Take the Trophy and Run Page 19

  His eyebrows rose, like he was trying to figure out why she asked. She never had before. She didn’t know why she’d asked either. Tonight just felt . . . different.

  “Yes, I would,” he said very formally.

  Amber gulped. They weren’t playing dress-up tonight, but in a way they really were. This wasn’t the church Christmas party or the fellowship banquet. Being dressed up and feeding each other nibbles and sharing their rich desserts across the table had been a real date, whether she wanted to admit it, or not.

  After twenty-six years, she’d been on a date with Stan. Really, nearly twenty-seven, because it was her birthday next month.

  Not that she wanted anything else to drink, but she had to do something so she went into the kitchen to make tea.

  Just like he always did, Stan followed her. The new Stan. The handsome one in the suit. With the mustache and sexy eyes.

  Amber nearly tripped out of her high-heeled shoes. Sexy eyes?

  “Amber? Are you okay? Do you want to take those shoes off? You always complain that your ankles aren’t used to walking like that.”

  With the fancy dress, she needed these shoes, not her pink bunny slippers. Slippers would destroy the image that she’d worked so hard to create. She wasn’t ready for it to be over.

  “They’re okay. I’m fine.”

  Stan tilted his head back a little and reached up to tug the knot of his tie.

  “No!” Amber cleared her throat, and lowered her voice to a normal speaking level. “I mean, no. Leave it on. It looks . . .” Breathtaking. Spectacular. Incredible. “. . . nice.”

  He smiled. Her knees suddenly felt wobbly.

  She turned and grabbed the kettle from the stovetop and filled it with water. “That was really fun,” she said over her shoulder. “No. Fun wasn’t the right word. I really enjoyed myself. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.”

  “I did too. We’ll have to do this again.”

  “Go out for dinner, yes, but there, no. That place was way too expensive.”

  Amber placed the kettle on the counter and plugged it in. Behind her, she heard the tapping of Stan’s leather shoes on the tile floor as he approached her. She felt the light touch of his hand on her shoulder, and he nudged her ever so gently to turn around to face him.

  He shuffled forward until they were toe to toe. His fingertips brushed her cheek and then traveled down to her chin. His voice lowered to a husky whisper. “Maybe, but some things are worth it.”

  With one more gentle nudge, he tipped her chin up slightly. The hand on her shoulder lowered to the small of her back.

  “Close your eyes, Amber, because I’m going to kiss you.”

  She didn’t think he would, but if this were someone else, they were in the right stance, the right position to kiss each other. So she closed her eyes.

  Stan really did kiss her.

  First his lips lightly brushed hers, almost teasing. It was nice. Gentle. Tender.

  She felt him smile against her mouth.

  Then he tilted his head and kissed her for real.

  Amber slipped her arms under his suit jacket and around his waist, holding Stan as firmly as he held her. Something in her brain short-circuited that they were doing this, but that didn’t make her stop, or want his kiss any less. Just like in the books she read, her heart raced and her brain short-circuited.

  When they separated, he didn’t step away. He embraced her with one arm around her waist and brushed the loose strands at her temple. After a short sigh, he pulled her close into a tender embrace, and just held her in a timeless, special moment.

  The haze in her brain dissipated, and the impact of what had just happened smacked her.

  She’d kissed Stan. Not just a little peck, but a real kiss, like she’d seen on television but never experienced. She’d had boyfriends, but she’d never felt like this, been kissed like this, nor had she ever kissed a man back like this. It had been so right, yet so very wrong. This was Stan. Her friend. The man who fixed her leaky toilet.

  She started to move away, but his grip tightened.

  “Please,” he whispered. “Not yet.” Slowly she felt the slight press of his cheek to the top of her head. “Just a minute longer.”

  Pressed against him, she felt his sigh from her cheek to her knees.

  “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” he murmured into her hair as he brushed her temple with his thumb.

  She couldn’t answer him. She couldn’t think.

  What they had done had just changed the parameters of their relationship. All their lives, they’d been friends. What were they now?

  She stiffened, afraid, knowing that no matter what happened next, they could never go back.

  Every time she looked at him, she would remember this moment.

  She wanted the moment to happen again.

  No. No, she didn’t. This was Stan. Good Ol’ Stan. Or he used to be Good Ol’ Stan. What was he now?

  He must have felt her stiffen, because he slowly eased his hold on her and released her from his embrace, keeping one hand cupping her cheek. As she looked up at him and he looked down at her, for the first time ever she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. She couldn’t read his expression. Confusion? Regret? Indecision?

  “I think I should go. If I don’t see you after work tomorrow, I’ll pick you up for church on Sunday.”

  Because he was still close, she couldn’t tell what he was going to do, but he bent slightly and pressed a short and sweet kiss to her lips, turned, and walked out.

  Amber’s feet remained frozen to the floor. She heard the front door open and close, the jingle of his keys and the snick of the lock as it turned. A short pause, and the engine of his truck roared to life, then faded to nothing.

  Amber flopped down on to the kitchen chair, crossed her arms on the table, and plunked her head into her arms.

