to Nash.”

The twins offered an enthusiastic greeting, but Brett didn’t say much. His expression turned wary and Stephanie wondered if he was about to say something that would make her cringe.

“We’re having chocolate chip cookies, grapes and string cheese,” she said quickly in an effort to forestall Brett. “You’re welcome to that or the shortbread.”

“How about shortbread and grapes,” he said.

“No problem.”

As she bustled around the kitchen, he pulled out one of the two empty chairs. Brett sat across from the twins, which meant Nash would be across from her. It was only a snack, she told herself. She could handle it. At least she hoped she could.

As she worked, she tried not to notice the silence. Her normally ten-thousand-words-a-minute kids were all staring at Nash. But before she could think of something to ease the escalating tension, Nash broke the ice himself.

He leaned toward Jason and Adam. “I’m a twin,” he said.

The boys grinned. “No way,” Jason said.

“Not identical, like you two. Kevin and I don’t look very much alike. But we’re still twins.”

“Cool.” Adam offered a shy smile.

Nash turned to Brett. “I heard school is out this week. Are you excited about summer?”

Stephanie saw her oldest wrestle with his innate excitement and his need to be standoffish.

“Summer’s good,” Brett said at last.

“There’s a community pool,” Jason said. “We go swimming every week. And there’s sleepover camp at the end of summer. And Adam and me are gonna play volleyball at the park.”

“Sounds like fun,” Nash said.

“Brett’s seriously into baseball,” Stephanie volunteered as she carried a plate to the table, then returned to collect the coffee. “His team made the city finals.”

“What position do you play?” Nash asked.

“First base.”

She could see he was itching to say more, but for some reason didn’t want to. As if wanting to talk to Nash was a bad thing.

Stephanie sighed. Brett considered himself the “man of the family.” He took his responsibilities seriously. While she appreciated the effort, sometimes she wished she could convince him that it was far more important to her for him just to be a kid.

Conversation flowed for about twenty minutes until she glanced at the empty plates in front of her three. “Looks like you’re done eating to me. Guess what comes next?”

Adam smiled shyly at Nash. “We do our homework now.”

“It’s when I used to do it, too,” he admitted. “I liked every subject but English. What about you?”

“I like ’em all,” Jason announced and pushed back his chair.

He carried his plate to the counter by the sink, then gave Stephanie a hug. She hugged him back. As she felt his small back and warm, tugging hands, she reminded herself that jerk or not, Marty had done one thing right. He’d given her these boys. They were worth all the heartache and suffering she’d endured along the way.

When all three of them had trooped out of the kitchen, she turned to the table. Nash would go now, she thought. Which was fine. She’d tortured him with her family long enough. Whatever feelings of loneliness he might have had would have been erased. No doubt he would be grateful for some solitude.

“Good cookies,” he said as he rose.

“Thanks. I won’t tell you how much butter is in each batch.”

“I appreciate that.”

He carried his plate and mug over to the sink, which was a bit of a surprise. Then, before she could say anything, he turned on the water and began to rinse them off.

Stephanie thought about rubbing her eyes. She had to be having some kind of hallucination. A man? Doing work? Not in her world.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, trying not to sound stunned.

“I don’t mind helping.”

As he spoke, he collected the boys’ plates and rinsed those off, too. Then he opened the dishwasher and actually put the plates inside. She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t think Marty had ever known where the dishwasher was, let alone what it was for.

When Nash reached for the glasses, she came to her senses.

“Hey, I’m the hired help around here, not you,” she said as she stepped in close and took the glass from him.

Their fingers touched. Just for a second, but it was enough. Not only did she hear the faint ringing of bells, she would swear that she saw actual sparks arc between them. Holy wow. Sparks. She didn’t think that kind of stuff was possible after age thirty.

Nash looked at her. His dark eyes seemed bright with what she wanted to say was passionate fire, but was probably the light from the overhead fixtures. Awareness rippled through her, sensitizing her skin and making her want to fling herself into his arms for a kiss that went on for at least six hours, following by mindless, intense sex. Right there, in front of the appliances.

She swallowed and took a step back. Something was really wrong with her. Seasonal allergies? Too much television? Not enough? She felt soft and wet and achy inside. She felt unsettled. All of this was so out of the ordinary, so unexpected and so extreme that it would be really hilarious…if it weren’t so darned terrifying.

Nash wondered if Stephanie really was issuing an invitation with her parted lips and wide eyes or if that was just wishful thinking on his part. No doubt the latter, he told himself as he heard footsteps on the stairs.

The boys walked into the kitchen. Adam and Jason each had a backpack with them while Brett carried a math book and several sheets of paper.

Nash figured it was time for him to excuse himself. Homework seemed like family time. But before he could say anything, Jason patted the chair next to him and offered a winning smile.

“I have to finish my calendar for summer. I wrote something about each of the months. Wanna hear?”

