Shaddyr's Eclectic Collection > Pretender Fanfiction > Liz Shelbourne > Brick by Brick
Brick by Brick
It was late on Wednesday morning that Jarod received the invitation. The head of the firm himself came around to inform him of the annual Holiday Party, to be held on Saturday. Mr. Coneely explained the formality of the occasion: an old-fashioned dinner dance complete with live band that also served as his wife’s birthday party, thus the gathering early in December. Gifts, however, were not expected.
"You may bring a date," Arthur mentioned, "but you don’t have to. One or two of the employees end up coming solo every year and we always make sure that they have a good time."
The party was held in a ballroom at one of the better downtown hotels. An hors’ d oeuvre buffet was set along one wall, tables along the other, with a bar and a live band on opposite ends of the room. Another small firm, a group of accountants, shared the tables and the festivities. Jarod was informed that the two groups had been getting together for years, there had been more than a few friendships spawned between them, and the extra two dozen people added to the party atmosphere.
Jarod arrived twenty minutes after the doors had opened, and soon found himself seated at a barstool next to Hal Brockton. He was happy to see that the updated black tuxedo he had worn was not out of place, quite a few of the other men were in formal dress. The women were in a full array of gowns, from simple to extravagantly beaded. Introduced to Brock’s wife, Jarod noticed that she wore one of the more excessive dresses, bright holiday red and covered in sequins and bugle beads. It did her little credit. The outfit seemed an obvious attempt to impress, but the mouse-y woman inside it seem uncomfortable and overwhelmed. Jarod would have bet that her husband had picked the dress out.
Brock seemed in a jolly mood, and once again attempted to foist one of his cigars upon Jarod, only to see it disappear inside his breast pocket "for after dinner." He regaled Jarod with an incident that had taken place a few years ago at one of the company celebrations that included himself, an ice sculpture, and one of the hapless accountants from the other firm.
He had just finished the story with a hearty knee slap and was about to order another round of complementary drinks when their host approached. They greeted each other all around, and Arthur was kind enough to complement Mrs. Brockton’s dress.
"Jarod, " he asked hopefully. "I know that you live in the same building, did Hannah perhaps come with you?"
Jarod shook his head. "She had said earlier that she didn’t want to impose, just in case she needed to get home early to Caitlin."
"Well, I wonder where she is?" The older man glanced around, then his eyes lit up as they turned toward the doorway. "Oh, there she is, fashionably late." He moved off to greet her.
As Jarod’s eyes followed the older man’s path, he felt as if he was suddenly transported into a vintage movie, or perhaps one of Caitlin’s fairy tales. The band, which had been playing an upbeat holiday tune, switched to a romantic waltz and the room lights dimmed for dancing. It was the perfect backdrop for Hannah’s entrance. Jarod felt his heart catch in his throat as she moved into the room on Arthur’s arm - she looked exquisite.
Her dress was neither modern nor extravagant, a simple navy sheath that hung elegantly from one shoulder in a classic design. It fell to her ankles, draping softly against her body, with a slit that rose to just above her knee on the left side. A scattering of silver sequins made it appear that the dress was made of the night sky. Unfortunately, it made Mrs. Brockton’s elaborate choice all that more embarrassing.
Hannah’s hair was gently gathered on the top of her head and fell in casual waves around her face like a crown. Her eyes, glittering with delight, caught Jarod’s momentarily as her senior escort led her to the dance floor. The two danced wonderfully, Arthur looking twenty years younger as her led her in a graceful waltz. When they were finished, more than a few of the onlookers gave them polite applause, perhaps the most expressive coming from Mrs. Coneely.
After the dance, Arthur walked Hannah over to the bar area, and Jarod felt his heart beating just a little faster as she approached. She greeted him with a warm smile as she reached for the glass of champagne he held out for her. She handed the bubbling glass to her father-in-law and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for another delightful dance, Arthur." As she reached past Jarod for the other flute sitting on the bar, he could smell her subtle perfume and see a delicate shimmer of sparkling dust on her bare shoulder.
The older man grinned. "Always my pleasure, my dear, always my pleasure. But one of these days, you’re going to have to find someone your own age to dance with. I’m not so sure these knees will last much longer. Jarod," he turned suddenly. "We haven’t had a chance to test you yet. Are you one of those modern fellows who doesn’t know the difference between a two-step and a fox-trot?"
Jarod looked not at Arthur but at his recent partner, and saw a hint of challenge in her eyes. For a moment, he seemed uncomfortable. "I’m familiar with them," he offered.
Hannah seemed to be enjoying his discomfiture, her smile was teasing. "Oh really. Do you tango?"
Jarod decided to play along with her game of one-upmanship. He turned toward her directly and smiled, this time more confidently. "I can."
"Then the gauntlet has been dropped." Hannah grinned almost wickedly as she moved off to greet other friends. "I’ll see you on the dance floor later."
