The Second Time is Sweeter, page 7
CHAPTER 4
When Riley agreed to take the position of police chief in Starlight Hill, he’d accepted the office hours and administrative work. As chief of a small town, he understood that he’d be dealing with everything from handling citizen complaints about traffic and parking, to attending city council meetings, and working with the mayor.
“You need a thick skin,” Bert had advised. “Here, you’ll get immediate feedback from the citizens when something goes wrong. My door is always open.”
Bert had also taken a patrol shift due to the shortage of a working police force, and Riley had agreed wholeheartedly to do the same. He realized it might be the only excitement he’d have on the job, apprehending the occasional drunk. Small town police work wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he got out of the military. He’d also had a job offer in Chicago. Not as police chief, far from it. Police chief was a position that usually involved heavy politicking in most parts of the country. The only requirement in Starlight Hill was acceptance of the abysmally low salary. But even if he’d probably live and breathe adrenaline in Chicago, Sophia didn’t live in Chicago.
He’d had to remind himself of this fact no less than three times in the past ten minutes as he listened to Mr. Schwanbeck pull out charts and Venn diagrams on the study he’d personally conducted of the benefits to another traffic light on the corner of Main and Second Street.
“This is great stuff, Mr. Schwanbeck,” he lied. “Why don’t you ask for time at the city council meeting next month? Maybe they can fit you on the schedule.”
“They already have,” he said. “But I wanted to show you first.”
“What does the mayor think?” Riley asked, tapping his pen on the desk. His leg was also jiggling. He’d been sitting at this desk for twenty minutes and he desperately wanted to get up and do something. Anything that involved movement.
“What does Ophelia Lyndstrom know? She says it’s not in the budget. Budget schmudget. We need another traffic light.”
Riley listened for ten more minutes on the joys and wonders of traffic lights, and because he was no idiot, Mr. Schwanbeck had also included a chart demonstrating how the new traffic light could generate new city income.
“Twice the amount of revenue in the first six months until people get used to it being there.”
“I’d lead with that at the meeting, if I were you.” Riley stood, a not-so-subtle hint that he’d had his fill of praise for traffic lights. He offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Well, I will say for a man who looks like he started shaving last year, you have a firm handshake.”
“Thanks.” Riley cleared his throat. “My door is always open.”
Mr. Schwanbeck raised a brow. “Army? Navy? Air Force?”
“Marines.”
“I’m an Army man myself.”
Riley walked Mr. Schwanbeck to the reception area where Jennifer, his dispatcher, mostly ignored the man. A staunch Libertarian, she believed traffic lights were a form of “entrapment” and that speeding was everyone’s God-given right so long as no one got hurt.
Riley agreed with her more than she realized. More than he’d been prepared to say out loud. “What’s next? Death by way of staff meeting?”
“No more meetings today, and Luther is out there patrolling the streets. Nothing going on as usual. Looks like you have time to work on the budget.”
Greg, the mechanic they’d hired to check out the second patrol car, burst through the rear door connecting to the garage. “Need new brake pads on that cruiser.”
Jennifer snorted. “That’s not in the budget.”
“You want a dead police officer or new brakes? Take your pick.” Greg wiped grease off his brow.
The man was all kinds of compassionate. “How much?” Riley asked.
“Eight hundred dollars.”
Jennifer shot up from her chair. “Highway robbery! We’ve got a two-one-one in progress. He’s holding us up without a gun.”
“Sit down and shut up, you whippersnapper,” Greg said. “A man’s got to put food on the table and all. Okay. Six hundred.”
“All right,” Riley said. “I’ll change the brake pads myself.”
“You’ll do what?” Greg spit out.
“I know how to do it.”
“Don’t be silly, Ri—I mean, Chief,” Jennifer said. “That’s not your job.”
“You said it was time to work on the budget,” Riley said, making his way to the locker room to change. “That’s what I’m doing.”
He heard Greg curse, and Jennifer said, “I’ll be darned. Bert never changed the brake pads.”
