Window on the Bay Read online

  “Logan suggested we meet Friday night at the sports bar close to the library. I’ve never been there. Do you know anything about those?”

  “Not a thing.” I held back from saying that I didn’t think Maureen would be comfortable in a sports bar. I thought of her as more of a wine-and-piano-bar kind of girl.

  “I guess I’ll find out,” she said, and then added, “I probably should’ve suggested somewhere else. I briefly thought about it. But it’s right after work on Friday, and Logan says it’s near the construction site. I guess that’s where he usually heads on Fridays.”

  “You seem to like him,” I said, pleased that she was willing to give this attraction a chance.

  “He’s a yellow light.”

  “With green potential?”

  She hesitated. “Could be.”

  “Go for it,” I said, hoping Logan was the one for her. He’d piqued her interest, and that spoke volumes.

  “The thing is,” Maureen started to say, then halted. She sounded introspective, pulling together her thoughts before she spoke. “The older I get, the better I’ve come to accept myself. I have more confidence and I’m less worried about others’ opinions of me. I’m more willing to take chances.”

  I understood what she was saying. I was comfortable in my own skin, too. I felt good about myself, and I was eager to move forward. Although I wasn’t on a manhunt, I hoped to someday find someone with whom I could share my life, but a man wasn’t no end all.

  I was getting ahead of myself. Way ahead. For the last couple days, I’d been cleaning out Paul’s bedroom. My son was basically on his own now, and it was unlikely he’d be moving back home. With a bit of reorganization, I’d managed to shape a creative space in his room for my own pursuits. I’d signed up for an art class, which was something I’d always wanted to do. In my enthusiasm, I’d nearly bought the store out of supplies and assembled an area to paint in Paul’s old room.

  Maureen and I chatted for a few minutes more. When she asked about my mother, I told her Mom had been released to a rehab facility. Parkview was one of the best in the Seattle metropolitan area. I was pleased they had a room available for her.

  As I made my way into the belly of the hospital to the cafeteria, I checked on the text from Paul. My son was good about keeping in touch, which I appreciated. I could count on hearing from him two or three times a week.

  I read through his text. He asked about his grandmother and mentioned that he was enjoying his job. Paul had worked over the past two summers at a restaurant in Pullman, Washington, and continued part-time through the school year. I’d worried that the hours during the semester would distract him from his studies. Paul, however, had maintained a good GPA, so I had no reason to complain. The spending money came in handy for him. His classes had started a month earlier than Allie’s, and I was glad he got home for a long weekend before they began.

  Once in the cafeteria, I picked up a salad and banana and headed toward the cashier. Usually I pack a meal from home and eat in the break room, but I’d been running late this morning.

  I was about to return to my floor when I saw Rowan Lancaster sitting alone in the corner of the room. He’d apparently finished his meal and was staring down at his phone. His face was twisted into a thick frown; it appeared that what he was reading had upset him. I hesitated, unsure if I should approach him or not.

  After our embarrassing conversation the last time we’d seen each other, I felt I owed him an apology. This wasn’t going to be easy. Yet, I found I was curious about him. I’d made a few more subtle inquiries and discovered there wasn’t much more to learn about this private man. While highly respected, no one seemed to know much about him.

  My steps slowed as I approached his table. As I neared, he glanced up, and when he saw it was me his eyes briefly widened. I stood on the opposite side of the table with my tray in my hand.

  “May I join you?”

  He gestured toward the chair across from him.

  I placed my salad and banana on the table and pulled out a chair. Rowan set his phone aside as I took my seat. Avoiding eye contact, I peeled away the cellophane from the plastic salad bowl.

  Stumbling upon him wasn’t something I’d planned, but I didn’t want the opportunity to pass. The longer I waited to explain myself, the more awkward it would become. “I wanted to explain about…you know,” I said.

  Apparently, he didn’t know, because he said nothing.

  This wasn’t off to a good start. I swallowed hard and hoped that by rehashing yesterday evening, I wasn’t going to make things worse.

  “My mother said I was rude.”

  Again, he remained silent, holding my gaze, as if trying to gauge my sincerity.

  “I sincerely didn’t think you were serious with your offer of a date. I thought it may have been a joke on your part, speaking up the way you did. You weren’t serious, were you?” I asked, giving him an out.

  He considered my question, and after an uncomfortable silence, he replied, “I don’t know.”

  He doesn’t know?

  “You don’t know?” He could have taken the easy out I had just given him. After all, it was what I expected him to do, and we could both laugh it off.

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he added. “In retrospect, I can see that it wasn’t.”

  “Because I made a mess of it.” I wished I’d handled the situation differently. “I apologize if I offended you.”

  “Is there something about me that concerns you?”

  “No,” I quickly assured him. That was the last thing I wanted him to think. “I tend not to date doctors from the hospital. I don’t think it’s a good policy to mix work with my personal life.”

  “Was your ex a physician?”

  I nodded. “A surgeon.”

