Twice the Chance, page 7
He left the office a full hour later than usual, rejecting the notion to ask Jazz to meet him for dinner. She seemed to be softening toward him but she was still skittish. As hard as it was, he needed to fight his nature and wait until the twins’ party Sunday to see her.
After picking up a sub, he noticed the needle on his gas gauge was low. The service station where he stopped charged less for cash purchases, so he headed toward the attached convenience store. His cell phone rang, and he clicked it on. “Hello.”
“You were way out of line to suspend my son.”
The caller was Gerianne Huff. He wondered how she’d gotten his cell number, then figured it didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Huff,” he said evenly.
“My husband and I are handling the situation.” Her voice contained barely controlled fury. “You shouldn’t be involved in this.”
“I respectfully disagree.” Matt paused outside the entrance of the convenience store. “D.J.’s my business because he’s a member of a Faircrest athletic team.”
“A key member,” she shot back. “You need to take back that suspension right now.”
The glass convenience-store door swung outward, and a couple of teenage girls left the building. Matt recognized them from school and nodded. They greeted him with huge smiles, then walked away giggling and casting backward glances at him.
“Listen,” Matt said. “This is not a good time. If you like—”
“Where are you right now?” she demanded.
It wasn’t any of her business but perhaps he could get across how inopportune her timing was. “At a Hess station. As I was about to say, you can make an appointment to come to my office tomorrow.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said and disconnected the call.
He stared at the phone for a moment, sighed and put it back in his pocket. Coaching the soccer team came with challenges but none as irritating as the ones an athletic director faced. Coaching was also a whole lot more fun.
A blonde woman wearing a shirt that was too tight and shorts that were too short was moving away from the cash register when Matt entered the store. She smiled at him, then stopped and pointed a finger. Her nails were painted the same bright pink as her lips.
“Chicken sandwich and lemonade,” she said. “You were with a boy who has a stomach the size of South Carolina.”
Matt smiled back, grateful for a friendly face after the phone call. “Sadie, right? You waited on my brother and me at Pancake Palace.”
“I sure did,” she said. “And you’re the poor guy who’s trying to get a date with Jazz.”
Her description of him amused Matt. Obviously Sadie didn’t know him very well if she assumed he might fail. “Jazz told you about that?”
“Not willingly,” she said. “That girl could be a mime, she talks so little. But I have ways of worming things out of her.”
“So you know she catered my party?”
“That was you?” Sadie clapped. “Now I understand why you didn’t just get some deli trays. But don’t worry. I won’t tell her it was a trap. I’m on your side.”
He laughed. Sadie didn’t look anything like his sister but her sass reminded him of Terry.
“Why are you on my side?” he asked.
“I’m an excellent judge of character,” Sadie said. “You’d be good for Jazz.”
Matt didn’t try to bank his curiosity. “In what way?”
“She keeps to herself too much. You can get her to open up.” Sadie rolled her eyes. “I’m trying, but Heaven knows I could use the help!”
Matt was still grinning to himself a little later as he stood by the pump, breathing in fumes and watching the automated numbers increase as gas flowed into his car.
Having Sadie as an ally was fine with him. Although Matt believed in going after what he wanted, he didn’t have much practice pursuing women. The females he’d dated in the past usually made it known they were interested, often asking him out first. Jazz went to lengths to keep him at a distance even though he could swear she felt the spark between them, too.
Sadie was a few pumps away, screwing the gas cap back on her early-model Chevy. He was trying to catch the waitress’s eye to wave goodbye when a dark blue minivan pulled up behind him. He didn’t give the van a second look until he heard a door slam shut. The driver was Gerianne Huff.
She barreled toward him, like one of Tom Dougherty’s football players intent on flattening an opponent. She stopped short, her eyes blazing and her mouth set in a stern line.
“We’re not talking about this tomorrow in your office,” she said. “We’re talking about it now.”
“You’re serious?” Matt was having a hard time wrapping his mind around her sudden appearance. He regretted mentioning the name of the gas station. Either it was the only one in the area or she’d guessed right.