Three hours later, greasy and satisfied, he was done with the brake job. Greg had stood next to him entire time, sulking, but handing him tools. “You shouldn’t be doing this but it’s my duty to help if you have to be an idiot.”
“Don’t need your help,” Riley had said more than once, but Greg wouldn’t leave.
With Greg finally gone, Riley cleaned up and changed back into what he liked to refer to as his Chief Idiot outfit. He rolled up the sleeves to his elbows and walked back into his prison—er, office. Last night he’d taken the patrol shift after his office hours, but tonight he’d go home. And maybe, see Sophia.
He was such an idiot.
He didn’t want the divorce, but his pride kept him from begging her to reconsider. To give him another chance. Still, hadn’t she told him time and again that she wanted him to talk more? About his feelings and such? Of course that had been years ago, and he hadn’t done much talking back then either. Seemed easier to show her how he felt and by God he’d done plenty of that. But she was right in that some things needed to be said. He just didn’t know exactly how he would say them after all this time.
I love you, Sophia. I never stopped. You’re the love of my life.
Now to say the words out loud. To her. He was working on it.
Jennifer appeared in the doorway of his office. “Hey, chief. That was pretty cool, what you did there.”
“No problem,” he said, shuffling papers around on his desk. Somewhere in this mess there was a budget.
“So,” Jennifer shuffled her feet and looked at the ground, then at the wall behind him. “This is uncomfortable.”
“What is it?”
She jumped. “Don’t bite my head off.”
“Sorry.”
“I mean,” Jennifer continued, “that my friend Priscilla thinks you’re hot. And she asked me to find out if you were single.”
“I’m not.” This was technically true, he told himself.
“But I thought you and Soph—”
“Pretty sure everybody thinks that but no. Not divorced.”
“You’re not wearing a wedding ring.” She stared at his left hand.
“Great observational skills.”
“Wow. If you think Sophia is getting back together with you, you’re—”
He gave her his best Killer look, the one that implied this conversation was not only over, it was beginning to smell like roadkill.
Jennifer threw up her hands. “Fine, fine. Forget I said anything.”
“Already forgotten.”
A couple of hours later, his work day had ended. He was gratified to pull up to his house and see light and movement inside Sophia’s home, her silver hybrid sedan parked in the driveway. The pattern he’d seen in the last week was that she worked a lot, babysat, and walked her small dog. He hadn’t seen any strange men come to the house, and, yes, he had been paying attention. Not that he could stop it.
He walked to his front door and saw an envelope sticking in a groove between the screen door and the front door. It was a manila envelope on closer inspection, addressed to him: “Riley.” Sophia’s penmanship, and he’d know it anywhere. Little curlicues around the letters and a circle instead of a dot on top of the “I” in his name. Once upon a time it had been a heart over the “I” and it hadn’t made him want to throw up. If this was her way of giving him divorce papers, she was crueler than he’d imagined.
With a hard yank, he opened it and read the contents. Several printed pages of “dealing with addiction in a loved one” with a note on top in her handwriting: read this. She’d underlined some parts in triplicate.
Smiling, he stuffed it back in the envelope. After getting rid of his holster, he walked over to Sophia’s and knocked. She opened the door in a fuzzy blue robe, pink and white bunny slippers on her feet, her hair in a ponytail. He’d always loved her like this the most. No fuss. Plain and unassuming but still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. His woman, he couldn’t help but think now.
“Did you get the envelope?”
“Yep. Can I come in?”
“Uh, I’m kind of busy.”
“I just need a minute.”
“Okay.” She moved aside with some obvious reluctance and walked toward the kitchen. “I was about to have some dinner.”
Dinner looked like a carton of Chunky Monkey sitting on the kitchen counter, but he said nothing. “Thanks for the research. Did you spend much time on that?”
She leaned on the counter and spread her arms to the side, like she would block him from the view of the ice cream. “An hour maybe. You know my friend, Bruce, he’s a doctor so he sent me some links.”