Arthur chuckled to himself. "You’ve set yourself up for it now, my boy."
"I’ve noticed that she likes to tease people."
"Yes, that’s true, but I don’t think she does it maliciously." He sipped at the champagne. "There’s more to this than a little teasing, though. That girl loves to dance; she used to compete when she was younger. It’s not something that she’s had much of an opportunity to do since Scott died. I swear, at one of these parties, the two of them never did stop to eat, they just danced all night long. They were such a beautiful couple on the dance floor.
"In a situation like this, I do what I can, and she takes it easy on me. A couple of the other fellows have taken her for a twirl, but they always come back looking like they’ve just gone ten rounds. For her sake, I won’t let you back out of it, but I just wanted to warn you so that you know what you’re up for. She’ll dance you right into the floor if she can."
"I look forward to it," Jarod replied.
Arthur looked at him sideways. "I believe you do. So what was that sheepish look you gave her all about, when she asked if you danced?"
Once more, for effect, Jarod looked embarrassed. "It’s not something I tell many people about. For a while, I was between jobs and I needed some cash. I’d had a few lessons, so I took a position as an instructor at a ballroom dance studio. It turned out that the owners were less than scrupulous; they were forced to close soon after I started there." In his mind, Jarod relished the memory of putting the blackmailing husband and wife team that had run the studio behind bars, in his own special way.
Arthur clapped him on the back and chuckled once again. "My boy, you are full of surprises. I had no idea you had so many talents when I hired you. I can’t wait to see what turns up next."
The waiters started making preparations to serve dinner, and people began to find their way to the round tables. Jarod was invited to sit with the Coneely’s and Hannah, along with Hal Brockton and his wife. As everyone was seated, Arthur stood and asked for their attention.
"Once again, we are fortunate enough to be here with our good friends at Sanderson’s Accounting to celebrate the holidays and each other’s good company. You all know how dearly my wife and I hold this company, you are all like family to us. I don’t have to say how hard the past eighteen months have been, but I do want to tell you how much it means to Fiona and myself that you have stuck with us and given us your faith and your hard work. That work is starting to pay off, and I can honestly say that the best is yet to come.
"A month ago, we found ourselves in the position of looking for another associate. It was just about that time that a young man came to my attention, and I had the pleasure of asking him to join our staff. Since he started, Jarod has shown great talent and potential, and I have a feeling he will go far in this field, hopefully taking ACA along with him." He raised his champagne glass. "To Jarod, may you be part of the family for a long, long time."
The rest of the room raised their various glasses in recognition. Jarod looked around and caught the warm, appreciative glances of his co-workers. Hannah and Fiona beamed at him across the table, and he felt his face flush as he nodded his head in acceptance.
The only people who seemed not to enter into the spirit were the Brockton’s. As his eyes passed the couple, he caught a momentary flash of emotion, almost hostility, before Brock’s face bent into a half-smirk. Jarod quickly looked back at Arthur, who had begun to speak again.
"Those of you who have been here before know that this is also a celebration in honor of my best friend for the last forty-two years. So if you will, while you enjoy yourself dining and dancing, please remember to wish my wife a very happy twenty-ninth birthday. Thank you all for coming, and enjoy yourselves."
Fiona playfully cuffed her husband as he sat down, then leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. The couple exchanged a tender embrace. Looking on, Jarod wondered about the feelings that could hold two people together for so long.
After dinner, and the presentation of a large, multi-candled cake, a number of couples moved onto the dance floor. The band played a wide variety of music, obviously canny enough to know what would make the younger people want to dance and still please the older gentleman paying their bill.
At the start of another waltz, Arthur once again escorted his daughter-in-law to the dance floor. His wife motioned for Jarod to move a few seats closer to her at the now empty table. They spoke briefly about his new apartment and about Caitlin, but Jarod found himself giving her only half of his attention. Looking over her shoulder, he found it difficult not to watch the graceful couple as they circled around the hardwood floor. Arthur’s movements had a courtly formality, but even so, Hannah seemed to float along his lead. Her body captured the nuances of the music, and transformed them into subtle movements that were at once enchanting and sensual. Jarod found himself embarrassed when he completely missed one of the older woman’s questions. She forgave him with a pat on the hand and an understanding glance.
Toward the end of the piece, Arthur’s lead took the pair toward the band leader’s stand, flashed him what looked like a wink, then twirled away. As the music stopped, and the gentle applause died away, the band leader came to the seldom used microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen," his formal voice reverberated through the room. "By request, our next dance will be - the Tango."
While a few brave couples made their way to the hardwood floor to take their positions, Hannah began to make her way through the people watching at the edge. She was about to give Arthur an "I told you so" look when the feeling of a strong hand on her waist surprised her. Jarod’s words came from just behind her ear as his other hand stretched out in front of her: "May I have this dance?"
