Hannah held back the door, greeting the men on the street. Frank Cho gave a friendly smile, bomber jacket zipped up tight and thumbs hitched in his utility belt. “You must be Hannah.”

“Thanks for coming by, and on such short notice.”

“No problem,” Frank said as Carter followed him indoors, tipping his hat her way. “Electricity’s nothing to mess with.”

Just as Frank spoke, Carter locked on her gaze. Seconds ticked by as winds howled across the threshold. Frank turned to her, puzzled, and Carter reached up and smoothly shut the door. Hannah noted the paper bag in his hand. Its logo read The Elf Shelf Book Shop.

“Good to see you, sheriff.” Hannah shot him a smile. “Been shopping?”

“Had some errands to run.” Carter awkwardly cleared his throat. “On this street.”

Frank paused in unzipping his jacket to scrutinize them both. In a flash, his face registered understanding. “I’ll just go check things out, while you two get acquainted.”

“Oh no, we’ve—”

“Met,” Carter finished for her. His eyes were a thicket of pines: lush, green, and inviting. Heat warmed her cheeks as Carter removed his hat and pressed it to his chest.

“Right.” Frank repressed a grin. “In that case, reacquainted.” Hannah was vaguely aware of Frank turning her way. “Fuse box?”

“Kitchen,” she said weakly, never taking her eyes off Carter’s.

Frank clucked his tongue. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”

As he trailed away, Hannah could have sworn he said, “Major power surges could be an issue.”

Carter shifted his hat to the hand holding the bag. “Hannah…”

“Frank seems to have gotten the wrong impression.”

“What impression is that?”

Her color deepened. “That you and I—”

“But we’re not,” he assured her firmly.

“No.”

“Not even in the least.”

Hannah shook her head.

“The only thing is…”

Hannah waited, her heart drumming.

“We could be, if you wanted.”

“Could be what?”

“Going out.” A sly smile crept up his lips. “You did kind of invite me.”

“The rain check.” The words were a breathy whisper.

“Yeah.” Carter raised his free hand and lightly traced her lips with his thumb.

Hannah’s pulse raced and butterflies went wild within her.

“How about that rain check?” he continued. His palm was on her cheek now, the heel of his hand cradling her chin. Carter took a step closer. Only his hat and the shopping bag stood between them. “Can I cash it in?”

Copyright © 2016 Ginny Baird

Lenore Held, a.k.a. LaSandra Lacy, was driving home from spin class, forty-two years old and looking for a change. Despite her success as a romance writer, she felt there had to be more. At least Lady Tightbud was getting it in the bushes. Her own love life was lackluster on a great night.
John Irving, the name should have been the tip-off, was more boring than . . . she’d say watching paint dry, but that was actually more exciting, because at least you got to see what the color truly looked like when it dried. Irving’s color was always nondescript gray, like once-snowy-white underwear washed one too many times. Lenore continued to plunder her vast store of words, both old world and this world, and could not find a word to describe him adequately.
Barbra Streisand and Bryan Adams were crooning on XM. What she wouldn’t give to have a man with a voice like that, whispering his urgent need for her into her ear.
What she’d get, if she got anything, from JI was straight missionary sex, by which she never achieved orgasm, he’d finish her off manually and be all pleased with himself. Foreplay consisted of his rubbing up against her, like a half-dead Saint Bernard and maybe, just maybe, running his hand down her leg.
He needs to go. I’d be better off with my fantasies and a large cucumber, she thought as she pulled into the garage. These pleasant musings brought me all the way home.
“Ugh.”
She noted her son’s car was in the garage and wondered what he was doing home. Lenore didn’t think he had a break from college. She hoped this wasn’t going to be a twenty-question night.
Nathan Held was twenty-one, a senior at Georgetown, majoring in International Relations. He was accepted to Yale Law and would start there in the fall. Nate was a brilliant, handsome, funny young man who until recently had never given his mother a moment’s grief. Even now, it wasn’t grief. He wanted something from her, something she couldn’t give him.
Two years ago, Nate began making noises about wanting to know who his father was. She was lucky the drumbeat hadn’t started earlier. But Lenore had sworn her silence on that front. Nate’s father was a major politician, a very wealthy, very married, very conservative politician who couldn’t keep it in his pants. It made her laugh now. It was the age old story, young intern, gentrified senator, late nights, stolen moments, intern gets knocked up, senator wants her to have an abortion, she refuses, so he buys her silence.
Money can’t buy a lot of things. But his money gave her the freedom to be a doting mother and get her writing career off the ground. By the time Nate was five, she didn’t need the senator’s money and invested it for her son. Nate didn’t even know how much money there was. He didn’t need to know now, but it would give him a good solid start in life.
Lenore’s career took off, but the senator kept his end of the bargain, and she kept her silence. Nate didn’t care about financial arrangements and promises of silence. He wanted to know who his father was.
She sighed. “Nate,” she called, walking in the door.
“Over here, Mom,” he hollered back.
She went to join him in the great room of their Yardley, Pennsylvania, home.
They met halfway and embraced.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, holding him at arm’s length.
“Not happy to see me?” he teased.
“I’m always happy to see you,” she replied with a warm smile that lit her vibrant hazel eyes. He looked happy. No sign of his being there to fish for information on his father.
“The admissions counselor at Georgetown asked if I wanted to help with the booth at the George School college fair, and I said sure. It should be fun.”
Nate was a graduate of GS, and he always liked to go back when he had time.
“That’s great. I don’t recall GS having a college fair when you were there.”
“No, we didn’t. The college reps would come and talk to anyone who was interested in the school. I think the fair makes sense so students can see a number of prospective schools. They might find they’re interested in one they never considered before.”
“I agree. Maybe you should go into college admissions instead of law.”
“Law is a good springboard for anything, Mom. I don’t even know that I’ll ever practice law.”
She nodded, ruffling his deep brown hair. “Whatever you do, you’ll be great.”
“You’re my mom; you have to say that.”
“No, I don’t, but I mean it. Do you have time for dinner?”
“I’ll grab something at the Hoagie Shack on the way over, but I’ll let you make me waffles tomorrow morning.”
“Chocolate, chocolate chip?”
“You’re the best, Mom.”
“You’re my son; you have to say that.”