  Stan had kissed her. Not just a peck kiss, but a melt-your-bones, curl-your-toes kiss.

  She’d never be able to look at him again and still think they could be friends. Instead of the warm fuzzies she felt when they were close to each other, she’d battle with other feelings. Deeper feelings she didn’t know if she could handle.

  Deep in her heart, she knew she would never look at him again, and not wish for more of the same.

  She had to think, but no answers came.

  Behind her, the kettle whistled.

  Amber kept her face buried in her arms. She didn’t care if it boiled dry. It would shut off automatically.

  Eventually.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Is it my imagination, or is everyone staring at us?”

  Stan tried to look around them without moving his head as they walked through the church’s foyer, which was difficult, but not impossible. “Maybe a few people, but not everyone.” He had seen a few heads turn as he led Amber to their usual spot before the service, but not too many.

  However, now that the service was over and everyone was leaving, he had the distinct impression that more people gave them a double take than when they entered.

  He tried not to smile. Not only did he not care that they looked, he liked that they were looking.

  The only people at the restaurant that they knew on Friday night had been Victoria and Barry. It had been more than obvious that he and Amber had been on a date. Apparently Victoria or Barry had noticed that they’d left holding hands, and this raised the bar. At the time, he’d been feeling a little mushy inside and wanted the connection that holding hands made, and he hadn’t cared about anything else. He hadn’t thought that holding hands in a restaurant would announce to the world that they were suddenly a couple, but it appeared that it did.

  He might just as well have sent up flares or hired a plane with a banner to fly over the town.<
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  Thankfully, being church, no one outright stared, but lots of people shot them sly little glances, poked each other, and grinned.

  Friday night had been what he’d thought was a private moment, but at the time he hadn’t considered the fact that nothing was private in Bloomfield. Now, Sunday morning, thirty-eight hours later, if he’d counted on his fingers correctly, not only had news circulated through the garden club, the news had worked its way into the church, and they were now an item.

  The sanctuary was now empty, and everyone had moved to the foyer to mingle and talk.

  Beside him, Amber nearly missed a step. “Oh, no. There’s Winifred Simpson.”

  Stan tried not to flinch. While his mother couldn’t keep a secret, she didn’t have to know all the details of what went on. Winifred, or Winnie, as her friends called her—and everyone was her friend because no one wanted to be her enemy—was the biggest snoop in town. She had to know everyone’s business down to the last nitty-gritty detail. She could spot something out of the ordinary as quick as a flash, and judging from the look on her face, whatever she’d heard or imagined about him and Amber wasn’t enough. Winnie claimed she needed to know all the details so she could pray for someone properly, but the reality was that she wanted to be the first person to know everything so she could laud her knowledge over others when they found out.

  Winnie grinned, turned directly toward them, and quickened her pace.

  Amber grabbed his upper arm, her fingers dug into his skin, almost pinching. “She’s coming straight for us.”

  Winnie’s brown eyes held an almost feral gleam. The closer she got, the more bounce appeared in her step, making her hair flop. Today it was a shade of reddish-brown, different than last week, making him wonder what color it really was. Her large black purse draped over her shoulder made her even more imposing, like she was ready to do battle.

  Stan pulled Amber’s hand off his arm, grabbed it without caring how, only that he had her tight, made a U-turn, and nearly dragged her back into the sanctuary, closing the door behind him. It wasn’t much of a hiding spot, but at least here they were safe from Winnie’s prying questions. The sanctuary was hallowed ground.

  Amber yanked her hand out of his. “What are you doing? Is there another door out of here?”

  “No. We have to wait until she leaves. She can’t stay there forever. Pastor and the deacons have scheduled a meeting, and I know they’re ordering in lunch, so they’re going to be in the building for a long time. We can stay here for as long as we want. But Winnie’s not going to wait all day in the foyer, and she won’t come in here to give us the personal inquisition.”

  Amber pointed to the heavy wooden door. “She may not come in here, but knowing Winnie, she’s going to wait. All day.” Amber sank into one of the wooden pews, lowered her head, and buried her face in her hands. “We’re trapped,” she moaned into her hands.

  “So what? We’re in the church sanctuary. I can’t think of a better place to spend a lot of time.”

  She spread her fingers and stared at him between them, then dropped her hands, scowled, and her expression hardened into a glare. “In Winnie’s eyes, here we are, all alone, and you closed the door behind us.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “What can she think? This is the church sanctuary. All people do in here when it’s quiet is pray. If she spreads gossip about us praying in here for hours, that’s fine with me.” Although, as the words came out of his mouth, there was something else he was thinking about doing with Amber, and it wasn’t at all proper in the church sanctuary.

  Her anger only made him want to kiss her more. She was absolutely adorable. Except if he told her the old standard line that he thought she was adorable when she was angry, she was sure to get more angry and smack him, which wasn’t proper in the church sanctuary either, but she would do it.

  He couldn’t help but grin.

  Amber’s scowl deepened. “What’s so funny?”