She glanced back and saw his steady, brown eyes. Her playful challenge before was echoed in his gaze, together with the slightest hint of smile, and she matched it with her own look. Silently, she took his outstretched hand and they moved away.
Once on the dance floor, he spun her expertly into position and a shiver of delight rose up her back from the place where his hand firmly held her close to his body. Standing there while the music began, she could feel the powerful musculature of his shoulders, the tautness of his abdomen beneath the tuxedo. He glanced down at her with one eyebrow arched and the look of mock contempt so often portrayed in this dance; the tango could be a contest between the two dancers, a sensually classic interplay of man and woman. Hannah gazed back into his eyes without trepidation, but she realized inside she was quivering with excitement.
For the few years she had danced competitively, Hannah had had more than a few partners, men picked out to suit her size and style, usually good dancers, but never someone she had felt really comfortable with. It was one of the reasons she had "retired" from competition. Later, when she had danced with Scott, she had found a partner with whom dancing was a shared joy. They had, after a few months, found a common rhythm in the music, a river of notes upon which they could sail together for hours and hours. Scott had been a good lead but not overly strong. Their comfort had come from hours of dancing together, at classes, at parties like this, and even outside on a summer night, the music coming from a car radio or portable CD player, the dance floor a parking lot or park pavilion. Since his death, she had occasionally pulled out those recordings, remembering their steps and turns with a bittersweet joy.
With Jarod, however, she felt something completely different. His strong arms led her across the floor, his hands compelling her into twists and holds. His lead was aggressive, even commanding, but knowledgeable and graceful. They moved through the complicated steps with ease, and she marveled at how her own body seemed to move with his as if they were magnetized. The feeling was at once exhilarating and a little frightening. She had never danced with someone like him before.
Throughout the song, she tried to mirror his haughty countenance, but it was difficult - she was enjoying herself too much. She felt as if the dance was a contest, and she was to be the prize. For some unknown reason, however, she trusted him not to take advantage of her, of the fact that she already knew she had lost. As the music ended, she could feel his arm leaning her back into a dramatic dip. For the merest moment, she watched as his eyes traveled from her face, down the length of her arched body and along her leg, now exposed to the thigh through the long slit in her dress. As he pulled her body slowly up again, closer than necessary to his own, there was delicious silence between them.
For Jarod, the dance had started out as a playful competition, a way to follow up on Hannah’s challenge, to perhaps get in a little teasing of his own, but as they had danced, he had felt something different between them. Perhaps it was the driving Latin beat of the music, the blatant sexual overtones of the steps, but he had thrown himself into the tango as it had been originally danced, as a way to win (or was it possess?) the woman he danced with. The seriousness of his expression had not changed, but the feelings behind it had, until he realized just how much it meant to him to show her this part of himself, his strength, his grace and his mastery. At the end of the dance, he had allowed her body to arch back into a graceful curve, accentuated by her dress. It was rare that he took the time to notice the form of a woman, but there, supported in his arms, she had been too beautiful, too feminine to miss. As the music had died away, and he pulled her back to him, he had felt the warmth of her skin and the heaving of her chest against his own as she fought to regain her breath. He looked into her face and saw that the dance had worked its magic - at that moment, he was her master.
The silence was shattered by enthusiastic applause coming from around the dance floor. It seemed that almost everyone had gathered to watch their interaction. Oblivious to the other people before, the applause now embarrassed both of them and Jarod gently pushed her a few inches away.
Hannah blushed, looking out at the people standing around them, but then turned back to her partner grinning, her confident nature taking over. "You put on a good show. I haven’t danced like that for years. Thank you."
Jarod’s reply was swallowed up as the band started a new number and he escorted her off the hardwood. Once at the side, people offering their compliments and admiration soon separated them. Hannah excused herself to the table and Jarod moved off toward the bar.
Arthur arrived at the same time as a requested glass of water. His grin seemed to reach all the way to his ears. "My boy, that was something! I think the two of you raised the temperature in this room by five degrees."
Jarod smiled but kept his attention on his glass. He was still trying to sort out the feelings running through his mind and his body. He missed his careful cultivated sense of control, both of himself and of his situation.
At the table, Hannah reached for a proffered glass of champagne. It was the second of the evening, her usual limit, but she had a notion that it would have little effect on her already disoriented feelings. She had tried to put on her usually confidant facade when the room had erupted in applause, but the truth was that she was barely holding herself together. The barrage of compliments hadn’t helped either. She felt that she had been merely following Jarod’s lead, had they been alone, she did not know how far he could have taken her. Yet she still innately trusted him. Watching him as he talked with Arthur at the bar, she felt that he had been as embarrassed as she had by the passion they had stirred up on the dance floor. He looked up from the glass he was holding and caught her eye, but instead of the heat that had been in his expression just a few moments before, instead of the gloating she would have expected from other men, she found herself surrounded by sensation of caring and kindness.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. The band continued to play danceable tunes and both Hannah and Jarod found themselves the partner to a variety of other people. A few of the older woman, including Mrs. Coneely, thrilled to find themselves led around the dancefloor by the tall, graceful man in the formal dress.
