To Catch a Husband. Laura Altom Marie

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СКАЧАТЬ she said, pushing herself up from the sofa. “I’m too busy.”

      In front of the now-dark view of Mount Hood that’d been the reason she’d forked over too much for this condo, she crossed her arms and tried hard not to give in to the knot swelling at the back of her throat.

      “Too busy?” Adam laughed, leaving the sofa to join her. “What do you do besides hang out with me?”

      “That’s the point,” she said, good and mad not only at his presumptuousness, but at herself for letting their relationship—or lack thereof—get to this level. She was tired of being his buddy. His pal. Dammit, she wanted to at least be his girl. And if she were totally honest with herself, in her wildest dreams, what she really wanted was to someday be his wife. Have his babies. “Is it so wrong of me to want more?”

      “More?” He coughed. “What’s that mean?”

      “Want me to spell it out?”

      “Might be nice.”

      “Okay. First off, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve been on a date?”

      “No.”

      “Well, I’ll tell you. Over three years. And that’s just sad. Night after night, I sit here, listening to all your problems, Adam, and never once do I saddle you with mine.”

      “You could,” he said, grinning, landing a friendly slug to her upper arm. “You know I’d be here for you—anytime. Come on, give me a few. I’m all ears.”

      “All right, for starters, I’m around men all the time, yet they don’t see me as a woman, but just another guy. I know I’ve got to do something to change that perception, but just the thought is overwhelming.”

      “Huh?” Sitting again, he leaned against the sofa back. “Are you PMSing? You’re acting a little mental.”

      “Thanks,” she said. She was really on a roll. “That helps a lot. Okay, next problem—since you mentioned PMS—I just had a physical, and my doctor asked if I plan on starting a family. Next, she launches into this speech on how if kids are something I want in my future, I might want to get on with it. She then proceeded to point out just how drastically the odds of fun stuff like birth defects increase the older women get. Geesh, I’m only thirty-five, so I ask, aren’t women having babies at fifty? But then—”

      “Whoa,” Adam said, making a T with his hands. “Time out. You? Want babies? As in someone a foot tall calling you ‘Mommy’?”

      “Is that so hard to believe?”

      He sobered. “Not at all, it’s just…Well, I never thought of you in that way.”

      “What way?”

      “You know…nurturing. Tucking little humanoid beings in for the night. Making sure they take their vitamins in the morning, helping with homework. When are you going to have time for you? And work? Let alone me?”

      “Adam?” The laugh crinkles at the corners of his eyes had her smacking him over the head with her ladybug throw pillow. “You’re such a jerk.”

      “Sorry,” he said. “But you’ve always been one of the guys. It never even occurred to me you’d go the family route.”

      “Family route? You think a dream I cherish is some stupid route?”

      “I never said that—and I sure as hell never said it was stupid. You’d make a great mom. But, babe, how do you expect guys to think of you as anything other than a guy when all you ever do is guy stuff? Play video games and watch ESPN. Slave over your bugs. I mean, if you want some dude to like you—in a baby-making way—maybe you should put on a dress. You know, let him know you’re interested. Speaking of which, got anyone special in mind for the daddy?”

      Someone knocked on the door. The pizza guy?

      “That was fast,” Adam said, relief in his voice at the interruption. As long as Charity had known him, he’d never been all that keen on sharing emotions. Lucky her, it looked as if he wasn’t about to change tonight. “To show how sorry I am about the baby crack, I won’t even ask you to pay half the bill.”

      “Maybe it’d be best if you just left.”

      “What do you mean?” he asked, expression dumb-founded. “The pizza just got here.”

      “Just go,” Charity said, arms crossed, having a devil of a time trying not to cry as the realization of what she’d just done hit her. Blurting out she wanted a baby like that. Nuts. That’s what that was. “I seriously want you to leave.”

      “But—”

      “Please,” she said. Before I not only spill my deepest, darkest secret about loving you, but start blubbering, too. “Go.”

      Adam stood, pizza in hand, in front of the open door. “Sure that’s what you want?”

      Swallowing hard, Charity nodded.

      For the longest time he just stood there in the chilly hall, staring. The cool air raised goose bumps on her miles of bare skin, but she didn’t care. Why, she couldn’t say, but something about her asking him to leave had been akin to drawing her own personal line in the sand.

      She’d only just now realized it, but enough was enough. She couldn’t go on this way anymore. Doing the same old things. Following the same old routines. If she was ever going to make more of her life—stop being the son her father wanted and discover the woman she knew herself deep in her soul to be—now was the time.

      With his free hand, using just tip of his index finger, Adam stroked heat from her shoulder to elbow, causing her to shiver both inside and out. “I’m worried about you. But if it’s space you want, you got it.”

      Dying a thousand tiny deaths over his unexpected kindness, she almost called him back inside. Almost. But what would that have served other than to prolong her pain? They’d never be a couple—not the way she wanted. The sooner she got that fact through her head, the better off she’d be.

      He wagged the pizza box, shot her a heart-stoppingly handsome grin, then headed down the long hall.

      Closing the door, sliding the chain lock into place, lingering scents of Adam and sausage-and-mushroom pizza flavoring the air, Charity finally gave in to her tears.

      SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Adam was drowning his sorrows in football and a bowl of chili—he’d wanted queso, but Bug wasn’t answering her phone and he couldn’t remember the recipe—when the doorbell rang.

      Opening the door, he said, “Bug?”

      “Sorry,” his dad said with a chuckle, barging his way in with a bag overflowing with green stuff. “Better luck next time.”

      “Yeah, right.” Adam muted the TV, then reclaimed his usual end of the sofa. His dad, a retired marshal, set his bag on the small table in what the official apartment complex guide called the dining nook, then lowered himself into the recliner. “What’s up?”

      “Just curious how your trip to the head СКАЧАТЬ