gutter balls. He was either terribly distracted or the worst bowler she’d ever seen.
“No, we’d better not,” Tricia whispered back, giving her daughter a side glance. Lani’s sly smile showed she was joking and, as always, she seemed older than her seven years. Tricia reached up to ruffle the deep-brown tresses of her child’s bob haircut.
“Mom, watch me bowl.” Rusty, Jr. stood poised with an eight-pound ball, wiggling his backside into his best pro bowling form.
“Okay, let’s see you roll a strike. You’re doing it just right.”
It felt right, too, just being here on a rare night out with her three favorite people, even if it strained the tightrope budget she tried so hard to balance every month. Watching her children enjoy themselves almost relieved her guilt over telling the white lie that freed up her calendar for a bowling night. Almost, but not quite.
They continued through the frames of their game, but none of their performances compared to the show going on in the next lane. While before, the man couldn’t hit a pin with a two-by-four, now his black ball seemed unable to miss one. Tricia half expected someone to recognize him at any moment as an escapee from the pro-bowlers’ tour.
“Look, Mommy, the man isn’t throwing gutter balls anymore,” Max pointed out two octaves louder than his regular speaking voice.
Tricia pressed an index finger to her lips to hush her son, her cheeks burning. At least the guy had the decency not to look at them, though he must have heard. His chest moved slightly a few times as he seemed to be trying not to laugh. His profile transformed as a dimple, incongruous with the earlier determined flex of his jaw, appeared on his cheek. On his next frame, he even missed a pin.
“Kids, what are we here to do? Bowl or talk?” Tricia said finally.
“Bowl!” the three chorused as they turned back from their interesting neighbor.
So they returned to the game, with Tricia’s applause and encouragement accompanying her children’s giggles. But no matter how hard she tried to focus on the game, she couldn’t help sneaking curious glances at the next lane.
Why was such a handsome man bowling alone on a Saturday night? Why had he seemed so preoccupied when he’d arrived? And an even bigger question: why did it matter to her? He was probably just like the four of them, trying to get one last visit in before the bowling alley closed so it could be renovated into a minimall. Besides, she hadn’t been so much as curious about a member of the male gender in the last two years.
No one would know it from the number of blind dates she’d gone on recently. It seemed that everyone with a Christian friend-of-a-friend had introduced them, hoping to create a perfect match. Her friend Charity probably had the same hopes for the blind date Tricia was supposed to have been on tonight. If she hadn’t cancelled.
Didn’t these matchmakers realize she was already in love—with Rusty. And she always would be. He’d just gone to be with God a little ahead of her, that was all. She couldn’t blame her well-meaning church friends; they just didn’t understand. God only gave people one love like that in a lifetime, and she’d already had hers. Even though she was a widow and only twenty-six, she didn’t think it was fair of her to ask Him for more.
Trying to focus, Tricia rolled her ball. She smiled at her children over her dismal effort but suddenly felt too guilty to laugh with them. It wasn’t her blind date’s fault that her heart was permanently off the market. She’d been rude to cancel at the last minute. Tomorrow, right after church, she would phone him and try to reschedule.
Obviously, she needed to stop being nosy about the man in the next lane and focus on her own behavior. Still, out of her peripheral vision, she watched the man as he stepped off the lane and sipped his soda. He swiped his hand through his dark-brown hair, but since it was clipped so close, it did little more than flutter. Funny how the haircut made his strong jaw appear so pronounced.
“My turn now,” Max called out, grabbing his ball and rushing up to throw it.
It might have been his best effort yet if he’d bowled in the right lane, instead of the one being used by their distracted neighbor.
“Wait, Max,” Lani called out too late.
Max’s eyes were wide as he turned to look back at the man. Tricia choked back a laugh. Maybe it was time to turn in those glamorous bowling shoes. But she’d paid good money for this game, and she wasn’t about to leave until they’d bowled their last frame.
Prepared to apologize for her child, she turned toward the guy she’d been trying to ignore all night. A pair of startling light-brown eyes looked down at her before the guy threw back his head and laughed.
Brett Lancaster couldn’t believe he was laughing. Especially at the woman staring back at him. Or about any female after the day he’d had—the last few years he’d had. But then she laughed along with him, her children joining her like a merry pack of hyenas.
Before, he’d noticed how striking the woman was. Only a blind man would have missed that. But when a smile spread across her heart-shaped face, she transformed into movie-star dazzling. With the contrast of that shiny, dark hair and fair, flawless skin, she resembled a porcelain doll, one that had just been removed from the box for a trip to…the bowling alley.
The crash of pins from that slow-moving ball stirred him from his reverie in time to remember his manners and stop staring. He turned to see the pins, in real-time slow motion, fall one by one.
“Wow, sport, you got a strike.” Brett stepped forward and extended his hand for a high-five. The boy looked to his mother for approval before giving a slap that smarted.
“Sorry.” Twin pink spots stained the woman’s cheeks. “Max accidentally bowled on the wrong lane.”
“Why are you apologizing? Young Max here just improved my score. Thanks, kiddo. You know, I wasn’t doing so well earlier.”
“Yeah, you needed some of these gutter things like we have,” the older boy chimed. “If you ask at the desk—”
“Thanks, but I don’t need them now. My score’s getting pretty good.”
“Because I got a strike,” Max announced importantly.
“I’m doing really good, too.” The older boy pulled the sheet off the scoring table and flashed it at him.
“Why aren’t you keeping score?” asked the girl who looked like a junior version of her mother.
“I didn’t figure I’d win any trophies.”
He couldn’t help smiling at the endearing way the children angled for his attention, perhaps as they would when their dad came home from work. Did he come home? Discreetly, he glanced at the mother’s left hand. She wore no wedding ring, or any other rings for that matter.
An unsettling sensation moved inside his chest, something he attributed to indignation on this family’s behalf. These sweet kids were probably victims of another deadbeat dad, like so many of the troubled youths he dealt with in his work. The guy had probably walked out on this young mother after promising her the world.
The woman caught him staring and blushed even more prettily, fidgeting with her delicate hands. “Come on, guys, we’ve bugged the gentleman for long enough.”
