making dinner or sitting down to eat by the time she got home. Frustrated, Suzanne promised herself that she’d call everyone she knew later tonight.
The trouble was, she felt like a child bursting with news. She wanted to tell someone right now, not two hours from now.
Well, tough. She wasn’t a child, and her news could hold. She’d vacuum instead.
Pulling into her driveway, she glanced as she almost always did toward her next-door neighbor’s house. The light in his front window was on, and she saw the blue flicker of a television. He was probably watching the six o’clock news. Somehow she couldn’t imagine him sitting in front of a rerun of Friends or Full House. No, he was definitely the news type.
He might like to know about the children who would be visiting tomorrow and might be living next door.
The thought crept in out of nowhere, startling her.
She wasn’t friends with Tom Stefanec. They rarely exchanged more than a few words. She made sure they didn’t.
It was probably dumb, but she’d been self-conscious around him since he’d moved in. She’d still been married, but her marriage had been disintegrating. She and Josh had seemed to yell at each other constantly, and neighbors—or one particular neighbor—had had to call the police to report domestic disturbances. Twice.
She hadn’t been able to look him in the eye since.
But he had never, not once, referred in any way to Josh or those ugly fights. Tom had been really nice since he’d found out she wanted to adopt. He’d mowed her lawn the whole last month of fall so she didn’t have to get her mower fixed before spring. He knew she wanted the house to look extra nice when the caseworker did a home visit. Suzanne had noticed that her lawn looked better than it ever had after a few weeks of his attention, too. She suspected he’d fertilized it with a weed and feed, which had killed some of the dandelions.
Ever since, he’d asked regularly if she’d heard from the adoption agency. She didn’t know whether he was just being polite or really hoped for her sake that she had. But he did seem interested.
She’d never actually gone to his door and rung the bell before, but she could. Since he did often ask, and since the kids were coming tomorrow, it would be the civil thing to do, wouldn’t it? Instead of him seeing them and her having to say, Oh, I forgot to tell you that the caseworker did call.
Besides… She really wanted to tell someone.
Taking a deep breath, she got out of her car, hurried into her house to deposit her purse and the day’s receipts on the small table just inside and then, instead of going to the kitchen to find something for dinner, she went back out and marched across the strip of lawn that separated her driveway from her neighbor’s. Her feet carried her up his walkway and onto his porch.
Her courage was already faltering by the time she rang the doorbell, but she didn’t let herself chicken out. They were neighbors. She’d known him for years. It was silly to be shy.
Besides, he might have seen her coming onto the porch through the big front window. She couldn’t flee.
The light came on and the door opened. He filled the opening, wearing a sweatshirt, jeans and slippers. Somehow he was always so much larger than she remembered.
“Suzanne!” he said in surprise. “Are you okay?”
Apparently he figured the only reason she’d come knocking was if she desperately needed help. And who could blame him since she’d never made the slightest overture of friendship before?
She produced a smile. “I’m fine. I just stopped by to let you know that I finally heard from the agency.”
He stood back. “Come on in. Sit down and tell me about it.”
She hesitated.
“Aren’t you having dinner, or…”
Or what? Entertaining? She hardly ever saw anyone else at his house. She didn’t know if he did entertain.
“Haven’t even started to cook yet. I just got home and thought I’d have a beer and watch the news.” He picked up the remote control and turned the television off. “None of it’s good, anyway.”
“I know what you mean.” Feeling timid, she stepped inside.
Trying not to be too obvious, she took a swift look around. His two-story house was more imposing than her small rambler, but in all her years here she’d never even peeked in his front window.
His living room was more welcoming than she would have expected. It was dominated by the big-screen television, but that was probably a man thing. His recliner was large, too, but then it had to be, didn’t it? The sofa was soft rather than spare looking, and a pair of bookcases flanking the fireplace were filled with hundreds of books, a mix of fiction and non-fiction.
“Please. Sit down.” He closed the door behind her and gestured toward the couch. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Or a beer?”
“No, I’m fine.” She did perch at one end of the couch, her thigh muscles remaining tense. “Thank you. I really didn’t intend to stay. I just wanted to share my news.”
For some reason, as he sat back down in the recliner she fixated on his slippers. They were perfectly ordinary, brown leather with a dark fleecy lining. But his ankles were bare, and the very sight of him in slippers somehow created a tiny shift in the universe. Tom Stefanec was so disciplined, so boot-camp sergeant with that buzz-cut hair, she’d never pictured him coming home like other people and changing immediately into old jeans, a sloppy sweatshirt and slippers.
“Were you in the military?” she blurted, then was immediately embarrassed. “I’m sorry! That’s none of my…”
“That obvious?” He gave a crooked smile, either chagrined on his own behalf or amused at her discomfiture, she wasn’t sure. His homely face was considerably more attractive when he smiled, a realization that startled her.
“Well, it’s just…” Frantically, she searched for words. “Oh, you wear your hair so short and, um, you obviously keep in good shape, and…” She couldn’t think of anything else and trailed off, embarrassed yet again that she’d admitted to noticing the powerful muscles emphasized by the well-worn jeans.
“I was an Army Ranger. Got out after I was wounded in Kuwait.”
“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
He shrugged those broad shoulders. “No reason you should. So. What did you hear from the agency?”
Agency? For a moment, she was blank. Then her whole reason for coming here returned as if floodgates had opened, and she felt foolish.
“They called to ask whether I’d consider two children. A sister and brother. I met them today for the first time.”
“Really? Two?”
Since he didn’t sound disapproving, she said, “The boy—Jack—is seven and his sister is ten. Their mother had MS and died recently. The father has been skipping on child-care payments and was apparently happy to relinquish his parental rights.”
“A