“Damn right I’m serious.” Mrs. Huff was almost as tall as he was, with short no-nonsense hair and a scowl meant to be intimidating. “There’s a big game next Friday. D.J. needs to play in it.”
Matt lowered his voice. “Then D.J. shouldn’t have gotten drunk Saturday night.”
“You have no proof he was drunk!” Mrs. Huff spoke in a much louder voice than Matt.
“He admitted it to Coach Dougherty.” Matt wasn’t about to bring up the Facebook angle because she could easily claim the photo was doctored. “You know as well as I do that D.J. messed up.”
“Yes! He messed up!” Mrs. Huff all but hissed. “His father and I are dealing with it. We grounded him. You don’t have to do anything.”
“The athletic department’s policy against drinking is clear,” Matt began. “Coach Dougherty should have told you—”
“Coach Dougherty said the suspension was your idea!” The volume of Mrs. Huff’s voice escalated. “There could be college scouts at the game next Friday. Coach Dougherty wouldn’t hurt D.J.’s chances of getting a scholarship.”
“D.J.’s a junior, ma’am.” Matt tried not to lose his temper. Couldn’t the woman see that her leniency wouldn’t help her son in the long run? “He’ll have plenty of chances to prove himself.”
“Not if he gets the reputation as a troublemaker!”
“Then from now on he should stay out of trouble,” Matt said. The pump clicked off and he removed the nozzle, placing it back on the handle. He replaced the gas cap and took his printed receipt. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going.”
Mrs. Huff followed him to his car door. “This is unbelievable! You’re not changing your mind?”
“That’s right,” Matt said.
“So you have no compassion for a kid who made a mistake?” She sounded incredulous.
“I’ve got plenty of compassion, Mrs. Huff. I just believe people should pay the consequences for their actions.”
“I’m going to watch you like a hawk, Mr. Caminetti,” she said in a soft, angry voice. “You best not make any mistakes of your own. Because you’ve made an enemy.”
SADIE LEANED AGAINST a counter in the kitchen of Pancake Palace, grateful her number of customers had slowed and her waitress shift would end soon. Carl was wiping down the countertops while Jazz put excess pancake batter into a plastic container.
“You’ll never believe who called me last night,” Sadie said with all the drama the question warranted.
“Who?” Carl asked as he put elbow grease into a particularly dirty spot.
“Ace!” Sadie announced.
Both short-order cooks looked up from their work. Carl’s dark eyes snapped with dislike. Carl had never met Ace, but Sadie had told him a lot about her ex-boyfriend, including the way Ace had dumped her.
“Why he call you?” Carl asked. Although his English was excellent, he tended to use the present tense and sometimes dropped words. Sadie thought his way of speaking was endearing.
“He wanted to know what we were doing this weekend,” Sadie said. “He acted like he never sent that text breaking up with me!”
“What did you say?” Jazz’s brows were drawn together, a worried expression mirrored on Carl’s face.
Sadie straightened from the counter. “You two think he sweet-talked me into forgiving him for dumping me!”
Neither of them spoke for long moments, until Jazz asked, “Did you?”
“No!” Sadie cried. In a smaller voice, she said, “But I was tempted.”
“Why you tempted?” Carl asked.
Sadie took a deep breath of air that smelled of pancakes and fried bacon. “It’s not easy being a single mother.”
“You great single mother.” Carl was usually so quiet, this was being gabby for him.
“Thanks.” Sadie didn’t need props for caring for Benjy but it was nice to receive them. “But sometimes I get so damn lonely.”
“It’s better to be by yourself than to be with a jerk,” Jazz said.
“Ace is jerk,” Carl added.
Sadie had to smile. “Thanks, guys. Your support means a lot.”
They both nodded, neither appearing completely comfortable with the praise. Helen Monroe barked out an order through the pass-through window, Jazz cracked two eggs onto the griddle and Carl went back to wiping up.
Sadie sighed heavily, her thoughts tumbling into words. “I just wish I could find someone as nice as Jazz’s guy.”
