The Widower’s Girlfriend: Faking It Series - Sweet Romance Read online

  The first bag down the shoot and onto the belt is mine.

  How do I know?

  My lacy bra, the one that I bought on a whim a few months back when I was excited about a blind date—don’t ask—and never saw the light of day, is spilling out the side of the suitcase. I run up, push a man out of the way, panic stealing my manners and freezing my brain. All I can think is that I have to get my bag off the belt ASAP before it goes all the way around showing off my bra to every passenger on the plane.

  I grab the handle, the only one still connected to the bag, and pull it off the belt with all the muscle I’ve built lifting patients and moving beds. The suitcase flies off the belt, but spills open at my feet. The zipper is hanging off the bottom, having been ripped off at some point in transportation.

  “Seriously?” Hands on hips, I address my bag, like it might just offer up an apology for being a lousy excuse for a suitcase. My face feels like it’s on fire and to make matters worse, I feel a single drop of sweat slip down my back. I’m totally flustered and I haven’t even met up with my friends yet.

  I plop my purse on the ground and crouch down to stuff my clothes and toiletries back into the suitcase in a jumbled mess, completely unconcerned with wrinkles at this point. A shadow covers me and for a split second I actually think the end is near for me. I’ve been brought down to this level by a silly suitcase and now the Reaper is here for me.

  Did I mention I work around kids all day?

  “Need some duct tape?” The Reaper speaks and his velvety voice sounds a whole lot more delicious than I would have guessed. I raise my gaze only to find the handsome stranger standing above me, a roll of gray duct tape extended in my direction. A waft of woodsy cologne floats across and I inhale like a starving woman.

  Figures he’d be the one to come to my rescue.

  I nod gratefully and take the tape. “Thank you. That should help.” Now that my clothes are all safely inside where they should be, I wrap the tape around the suitcase and get it closed tighter than the decades-old zipper. I ignore all the stares I can feel on my back as everyone feels sorry for the girl with the exploding luggage.

  When I stand back up, he’s still there, eyeing my suitcase dubiously, which I totally get. It’s been nothing short of a disaster today. But it’s not like he has to help me. It’s my problem, not his.

  “Thank you for the tape.” I hand it back and smile widely, hoping he takes the apology for what it really is: goodbye.

  His gaze moves over my face, his eyes crinkling and the smirk making a reappearance. “You got a little something...” He gestures toward his mouth and my eyes widen.

  I swipe across my mouth, but he just shakes his head, the smirk getting smirkier and my embarrassment ratcheting up several notches. “What is it?”

  “Did you have coffee this morning?” he asks.

  I run my tongue over my teeth and immediately feel grunge between my two front teeth. I roll my eyes and try to explain, the whole time keeping my teeth from showing while I speak. “I did, but the last sip was straight States Airlines coffee grounds. It’s in my teeth, isn’t it?”

  The smirk finally leaves and I get a blinding smile. “It really is.”

  My stomach is doing somersaults. I hook a finger over my shoulder then remember to continue covering my mouth. “Okay, well, thanks for the heads-up and I’ll just go die a silent death over at the taxi line. Thanks again for the tape.” I can’t even look him in the eye, my mortification is so complete.

  With coffee grounds in my teeth and duct tape holding my suitcase together, I throw my shoulders back and walk out of the Denver airport like I really do have my life together.

  Who needs a tall, dark, and handsome man anyway?

  3

  Walker

  * * *

  She’s killing me.

  Not only is she gorgeous, but she’s a highly entertaining walking disaster. When I handed her the duct tape I grabbed from the Information desk and saw the food in her teeth, I was charmed. Then she used wit to talk her way through the embarrassment and I was intrigued. Now, as I watch her walk out of the airport like a princess leaving her kingdom, I can’t help but remember the lacy pink bra that escaped her suitcase. Of course, those thoughts naturally lead to thoughts of what she’d look like in the undergarment and I scramble to think of something else. Anything else to wipe that from my brain.

