An Unlikely Mommy. Tanya MichaelsЧитать онлайн книгу.
Thanksgiving and Easter and plain ol’ family dinners?”
Speaking of this evening’s looming supper…Her brothers had been suspiciously silent on the subject of Jason McDeere since teasing her at the beginning of the week. Lulling you into a false sense of security, no doubt. Heckling was a Carter family tradition, and she wondered what might be said later. Especially since insightful Kaitlyn, who had first clued Danny in about Ronnie’s unspoken feelings, would be present. Ronnie still couldn’t believe her sister-in-law had said anything without first broaching the subject with Ronnie herself. Sharing thoughts with a spouse must trump gal-pal confidences.
At any rate, there wasn’t much left to pack that she wouldn’t need between now and the move, so Ronnie decided to get out of the house for a few hours. Cranking up an old Bon Jovi CD she’d found while emptying out her desk, she drove to the town’s main hardware supply store. She wanted to start thinking about the specific changes she planned to make, putting together a list of priorities and a preliminary budget.
Once inside the spacious warehouse, she grabbed a cart. Armed with a notepad of scribbled measurements and a calculator, she began at the far left, intending to make her way systematically across the aisles. She was only four rows in, however, when she halted. Her breath caught in her throat.
Jason McDeere.
He was standing in front of a section of white plastic strips dotted in colorful squares representing paint shades. Apparently he was interested in one of the color schemes on a lower shelf, because he’d bent over for a closer look. She couldn’t help but notice the way the denim of his jeans—
“Veronica.” He straightened, giving her a smile that was just a touch self-conscious.
“Hello.” Too formal. “Hi.” Yeah, that was better. “Hi.” Except that now she’d greeted him three times and was probably coming off as manic. On the plus side, anything she said from here on out was bound to be an improvement as long as she didn’t say it in triplicate. “How’s it going?”
“Okay, I guess.” He ran a hand through that thick hair—light brown with touches of burnished gold. “I consider myself an educated man, but hell if I can tell you the difference between ‘apricot’ and ‘tangerine.’ Or ‘cranberry’ and ‘pomegranate.’”
She laughed, a combination of nerves and genuine amusement. “Are you wanting to paint something, or make a fruit salad?”
“Exactly!” Moving closer, he extended a strip with various shades of green. “Kiwi? Honeydew? They can’t just call it yellow-green?”
“Maybe they thought they could charge more for honeydew.”
He nodded, studying the selection in front of him with befuddled exasperation. “I always thought choice was a good thing, but this is overwhelming. Where do I start? Now I know how my students feel when I tell them to pick a topic for their research paper each semester.”
“You could try flipping a coin. It’s what my brother Dev would do.” But she was secretly pleased that Jason approached decisions more thoughtfully.
“Better yet, I could get a second opinion. Help a guy out, Veronica?”
Something rippled through her, a foreign intimacy at hearing her name again from his lips. “Actually, it’s just Ronnie. Hardly anyone’s called me Veronica since my mom died.”
“Ronnie, then.” After a moment, he asked gently, “Do you still miss her?”
“Some days more than others.” Was he thinking of his grandmother? “Have I ever told you how sorry I was for your loss? Sophie was a lovely person.”
He smiled. “She was, wasn’t she? I like to think she’s with Grandpa Bert now. I don’t think she ever truly got over him.”
Ronnie thought back to the photo of her mom in her dad’s office. “Some people really do find that once-in-a-lifetime true love, don’t they?”
This time, his smile was tinged with the barest hint of bitterness. “I might be the wrong person to ask.”
Stupid, she chided herself. In light of his divorce, her babbling was probably insensitive. “So, um, paint samples?” Smooth segue. Yeah, it’s a real mystery why you never date.
He glanced down at the stick in his hand as if he’d forgotten he held it. “Right. I’ve been putting off drastic changes to Gran’s house because it seemed somehow disrespectful to her memory, but I can’t ignore the needed repairs. There’s one section of the roof I should reinforce so we don’t end up with a leak, and the whole place could use some updating. My bedroom definitely needs a change.”
Mine, too. It needs a man in it. Ronnie blinked, as horrified by the uncensored thought as if she’d said it aloud. She tried to squelch the idea, but when she glanced into Jason’s eyes her nebulous fantasies took on new clarity. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cursed her redhead’s fair complexion so thoroughly. He’d have to be blind not to notice she was blushing. There was a question in his eyes, but he didn’t voice it.
Doing her best to sound nonchalant, she asked, “Then you’re planning to paint your room?”
“Probably. The wallpaper that’s in there now has got to go. No offense to Gran’s taste, but I’m not really a roses kind of guy.”
She smiled. “When I was seven, my mother painted my room pink, hung frilly white curtains and got lacy pillow covers for my bed.”
“Sounds like my daughter’s idea of heaven,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I coveted the monster truck decor in Will’s room. So I empathize on not loving the roses.” It occurred to her that as lone occupant of her new house, she could fix up the entire place in a monster-truck motif. She chuckled at the image.
Jason raised an eyebrow. “What’s funny?”
“It’s silly.”
“Try me. I have a two-year-old, I’m fluent in silly.”
“I’m buying my first house this week,” she said. Just saying it out loud sent joy glowing through her. “I suddenly pictured all the rooms done in that truck theme I wanted when I was a kid.”
He grinned. “I’m starting to think maybe I shouldn’t ask your decorating advice.”
“Definitely not. I’m doing well just to pick out clothes each morning that don’t actively clash.”
“Looks like you do okay.” As he spoke, his eyes swept downward in automatic observation. Yet long before he’d reached her navy shirt and white shorts, his gaze slowed, became something less casual and more reflective.
Her skin tingled in the wake of his visual caress. She was unused to prolonged perusal from a man, was even less accustomed to the elemental admiration she saw dawning in those indescribable eyes. Her heart sped up in her chest, and she wondered if he could make out the rapid flutters beneath the thin cotton.
She swallowed. “Thank you.” It should have been a simple acknowledgment of a perfunctory compliment, but it was something more than that, husky and personal.
His eyes returned to hers, the expression in them dazed. A thrill of heady, feminine power shot through her—she’d put that look on Jason McDeere’s face. It was surreal, so unexpected that she found herself emboldened enough to blurt, “Would you like to go have lunch with me?”
He hesitated, and she felt sure he would say no. After all, he’d just finished telling her how much work he had to do revamping his—
“I’d love to.” His smile was boyish. “I’m as bad as my students. I always tell them not to procrastinate, but when faced with the prospect of slogging through more paint samples or a meal with a pretty girl…Well, it’s a no-brainer. You’ve rescued me from a kiwi-pomegranate-tangerine meltdown.”
In turn, he’d rescued her from going