The Life That Mattered (Life Duet 1)

“Thank you for dinner,” she said, leaning into me because it was a chilly evening, or maybe just because.

“My pleasure. Where are you parked?”

She pointed to the lot across the street behind the grocery store. “Where are you parked?”

“I’m not yet. Noah picked me up from the airport when I arrived. I’ve been taking the bus and the occasional cab. Vehicle shopping is on my list of things to do.”

“Then I’ll take you home tonight.”

“You will, huh?” I gave her hand a little squeeze. “That’s very kind of you.”

It was about a fifteen-minute drive to my condo, and she spent the entire drive telling me how she met Graham Porter. Letting me know they dated for two weeks in college and had the most regrettable sex. Then she confessed all the reasons she worried that Lila would feel trapped into the family name and politics if Graham ran for governor. I swear the woman didn’t know a stranger. It felt like we’d known each other for years, taking me out of my element, bypassing the point where I’d normally say, “I had fun. We should do it again sometime.” Only … sometime was code for we’re done. Unless … both parties had way too much to drink. Then that led to a clumsy and oftentimes regrettable one-night stand.

I wasn’t opposed to the occasional drunken one-night stand, but not with Evelyn. We weren’t drunk, and I wasn’t okay with an arbitrary time in the future that I may or may not see her again.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” Evelyn said as she turned off her Jeep.

“God …” I laughed, shaking my head. “That’s messed up. Now I feel a huge urgency to get my own vehicle. I think I’ll go tomorrow to buy one just so you don’t ever have to walk me to my door again.”

She climbed out. “I don’t have to stop at your door. We don’t have to play by the rules of dating. I think we’re past that age. How old are you?”

I found her hand and led her to the front door. “Thirty-five.”

“I’m thirty-four. Have you ever been married?”

We stopped at my door and faced each other. “No. You?”

She shook her head. “The rules don’t apply once you’re past thirty.”

“The rules?”

Evelyn grinned. “The courting shit. The baseball game.”

“The baseball game?” My head canted to the side.

“Yeah. The sexual bases? First base is kissing. Second base is—”

“Yes.” I fished my keys from my pocket. “I’m familiar with the bases.”

“Well, I don’t know if you’re a fan of baseball or not, but I am.”

I unlocked my door and motioned for her to go inside.

She wet her lips and stepped into my condo without an ounce of hesitation. “You’re inviting me in. So you are a fan of baseball.”

Not so much. Skiing, football (soccer), rugby, cycling, tennis … but not baseball. However, something told me Evelyn might make me a baseball fan.

“Are you sure you’re living here?” She glanced around at the sparse furnishings of my two-bedroom condo.

“I never stay in one place long. No need to own much. It’s just that much more to sell or move.”

Books.

I owned books and a place to sit and read them. My parents didn’t believe in letting Julien and I watch television while we were growing up. Julien embraced art. I embraced fiction—mysteries and sci-fi.

“What do you consider not long?” She ran her fingers along the back of my leather recliner before dropping her bag to the floor and slipping off her jacket.

“Three to five years is a nice stay.” I tossed my coat onto one of two barstools at my kitchen counter.

“Okay. So our marriage will be short.” Her teeth trapped her full bottom lip.

“Probably.”

I’d dated enough women to know there existed a sequence of events that took place way before the M word should ever be discussed. I’d never reached the point of discussing the M word. Not even with my longest relationship, which lasted two years.

Two years and we didn’t talk about marriage.

I was out of my realm of experience with Evelyn. We joked about marriage, but who joked about that? Then there was a baseball discussion happening, and I didn’t even like baseball, but I waited with restless anticipation for Evelyn to make her point. Something told me it could be brilliant.

“Kenny was a guy I dated my first year in college. He played baseball.”

I could not have cared less about this Kenny guy, but he brought her back to the baseball talk, so I folded my arms over my chest, leaned against the counter, and gave her my full attention as she walked in slow circles around my furniture. A predator with calculated moves.

Who was I to judge? I walked into her shop that day and basically said we needed to expedite our dating status—laid out my plans to eat dinner with her, close down bars, and sip hot chocolate.