  It’s understandable. I haven’t been married for eight years. Which feels like a lifetime. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to be attracted to a warm-blooded female. I didn’t make a conscious decision to remain celibate after my wife died, but it happened anyway. After loving someone and losing them to a disease that never should have happened to one so young, I couldn’t even fathom entering into a relationship with someone on a surface level. I gave up all ability to handle surface-level conversations when I had to plan my wife’s funeral at the age of twenty-six.

  But something about this blonde woman with the failed attempts at adulting in the airport is grabbing my attention. She’s making me want a relationship again. Which is both a relief and terrifying. Talking about moving on and actually moving on are two totally different animals. Especially when I have my sights set on a woman who clearly hasn’t been tested by the world on any kind of deep level. We’d never work out, I just know it.

  I grab my bag off the conveyer belt—all in one piece I might add—and walk out to the line of taxis waiting to pick up passengers. The blonde is a few people ahead of me in line and I use the time to observe her and try to come up with the reasons she intrigues me on a deeper level.

  She’s currently talking with a mom and her young daughter ahead of her in line. The little girl is sucking her thumb, but the second the blonde starts talking to her she drops the thumb and smiles up at her like they’re instant best friends. The sight tugs at heartstrings I didn’t know existed. I never got a chance to have children with my wife and if I don’t speed things up in the dating department, I’ll never have the chance.

  Strangely, it never bothered me before.

  “The Hilton off 14th Street, please.” It’s her turn and she’s about to lift her suitcase into the cab’s trunk. The driver rushes around to help her and I see his eyes widen comically when he sees the duct tape. “Don’t ask...” she tells him with a quick headshake.

  I bite back a groan and move forward, oblivious to everyone else in line ahead of me. “I’m going to the same hotel. Mind if we share?”

  Her head whips up and she freezes for a moment. Her mouth tips up in a wry smile. “Sure you want to take that chance?”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  She tilts her head. “Well, I don’t know. The way my luck is going, this cab will get a flat tire or something on the way to the hotel.”

  I can’t help but grin, my body working on instinct here. The minute I asked to join her cab, I wasn’t engaging my brain any longer. “I’m willing to take that chance.”

  She shrugs. “You’ve been warned!” She drops into the cab and scoots over, the open door being all the invitation I need.

  The driver is looking at me expectantly so I place my bag in the trunk and hurry to get in. As soon as the door slams shut I want to jump back out. What am I doing prolonging my time with her? I have ten different reasons for not pursuing anything further and not one reason to be here, right next to her, where I can smell her flowery perfume and see how she cracks her knuckles when she’s nervous.

  And yet, here I am.

  “I’m Jemma, by the way.” She glances at me and then stares at the road ahead. “Figured since you’ve fixed my bag, spotted food in my teeth, and have basically seen me at my worst, you might as well know my name.”

  I smile at the side of her face. Jemma. A perfect name for her. She is quite rare, just like a gem. Her eyes slide over to look at me, gauging my reaction to her introduction. Maybe wondering if I’m an ax murderer sent to complete her crappy day.

  “Nice to meet you
, Jemma. I’m Walker.” I extend my arm and she slowly slides her hand into mine. An intimate jolt of awareness runs through me, so I give her hand a quick squeeze and let go. The seat cushion groans as I lean back into my corner of the tattered back seat. “Are you in Colorado for fun or business?” It’s the kind of mundane question two strangers would ask that’ll get us back on the right track.

  She unzips her puffy vest, taking it off and setting it on top of her purse by her feet. The cab driver is blasting the heat, which is nice, but totally unnecessary right now. We both seem to be a bit overheated. I follow suit and take off my fleece-lined leather jacket.

  “For fun. Hopefully.” She rolls her eyes and smiles, loosening the scarf around her neck. “You?”