When the band announced the last song of the evening, Hannah found herself sitting at a table with two other couples, discussing their respective children. She had just finished a retelling one of Caitlin’s three-year-old twists of logic when she noticed the others shift their attention directly behind her. She was about to turn to look when an upturned hand appeared out of the corner of her eye. Recognizing the expensive fabric of Jarod’s sleeve, she quietly excused herself and laid her fingers lightly in his. They wordlessly moved onto the dancefloor.
"It’s not quite the same as a tango," he said as he placed his hand once more on the small of her back.
"No, but it’s very danceable." Hannah replied contentedly, and shifted her arm to bring his closer in.
The dance area filled as the remaining couples attempted to get one last, or perhaps, just one, dance in before the night was over. Hannah rested her head against the side of Jarod’s cheek, and for a time they moved easily with the music. Memories of Scott came over her, and she closed her eyes.
"Have you noticed that people are watching us?" Jarod’s voice startled her out of her silent reverie.
Hannah looked around and discovered that he was right. People did seem to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to them, although their looks were friendly enough. Of all the couples on the dance floor, Hannah noted without surprise, only Hal Brockton and his wife seemed not to be enjoying themselves.
When the music ended, the band was accorded polite applause, and everyone made their way to either their tables or the coatroom. The lights of the hall were brought up a few notches as the bartender announced last call. At her suggestion, Jarod escorted Hannah over to their hosts’ table, his hand remaining lightly in the center of her back. Fiona pulled her aside as they began to make their good-byes.
"Now dear, how are you doing?" she bubbled. "You seem to be having a good time tonight."
Hannah smile and nodded, sipping a glass of water she had retrieved from the table.
"Oh, good. I was watching you and Jarod dancing out there - I couldn’t help but to think of you and Scott, I’m sure you felt the same way." Once again, Hannah nodded, but this time her gaze never left the glass she held. Fiona tucked her hand under the younger woman’s chin and lifted her face to look directly into her eyes. "I know how you love Scott, that won’t ever change. But I do think that there might be something special brewing between you and Jarod. I just don’t want you to be afraid of looking for that because of your loyalty to my son."
She gently took the glass from Hannah and set it down, then clasped both of her hands in her own. "We’ll both miss Scott until the end of the world, but he wouldn’t want you to stop living because he’s gone, and neither do Arthur and I. You and Caitlin are just too precious to us, we so want you to be happy. I think that young man over there may just do that." She hugged her daughter-in-law tightly. "I love you."
"I love you, too." Hannah hugged her back, then released her to wipe away the tears that had begun to gather in her eyes.
"Besides, " Fiona continued as she took the tissue from Hannah’s hand and dabbed her own eyes, "He looks awfully good in a tuxedo."
Both women laughed, watching as the two men approached. Seeing the tissue in her hand and the shininess of both their eyes, Arthur glanced at his wife in concern. He was rewarded with a loving expression of contentment as he reached for her hand.
"I’ve asked Jarod to follow you home, Hannah," he announced. "There’s been a bit of freezing rain and the roads may be a little slick. You know that I trust you to drive; it’s the other people I’m worried about. I’d feel better if someone were watching out for you."
Hannah tried to figure out if the suggestion was as altruistic as he made it sound, but the older man’s face showed only concern. She had known him long enough, however, and been the object of his machinations before so that she didn’t completely trust him not to be, as he might say, "helping things along." Either way, it was good to know that her in-laws stilled cared for her as much as they did. She hugged the older man too, and wished them both a good night.
"And in the back of the third shop we went into, Fiona found this dress, really quite nice but it had this perfectly awful chiffon over-thing on top, I don’t even know how to describe it." She walked through the lobby door that Jarod held open for her. "Well, I didn’t even want to try it on, but Fiona insisted, and when I realized that the chiffon wasn’t attached it looked like it had some possibilities. Then Fiona started to tell the shop owner about how we only wanted half of the dress, so why should we pay full price, even at a resale shop, and I think the woman finally just gave in to stop her talking! She even included the chiffon part, I’m going to cut it up and give it to Caitlin for dress-up."
There was as awkward lull and Hannah realized she had been talking about anything to try to fill the void. They stopped near her doorway, a few feet from the overhead lamp, both of them instinctively trying to stay away from the glare of the light, though neither of them was sure why. Hannah reached into her purse for her keys. "Thank you for following me home," she said.
Jarod also felt awkward. There were a million thoughts rushing through his head, but he couldn’t be sure which were safe to let out. This was an area he had little real experience in, no past simulation had taught him what to do. How should he act, what should he say?
"I enjoyed dancing tonight. With you, I mean," he blurted out.
