Cross My Heart (A Contemporary Romance Novel)

that a relationship between them could actually work.
    And given how different they were, the odds of that were pretty slim.
    After the turmoil of his childhood, he’d structured his life around stability and predictability. He was a workaholic. He had a few good friends, but spent most of his down time at home. He’d created a life that worked for him, but he knew it would never work for someone like Jenna.
    She was passionate, outgoing, exciting. She craved variety and change. And while he didn’t share her need to roam or her love of city life, the truth was, he admired her adventurous spirit—even though it would take her away from him in all too short a time.
    She’d made the right decision about the two of them.
    She might have been right about something else, too. He looked at Claire, heaping her plate with chicken and baked beans, and thought again about what Jenna had said.
    Should he ask Claire to come live with him?
    He wished the answer to that question was as clear to him as it obviously was to Jenna.
    If Claire moved here, she’d be leaving behind her friends, her family, her school. She’d be uprooted from the structured and stable environment he’d always wanted for her.
    And he was afraid a life with him would be a poor exchange for what she’d be giving up.
    He shook his head as he loaded up his own plate. He didn’t have to decide tonight. He could put off thinking about it a little longer and just enjoy the evening.
    Jenna talked about the teaching she was doing at her friend’s summer camp, and how much she loved it. Remembering the first night the three of them had spent together, with the Tibetan bell and Christmas carols in July, he could imagine how fun and inspiring her classes were. Jenna’s enthusiasm was infectious and she had a knack for bringing out the best in people. He was glad to hear that along with the movie work she’d be doing in L.A., she was also planning to teach a few hours a week through an inner city arts program.
    Claire asked a question about Jenna’s family, and she mentioned that her future brother-in-law was Rick Hunter, the man who’d designed Claire’s favorite video game. They talked about video games for a while, and then about violence in the media, and whether exposure to it made society more violent. Claire and Jenna both had strong opinions about that, and he let them carry the discussion.
    He already knew that Jenna was an intelligent and original thinker, but he was surprised to find that his daughter was, too. He found himself asking questions just to hear her talk.
    There was blues playing in the background, since Jenna and Claire had informed him that a rock-and-roll education should start there, but it wasn’t until after dinner that they got serious about music. They sat him down on the couch and played him songs by dozens of different artists. While the music played, they talked about the history of the blues, its roots in the musical traditions of Africa and America.
    It was captivating to listen to them. Claire and Jenna fed off each other’s energy, and even though it was obvious that Jenna was the real expert, he was surprised at how much Claire knew, too.
    Nothing human is alien to me. That’s what Jenna had said, and he remembered it now. He might not express it the way they did, but he was as passionate about medicine as they were about music. Even if he didn’t quite “get” the whole blues thing, he could definitely get the enthusiasm.
    At the end of the evening Jenna took out her guitar and started to play. She sat cross-legged on the picnic blanket while Michael and Claire leaned back against the couch.
    In the candlelight, her hair was coal black. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch it. He’d stroked her hair that night on his porch swing, and he knew how soft it was.
    He knew how soft her skin was, too. And the way her body felt pressed against his.
    He might never learn to be a music fan, but he sure was a Jenna Landry fan. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, couldn’t imagine a sweeter, sexier sound than her voice. She held her guitar the way a great surgeon holds a scalpel—like an extension of her body.
    He loved listening to her, loved watching her play, but he knew he wasn’t feeling the music the way she and Claire hoped he would. He liked it, but he didn’t love it...and he definitely didn’t understand the emotion of it the way they obviously did.
    She held the last note of the song until it