  I seem to be mesmerized by her disrobing, wondering what’s next to come off. When she settles back in her seat and folds her arms across her chest, I bring my gaze back to her face and see her looking at me with those big eyes. “Um, business. Definitely.” I let a beat pass, not wanting to get into why I’m here because that always leads to a long explanation about my late wife. Not really a topic I want to get into right now. “If you’re here for fun, you must love skiing, huh?”

  She laughs, her face dancing with joy. Her broad smile is on full display and I like the way she doesn’t cover it up. “Nope! I can’t stand skiing actually, or snow for that matter. The location was not my choice, so I’m going to make the most of it while staying indoors. By a large fire, preferably.”

  I find myself grinning, agreeing with her assessment of snow. “I hear you on that. I’m all about beaches and sunny skies, personally.”

  Before she can reply, her phone starts singing the Micky Mouse Clubhouse theme song. I’m instantly curious why a grown woman chose that as her ringtone, but then again, she does look pretty young. Maybe she never grew out of her Disney phase.

  Jemma digs through her purse, pulling out a cell phone charger, her brown leather wallet, and a variety of pens with pharmaceutical names on the sides, placing them on the seat bench between us. Finally finding her phone, she mouths “sorry” before tapping the answer button.

  “Hi, Diana!” she answers with a smile, but then starts running her thumb nail up and down the outside seam of her jeans, a nervous habit I doubt she’s aware of. She listens, nodding her head occasionally. I can hear a woman’s voice chirping on the other end of the line, talking a million miles a minute, not letting Jemma get a single word in for several minutes.

  “Yep, I know. I’m in a cab right now.” She bites her lip and listens again before answering. “Yeah, sorry, but—” She nods. “Okay, bye.”

  Hanging up her phone, she slides it into her purse and looks out the windshield, a frown marring her beautiful features.

  4

  Jemma

  * * *

  “God, Jay, why did you book such a late flight? We’re all here, ready to go out, and now we have to wait on you. Are you at least close?”

  Diana’s high-pitched voice in my ear is like nails on a chalkboard. What happened to polite conversation like “hey, how was your flight? Glad you got here safely?” I guess I should have expected this kind of reception.

  “Yep, I know, I’m in a cab right now.” I glance out the window, not knowing where I am, but thinking I’m only ten minutes or so from the hotel.

  “I’ll see if I can get the girls to wait, but I don’t know. It’s kind of putting a damper on our plans...” She trails off, like waiting ten more minutes is a big deal when we’re supposed to be here all weekend together.

  “I know, I’m sorry, but—”

  “Oh—gotta go. Call you back in a second!”

  The loud click, followed by silence, cuts off my goodbye. I pull the phone from my ear and grit my teeth. Honestly, they’re so rude. I keep thinking things will get better or they’ll magically change back into the girls I went to high school with: sweet, funny, and considerate. But year after year of these girls’ trips and it’s not getting better. It’s only getting worse.

  “That went well,” Walker adds dryly.

  Crud, I forgot for a minute he was in the cab with me. I plaster on a smile—I’m good at faking it—and turn to him. “Yeah, my friends are kind of hyper. They just want to go, go, go!”

  He doesn’t smile back, just studies me as I keep that smile in place. What is he even doing here with me? I nearly swallowed my tongue when he hopped up and wanted to share the taxi with me. I’d made a total fool of myself all morning in front of him, and yet here he was, purposely signing up to spend more time with a total klutz. It didn’t make sense, which made me more nervous than I should be. That and he was crazy handsome.

  “Hmm. I have some energetic friends like that, but they’re still kind.”

  My eyes widen and my cheek muscles fail me as the smile slides off my face. How could he have guessed that? “Did you hear my conversation?”

  He frowns, the two lines between his eyes deepening. “No, but I heard your end of it.”

  That makes me feel slightly better, but still exposed. I’m not proud of how my friends treat me, and I’m certainly not happy about it, but hearing him judge my friendships when he and I are perfect strangers doesn’t sit well with me. “They’re not that bad, really. You’d have to know them.”