Carl’s hand stilled. “Jazz, you have guy?”
“No.” Jazz shook her head. “I have no guy.”
“Maybe not yet, but Matt strikes me as somebody who gets what he wants,” Sadie said. “It’s obvious he wants you.”
“Why would you say that?” Jazz asked, an edge to her voice.
Sadie couldn’t figure her out. Just the other day, Jazz had commiserated with Sadie about dating the wrong kind of men. Sadie had a very good feeling about Matt.
“I ran into him at the gas station and I could just tell,” Sadie said. “Oh. A weird thing happened. This tall woman driving a minivan was yelling at Matt because her son couldn’t play in some football game. I’m pretty sure it had something to do with the kid drinking. Is Matt a football coach?”
“Athletic director,” Jazz answered.
“That makes sense,” Sadie said. “I tell you, though, the woman was not happy.”
“What did Matt say?” Jazz asked.
“Something about school policy,” Sadie replied. “That everybody’s tough on underage drinking nowadays.”
“No,” Jazz said. “What did Matt say about me?”
“Oh, that.” Sadie was messing with her. She knew what Jazz had meant. “He told me about you catering the party.”
“He told you about this Sunday?” Jazz sounded shocked.
“This Sunday?” Sadie wrinkled her nose. “I was talking about last Saturday. Are you going out with Matt this weekend?”
“I’m not going out with him.” Jazz seemed reluctant to elaborate. “I’m doing the baking for a party his sister’s throwing for her twins.”
Sadie grinned. “So you are spending Sunday with Matt!”
“Not with him, with—”
“The eggs are burning,” Carl announced.
Behind Jazz, tufts of black smoke rose from the griddle. Jazz whirled, grabbed a spatula and scraped the ruined mess into the trash can.
“I better go check on my tables,” Sadie said quickly. She needed to pass both short-order cooks en route to the dining room. She patted Jazz gently on the back in sympathy and smiled at Carl.
He was already turning back to his work when he muttered something in a soft voice.
“What did you say, Carl?” Sadie asked.
“Nothing.” Carl didn’t meet her eyes.
But Sadie knew Carl had said something. She just couldn’t be sure she’d heard correctly. Because it had sounded an awful lot like, “I’m a nice guy.”
CHAPTER SIX
TERRY CAMINETTI PINCKNEY really knew how to throw a party.
The triple-chocolate fudge brownies, coconut cupcakes, peanut-butter cookies and soccer-ball-shaped cake she’d commissioned Jazz to bake for the Sunday afternoon event were only a start.
Terry had tied brightly colored helium balloons at regular intervals, covered picnic tables with blue plastic tablecloths decorated with rainbows and stretched a banner across the top of the rented pavilion.
Brooke and Robbie: The Chosen Ones, it read.
The setting was ideal, a shady gem of a park not far from the Citadel, the venerable military college on the upper peninsula of Charleston that had been turning out graduates since the mid-1800s.
The party had barely started and already it had energy. Robbie kicked a soccer ball around a grassy field with some early arrivals while Brooke and another girl played an intricate hand-clapping game. Jazz had watched the twins while arranging her baked goods on one of the shaded picnic tables, noticing little things that could mean either nothing or everything.
The widow’s peak at Brooke’s hairline that was shaped exactly like Jazz’s.
The longish slope of Robbie’s nose, a Lenox family trait.
The slim legs that accounted for most of their height, the same way Jazz was built.
Yet Jazz still hadn’t attempted to find out the exact date of their birth.
“Everything looks and smells so yummy!” Terry hustled over to Jazz’s side, dressed in a red T-shirt that said Me A Mamma. She snagged a peanut-butter cookie and bit into it. “Tastes yummy, too.”
“Thanks,” Jazz said. “Now that I’ve put everything out, I’m gonna go.”
“Go! You can’t go!” Terry didn’t seem to believe in holding back emotion. “The party’s barely started.”
More guests began to arrive, Matt included. He wore dark sunglasses, a gold T-shirt that called attention to his tan and shorts that showed off muscular, hair-sprinkled legs.