  He frowned in much the same way he had when I first saw him looking down at his phone in the cafeteria.

  “I can’t say that I blame you,” he said, accepting my explanation.

  “Thank you for understanding,” I said.

  “Of course. I’ve put it out of my mind. You should, too.”

  He was right. As a means of distraction and because I was uncomfortable, I opened my dressing and poured it over my salad. I assumed, seeing that he’d finished his meal, that he would leave.

  He didn’t.

  “Mom got moved to Parkview,” I said, hoping to fill the silence.

  He nodded. Of course he knew she’d been moved to the facility. He’d arranged it.

  “Your mother will do well there,” Rowan said, leaning back in his chair.

  I agreed. “From what I understand, I have you to thank for her placement there.”

  He didn’t confirm or deny it. He reached for his tray, scooted back his chair, and stood. “Thank you for stopping by, Jenna. Have a good day.”

  “You, too, Rowan.”

  As he left the cafeteria, my eyes followed him, and I felt a sense of disappointment, like I’d missed an opportunity. I’d wanted Rowan to stay and wished that we could have talked longer.

  Instinctively, I knew there was more to Rowan Lancaster, and deep down, I realized that I wanted to find out what it was.

  CHAPTER 8

  Maureen

  Tori called as I was leaving the library Friday afternoon. We chatted as I walked toward the sports bar where Logan had invited me for a drink. My daughter was full of advice on what I should and shouldn’t do or say. I listened, or at least pretended to listen. I found it amusing that my daughter seemed to think I needed advice on men.

  Okay, so it wasn’t so far from the truth. Tori had much more dating experience than I’d ever had. Her father was the first and only man I’d given my heart to, and I’d been wary ever since. The bottom line was that I’d done a spectacularly poor job of choosing a life mate, so bad that I’d built a
thick wall around my heart. Any man would need to scale that barrier, and I wouldn’t make it easy. Yet for reasons I barely understood, I found myself interested in Logan. He was intelligent and opinionated, and he didn’t back down easily. I admired his wit, and beneath the hard hat was a man as solid as any I’d ever known.

  “Wouldn’t it be best to be myself?” I asked Tori, humoring her.

  “No,” Tori’s voice blasted through the phone. “Mom, listen. I love you. You’re my mother and you’re wonderful.”

  “But?” I could hear it coming.

  “But,” Tori echoed, “you’re completely naïve when it comes to men like Logan.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant. “If I can’t be myself with him, then who should I be? One of the Kardashians?”

  Tori choked on a laugh. “Funny, very funny.”

  She tried again. “Think back to the time you dated Dad. What was it that attracted him to you?”

  “Calculus.” No need to exaggerate the truth. “Your father was flunking; I was his tutor.”

  “It was more than that, Mom,” my daughter insisted.

  I closed my eyes and tried to remember what it’d been like between Peter and me. The truth was hormones. Lust, pure and simple. Peter liked me, paid me compliments, and gave me attention when I felt frumpy and unattractive. I was a classic nerd. In high school, I was too shy and brainy for boys. I’d attended only one dance—our senior prom—and I’d gone with a group of girlfriends, without a single dance with a boy the entire night. While in college, Jenna kindly insisted that I’d intimidated the boys, and she was probably right.

  “What your father found attractive about me was my brain,” I explained, without mentioning that Peter wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. “In the end, my intelligence wasn’t enough to keep him in the relationship.”

  My daughter sighed heavily, her voice coming through the phone like a rush of wind. “Mom, the reason you haven’t attracted a man is because you haven’t tried, not because you don’t have anything to offer. You give off the vibe that you aren’t interested. Pay attention to Logan. Laugh at his jokes; let him believe he’s witty and fun, even if he isn’t.”

  “I can’t do that.” I hated to disappoint Tori, but Logan was smart enough to see through that in a heartbeat, and he’d be insulted. Even if I tried to do as Tori said, I’d come off looking like an empty-headed buffoon.

  “Why can’t you?”

  “Tori, listen,” I said, exhaling sharply to keep from laughing. “I appreciate your advice, I really do, but I can’t be anyone else—I can only be me. I’ll sink or swim with Logan. Time will tell. Either way is fine with me. Furthermore—”

  “Mom, stop, please,” Tori said, cutting me off.

  I snapped my mouth closed.

  “You’ve already agreed to meet Logan; all I’m asking is that you make the most of this. I can tell how much you like him and that he has potential. What is it that you and Jenna say? The green-light, yellow-light, red-light analogies? Just think. Logan could be your green light.”

  “It’s far too early to tell,” I told her, yet secretly I was beginning to wonder the same.

  “I don’t know what it is about Logan, but for whatever reason, you’re drawn to him. All I’m saying is don’t ruin it by being too quick to judge him. Give this evening a shot. Enjoy yourself.”

  We spoke for a few minutes longer before we said our good-byes, and I found myself in front of the sports bar. As hard as it was to admit, my daughter was right. I would never have agreed to this if I wasn’t interested in Logan. I was the one who’d gone past the construction site when it was out of my way. And while I might like to think Tori and Jenna had bullied me into accepting Logan’s invite, I was the one who’d told him I’d be there.

