He let her choose which car she drove, offering up one of his instead of her mild-mannered rental. Standing in the bay of the carriage house garage, she considered her options. A bright Tesla—a powerful, all-electric sports car. Another Lexus hybrid, identical to the one he drove in California. And a fully-restored Hudson Hornet, all patent leather and gleaming chrome. Its sleek lines both elegant and powerful, giving the impression that it was a wild beast, poised to pounce on some prey.
She’d probably never again have the opportunity to drive a machine like this. Only an idiot would choose her rented sedan under the circumstances.
In many ways, this thing with Ward was just like that. All her life, she’d put off getting involved romantically. She’d held herself aloof. Made the sensible decision. In short, she’d been driving a sedan her whole life.
And now, here she was faced with ultimate temptation.
No, she’d never have a real relationship with Ward. His heart belonged to another. Despite that, he desired her. His passion when they’d kissed had been unmistakable, even to a relative neophyte like her. Moreover, he’d stirred within her feelings that no one else ever had. If all she could have was his passion, then she’d make do with that.
She had no illusions he’d ever love her, but that was okay. As long as she kept her heart out of it, she could indulge her body’s desires. How could she resist? Geez, she figured there was even a chance he was experienced enough that he’d barely notice taking her virginity when the time came. At the very least, she knew the passion between them would burn hot enough to make giving it up worth it.
As she slid behind the wheel of the Hornet, pure adrenaline shot through her. It was very likely that driving this classic muscle car would ruin her for other cars forever. She didn’t care. This was a once in a lifetime chance and she was going to seize it with both hands.
Dinner was a laid-back affair at a local diner wedged between a martial arts studio and a pub. It was enough of a dive that no one would just wander in off the street. Only a pretty adamant recommendation would get a newcomer through the door. But inside, it was clean and well lit. The owner—a boisterous Greek man—immediately came over to welcome Ward and clap him soundly on the arm. The other customers glanced in their direction, but otherwise ignored them, a sure sign Ward was a regular.
She couldn’t help but smile when Ward slid into the red Naugahyde booth and his bench scooted a few inches back. Apparently, the man just couldn’t sit down without moving furniture. Her amusement shifted to nervousness when she slid in opposite him and his legs brushed against hers. With his arm stretched out along the back of the bench, he seemed to fill the space so completely she could barely focus on reading the menu, let alone on making a decision about what to eat.
She allowed Ward to order for her and they feasted on spicy lamb hamburgers dripping with tzatziki sauce and served with fries and breaded zucchini. Over dinner, they spoke mostly of their plans for Hannah’s Hope and his work with CMF.
There was an intimacy to sharing food with Ward that unsettled her. She didn’t date much, having learned early in life avoiding romantic entanglements meant avoiding the physical advances that inevitably followed. So she wasn’t used to the experience of sitting across from someone in a cramped booth. Of having her fingers brush his when they both went for the same fry or having him reach across the table with his napkin to dab at the tzatziki sauce she dribbled on her chin.
It wasn’t until they were back in the car that she had the courage to ask the question she’d been plagued by ever since arriving in Charleston.
“Tell me something.” Her voice sounded strained, but she tightened her hands on the steering wheel and pressed on. “Cara died of breast cancer.”
She glanced in his direction, in the flickering light of the passing streetlight, she saw that he’d gone completely still. His expression was carefully blank.
She waited for him to respond, maybe to confirm what she already knew, but he said nothing, so she continued, “All the charities that the Cara Miller Foundation works with…none of them are cancer related. None for survivors or education or research—”
“That’s what she wanted,” he said abruptly.
Clearly, she’d crossed some sort of line. “I’m sor—”
“Don’t be. I—” Then he released a sigh of pent-up emotion. “I’m not used to talking about it.” Then he gave a wry chuckle. The kind without any humor at all. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I talk about her all the time. But I never talk about her cancer. She never wanted to honor the cancer. Didn’t want to give it an important place in her life. She figured it stole the last few years of her life, she wanted her death to be hers alone. She wanted her legacy to be helping children.”
