The next mistake was completely different, a shifter friend who rescued cats. They had dated on and off, and right about the time he’d nerved himself to ask her to make it permanent, she had found her mate. Boom! Nobody at fault—he’d even helped them move in together.
He’d ricocheted straight into a weekend of wild partying with someone coming off her own break-up. It had been perfect—he thought—until Roxane flew back to France. Easy come (haw! haw!), easy go.
In the dozen years or so since that drama, he’d been a lot more careful, ignoring his desperate-for-a-pride lion. This was the first time his serpent had spoken up. But could it be a rookie mistake, just because she was so gorgeous and warm and sexy?
He glanced around the garden, smiling to himself. It was then that he sensed he was being watched. Ah, a little boy. Alejo was going to say something, but the way the child crouched so still, making himself small, caused Alejo to hesitate. He didn’t want to scare a kid, especially if this was the little kid Godiva had mentioned having the run of her garden. Then Alejo realized he’d almost blundered into a pint-sized hideaway: a pile of ancient cushions, and a stack of comics kept in a wooden crate turned sideways, like a makeshift bookshelf.
He pretended to see nothing and kept going until he appeared on a bluff, and there was the Pacific Ocean, sparkling in the sun. To the right, roses of every hue, an effective barrier without being obvious.
Below the bluff, a house, the roof warped. The window frames on this side were cracked—termite-ridden, at a glance. What would be a splendid porch for sitting on and watching the view had sagged dangerously.
This had to be Wendy’s house. He leaped down the bluff to the sidewalk. The house was the last on a narrow street. He walked around it, mentally making a list of what he’d need. “She’s had more than her share of rotten luck,” Godiva had said to Alejo. “Wendy’s mother left her that house, free and clear. And as Wendy filed for divorce the day after her mother died, by the time the estate cleared and she got her divorce, there was no chance that Bill Champlain, the Ex from Planet Scum-weasel, could claim the house as community property. So though Wendy’s overworked pro bono lawyer lost pretty much every other battle, he did manage to hang onto that house for her.”
Alejo had mentally shrugged, but the story had seemed important to Godiva. Now he tried to recollect every word. “The court said he had to pay rent if he stayed there, and she moved in with me. Between that and the mess he made of trying to do repairs on the cheap, he finally dumped it back on her in far worse shape than it had been.”
Godiva had added some pungently Shakespearean curses against this Bill Champlain, then said, “Wendy tried to move back in, but the place leaked. She got ripped off by two contractors in a row. One did a rotten job after overcharging her, which she’s still trying to pay off, and the other vanished entirely—after taking all the down-payment she’d given him. I don’t actually know if Bill got to them, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Don’t tell her you’re going to fix that place. She’s too honest. She works at the bakery while her kid is at school, to scrape together a living, as the scum-weasel constantly nickels and dimes her out of her child support money, just to be a jerk. Just do what you do best.”
It was an old beach house, badly mistreated by salt air and sand, but its bones were excellent. His hands itched to grab his tools and get started, his heart speeding up at the thought of Wendy living here. She had once leaned on this porch, and walked through this door. She would again, once he furbished it up for her. Would he see her wonderful smile when she discovered what he’d done?
He ran his hands over that same bit of railing, smiling out at the sparkling sea as Wendy vividly appeared before his inner eye. He’d never before thought about how attractive the name Wendy was. It fitted her so well. She was a little above medium height, her blonde hair curling about her face. And what a beautiful face! Everything about her was beautiful, and abundant, and thinking about her made him hurry his steps a little. Would she let him help her with the cooking?
When he reached the house, a small figure shot out of the jungle to the right, halted, then regarded him shyly from behind thick glasses. It was that same small boy.
“Hi,” Alejo said. “I’m Godiva’s son, Alejo Tzama. What’s your name?”
Enormous eyes blinked. Skinny shoulders crept toward ears that stuck out, probably pushed by the weight of those glasses frames.
“You can tell me later, if you want,” Alejo said easily—this boy was very much like a spooked colt. “Right now, the most important thing on my mind is, what is that incredibly delicious smell coming from inside? I’m so hungry I could eat a moose. No, two moose. Meese?”
The little boy’s lips parted as if to let a laugh escape, then he dashed for the door, nearly colliding with it as it opened. “He said meese,” came a small treble voice, barely audible.
There was Wendy, looking apprehensively from the little boy to Alejo. “Sam,” she said in a calm voice, “this is Mr. Tzama. He is Granny Godiva’s little boy.”
“Hi, Sam,” Alejo said. “Nice to meet you.”
Sam vanished inside the house.
Wendy said quickly, “He is very shy. I don’t want you to think he’s being deliberately rude.”
“Sure. No problem. He can take his own time. Beautiful garden—Godiva bragged about it, but now that I’ve seen it, if anything, I think she understated it.”
Wendy’s pretty shoulders came down a notch, rather like her son’s. He added, “Anything I can do to help? I’m no chef, but I know my way around a kitchen, and I’ve been granted the Godiva Hidalgo Certificate of Approval for Being Able to Wash Dishes.”
Wendy laughed, a soft, sweet sound that bounced around inside him, lighting off fireworks. She said, “I’ve got it all under control, but thanks for the offer. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“What’s cooking? It smells great.”
“It’s a simple dish, nothing fancy—we have a variety of food preferences here, between one of Godiva’s guests who is vegetarian and my son who feels very strongly that anything green is not fit to be consumed by humans. What you smell are caramelizing onions, which will go in a cheese and tomato pie with sweet basil as seasoning.”
“It sounds great,” he said, following her back into the kitchen, where she finished rolling out pie crust.
She layered in her ingredients with the deft hands of an expert cook as he leaned against the sink, out of her way, and talked easily about the cross-country drive, and some of the things he’d seen. Wendy seemed to like listening, especially when he got to Route 66, which apparently Godiva had talked about. The pie went into the oven, she washed her hands—and he felt like he’d won All The Stars when he made his second offer of help, and this time Wendy let him set the table.
He set five places, but when the timer rang, and Sam had returned, drifting along the perimeter of the kitchen like a little ghost, it became apparent that the two missing roommates were going to be no-shows. Alejo couldn’t help but rejoice: he would have Wendy and her small Sam to himself for this first, crucial meal.
It was uphill work. Sam never spoke at all. Whenever he looked Alejo’s way, it was with the shy person’s side-eye. Wendy was determinedly polite, but once she’d asked how much Godiva was enjoying Kentucky, and he’d described how much fun she had making friends with the current residents, horse and human, the conversation flagged.
“She did intend to come back with my dad,” he finished up, “but that wild storm that went through knocked down one of the barns. No one was hurt, but my dad needed to stay there to supervise the rebuilding, and she stayed with him. They told me to go on ahead, which is why I’m here.”
