Memory of Love: Fairfield Romances, #4

Chapter 1

JEANNE

The last thing I needed to see at the end of a long day was my ex-husband’s face grinning smarmily out from a dual-page spread in the newspaper. I knew that look—dark hair flopping over his forehead, dimple in his cheek, twinkle in his eye as if he knew a secret he was dying to share—it was intimate and seductive, as if he was staring directly out of the paper at me. Hey beautiful. Come talk to me. Come home with me. Let me paint your portrait.

Oh, no you don’t. That’d worked on me once, and on countless other women since then, I was sure.

I scanned the article. Fairfield’s own local celebrity, Jeremy Whitaker…book tour for his recent release, A Life of Color…a captivating array of paintings, poetry, and short stories…

Ugh.

I flipped the paper closed, folded it once, and deposited it neatly in the recycling bin.

I don’t need you to leave the paper for me anymore, I called down the hall to Tris, my front-desk manager. Her laughter floated through the open door to my office, and I rummaged through my purse, needing something to erase the sour taste from my mouth. I found a peppermint candy and unwrapped it, popping it into my mouth and savoring the sweet flavor on my tongue.

I’ve always gotten a lot of flak from my friends and family for my addiction to sweets. I was the kid that could put away my entire collection of Halloween candy in about an hour if no one stopped me. When I was a teenager, my mother would sigh whenever she caught me liberally sprinkling spoonfuls of sugar over my already sweet Lucky Charms, saying she hoped I’d become a dentist someday…before I lost all my teeth.

So, I guess you could say I chose my profession to spite my mom. Pretty mature, right? Honestly, though, I love being a dentist.

I love how something as simple as a teeth cleaning can make my patients feel better. I love the independence and flexibility of my job. I love seeing how a non-judgemental, sugar-addicted dentist helps people feel safe.

And while I definitely learned the importance of good oral hygiene as I got older, still I never lost my sweet tooth, much to my mother’s dismay.

It certainly didn’t help that my friend Geoff recently opened a bakery that—while not precisely on the route between home and work—wasn’t exactly out of the way, either. In fact, I’d been thinking about stopping there on my way home to see what he was serving up. E’clairs, I hoped. Or maybe chocolate fudge cake—that was my favorite.

Jeanne, I know that glazed expression. You’re thinking about cake again, aren’t you?

Carly, one of my hygienists, as well as one of my closest friends, poked her head around the corner and raised an eyebrow at me.

I am not, I said with as much dignity as I could muster. I was thinking about Mr. Riley’s root canal tomorrow.

To her credit, she didn’t laugh at me outright, though she did roll her eyes. Sure you were. Well, tell Geoff I said hi. I just finished up with the last patient, so I’m heading out.

I smiled at her. Have a good night.

You, too. You have any plans?

My smile widened. I sure do. Dylan’s at his grandparents’ for the next three nights until Jeremy comes home, and I plan to eat as much ice cream as I can handle and fall asleep in the tub. It’s going to be amazing.

Carly laughed as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "That does sound amazing. He’s been gone for, what? Two months now?"

I nodded. Nearly.

With Jeremy traveling for his book tour, I’d had sole custody of our son, Dylan. And while Dylan was a pretty good kid, all things considered, single-parenting a rambunctious six-year-old over summer break was not for the faint of heart. Jeremy’s parents watched him during the days when I had to work, but I hated to ask them to keep him overnight, too. Not only did it seem like an imposition, but Jeremy’s mom wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. But they’d volunteered to give me a break over the last few days before Jeremy returned, and I certainly wasn’t going to say no to the offer of some much-needed alone time.

Too bad he has to come back at all, huh? Carly said.

I laughed and tucked my blond hair behind my ear. Well, if it wasn’t for Dylan, I’m sure he’d be on the first plane out of Fairfield, but he’s managed to stick around so far.

For all of Jeremy’s many—many—faults, I had to give him that. He tried to be a good dad.

Well, you have a good night to yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow?

I nodded. See you tomorrow.

A minute later I stood and gathered my belongings, shutting down my computer before heading for the door. I called a goodbye to Tris on my way out, then got in my car and headed home, deciding at the last minute to forego the bakery in favor of the ice cream I already knew was filling my freezer. Besides, if I stopped at Geoff’s, I’d feel obligated to stop at the bookstore too, right down the block and owned by Jeremy’s brother, Sam. And although he was the only member of the family I could tolerate for more than a few minutes at a time, at that moment I preferred the easy company of the ice cream and my bathtub.

I sighed with pleasure as I let myself into the quiet house. Legos and racing cars and puzzle pieces cluttered the floor, and I nudged them aside as I made my way through the foyer and up the stairs. I changed out of my work clothes into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top before heading to the kitchen, where I spent a grand total of thirty seconds perusing the healthy offerings of my fridge before deciding I didn’t have anyone to set a good example for that night, and went straight for the ice cream.