  I opened the door to a cacophony of noise. The bar was packed, and everyone seemed to be talking at once. Televisions blared on multiple walls. I immediately felt completely out of place. Drawing in my determination, I stepped inside with my head held high, refusing to be intimidated.

  Two burly construction workers glanced briefly at me, silently telling me with their looks that I’d better get moving or get out of the way. I stepped to the side as they barreled past. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark setting, after coming in from the bright outdoors. The room was filled mostly with men who looked like they’d stepped off a construction site. I’d never seen more Carhartts in one place in my entire life. After a few moments, my ears acclimated to the noise. A baseball game blared from the biggest screen, and when I say big screen, I mean big. I’d seen smaller-sized swimming pools. I couldn’t tell you the name of the team. My knowledge of professional sports could be carved on a grain of rice.

  Logan had apparently been waiting for me; he sat at the bar. When he saw me, he smiled and slid off the stool. He walked over to where I stood, carrying a mug of frothy beer. I remained focused on his face, and a small, happy feeling curled inside my stomach.

  “You’re right on time.”

  I offered him a shaky smile. “I’m always punctual.”

  He grinned and looked almost boyish. “It figures.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you. Being on time is a good thing.”

  He hadn’t made it sound like that, but, determined to make the best of this, I decided to let it slide and do as my daughter had suggested. No matter how out of place I felt, I was here to be with Logan and have a good time.

  “Do you mind if we sit someplace besides the bar?” I asked, before he led me back to where he’d been waiting. I’d never sat at a bar before, and I’d prefer a table, hoping we could talk and get to know each other outside of sharing our opinions about books.

  “Sure,” Logan said, agreeable. “We can sit wherever you like, Marian.” He added a wink.

  I smiled back, refusing to let him see how much that pet name annoyed me. Looking around, the only table with two seats was close to the giant television screen. With no other option, I motioned toward it, and Logan hesitated before he nodded. I understood why as soon as we sat down. The speakers were close to the table, and the baseball game blared loud enough to cause permanent hearing loss.

  “You want a beer?” Logan leaned across the table and shouted.

  “I don’t drink beer, remember?” I said loudly, the table pressing against my torso. “I prefer wine.”

  “Red or white?”

  “Red.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he shouted as he pushed back his chair.

  I cupped my ear. “What did you say?” I asked.

  He shook his head and stood. “We need to move.”

  I agreed. Unfortunately, the only seats available were at the bar.

  Logan sent me an apologetic look. “I should’ve gotten a table sooner.”

  The place was hopping, which was understandable, seeing that it was Friday night. The game was only one distraction. Pool tables were set up in the back, and several rowdy games were taking place.

  We approached the bar and Logan effortlessly slid onto the stool.

  I tried to do the same, but I didn’t have the leverage to climb up with my tight pencil skirt, and no way was I hiking it up and exposing God knew what. That would be awkward and demeaning. After several unsuccessful tries, all I’d gained was unwanted attention and a couple cat calls. My face was flushed with embarrassment.

  Logan hadn’t even noticed. He was busy talking to the bartender, ordering my drink.

  “This isn’t working,” I said, tapping his shoulder.

  He glanced at me and quickly recognized my problem. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t him taking matters into his own hands. He slid off his barstool, grabbed ahold of me by the waist, and effortlessly hoisted me up. Taken aback by
the unexpectedness of it, I gave a small cry of surprise. Once the shock had passed, I secured my purse strap over my shoulder and twisted the barstool around to face the bar.

  The man sitting to my left looked at me like I was a freak of nature. I chose to ignore him and turned my attention to Logan.

  “What kind of red wine do you want?” he asked. Apparently, he’d been discussing the different choices with the bartender, which is why he hadn’t noticed my predicament.

  “The house red would be fine.”

  Logan gave my order to the bartender, who promptly poured me a glass, placing it in front of me. I raised the wineglass and Logan raised his thick beer mug, touching the edge of his mug against my glass.

  “Here’s to books and librarians,” he said with a grin.

  I tasted the wine and immediately made a sour face. It was awful and left a bitter taste in my mouth.

  “You don’t like the wine?”

  “It’s a bit heavy for me,” I admitted. “And it’s chilled.” Red wine was best served at room temperature.

  “Would you like something else?”

  “How about a Cosmopolitan?” I suggested. That was sure to loosen me up and take the edge off my uneasiness. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that I was getting more than a little unwanted attention. I tried to ignore the way the two men on the other side of me had put their heads together, pointing at me. They weren’t the only ones, either.

  The incident with the barstool hadn’t helped. Nor did the fact that I was one of only a handful of women in the bar. Most of the others looked like they were familiar with the men. Very familiar, in some cases. A few seemed to be part of the crew, while a couple others were dressed more for an outing at the beach than a sports bar, in stark contrast to my business casual.