He felt a tension headache coming on. “Uh-huh. You’re still talking to that guy?”
“Not really,” she said and looked at the ground. “I guess you were right. That wasn’t his picture.”
“Shock.”
She scowled at him. “We broke up, if that makes you feel any better.”
It did. A whole lot, even if he wouldn’t admit it. “It’s a good idea. He wasn’t honest with you.”
“He wasn’t real.” She crossed her arms. “I’ve had friendships with men online for a few years, or at least I think they were men. But maybe now I’m ready for the real thing.”
“Yeah?” He moved a little closer.
“N-not with-with you,” she said, backing up. “I mean other men.”
“Thanks for clarifying.” He took another step toward her, boxing her in.
Now she grasped the edges of the countertop and seemed her knuckles were turning white. “Nervous?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you’re holding on to that counter like it’s the last lifeboat on the Titanic.”
She let go of the counter. “You and I had a go of it and it didn’t work out. We were young and now maybe we need to move on.”
“Right.”
He reached for her, closed the small distance left between them, and pulled her the rest of the way to him. Hands on her hips, he kissed her full on the lips. Her hands went up to his chest and she made a squeaky sound. She gave way easily enough and kissed him back, her lips warm and soft and just like he remembered them. His hand skimmed down her spine to the small of her back, and time slowed as he kissed her like he’d been waiting to do again for years. His memories hadn’t failed him, and she tasted as sweet as he remembered, her soft body molding perfectly into his as if they’d been made for each other. Her breathing shifted as his did, coming in short, sharp pulls.
He stood in her little kitchen with the melting ice cream behind them and his wife finally in his arms again, wondering how he’d ever let her go in the first place. Two more seconds of this and he wouldn’t want to leave at all. But he would never rush their relationship again. He’d already done that and was still living with the consequences.
He forced himself to pull away. She wasn’t ready to forgive and forget, and he needed to take his time and get this right. He only had one more chance with her, and only if he played it right. He couldn’t blow it this time.
“Sorry.”
She let out a strangled breath. “Sorry?”
“Yeah. Shouldn’t have done that. I just had to check something out.”
“You had to check something out.” Her hand went to her bruised and pink lips. “Get out. Get. Out!”
He went out the door, leaving his angry wife in his wake. But if he’d had a hint of a doubt in his mind before that kiss, it was gone now.
Game on.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Lizzie asked.
They were in Sophia’s bedroom, and she’d just slipped on the dress she would wear for her blind date tonight. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, if you want to look like an eighteenth-century schoolmarm.”
Sophia frowned and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Maybe I shouldn’t wear a dress at all.”
“Now you’re talking, but that might be a little over the top for a first date.”
“I mean, smart aleck, that I should wear my nice jeans and a sweater. Keep it simple.”
“Do you have one of those sweaters with a plunging neckline?” Without waiting for an answer, Lizzie rifled through Sophia’s closet. “Good Lord, you have to go shopping. All I see are the pantsuits and dresses you wear to the restaurant. The ones that make you look like Leah’s second incarnation.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
While it was true that Sophia admired the way she remembered Mama dressing, in style and class rather than trash and flash, it wasn’t like she was trying to be her mother. At least not when it came to fashion.
“Here.” Lizzie handed Sophia a long-sleeved blue sweater. “What about this?”
Sophia slipped off the dress, pulled on her jeans and put on the sweater, which was a bit tighter than she recalled. She twirled around. “So?”
“Va-va-voom! Hello, Sofia Loren!”
Sophia self-consciously plunked hands on her waist and stared at her reflection. “I’m not sure. I don’t want Marco to think that I’m going to...you know.”
Lizzie grinned. “Don’t worry, I warned him about St. Sophia.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look, he knows that you haven’t dated in a while. I told him that you’ve just come out of a long relationship and you’ve only now started dating again. I didn’t mention the six-year gap part. That would make you sound like a loser which we both know you’re not.”
