“Wait,” Ben said and then looked at Lane. “Mick and I could go pick up your car, grab something for dinner, and bring it back. Is that all right with you?”
Lane nodded. Although she was rarely speechless, this scene had her dumbfounded and she had no idea why.
“Anything in particular you’re hungry for,” Ben asked as he and Mick headed for the bedroom door.
“Whatever you get will be fine with me,” Lane replied as they left.
Lane showered and replayed the bedroom scene in her head. She was flooded with emotions, ranging from anger – she hated it when people talked about her as though she wasn’t in the room, to confusion over Ben’s reaction. No, make that his non-reaction to the whole scene; back to anger because the two of them were having phone conversations about her as though she were some helpless sniffling female. She dried off, took two Tylenol as a preventative measure, dressed, and headed to the kitchen to prepare for what ever they brought back. She was just getting plates from the cupboard when Ben came through from the garage.
“I brought Godfather’s Pizza. I know it’s your favorite.”
Lane smiled. Godfather’s had started in Omaha, and when the kids were young, it was a weekly ritual. Funny, what memories conversation tidbits brought. Thursday was left over night. Friday was Godfather’s pizza night. Saturday was movie night.
“Beer for you,” she asked with her hand on the refrigerator door.
“Sure,” Ben replied as he put the pizza on the table.
Lane opened the fridge and pulled out a Diet Dr. Pepper and a Bud Light. “Where’s the detective?”
“Mickey said he had some work to do. He sent his apologies. Said he’d take a rain check.”
Ben got a glass, filled it with ice, and handed it to her. She handed him napkins. To anyone looking on, Lane and Ben appeared to be doing a dance they’d done a million times before.
Ben opened the pizza box. Supreme, her favorite.
So, she wondered what her problem was. She was comfortable with Ben. He was great looking, he cared about her, and as she was frequently reminded, he was a great kisser. She could say it was the age difference, but she wasn’t sure that was completely true. She could say it was just that after nearly marrying husband number three, she’d just sworn off men, but that wasn’t it either. She could say it was because of the kids, but they knew Ben and liked him. She couldn’t think of a single good reason preventing her from moving their relationship forward. Lane decided to practice avoidance by being contrary.
“What did Mick mean ‘she’s much better than she was when you called’?”
Ben didn’t take the bait. He just spoke calmly and slowly. “No mystery, I called your office this afternoon around 4:30. Meg said you had a headache and Mick had driven you home. Since I know how your headaches can be, I called him on his cell to see how you were. He told me he made you go to bed after you lost your lunch, and that you were asleep. I guess since you’re being contrary, you really are feeling better.”
Busted. Lane couldn’t decide whether she should feign indignation, pretend she hadn’t heard his last comment, fight dirty and cry or just talk about what was bothering her.
“What did you mean last night when you said ‘It’s about time I decided what I’m going to do about it?’”
Ben smiled as he reached across the table and patted her hand. “Don’t be afraid, Red. I’m not rushing you to the altar,” he said with a chuckle.
Lane laughed. Roared may have been more accurate. She caught her breath. “You’re so funny. Finish your pizza.”
Ben had nailed it. Lane was scared out of her wits. He was everything she had ever told friends she wanted in a man. He was smart, witty, tall, handsome, rich, heterosexual, and available. He was sexy and a great kisser. In addition, they already knew they had a lot in common. They liked the same movies and music. They enjoyed each other’s company. They could talk for hours about everything from religion to politics and current events. He was her best friend. But, he was 36 years old. He had the body of man who worked out at least five times a week. Lane, on the other hand had never seen the inside of a gym. She’d been blessed with a great metabolism, and didn’t need to work out to keep her weight constant. Fully clothed, she frequently passed for a woman in her mid-thirties. Even in a swimming suit, she could pass for 40. Maybe she was analyzing too much, but she wasn’t sure this could work.
Ben still held her hand. “Come over here,” he said as he pulled her up and over to his lap. “I’ve known you for three years. I know the way you think.” He tapped his finger on her temple. “We’ve been dating for eight weeks now and nothing else has changed.”
Lane poked him in the shoulder. “That’s where you’re wrong. Things will change. They always change. Until now, when one of us had to cancel lunch or dinner at the last minute, it was no big deal. Now that we’re a couple, everything becomes personal.” She put her head on his shoulder and whispered into his neck. “I’m afraid of losing my best friend.”
Ben put his hand on her head and stroked her hair. “I promise you won’t,” Ben said as he cupped her chin in his hand, raised her head, and met her lips with his.
Chapter 4
Tuesday Morning
Lane awoke to ringing and reached for the snooze button. The ringing persisted and she realized it was the phone. She opened her eyes a slit as she picked up the receiver. “Hello,” she said groggily as she looked at the clock. It was 6:00 a.m. everyone knew better than to call her this early, someone must be dead.
“Good morning, Red. How’d you sleep?”
She laid back and closed her eyes. After some heavy duty kissing, she’d sent Ben home at ten o’clock last night so she could perform a nightly routine that consisted of the normal toilette (face washing, teeth brushing) and devotional Bible reading. This morning, she was torn between the euphoric feelings he’d elicited last night and biting his head off for waking her when she remembered last night’s devotional readings all about kindness and decided to at least try to be cordial.
“Ben, is there something wrong?” In the time they’d known each other, the differences in their sleeping habits had come up before. Ben was an early riser, and worse yet, a morning person. You may ask what the difference is between being an early riser and being a morning person. An early riser is someone who arises in the early morning hours. A morning person is someone who’s happy to be awake in the early morning hours. Lane needed a minimum of eight hours of sleep daily; ten hours would be better.
“No, I just wanted to check on you. I’ve had my run, my swim, my work out; I’ve taken my shower, and am ready to take off for the office. I’ll be in court by the time you get up and leave for work. How’s your head this morning?”
“My head’s fine. What am I going to do with you,” she asked. Ben had always been considerate and thoughtful. Maybe this dating thing was going to be okay after all.
“Well, I have some ideas. Dinner tonight would be a good start. I’ll pick you up at seven. If anything comes up, leave a message on my cell. Go back to sleep.” And, Lane was listening to dial tone.
She replaced the receiver and turned over. With luck, she could get another two hours of sleep.
It was 8:50 when she walked into her office. Meg had been there for nearly an hour. Steven Covey had nothing on Meg. She’d printed Lane’s calendar for Tuesday and put it on her desk. And, she’d listened to Lane’s voice mail and had sorted the messages into three categories: “Urgent,” “No Rush,” and “I’d Toss.”
Lane glanced over the calendar as she docked her laptop and turned it on. She was relieved to see that she had no meetings until after one o’clock. That gave her ample time to return calls and read the report Craig Turner had sent her on some new California privacy legislation. She went to the break room and filled her thermal pitcher with hot water, dropping two tea bags into it before tightly securing the lid. She could usually squeeze four cups of tea out of a single tea bag, not because she was frugal mind you, just because she liked her tea weak. She walked back to her office, told Meg she was on guard duty, and closed the door. Meg knew that meant unless there was a fire, no one got through – physically or virtually.