Odd Mom Out

“No.”

“Would you like to do something tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I’m blushing, and my cheeks burn hot. “I’ll call you about where and when.” I catch sight of his expression. “I will. I promise.”

His eyes crease. “I believe you.”

“I just need to find a sitter,” I say. His eyes meet mine and hold. “But I will call you, and we will go out, and I won’t forget.”

“I said I believe you.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

His smile grows. “Because I’m glad to see you, and glad I’ll see you later tonight.”

Chapter Twenty-One

I arrive home with groceries to find Eva waiting at the door, holding the school’s parent directory. “Guess what?” she says, twirling around me as I head to the kitchen with the first of the grocery bags. “Guess who called and invited me to a sleepover?”

“Jemma?”

“No. Jemma hates me. Jill. Jill Hunter. She said you met her parents in my class at Back-to-School Night.”

I think back, trying to recall the meeting, and then realize the Hunters must have been the parents who told me who Steve Ballmer was. If I remember, I found Lori Hunter’s honesty refreshing. “That sounds great. What do we have to do?” I ask, putting the bags on the counter before heading back to the car for the rest of the groceries.

“Just call Mrs. Hunter back and confirm that it’s okay for me to go.”

I grab the last bags from the floorboard of the truck. “You dial the number,” I tell her, “and I’ll talk.”

Eva closes the truck door behind me and runs ahead to open the door to the house. “Ready?”

“Yep.” I get the rest of the groceries to the kitchen just before I’ve got to take the phone from Eva.

Lori Hunter is as friendly on the phone as she was at Back-to-School Night. “We’d love to have Eva stay the night. Jill’s been wanting to have Eva over for the longest time, but we’ve been short-handed at the restaurant and it’s been hard to get a free weekend night before now.”

“You have a restaurant?”

“Three.” She laughs. “But let’s not talk about that. I’ve made my escape for the weekend, and I don’t want to think about work until Monday.”

I understand completely. “So what’s the plan for tonight?”

“I was thinking we could come pick Eva up on our way to a matinee movie and then dinner, if that’s okay with you.”

Eva’s jumping from foot to foot, and I smile. “That sounds great.”

“Is four too early?”

Eva’s hands are folded in a prayer pose, and I have to fight to keep from laughing. “No. Not at all. Eva’s very excited. Thank you for including her.”

“We’ll see you at four, then.”

“Great.”

As I hang up, thinking that the Hunters just solved my child care issue for tonight’s date with Luke, Eva throws her arms around me. “I’m going to a sleepover!” she cries.

“And a movie and dinner.”

“I’m so happy. Jill’s really nice, and her mom is great. Mrs. Hunter coaches Jill’s soccer team and makes up the recipes and everything for the restaurant. You’ll like her.”

“As much as Taylor Young?”

Eva hugs me tighter. “Better.”

I call Luke an hour later. “Eva’s been invited to a sleepover, so I’m free tonight. Are you still up for going out?”

His laugh is husky. “Yeah, I’m still up.”

I flush all over again. “So should I pick you up since I’m in charge of this date?”

“I’ll pick you up, and actually, I’m in charge of this date. You were in charge last Friday. Tonight’s my turn.”

“But—”

“Four-thirty. See you then.” And just like that, he hangs up.

Luke arrives at four twenty-five on a gorgeous, classic 1960s chopper. I practically run out of the house to get a proper look at it. “You have a bike,” I say accusingly, “and it’s a Freedom.” I crouch next to the engine to take a look.

He’s smiling as he tugs off his helmet. “You’re a Harley girl, though.”

I shake my head. If only he knew the real story. Standing up, I circle his bike again. The chrome gleams, and there’s miles of it. The spokes shine. The gas tank is burnt orange surrounded by a diffused yellow line that goes black. The handlebars, ape hangers, are huge, spread so far out that it’s definitely a bike only a big man could ride.

“Wow,” I keep repeating. “I think I’m in love with your bike.”

He grins at me and drags a hand through his hair, riffling it on end. “So a ride sounds good?”

I glance from him back to the bike. It’s a two-seater, unlike my bike, which has one of those small solo seats. “We’ll go to dinner on your bike?”

“If you’re not scared.”

I stand tall and whip my hair back over my shoulder. “Those are fighting words, baby.”

His smile flashes, and he doesn’t look the least bit remorseful. “Damn if I don’t say all the wrong things.”

“That’s to be expected. You’re a man.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s called tough love.”

“Is that what it is?”

“Yeah.” Impulsively, I lean forward and stroke the bike’s leather seat and then kiss him. “But maybe I’ll be nice tonight. Seeing as you brought my favorite bike.”

He catches me in his arms for another kiss, and this one is longer, slower, and it makes my insides melt.

“You really like Freedom Bikes?” he asks a long time later.

My lower lips quivers. “Love Freedom Bikes,” I breathe, very aware of his big—hard—body against mine. Tonight, I think, let’s take this all the way tonight.

Luke pushes hair back from my eyes, and I see something in his eyes that nearly undoes me. It’s not exactly sympathy, but it’s definitely a strong emotion. “So why the Harley?”

The lump in my throat is back, the one that makes it hard to talk or swallow. I really wanted the Freedom account, wanted it more than I’ve wanted anything in a long, long time. But I can’t tell him, can’t talk about it. “It’s cheaper—” I try to laugh it off, sliding from his arms. “I’ll go get my helmet.”

“And your coat.”

Seated on the bike, we take the 520 bridge to Seattle and then exit on Mercer and travel past the Space Needle, down toward the water. The sun is beginning to set, and the sky turns red behind the ragged line of the Olympic range beyond Puget Sound.

We travel along the waterfront, passing the Edgewater Hotel, the trolley line, the fishing and cruise ship piers, and then the aquarium.

Luke takes a right, turning into Pier 52/Coleman Dock, which is the entrance for the ferry to Bainbridge Island. Motorcycles board before cars, and we’re allowed to bypass the long line of cars to go to the front

to join the other bikes.

After parking the bike, Luke takes my hand and we walk into the ferry terminal to buy a pass for the five-thirty ferry to Bainbridge.

“You’ve got this all planned out,” I say as we buy cups of coffee to sip while we wait for the half hour to pass.

“I know what I’m doing, if that’s what you mean.”

The way he smiles down into my eyes, I think he does know what he’s doing, and that’s both exciting and nerve-racking.

On the half-hour ride across to Bainbridge, the sky turns shades of red and orange and purple, and we stand at the front of the ferry, the wind buffeting us, and laugh with the cold.

“Everybody else is inside,” I cry out, trying to hold my wild hair in one hand while wiping my cold, stinging nose with the other.

“They’re bigger chickens than you are.”

Luke stands behind me, his body not quite touching mine, but I feel his warmth and it is wonderfully distracting.

Being with Luke like this feels right. We just click, and I can’t even explain how or why, but it seems as if I’ve known him forever. I feel free, young, happy, and while I hadn’t thought I was unhappy before, I can see now I’ve been lonely.

“This is fun,” I say, the wind catching my words and spiraling them away.

“It is,” he agrees. “Bainbridge is one of my favorite places.”

“You do this often?”

“It’s easy to get to, especially when you walk on, or take your bike on, the ferry.”

Despite growing up in Seattle, I’ve been to Bainbridge only one other time, and that was so long ago that I’d forgotten the shape of the island and the way the shingle and clapboard houses cling to the inlets and coves. It’s very New England, very New Hampshire, and I lean on the rail to get a better look.