Not at all. Not a loser because she couldn’t stop thinking about Riley’s kiss earlier in the week. Who knew what she would have done had he not had the good sense to apologize. Sure, she’d been mad, but the worst part was she wasn’t sure if she was angrier about the kiss or his excuse.
“Hey, I’m really proud of you.” Lizzie faced Sophia, one arm on each of her shoulders. “It takes guts.”
“I don’t know about this.”
“You can’t back out on me now. Marco is excited about tonight.”
“Are you sure?” Sophia had her doubts. Marco had been Lizzie’s boyfriend just eight months ago. And now the four of them, Lizzie and her new boyfriend Danny included, would be going out tonight. “It doesn’t seem right, my dating your ex.”
Lizzie waved her hand dismissively.
“Oh, pffft. I don’t think he ever liked me all that much to start with. And with Marco, there’s no real chance of anything serious developing. He’s not ready for something serious, so that’s good because he’s not husband material anyway. And you’re looking for husband material. Right?”
“Of course. Right.” A husband and a family. Once she’d been on her way, only a few years behind Mama and Daddy-o, but then plans had derailed. Or rather, crashed and exploded in her face. “But he’s not husband material?”
“No, not really. Too into himself. A jock that’s fond of the mirror.”
“Then why did you set me up with him again?”
“You’ve got to kiss a few frogs before you find your prince.”
“I’m not kissing anyone. And don’t talk about kissing. It makes me think of Riley.”
Right after Riley had kissed the breath out of her and left her standing in the kitchen boiling with anger, Sophia had group-texted both Lizzie and Angie. They’d both agreed Sophia had done the right thing by ordering him to get out.
“Remind me,” Lizzie said. “Why did you let him kiss you?”
“That’s just it! I didn’t let him do anything. He just did what Riley always does, sneak up on me. He grabbed me and kissed me before I realized what was happening.”
“Uh-huh. So, you pushed him away, right?”
“Sure,” Sophia said, but that part was no longer as clear in hindsight. “I think.”
While it seemed as if maybe she’d pushed him away, reality had dawned on her. She hated to admit she’d done nothing of the sort. But she had a great excuse for that. She was lonely, and Riley performed his usual shock and awe. And yes, she could admit, she missed being kissed by a man. Especially when the man knew what he was doing, like Riley.
A few minutes later, Sophia and Lizzie were on their way to a restaurant in Napa where they’d agreed to meet their dates. It was all quite cozy, as Danny and Marco were roommates and friends, too. Sophia thought it was all a little weird and way too millennial for her sensibilities, but it wasn’t any of her business. This was one date. Only one date, no kiss, and she could handle that. Tonight, she was going to sit across the table from a guy who liked the mirror. It might be fun?
Marco turned out to be extremely good looking in that sophisticated male kind of way. He dressed like an A-list actor, wore a sleek leather jacket, a perfectly trimmed beard and a pair of shoes that likely cost the bill for a party of ten with a three-course meal at Giancarlo’s.
“Good evening, Sophia,” Marco said, bending slightly to kiss her hand.
This guy might work. Oh yes, she appreciated his manners and he was definitely easy on the eyes. She thought about their names and how good they sounded together, Sophia and Marco. Marco and Sophia. He might even be Italian, and how funny would that be? Daddy-o might even like him. Eventually.
Sophia had wanted to go somewhere other than Giancarlo’s for their night out, just in case this guy didn’t work out, so they’d chosen an Italian restaurant in Napa. Inside Allegria , Marco next to her, and Lizzie and Danny across the table.
Marco didn’t order for her, or tell her what he thought she should eat, but instead asked what she’d like to have. Even wanted to know what a restaurateur and Italian foodie such as herself would recommend. He got points for that. The conversation was light, and Marco asked all the right questions. He asked about her restaurant, her family, and didn’t even seem bored when she went on for about five minutes about her nieces and nephews.