  He turned away so he could control himself. “Nothing. I just think you’re overreacting. She’s got to have something better to do that stand there and wait. Besides, there aren’t any chairs out there. Did you see those ridiculous shoes she was wearing, with the bows on them? She usually wears low stuff, but today, they’re high for Winnie. They’re not as bad as those black ones you like so much, the ones you can’t walk in for more than a couple of blocks. Why do women wear shoes like that? I pick my shoes by how they fit, that are the most comfortable, then I pick the right color.” He owned one pair of black shoes, one pair of brown, his sneakers, which once upon a time were white, and his steel-toed safety boots.

  He turned to face Amber and looked down to her feet.

  She wore the black shoes. The ones he loved so much.

  He had his answer. She wore them because they looked great. They weren’t made for walking, or standing. They were made to look good—they sure did look good, and they made Amber’s legs look great.

  Inwardly he cringed, almost waiting for a bolt of lightning to strike him. He probably wasn’t supposed to be thinking of stuff like that in there.

  He felt bad that she wore shoes that became uncomfortable if she walked too far in them. In fact, they’d been walking or standing for a while, and she’d only just sat down.

  It really wouldn’t be appropriate to take off her shoes and massage her feet in the sanctuary.

  He had to get out of there. He harbored way too many thoughts that were inappropriate for church. He’d again been thinking about hugging and kissing Amber.

  But he wasn’t ready to face Winifred Simpson, not when he didn’t know what he’d say. He could only say the truth, that he finally realized he was in love with Amber, his old pal, but he couldn’t say those words to Winifred first. He had to say them to Amber first.

  He turned his attention away from Amber’s hot shoes to her face. She sat on the pew, her eyes narrowed, her arms folded over her chest, and one toe tapping.

  This was definitely not the right moment to tell her that he loved her.

  Instead, he sank down to sit beside her. “We’ve got lots of time. I think the first thing we can do is pray.”

  She nodded, and they angled themselves toward each other. Amber reached out to join hands with him. First, they prayed for guidance for what to do about Winnie waiting, then they moved on to other prayer issues. At their closing “Amen,” she pulled her hands out of his and looked up at him.

  Of all the things they’d prayed for, praying about themselves hadn’t come up.

  One thing he’d wanted to pray for was their relationship. He didn’t know how to start, so he’d waited for Amber, but she hadn’t started either. With her sitting there, just looking at him, he didn’t know what to say or do, but the nagging thought poked at him that the longer the silence went on, the worse the result was going to be.

  Just as he thought all was lost, she shimmied toward him on the bench, leaned against him, nestled her head on his chest, and sighed—just like she always did when she worked through an issue. It was almost ironic, because this time, he was the issue. That she was snuggling up against him and not running for the hills screaming had to encourage him.

  He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head, and enjoyed the silence.

  He wished he knew more about relationships. It wasn’t that he’d never dated, but nothing ever went longer than three dates with the same woman. He was nearing thirty years old, and he still hadn’t had what could be called a serious relationship, and his best friend had been married, divorced, and was dating again.

  No woman had ever held his interest, but then he probably hadn’t given any of them a chance. Already by a second date, he thought of what that woman would be like for the long term, and next to Amber, everyone came up short.

  Stan smiled, knowing Amber couldn’t see him.
He had it bad.

  “What’s so funny up there?”

  Because she busted him, he smiled wider. That was his Amber. “Nothing’s funny, but I am smiling. How can you tell?”

  “I can just tell. Going to tell me why?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you think she’s gone?”

  He checked his watch over Amber’s head. “Probably.”

  “Wanna go home?”

  “Nope. I want to take you out for lunch. I think a time like this calls for chocolate.”

  This time he could feel her smile against his chest, through his shirt. “An offer I can’t refuse. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Amber hit the speed dial on her phone. Stan picked it up within two rings. “Gnorman is at—”

  “—Sherry Butler’s.”

  Amber sagged. “Oh. You heard. But I also learned something. I learned that Sherry knows how to spell clandestine.”

  “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

  “I know what you mean. It doesn’t make any sense that Sherry would be the Gnapper, since Gnorman just showed up at her house. I just want this to be over. Are we going to go to Sherry’s after work?”

  “Couldn’t keep me away.” Somehow she knew he would say that. Stan had been with her every time Gnorman turned up at a new location. The one time she hadn’t called him to come, to Andy’s, he’d shown up anyway. That time she’d been glad he had been there.

  It seemed natural for Stan to go with her to try to solve the mystery of the Gnome Gnapper, but for some reason it felt different knowing that everyone who called automatically expected Stan to be there. It wasn’t until she realized that everyone naturally assumed they would be there together that it started to bother her.

  By the time Stan pulled into her parking area, a million thoughts had gone through her head, not all of them to do with Gnorman.

  Over the course of the spring, and now that they were into summer, she’d seen Stan nearly every day. She didn’t want to monopolize his time, but every time she tried to separate from him a little, he came back like the proverbial cat, and spent even more time with her. From his desire to suddenly start dating, she had to assume that Stan had come to a point in his life that he was seeking a more permanent relationship. Rather than date her, she had to encourage him to go on real dates, not with her.