Robbie had intercepted him before he reached the pavilion and roped him into demonstrating how to juggle a soccer ball. Matt was grace in motion, keeping the ball in the air with his feet, knees and chest.
“Wow!”
“Cool!”
“Your uncle’s the bomb!”
The children’s voices carried to Terry and Jazz, who managed to tear her eyes away from Matt. Terry was watching Jazz instead of her brother.
“I put everything on disposable trays.” That way, Jazz wouldn’t have to return for her dishes or rely on someone to bring them to her. “And you’ve already paid me. So there’s no reason for me to stay.”
“Here’s a reason,” Terry said. “I’d like for you to stay.”
“But I’m not a guest.”
“I’m the hostess and I say you are. You said yourself your work is done. And I can guarantee you the Caminettis know how to have fun,” Terry said. “Isn’t that right, Matt?”
Jazz had been so preoccupied with Terry, she hadn’t seen Matt approach. He flipped his shades up onto his thick hair. Faint color stained his cheeks, hinting at what he’d looked like as a boy. It was only a vague hint. The boy had grown into a fine-looking man.
“You can’t beat fun.” Matt grinned and sampled a cookie, giving Jazz a thumbs-up as he chewed. “What are we talking about?”
“Terry, where do you want this thing?” Kevin called from where he had wheeled an oversized cooler through the grass.
“Be right there, babe,” Terry said to her husband. To Matt, she added, “Convince Jazz we want her to stay, okay?”
Terry hustled away, shouting orders to her husband, leaving them as alone as they’d get at a party for children. Nobody was within twenty feet.
Jazz remembered Sadie’s claim that Matt was trying to win her over and braced herself to resist him. She mentally prepared excuses about why she needed to leave. He dipped his head close to hers and she could smell his clean, warm scent.
“If you don’t stick around,” he said in a whispery, confidential voice, “you’ll miss out on the Caminetti Shuffle.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Can’t tell you,” he said. “You’ve got to stay and see for yourself.”
“But…but…” Her manufactured excuses had evaporated and she couldn’t resurrect them. All she was left with was the truth. “I don’t belong here.”
His nose crinkled. “How do you figure that?”
“I’m not—” she tried to push the word out past the lump in her throat “—family.”
“So what? Neither are most of the people who are coming,” Matt said. “Terry believes in the more, the merrier.”
“But I won’t know anybody.” Why couldn’t she come up with better excuses?
“Then you can hang out with me.” He winked at her. “I’ll introduce you around. We’ll start with my parents.”
He gestured to a couple coming toward them wearing shorts, T-shirts and sneakers who looked barely old enough to have a son Matt’s age. Matt resembled his father, who was tall and trim with the same golden-brown hair as Matt, but Matt had his much-shorter mother’s warm smile.
“Who’s this pretty young lady, Matt?” his mother asked.
“She’s a friend who did the baking.” Matt phrased his answer to make it sound as if Jazz were a guest first and employee second. She didn’t see how she could disagree graciously. “Mom, Dad, this is Jazz Lenox. Jazz, Carol and Len Caminetti.”
“It’s lovely to meet you.” Carol’s eyes, the same light brown as Matt’s, shone with curiosity.
“You, too,” Jazz said.
Len pumped Jazz’s hand. “So you and Matt are friends. What does that mean?”
“It means we’re friends,” Matt declared before Jazz could respond. “You just got back from Tallahassee, right, Dad? How was your trip?”
“The Seminoles won, so it couldn’t have been better.” Len extended his arm and repeatedly bent his elbow while humming an Indian war chant.
“Don’t let my husband freak you out, Jazz.” Carol Caminetti laid a hand on her husband’s arm to still the motion. “Len played football for Florida State and that’s their fight song. He used to coach the Faircrest High team, too. He’s a football fanatic.”
“The whole family’s into football,” Len nodded. “Carol was a cheerleader back when I played. Terry cheered, too. And now our son Danny is playing. He’s only a sophomore but he’s starting Friday night.”