Ana considered his words. In a way, it made sense. She’d known a makeup artist back in Hollywood, a cancer survivor who devoted all of her free time to volunteer work for the American Cancer Society. She did relays and fundraising. All her friends were people she’d met through support groups. They were an amazing and inspirational group of men and women. But cancer was like another member of their little group. A living, breathing entity that never left them. Honoring cancer. That was the perfect word for it.
So, yeah, Ana could understand why Cara hadn’t wanted that. Still, looking at Ward, she sensed he wasn’t wholly comfortable with his wife’s decision.
“But—” she prodded.
He slanted a look at her. “But what?”
“I just…” His gaze narrowed and she shrugged. “Yeah, that was her decision, but how did you feel about that?”
The second the question was out of her mouth, she regretted it. It was an intensely personal question. One she had no business asking and even less business knowing the answer to.
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, but the car was too dark for her to gauge his expression.
“It wasn’t my decision,” he said. After a minute, he added, “Besides, I like working with kids. They make it worth it.”
As she pulled to a stop at a light, she glanced at him in surprise. A smiled teased at his lips. His hands rested on his knees, tapping out a silent tune. She’d had to move the bench seat of the car close to the dash in order to reach the Hornet’s pedals and now there was barely room for his long legs, making her profoundly aware of how much bigger he was than she.
“Do you work with kids often?” she asked because it seemed a safer question than trying to press him for more answers about Cara. Crossing that line once was enough for one evening.
“Not often,” he answered. “I travel enough that I don’t want any kid depending solely on me. But sometimes it just makes sense. Like with Ricky.”
He threw out the name like Ricky was someone she should know. “Ricky?” she prodded.
“He wandered into Hannah’s Hope the other day, during a school day. He’s—I don’t know—thirteen, fourteen maybe.” Ward paused to gesture toward the coming intersection. “Turn left here.” Then he continued his story. “Oddly enough, he wanted information about how to get his mother signed up for the new GED prep class that Omar is going to be teaching. He’s worried about his mother’s job prospects.”
“That’s perceptive,” she said, shifting the Hornet into lower gear to pull out of the turn. “On the other hand, a lot of boys with single mothers are very protective of their moms.”
“I know I was,” Ward admitted.
She was tempted to press him for more information, but knew she’d pushed too much into his personal life for one night. “So you decided to mentor him?” she asked. “You were in town less than a week. When have you had time to mentor a kid?”
He chuckled. “I haven’t actually mentored him yet. I’ve only met him that one time. But I could tell he was going to be tricky. He was there on a Friday morning. I told him I could get his mother the help she needed, but he’d have to stay in school himself. To make sure he’s holding up his end of the bargain, he’s going to come to Hannah’s Hope when she does. But Ricky told me bluntly that he wasn’t going to waste time with some meddling do-gooder. So I told him I’d mentor him after school. I could tell if I didn’t hook him right away, we’d never see him again. So I agreed to meet him on Thursday afternoon. We’ll see how it goes.”
His admission grabbed at something inside of her and squeezed. Friday had been the day of the brainstorming session. He must have gotten in earlier even than she’d thought. How many men would voluntarily spend their evenings mentoring a troubled teen? Not enough, that was for sure. How many rich celebrities would do it? Almost none. At least none that she’d met.
“That’s very generous of you,” she said, her voice surprisingly tight.
Ward gave a little noncommittal grumble, as if uncomfortable with her praise. “We’ll see how it turns out. I think he only agreed because I happened to have Dave’s guitar with me and Ricky wanted to play it.”
Her head jerked around to search his face in the darkness. Which was about as futile as trying to understand him. “You had Dave’s guitar? Why?”
He gave a chuckle. “Not because I’ve been secretly recording a new album and was planning on using Hannah’s Hope to promote it. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
She felt her cheeks burning, suddenly aware of how ridiculous her accusations from that first day sounded. And feeling very much like he could see her better in the darkness than she could see him.
“Ward, about that, I’m—”
“I was joking,” he said gently.
“Oh. Okay.”
He gave another gesture toward an upcoming block and she maneuvered the car onto his street.
“Why not the Alvarez?” she asked tentatively.
“What?”
“If you are playing guitar again, then why not the Alvarez?”