Hannah had been wondering about his intentions until she looked up and saw the earnestness in his face, and was that fear in his voice? He seemed as nervous as a schoolboy on his first date. She smiled to try to break the tension. "I enjoyed it too."
"I haven’t really had the opportunity to dance with someone like you, someone who really can dance." His words were still stilted, apprehensive. "That tango was . . . " His voiced trailed off.
Hannah finished for him. "Hot," she stated.
"What?"
"You know, exciting, sexy. Hot. Unmistakably hot." This time she grinned, and Jarod found himself doing the same. He could feel himself relaxing as they moved once again toward her apartment. Hannah’s easy way of talking about what had happened earlier had taken some of the discomfort out of the memory.
As they neared her door, he pointed to a ball hanging from a ribbon from the top of the doorframe. The ball was covered in velvet and festooned with sequins in what could best be described as an uninhibited and most probably juvenile design. Hannah followed his gaze and started laughing quietly, shaking her head.
"What is that?" he asked.
"That," she explained, " is my mother’s not so subtle romantic nature. She and Caitlin must have made it tonight. That, Jarod, is a kissing ball."
His silent wide-eyed wonder required further explanation.
"It’s like mistletoe," she went on. "During the holidays, if someone is caught underneath it, they’re supposed to be kissed."
Jarod nodded his understanding. "And so your mother put it here-"
"Because she has the same problem as Arthur and can’t keep her hands out of other people’s lives. You have to learn to ignore them all." She turned and began to search for the proper key on her ring, still softly laughing.
"I’d rather not."
"What?"
She looked up just in time for Jarod’s hand to touch the side of her face. He leaned down and kissed her gently.
Jarod lay in his stark bedroom staring at the ceiling. Sydney had taught him to try to analyze his feelings, but right now they were in such a jumble that he was having a difficult time. He knew one thing for certain; this was no longer just another exercise, part of him was no longer pretending.
He had realized over the last week that Hannah liked to tease him, and others, but it was never mean-spirited. Most often she would throw out a good natured jibe that he had found actually served to keep him on his toes more than anything. She had a wicked sense of humor, but again, usually not at another’s expense.
Seeing her around the office and the apartment building, they had developed a quick-witted rapport that he now knew had served to cover a common attraction. She had enjoyed baiting him, he enjoyed seeing the flash in her eyes the few times she was able to catch him, knowing that it was always tempered with a wide grin. Seeing that smile had become more and more important to him.
When she had broached the subject of dancing, he had been expecting it. Moreover, he had been prepared. Before he had arrived, he had known of her competitive history, and her ambitious nature. She had burned through more than one partner in her short dancing career. However, he had not expected her to take on so aggressive a dance as the tango. Reading her eyes as she taunted him earlier in the evening, he realized that this could well be a test, but for whom? Was she testing herself, or him? He had wondered for most of the night, until he had seen the look she had given her father-in-law as they announced the dance - it seemed that she had been ready to gloat over his supposed forfeiture, but he had also seen her disappointment. It was then that he had decided that all else be damned, he was going to show her just how a tango should be danced.
Holding her at the end, he had been almost overwhelmed by the rush of excitement, the feel of her body, the desire that burned between them. He was thankful for the applause, it had reminded him that they were not alone, something that he had almost forgotten amidst the steps and the turns and the smoldering glances. Then came the embarrassment of knowing that their feelings had been so evident that everyone might see. Hannah had been wonderful, turning what had been an awkward moment into just another dance, at least for everyone else, and in turn releasing him from his self-consciousness. He admired her for her quick thinking, for he knew that she, at least at that time, had been pretending.
Sometimes her confident facade could get in the way. Jarod realized this, understood why some people, like the Hal Brocktons of the world, would never see below the surface to the wonderful woman she could be. It was with her daughter that Hannah stopped her own acting, stopped trying to take on the world single-handedly. Her love, her devotion and her apprehension were so much more obvious when Caitlin was nearby.
At her doorway, she had once again tried to use that confident manner to diffuse a situation, but he had seen through the ruse. He knew that the tension between them would not dissipate until it had an outlet, kissing her had been a magical relief for both of them. Her expression had been soft and wondering as she wished him goodnight, and in her eyes he could see something that had not been there before –a deepening trust.
Now he lay in bed wondering what to do with that trust. There were so many things that she could not know about him, almost as many things as he had only recently learned about her. His "mission" here was nearly useless; he would do what he could to help the boy but justice had certainly already been served. Hannah was already paying a high price for her part in Jack Dawson’s death. Was there a reason for him to stay any longer, or was the question rather about the validity of the reason? Could he continue to pretend that he was an architect, pretend that he was a "normal" person, just to see how far this relationship would go? And was it fair to Hannah, to Caitlin, or might it perhaps even bring them into danger? For the first time, he was afraid for them, afraid that the Centre might somehow use them to get to him. How far could he take his personal desire to explore this relationship, and at what price?
