A Perfect Pair. Jen Safrey

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СКАЧАТЬ that maybe dating really was a means to an end, and she’d never get to that end if she just continued on the way she had been, accepting dates with nice people just to have a good time.

      Did she really need more? Were there possibilities she had ignored?

      Josey suddenly bolted up from the sofa and walked into the kitchen. She usually had a beer and watched TV before fixing a simple dinner, but when she opened the refrigerator, the thought of downing a beer and yelling at Oprah Winfrey’s guests seemed too…bachelorette. She slammed the fridge door and grabbed the mostly unused teakettle off the stove. She filled it with water and set it back down on the range, turning up the heat. Then she rummaged through the overhead cabinet for a clean mug. Tea. Very domestic.

      Domestic?

      Josey stopped in the middle of the kitchen floor. Was she really considering this? A family? Her? Born-to-have-fun, sworn-to-single-life Josephine St. John?

      A husband?

      The phone rang, startling Josey so much a small gasp emerged from her throat. She lunged for the phone, not wanting to hear one more offensive ring. “Hello?”

      “Oh, you’re home early. I was going to leave you a message.” Nate’s rich baritone filled her ear. The reserved, slightly detached tone of his voice was typical of someone making a personal phone call from work, but then, Nate often sounded like that. Besides, Josey knew he had to be at work, because if he were at home, he’d be knocking on her door instead of calling her.

      “Hey, Nate.”

      “You sound exhausted. The kids wear you out? Oh no, wait, the play. How’d it go?”

      “All right. I mean, fine. It went fine.” Josey, frustrated with her inability to communicate, pushed back a corner of the kitchen curtain and glanced outside. The bright late-afternoon sunshine made her squint, so she dropped the gauzy material.

      “It’s Friday once again,” Nate continued. “And it’s your turn to choose. Japanese, Italian, Thai? Hamburgers?”

      Oh, damn. Josey couldn’t believe she’d forgotten her weekly dinner out with Nate. But she was in no shape to go anyplace tonight. She was just going to get into her bathrobe and turn on some Billy Joel and stare into space. She was in the midst of some kind of epiphany, and she needed to stay here and sort out her mind. And maybe replan her future.

      “Nate, you know what? It’s not really a good night for me.”

      Nate paused, then asked, “What’s wrong?”

      “Why does something have to be wrong?”

      “All right, strike that.” Spoken like a true lawyer. “What’s going on?”

      “Why does something have to be going—”

      “Because you never cancel out on me. I tried to cancel on you twice, but I didn’t succeed because no matter how much work I have to do, you always convince me otherwise.”

      “Mmm…”

      “And you know what? You’re always right. So, no excuses. I’ll stop by in about two hours. I’ve got a few more things to handle here, then—”

      “Nate, I’m serious. I’m sorry. I really can’t do it tonight.”

      “All right. Don’t worry about it. I’m not insulted. Just tell me why you’re canceling.”

      Josey began pacing in a slow circle, wrapping the phone cord around her body. “Why do you sound so worried?”

      “Because I am worried. No one likes to go out and have fun more than you, Josey. You wouldn’t ditch a night out on the town unless something was up.”

      “Nate,” Josey insisted, “I’m fine. Okay? I just have to—well—I have to stay here and…think for a while.”

      Not normally one for spontaneous good humor, Nate laughed out loud. “That, I have to say, is a new one. Do you usually go through life not thinking?”

      “Nate, please. I’ll talk to you tomorrow about it, okay? Don’t get on my—”

      “I’m not, I’m not.” Nate was suddenly serious again. “I didn’t mean to laugh. Whatever this is with you, I hope you figure it out. Do you want a rain check for tomorrow evening? It’s a Saturday night. I wouldn’t want to impose on any big date plans.”

      As it happened, Josey didn’t have a date. “I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know. That should be fine,” she added, distractedly.

      “Hold on.” The sound was suddenly muffled, as if Nate had covered the mouthpiece with his hand, and she heard voices. Then he came back. “Josey, listen, I have to run. One crisis after another around here.”

      “Yeah.”

      “So I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Don’t forget to call.”

      “I won’t, Nate.”

      They said their goodbyes and hung up, and Josey rested her hand on the receiver for a moment, trying to get control of her thoughts again.

      But despite her effort, all that went around in her head was I want a family.

      Well, she thought, why fight it? My mind is made up.

      She glanced up at the framed poster on the far wall, of the Patriots’ quarterback. Nate had bought it for her birthday last month, in remembrance of their first meeting. Her mouth turned up slightly at the memory of tall, dark, handsome, subdued Nate crashing into her apartment, afraid all hell was breaking loose, and intending to do something about it. Sweet, reliable, responsible Nate.

      Nate, Josey realized with a start, would be perfect to help her.

      When she had told Nate she’d call him tomorrow, she had said it automatically, so that he’d stop worrying about her. But, she thought now, he was the perfect person to help out.

      If anyone would understand what she was going through, it would be him. He didn’t have a wife and kids—hadn’t even dated anyone seriously since Josey had known him—but he was goal-driven and ambitious, and she needed someone like that now that she was planning to restructure her own life around a new objective. A family.

      Besides, Josey thought, walking down the short hall to her bathroom and shedding her work clothing on the way, good old responsible Nate ought to be able to help her figure out how to do a responsible thing like settle down. She’d just ask for his help. Tomorrow.

      Chapter Two

      A light tapping on Nate’s door startled him.

      “Come in!” he called, leaning back in his chair in an authoritative position. The door creaked open, and David Jeffers strode in, his footsteps muted on the soft green pile rug.

      “Nathan Bennington,” Jeffers said, taking the seat across from Nate without waiting for an invitation. He wouldn’t have needed one, of course. To Nate, David Jeffers was the closest thing he’d ever had to a mentor. He was the first assistant district attorney Nate had met СКАЧАТЬ