Page 53 of Free to Live
“Yes?” I don’t say more.
“You seemed to have the same opinions I had about finding someone who can be a friend.”
I just don’t know if it can be you.I nod instead.
He takes a deep breath. “So, let’s give it a try.”
I open my mouth and then snap it shut.You can do this. Even if this is the worst form of torture there is, you can do it.“Joe, if people see us together for the first time at night, there’s no way they’re not going to make a leap that we’re not dating,” I declare boldly.
His face takes on a look of consternation. “I didn’t think of that. I’m so out of practice with this shit,” he mutters.
“Look, come by the mansion. Drop off the blanket, take a look at the photos, and grab a meal with us,” I offer.
He appears intrigued. “Go on.”
“Then we’ll go out to lunch another day. You know, ease our way into it.”
“That seems a lot smarter,” he agrees.
And safer for my sanity. I just shrug in response.
Two dimples he probably reserves for his daughter light his face. “Sounds like a plan, Ms. Freeman.”
“That it does. I’ll see you sometime during the week, then.” I slide into the driver’s seat. Pushing the key into my ignition, I hear a tap against the window. Rolling it down, I turn my head slightly and meet Joe’s dark blue eyes head-on.
“Drive safely, Holly,” he whispers. Rapping his knuckles against the roof of my car, he moves away so I can back out of my spot.
Rolling up the window, I back up and pull out. In the rearview, he’s standing where I left him, arms crossed in the white shirt, looking like temptation and heartbreak wrapped up in a single package.
“Shit. This is not going to go well,” I mutter as I turn onto the road to lead me back to the mansion.
And some order and sanity.
25
Joseph
“Is it unusual to just be friends with a woman?” I ask my father as he passes me the bowl of antipasto.
His eyebrows shoot straight to his forehead. He and my mother exchange glances. “I would like to think I’m a friend to everyone who works at the house, Joe,” he replies carefully. “Whether they’re a man or a woman.”
My mom stands up to usher Grace out of the room under the pretense of getting the pasta from the kitchen. “I don’t mean like that.” Stabbing my fork into a bite of cheese, I pop it into my mouth and chew thoughtfully. “I know you were aware of how much I resented working on the Victims Assistance Fund, Pop. It felt like I was constantly being reminded of Mary.”
“I know, son. But…” Before he can start to enumerate the many reasons he asked me to work on it, I interrupt him.
“But I think I understand now. There’s something about stepping outside your own pain to help others that furthers your own healing.”
My father blinks at me. “Honestly, that wasn’t what I intended at all, but if that’s been one of the outcomes, I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“I laughed so much recently,” I tell him just as my mother approaches the table with Grace. The bowl of spaghetti and meat sauce she’s holding clatters to the table.
“What?” she whispers, her voice filled with equal measures of hope and shock.
Reaching over, I pick up my little girl, who’s balancing a bowl of freshly grated parmesan in her hands. “And not because this one’s dancing around the living room to Elmo,” I tease.
“Elmo!” Grace shrieks. Just as her hands are about to fling the cheese everywhere, my mother rescues it.
I grin. “The red furry one appreciates your devout worship, baby.”