They waited to ring the doorbell until 10:30 the next morning, when Caitlin could be put off no longer. Standing in the hallway outside Jarod’s apartment, Hannah was patiently explaining to her daughter when he opened the door.
"If you finish one, of course you can have another, but I just don’t want to give you two right away," she finished, then looked up into the open doorway and stopped. Jarod stood in front of them, dressed in only a pair of dark jeans. Water glistened in his hair as he drew a bath towel around his neck. Hannah could see water droplets scattered across the wide breadth of his well-developed shoulders, and the muscles of his strong arms gained definition as he grasped the ends of the towel. Her gaze had traveled unbidden to the flatness of his abdomen when she mentally shook her head and compelled her eyes back toward his face.
"Uh, hi," she forced out. Her head felt light, it must be the lack of sleep, she told herself unconvincingly.
Jarod’s smile was easy, unselfconscious. "Hi."
He has no idea, Hannah thought to herself, how incredible he looks right now, as sexy as good as he looked last night. She forced her attention back to the task at hand: talking. "Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were up."
"I am, I just got out of the shower."
Hannah nodded. "I can see that." This was not going well, she thought to herself, there must be some way to keep her mind off of his body. Luckily, Caitlin squeezed her hand at that very moment, looking for her wandering attention. "Caitlin and I were going down to the bakery around the corner for some sticky buns. We wondered if you might like to come along."
Jarod squatted down so that he was eye level with the three-year-old. "Sticky buns? I don’t know that I’ve ever had sticky buns."
Caitlin’s face was serious. "They are very sticky. You need to wash your hands when you are done."
"I believe you," he responded with the same seriousness. "But I can’t come along this time. I have to go to the high school to work with some other kids, I’m very sorry."
Caitlin gave him a dramatic sigh.
"But if you and your mommy can make it, I’d like to have you over for dinner here tonight." He stood up and faced her mother. "If it’s alright."
"Caitlin’s tastes are still developing," she warned.
He looked down into the little girls upturned face. "How does spaghetti sound?"
Caitlin’s eyes grew wide and she bounced up and down. "Oh, please Mommy, please can we have basketti at Jarod’s tonight? I promise to be neat. Please?"
Hannah attempted a straight face but failed. "Of course we can. We’ll pick up some French bread from the bakery to have with it." Caitlin replied by hugging her mother’s legs tightly.
"Around seven?"
Hannah nodded and picked up the little girl. "We look forward to it."
Caitlin was at the age when she insisted on dressing for dinner, right down to a plastic bead necklace. Mother and daughter were just about to knock on the door to Jarod’s apartment when it opened unexpectedly in front of them. "Caitlin," he greeted them enthusiastically, "you look beautiful tonight."
The little girl responded with a wobbly curtsy. "Thank you. And you look very beautiful, too."
Jarod bowed formally and showed them in. Hannah glanced around the room. Although each apartment came furnished, it rarely took long for a renter to stamp his or her own personality on the place. Since Jarod had moved in, she had not had the opportunity to see how he had decorated.
The first thing she noticed was that the walls were still bare, but all around the room, groups of colored candles burned. There were in threes and fours, on mantles and tables, in wrought iron holders or by themselves, yet all, thankfully above the little girls reach. Only the overhead kitchen lamp was on, throughout the apartment all other light came from dozens of candle flames.
The butcher block-style table that came with the apartment was now set for three with solid color stoneware dishes, not totally unexpected for a man, but nicely accented with geometric patterned napkins and placemats. They looked new.
On the neutral couch, dark, patterned pillows contrasted against the light material, but picked up the colors in the throw rug that had been placed beneath it. On the side table, next to a stack of coffee table books, a picture of a woman sat in a wooden frame.
Caitlin soon found the most interesting items of all. Along the near wall on a long wooden table, just at her eye height, was a collection of what looked like toys. She ran over to the table and was just about to reach out when her mother warned her back.
"That’s okay," Jarod called out reassuringly as he took the proffered loaf of bread back toward the kitchen area. "They’re just toys. You can play with them if you like."
Caitlin tried to decide which to pick. "Do you have a little girl too?" she wondered aloud.
"No. I’ve just collected them from my travels. Do you like them?"
The little girl squealed with delight as she found a special one. Hannah had followed her over to the table and looked at its contents in wonderment. Jarod certainly had a collection, especially, it seemed, when it came to Pez dispensers. She fingered one of them as she cautioned her daughter "One thing at a time."
She moved toward the kitchen and watched Jarod as he expertly cut up the bread. "You’ve done a nice job decorating here."
"It took me three hours to find everything this afternoon," he replied with a peculiar honesty. "I like candles."