Nash glanced from the boy to Stephanie who gave him a shrug, as if to say it was his call. When he looked back at Jason, the boy pulled the chair out a little.

What the hell, Nash thought. He crossed to the table and took the seat.

“So your calendar is only three months long,” he said.

“Uh-huh. We did pictures. See—I colored fireworks in the sky for July, coz that’s when it’s the fourth and we always go to the park for fireworks.”

Jason opened a large folder and withdrew a folded sheet of construction paper as he spoke. Nash admired the crayon depiction of fireworks, then bent close to see what Jason had written underneath.

“It’s a poem,” the boy said proudly. “The teacher said we could copy it from the board if we wanted. I can read it to you.”

The last sentence sounded more like a question than a statement. Nash nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Jason cleared his throat, then read the poem. When he was finished Adam quietly pushed a spelling list toward him.

“I got ’em all right,” he said in a low voice.

Nash studied the word list, and the big A at the top of the paper.

“You did great. There are some big words here.”

Adam beamed.

The twins pulled out more papers and talked about their homework. When they’d explained everything they had to do, they started the work. But it wasn’t a silent process. They asked questions, shared each step, bickered over the pencil sharpener and asked for more snacks, another glass of milk or even water. Stephanie kept gently steering them back to their assignments.

“They’re usually more focused than this,” she said as she pulled food out of the refrigerator. “The last couple of weeks of school are always crazy.”

Nash remembered what that was like—the unbearable anticipation of an endless summer with no homework. Being here with the boys reminded him of a lot of things. How he and Kevin were supposed to do their homework as soon as they got home, but with their mom out working, there was no one around to make sure it happened. Nash had always done his, but Kevin had usually ducked outside to play. Later, when their mom got home, they fought about it. Nash had retreated to his room to get lost in a book.

As he glanced at the three bent heads, he realized he didn’t have any children in his life. No kids of friends, no neighbors with little ones running around. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent any time with a child. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them; they simply weren’t a part of his world.

Had someone asked him what it would be like to spend an hour or so with three boys, he would have assumed time would go by slowly, that he would feel awkward and restless. But his usual underlying sense that something was wrong seemed to have faded. The twins were friendly enough and while Brett obviously didn’t want him around, Nash understood enough of what he was feeling not to mind. When Nash had been his age, he’d done exactly the same thing.

Stephanie came over and put her hand on Brett’s shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

Nash wasn’t sure that was true. Brett hadn’t written anything on his paper in nearly ten minutes.

Stephanie smiled at Nash. “Brett is in an accelerated math group. He’s already starting on algebra, and it’s a little tough. Unfortunately I was never a math person. Still, he’s way better at it than me.”

Brett winced. “Mo-om, I’m doing fine.”

“I know, honey. You’re doing great.”

Nash glanced down at the open book. “I remember algebra,” he said.

She drew her eyebrows together. “Let me guess. You were a math person.”

“Sorry, yeah.”

“Figures.”

“The thing I always liked about it was the rules. Once you learn them, you keep applying them. Things need to happen in a certain order, otherwise you get the wrong answer.”

She shook her head. “That would be me. The queen of the wrong answer. It was all that do-this-first stuff that made me crazy. Why can’t you just do an equation from left to right, like reading?”

“You can. Sort of. Like this problem here.” He pointed. “You do what’s in the parentheses first, then go from left to right.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how the steps work. If you’re building a model car and you glue down the hood before you put in the engine, it’s not going to look right.”

She groaned. “Is this where I tell you I can’t put a model together, either?”

Brett tapped his pencil on the table. “Can I have my book back, please.”

“Sure.”

Nash handed it over. At that moment Adam claimed his attention to discuss what color green would do best on his mountains for his report on Wyoming. As Nash checked out the various options, he saw Brett read the first problem again, then start writing on his paper. When he’d finished his calculations, he plugged the answer back into the original equation and quickly solved it. His wide smile told Nash that he’d gotten it right.

Nash handed Adam a colored pencil, then caught Stephanie’s eyes. She mouthed “thank you.” Apparently she’d picked up his attempt to help Brett without actually helping. Her gaze darkened slightly as several emotions skittered across her face.

He tried to read them, but they came and went in a heartbeat. He was left with a sense of sorrow, as if she had something she regretted.

Of course she did, he told himself. Everyone did. Regrets were a part of life. But for the first time in a long time, he wanted to ask another person what was wrong. He wanted to learn more about her, to understand what she was thinking. He wanted to connect.

His interest was more than sexual and that scared the crap out of him. Feeling—getting involved—would be a disaster.

He told himself to get out of there right now. To leave before he got trapped. Before it was too late. But even knowing it was wrong to stay, he couldn’t seem to force himself to stand and walk away.

It was just a couple of hours, he told himself. What could it possibly hurt?