  His frown lines smooth out and his lips hint at a smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  Satisfied he dropped it, I nod and swivel to look outside. I mean, he’s not telling me anything I don’t already tell myself. But I’ve known these three girls since high school. At what point do you give up and sever a ten-plus-year friendship? There’s history there, and inside jokes, and a shared background that just wasn’t repeatable now that I’m an adult. Besides, everyone deserves a second chance. Sometimes a third or fourth. Right?

  I spin around again, my indignation making my mouth speak when I should have just stayed quiet and left well enough alone. “You know, they were there for me in high school. I wasn’t one of the rich kids with the name brands and a fancy car when I turned sixteen. Those girls took me under their wing and made me one of their own, which is pretty much what every insecure teenager wants in high school. So yeah, they might be a little bratty now that we’re adults, but I owe them, okay?”

  My tirade ends and silence fills the cab, even the driver not wanting to draw any attention to himself in this argument. Walker is staring me down, his brown eyes darting across my face, absorbing my words. His face is serious, but he seems to be really listening to me, a quality that’s rare among the people I hang out with. I still regret explaining myself to him. He’s a virtual stranger, so why am I dumping all my personal drama on him?

  “Sounds like they played a key part during that time of your life.” Walker nods yet somehow I know he’s not done. “I’m a firm believer that we should always be choosing who to surround ourselves with. And I also believe that someone right for you ten years ago isn’t necessarily right for you today. Some relationships grow together over the years and some break apart. Trying to cling to a friendship that isn’t right for you now does you a grave disservice.”

  Now it’s my turn to absorb his words, thinking he has a good point. I slump a bit in the seat, the fight leaving me. “I hear what you’re saying, and it’s not far off from what I’ve been saying in my own head. But it’s easier said than done. How do you cut off a long-term friendship like that? At what point is enough enough?”

  Walker tilts his head. “Only you can decide that. But if I may, I would suggest you check in with how you feel when you’re around them. True friends should lift you up, not make you feel badly about yourself.”

  I have to admit, it’s not bad advice. Giving him a cheeky grin, I ask, “What are you? A psychologist or something?”

  He barks out a laugh. “No, not a psychologist. Just someone who’s had to do a lot of soul searching.”

  Before I can ask him what he means by that, my phone rings again. The ringtone makes me think of my precious little pa
tients, but the caller ID makes me cringe. Diana’s calling back.

  “Hi, Diana.” I bring the phone to my ear and hope Walker can’t hear her voice. She’s nearly shouting now, talking over wind noise in the background.

  “Jay, we couldn’t wait. We’re taking an Uber to a little spa a few blocks over. The boys booked us three massages. Isn’t that super sweet? Oh my gosh, workaholic, get a husband already so you can join in on the fun. We’ll see you after our massage, okay?”

  “Um, okay, I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Gotta go, bye!”

  I put my phone back in my bag and roll my eyes. “Okay, they’ve definitely gotten worse over the years.”

  Walker chuckles and the rumble of his laugh rolls through me like a tangible thing, warming up everywhere the conversation with my friends left me cold.

  “Get a husband already?” Walker leans closer, his eyes dancing by repeating my friend’s ridiculous comment.

  I feel the blush steal across my cheeks. “Oh, you heard that, did you?”

  “I think the car next to us heard that, yeah.”

  Rubbing my hand over my face, I sneak a peek at him. “So...I guess that conversation makes my decision a little clearer.”

  He lifts his eyebrows. “Hard to believe they used to be kind and considerate. Maybe their husbands are a bad influence?”

  I shake my head. “No, they’re actually pretty cool guys. I think college just sent us all on different paths. I was studying hard while they were partying hard. And then by the time I graduated, work took over and I rarely saw them. That’s why we made up the annual girls’ trip: to be certain we all make time for each other, even when life gets busy.”

  The driver honks his horn and mutters under his breath. Looking outside, it seems we’re stuck in a bit of a traffic jam. Secretly, I’m pleased to get some extra time to talk to this captivating stranger-not-stranger.