"I see that." Sometimes she wasn’t sure how to take some of his comments. At times, he seemed so completely without pretense that she was sure he was, well, she wasn’t really sure what he was doing. She was fairly certain that he had not intended the candlelight to create a romantic setting, he truly did just like candles. She glanced at the numerous Pez holders and at her daughter playing with the Mr. Potatohead on the floor. Jarod was an intriguing mystery.
Dinner went well. True to her word, Caitlin tried to be neat, and was moderately successful. After dinner, they moved to the couch, facing each other from either end, with Caitlin seated in her mother’s lap, once again intent on creating a new potato face. Jarod gave her well-intentioned suggestions, which were surprisingly heeded.
"How do you do that?" Hannah asked. "Every time I try to tell her to do something, she does just the opposite."
"I put myself in her place, to see where her mind is going. She’s a bright little girl."
Hannah pushed her daughter’s hair back from her forehead. "I know. It frightens me."
There was a quiet moment as they watched the little girl play. Hannah glanced over to the table behind Jarod. "Who’s in the picture?"
Jarod brushed his fingers over the glass as he picked up the frame then handed it to her. "This is my mother - I’ve been looking for her and my family. I was separated from my parents when I was young."
She looked at the photograph of the woman with long, red hair. As he replaced it on the table, she saw that his eyes held pain and she shivered involuntarily. She wrapped one arm around her daughter’s waist. "I don’t know what I would do if someone took Caitlin away from me."
Jarod shook his head and spoke determinedly, as if to himself. "You would search, like my father did. But I won’t let that happen to you." Unexpectedly, he rose from the couch. "I’m sorry, can I get you something to drink?"
Hannah was not sure what had just happened. Jarod wanted to change the subject, but she still was uncertain what they had been talking about. "No, thank you." She disengaged herself from behind her daughter and moved toward the table. "Please, let me help you clean up." Carrying the dishes, she walked into the kitchen alcove.
Just as she rounded the corner, Jarod turned and almost bumped the stack of dishes right out of her hands. They both laughed as he took the plates from her to set down on the counter and she pulled an errant piece of spaghetti from the front of his shirt. Reaching for a nearby towel, she dabbed at a spot in his chest. In the small space of the kitchen, they were very close.
"I’m sorry," he explained. "I’m not usually clumsy."
Hannah put the towel down and tried to smooth the fabric of his shirt with her fingertips. Her hand rested on his chest and she could feel his heart beat. It took a moment for her to raise her eyes, only to close them as he kissed her.
Suddenly a small voice called from the other room, breaking the moment. Hannah shrugged and walked toward her daughter. "What is it, sweetheart?"
"You forgot our present!" she cried.
"Oh. You’re right. Can you stay here for just a minute while I run back to our place?"
The little girl nodded, her eyes wide. "Hurry!"
When she returned a minute later, Caitlin was sitting on Jarod’s lap on the couch, and they were in the middle of yet another arrangement on the "potato" face. Hannah paused, watching as the two played together, then she reached over the back of the couch and placed a manila folder in her daughter’s lap.
With all due formality, she presented the folder to Jarod. "I made this for you in school. It’s a strained glass window."
Inside the folder, a sheet of construction paper framed a collection of multi-colored tissue shapes. Jarod held the paper up to the lamp and the light shown through.
"Thank you, Caitlin. It’s beautiful ‘strained glass.’ I’ve never had anything like it. I think that it should go on the window so the sun will shine through tomorrow. Will you help me?"
Once again, Hannah watched the two as Jarod helped her daughter carefully tape the paper to the window, quietly caught up in her thoughts.
Monday morning was always hard to get the office going, but this day seemed worse than others did. There was plenty of talk about how much fun everyone had had at the party two days before, but the biggest buzz concerned a specific dance. Even though, by mutual agreement, Jarod and Hannah had arrived to work separately, and for the most part, avoided each other throughout the morning, the gossip was hard to abolish.
One of the bookkeepers, Kelly Mickens, also a single mother, asked Hannah if she would like to go to lunch with her. Over a bowl of hot soup at the deli across the street, she attempted to pry some insider knowledge from her friend.
"I didn’t get to tell you, but you looked gorgeous on Saturday," she started, blowing on her spoon. "Where did you find that dress?"
Hannah rolled her eyes. "A resale shop, but trust me, it didn’t start out looking that good."
"Well, it fit you like a glove." Kelly tried to look around the room nonchalantly. "That new guy looked pretty good, too. What’s his name?"
"Jarod," she answered, fully aware of the object of this game.
"Yeah, that’s right. Do think that was a rental tux?"
Hannah thought about the feeling of the material beneath her fingers as they danced, the cut of the jacket, and the body underneath. "I doubt it," she confided. "It didn’t fit like any rental I’ve ever seen."
"So, um, does he dance as well as he looks? I mean, I didn’t dance with him, being with Roger and all, I thought, well, you know."
Hannah replied with a Cheshire smile. "He dances very well."
"And?"
"And what? He dances well, and he looks good in a tux."
