Page 15 of Seasoned
Her first husband had been an ethics professor. Rather ironic, since he’d lost his job and their marriage ended because of an affair with one of his students. Not having learned her lesson, her second husband had been a professor, too. He taught history and they met at a literary event. In retrospect, she’d moved too fast with him, thinking deep conversations about US history and the country’s role in shaping politics around the world meant they were compatible. They were not. They married quickly, after only six months. The marriage itself lasted a mere three years, though it had been dead long before they signed the divorce papers.
Her third husband was an attorney, and by the time they split, they were barely on speaking terms. They slept in the same bed, but only mumbled a few words here and there throughout the day when they passed each other in the hallway.
With him, she’d tried. Hard. Over and over again to make the marriage work. When he ignored her, she tried harder. She dressed different, cooked his favorite foods, downplayed her own achievements to make him feel better about himself when he lost his job. When he started spending more time with his cars than with her, no matter what she did, she knew the marriage was over.
Renee really put up with some shit from him. But she’d finally come to the realization that if a man didn’t want you, he just didn’t and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. No amount of trying or changing or cooking or cleaning would make him love you if he didn’t.
“Three men managed to snag you but let you go? What are the odds of that?”
She stared at Clive. Had she heard him correctly? There was disbelief, but not condemnation in his voice.
He folded his arms on the table and leaned toward her. “You’re not some black widow, are you?”
She’d definitely never gotten that question before. “Not at all. None of my marriages worked out, that’s all.”
“I hope that you don’t let a few numbskulls change you.” Definitely not the response she’d expected.
“I won’t. I haven’t.”
“Good for you.” He drained his coffee cup. “Guess I better get to work. Can I help you clean up before I get started?”
“Absolutely not. You go ahead, and I’ll take care of the dishes.”
Sitting back in the chair, hands placed firmly on the arm rests, he looked at her oddly then, as if trying to figure her out. “Thank you, Renee.”
“You thanked me already, and you’re welcome. Just being neighborly.”
He flashed a sexy grin. “Being neighborly, huh? I could get used to this.” Seconds ticked by as the words dangled in the air above the table.
She had the same reaction she’d had watching him through the window and when she’d observed him working on the door. Her nipples ached and her loins filled with warmth. Being around Clive Stevenson caused her body to react in ways it hadn’t in a long time.
As soon as she thought of a glib comment, he rose from the chair.
“Better get to work,” he said, keeping his eyes on her.
She observed him over the rim of her coffee cup—his fit body and the way the sleeves capped around his biceps. Loose-fitting jeans hung on his narrow hips, held up by a firm backside.
When he disappeared, she set down the coffee cup and took a deep breath. Clive was certainly making it hard for her to stick to her decision of staying away from men.
7
They were both interested in each other. That was fairly obvious, and not even her three marriages had turned Clive off.
Renee tapped a pen on the arm of the chair in her home office, a space simply furnished with a wood desk and chair, a few bookcases stuffed with books, and awards on the walls from her work in teaching.
Last night she’d spent an inordinate amount of time searching the house for additional projects for him to complete, and he was working on those projects now, after tackling the ceiling fans first. Oddly enough, it was nice to have a man in the house. She’d always moved into her husbands’ homes, leaving this one rented. It was almost paid for at this point, and with minor repairs and a few upgrades over the years, had served her well. She’d at least had a place to come back to when she decided she was finally and truly done with men.
She returned her attention to the computer and went back to work on the novel she was editing. The book was interesting, flowed well, and only had a few minor inconsistencies. It was an easy job and she’d finish it soon—sooner if she stopped mooning over the virile man busy at work in her house.
Angela Washington was a former student and a successful novelist writing historical fiction with characters who pulled at readers’ heartstrings. Though she was published, she never submitted a manuscript without having Renee look at it first. It was an honor to be entrusted with such important work, and Renee didn’t take her influence lightly. While she adored Angela’s writing, she made sure to critique each manuscript with an unbiased eye.
The hours passed quickly. Clive worked fast and efficiently, left to meet his friend for lunch, and then returned to work on the siding and a few other items he’d noticed needed fixing. By the time he called her to examine the completed projects, the sun was going down in the sky and Renee had completed the edit.
She reviewed the outside projects first. She could hardly tell where the boards had been replaced on the outside of the house. Once the paint dried, they’d be invisible. They then went inside and ended in the bedroom, where Clive showed her the second ceiling fan had been installed.
“Wow, you’ve done a great job. Once again, I can’t find a single fault with your work.”
“That’s the way it should be.”