Mint chocolate chip. The best.

I curled up on the couch under a throw and worked my way through half a pint while watching crime show reruns. I was getting drowsy and beginning to contemplate that bath when my phone rang.

Hello?

Jeanne? The voice through the phone was rich and warm, and I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.

Mark. Hey. I snuggled deeper into the couch and tipped my head to rest against the cushions. What are you up to?

Just missing you, he answered, and I could hear the smile in his voice. Moving is terrible. Remind me why I’m doing this again?

To be near me, of course, I responded.

I’d met Mark Strykowski nearly six months earlier, at a dental convention in Columbus, Ohio. I’d been taking a continuing education course on the human gut microbiome and its influence on oral inflammation, and while the subject matter had been less-than-fascinating, the handsome man I’d been seated next to had been enough to hold my wandering attention. It’s possible I wasn’t entirely subtle as I snuck glances at him throughout the lecture, because at the end he’d invited me out for dinner.

As coincidence would have it, he was from Indiana as well, where he worked at a large dental practice in Indianapolis. The practice had recently changed owners though, and while Mark had been given the option to stay on, he had instead decided to relocate closer to his aging parents, who lived in Glassbury, only an hour away from Fairfield, and open his own small practice there.

We’d hit it off right away, exchanging stories of small-town Indiana over dinner, dental anecdotes over dessert, and a few flirtatious insinuations over drinks. We’d met up the following night as well, and when after two nights he’d made no move to invite me back to his hotel room, I’d observed with relief how different this all was from the first time I’d met my ex-husband, and thought maybe there could be something here worth following up on.

His soft chuckle brought me back to the present. Oh, right, how could I forget? But if I’m moving to be near you, then why am I stuck here in Glassbury while you’re all the way over there in Fairfield?

I smiled. Well, I’d invite you over, but I have the place to myself for the first time in months, and I’m not giving this up.

All alone, huh? All the more reason you should invite me over, he teased.

I laughed, knowing he was joking and would respect my boundaries. It was strange—I hadn’t seriously dated anyone since my divorce had been finalized nearly six years earlier—between relocating to Indiana, raising a child, and opening my own dental practice, dating had been pretty low on my list of priorities—and I couldn’t help but compare him to Jeremy. Jeremy, who certainly would not have respected my wishes to have some time to myself, and likely would have shown up uninvited with a bottle of wine half an hour later and had me naked against the wall ten minutes after that.

No, Mark was everything Jeremy wasn’t—respectful, courteous, responsible, grown-up. If I’d known men like him existed, maybe I would have started dating again earlier.

I’ve got plans tomorrow, he went on, but can I take you out on Friday?

His voice was a low rumble that made me heat inside, but I sighed regretfully. I can’t Friday; I’ve got plans with Carly. What about Saturday? I’m free all day.

Saturday sounds perfect. I’ll call you on Friday to set it up. He paused, and his voice dropped even lower. I miss you, babe.

His words were a simple statement, not a wheedle for an invitation, but despite that fact—or perhaps because of it—the warmth inside me began to swirl lower. Maybe I should invite him over after all. We hadn’t seen each other at all that week. But no…it was late, and I had to work in the morning. And besides, I really did want that bath, more than I wanted to get laid.

I miss you too, I said, and we exchanged goodnights and hung up.

I went all out on the bath—candles, bubbles, scented soap, soft music and a glass of wine—and then nearly fell asleep before I had a chance to enjoy it. I laughed to myself as I let the water drain out—clearly, I was too out of practice to even properly enjoy an evening to myself. But the heavenly comfort of my bed was enough to make me not care, and I barely had time to set my alarm before I was out cold.

I awoke with my heart hammering in my throat and dread coursing through my whole body. What was happening? I didn’t know if it was the ear-splitting shriek of the fire alarm that woke me first, or the rasping cough I barely recognized as coming from my burning throat.

Dylan!

It took my addled brain a long moment to remember that he was safe at his grandparents’ house. I, however, was not safe. My lungs seized against the thick, choking air.

Get out.

I rolled out of bed and crouched low, grabbing my cell phone from the nightstand and yanking the charging cable out of the wall as I hurried to the door. My mind was a confused tumble of thoughts and remembered advice—stop, drop, and roll—Thank you, elementary school, but I’m not on fire…yet—smoke rises, so stay low to the ground—have a family meeting place—Thank God Dylan’s not here.

The doorknob wasn’t hot, but the air was thicker in the hallway, and my head felt like a balloon about to lift from my shoulders as I crawled toward the stairs, coughing so hard I thought I might disgorge a lung. I just had to make it down