"Couldn’t ask for much more, could you?"
"No," Hannah agreed. "Couldn’t ask for much more."
The other woman leaned back in her chair, exasperation showing on her face. "You’re not going to tell, are you?"
Hannah looked up from her bowl with mock innocence. "Tell what?"
"Aaah! You drive me crazy! You leave with the hottest guy to come around in years and you won’t share the details? What kind of friend are you?"
"When, and if, there is something to tell, I’ll tell you," Hannah teased, "and then you can tell everyone else. It’ll save me some time."
Later that day, Jarod stopped by Hannah’s desk to give her some information to mail to a client. Seemingly ignoring her as he reviewed the packet, he spoke quietly. "Did they corner you yet?"
Hannah looked around, seeing two of the assistants watching them from another office down the hall. She bent back toward her computer. "Oh, yeah. They sent Kelly to interrogate me over lunch, but I wouldn’t break."
"Well done, soldier." Jarod stacked the papers together and handed them to her. "These need to go out today." His voice, like hers, was coolly professional.
"No problem. Dinner?"
"When?"
"Around six-thirty. Overnight?"
This time Jarod was caught off guard and his all-business facade cracked momentarily. "What?"
Hannah couldn’t help but giggle. "The papers. Do you want me to send them overnight?"
"Oh. Yes, overnight. Sure."
His face red, he walked back to his office.
As basketball was their highest priority, Jarod and Coach D’amico had worked together to turn many of the regular ball-handling drills into workouts, teaching the sport while conditioning the body. Other than twice weekly sessions in the weight room, all of "Coach Johnson’s" exercises were on the court: wind sprints, laps, rapid lay-ups and a variety of complicated running and passing patterns, all designed to make the players last longer and play better during an actual game.
Tuesday evening after practice, Jarod was working out a new series of drills at his shared desk when he heard a tentative knock. John Dawson poked his head through the partially opened door. "Coach Johnson? You got a minute?"
Jarod waved him in as he finished writing on the yellow tablet on the desk. He looked up. "What can I help you with?"
Embarrassed, the teen put a paper plate, stacked with Christmas cookies and wrapped in a plastic bag, on the desk. "My mom sent this for you, to say thanks for driving me home."
Jarod took the plate eagerly, his face lighting up. "I love this tradition of giving food at the holidays!" He opened the bag and took out a mound of pink, inspected it, then popped it in his mouth. He smiled. "These are very good. Tell you mother thank you. Would you like some?"
"No, I’ve been eating those things for days. Try one of the ugly chocolate ones, they’re the best."
Taking the suggestion, Jarod motioned for the younger man to have a seat. "Did you get your car fixed?"
"Yeah. Some wire broke under the dash, it was the weirdest thing. It took the shop three days to figure it out."
"I didn’t see you at practice last week."
John shook his head. "I didn’t want my mom driving me just so I could sit around and watch. It’s okay if I have my own car, there isn’t much else to do until she gets home, but without my wheels, well, I just took the bus home."
"Where does your mom work?"
"She’s got this beauty shop, oh, I’m sorry, salon, that she’s worked at her whole life. When we got the money from my dad’s accident, she bought the place. I don’t know why, she should have just retired or something, it’s not like we need the money anymore." He looked around the tiny office absent-mindedly.
Jarod stood and moved toward the trophy cabinet and the team pictures along side it. "If she’s lucky enough, she enjoys what she’s doing." He pointed to one of the pictures. "When I first came here, I thought that this was a picture of you. You look a lot like your father."
John shrugged. "Everybody says that, but I’m a lot taller than he was. That’s why he wanted me to go into basketball."
"So why did you quit?"
The question hung in the air between them. Jarod had noticed for the first time that there was no anger in the boy’s voice when he talked about the sport. For a moment, he thought John was going to revert to his usual hostility, but his voice remained quiet. "He pushed me so much, everything was basketball and basketball was everything. I’ve been playing since I could walk, it just wasn’t any fun anymore. When he died, I didn’t have to play anymore, so I stopped."
"Fair enough."
John stared at him. "Aren’t you going to try to convince me to play? I mean, isn’t that what this whole little pep talk is about? My mom put you up to it, didn’t she? She wants me to play again, ‘to fulfill my father’s dream.’ This is where you’re supposed to try to guilt me into coming back."
"Why should I? You seem to have your mind made up. If you don’t want to play, then don’t play. It doesn’t really bother me. Life’s too short to do something you really don’t enjoy."
John looked at him in puzzlement as he stood up and moved toward the door.
"Tell your mom thanks for the cookies. See you tomorrow."
"Sure, yeah. I will." John said over his shoulder as he walked out, still bewildered by this aberration in what he had come to expect from adults. "See you tomorrow, coach."
Jarod watched once again with satisfaction as the boy left. He reached into the bag for another of the "ugly" chocolate cookies.