Authors: Sheila Roberts
Bikini Season (18 page)
E
rin stormed out of the flower shop, determined to let Dan have it, but once she was in her car she realized she didn't know where, exactly, to find him. She had no idea where he was living.
rin stormed out of the flower shop, determined to let Dan have it, but once she was in her car she realized she didn't know where, exactly, to find him. She had no idea where he was living.
Since it was Saturday he was probably at the gym.
No, he wasn't. He wasn't at work, either.
“Why don't you try him at his place he's fixing up,” suggested Fred, the produce guy.
“Great, thanks,” Erin said. “Um. Where is it?”
“Corner of Lake Drive and Pineâlong driveway.”
“Thanks,” she said, and hurried to her car. Lake Drive and Pineâthat was the less developed side of the lake. It was lovely over there, with lots of trees to remind people what Heart Lake had been like before word got out about it. In between the trees the lakefront was sparsely dotted with little vacation cabins, a contrast to the south end, which had been rapidly taken over by big homes and lawns.
She finally found Dan's place at the end of a long driveway flanked by fir and alder trees and huckleberry bushes and salal. It was small, probably only two bedrooms, snugged in by old, out-of-control
rhodies. But it had a stone chimney and, as she walked around to the front, she saw it had a long front porch, perfect for relaxing on a warm summer night. One side of the house was dotted with moss and the whole place needed paint. Once it was fixed up, though, it would be a charmer. Inside, she could hear a hammer banging and Bryan Adams singing about loving a woman.
rhodies. But it had a stone chimney and, as she walked around to the front, she saw it had a long front porch, perfect for relaxing on a warm summer night. One side of the house was dotted with moss and the whole place needed paint. Once it was fixed up, though, it would be a charmer. Inside, she could hear a hammer banging and Bryan Adams singing about loving a woman.
“Hello,” she called. “Anybody home?” Well, that was stupid. It wasn't ghosts swinging that hammer. “Hello?”
No one answered her, and now she could figure out why. Because Bryan Adams wasn't the only one singing. Between the pounding and his duet with Bryan, Dan wouldn't have heard if a bomb went off on his front porch.
She went inside, picking her way around debris and piles of lumber. The house had pretty much been gutted, but the big riverrock fireplace on one side of the room was intact. She took in all the windows framing a sunlit view of the placid lake and could see them strung with little fish-shaped party lights. This would make a perfect house for entertaining.
And there was Dan, on the far end of the room, working on what looked like a frame for a new window. A packed tool belt pulled dusty jeans low on his narrow hips. He had his shirt off, baring a well-muscled back. There was something so sexy about a man in jeans and no shirt.
You're engaged. Remember?
her inner mother reminded her.
Don't forget you're here for a specific reason.
her inner mother reminded her.
Don't forget you're here for a specific reason.
Right.
She walked up practically behind him. “Hello.”
He gave a start and dropped his hammer, then whirled around. “Erin. What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you about the flowers.”
His cheeks turned russet. Then his brows came together. “Who told you?”
“Never mind who told me. I'm just here to say thanks, but I can't accept.”
“Why?”
“Because. It wouldn't be right.”
He grimaced. “You know, if your mom was here right now she'd really let you have it. Are you going to go around to everyone who gives you a wedding present and tell him to knock it off? If you are, send the goods my way. I could use a new toaster.”
“Well, now you'll have enough money to buy one.”
He scowled at her. “You need the damned flowers. Take them.”
“I will not,” she snapped. “How do you think that would make Adam feel if he knew some other man had chipped in for the decorations at his wedding reception?”
Dan rubbed the back of his neck. “Look. I just wanted to help you get what you really wanted. I think that's what your mom would have done. But, hey, if you don't want the fancy stuff I'll go buy you a toaster.” He turned his back on her and picked up his hammer.
She suddenly felt as small as that hammer. “I don't mean to be ungrateful,” she said, “but I just don't feel comfortable with you doing that.”
He said nothing, just took a nail and banged it into the frame.
“I'm sorry,” she added. The words were right, but they came out wrong, making her sound bratty and defensive.
“You should be.” He turned around to face her, shoving the hammer into his tool belt like a gunslinger. “You've got a real snotty side to you, Erin. You always have had.”
That was totally unfair. “Oh, like you never brought it out. You did your fair share to make me feel like a fool when I was young.”
“You punished me pretty good once you got older and grew claws,” he retorted. “But we're grown-ups now. I'm trying to act like one.”
She felt her cheeks burn. “It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture.”
He didn't say anything, just stood there, looking at her, his face like granite.
She nudged his foot with her toe. “My mother would have told you to get the toaster.”
“You know what I think?” he asked.
“That I'm a snot.” He was right. She was.
“I think deep down”âDan tapped on her chest, sending a jolt running along every nerve ending in the vicinityâ“you know something's not right, and it's eating at you, and that's making you pissy. It's like you've got chronic PMS.”
“Well, thank you, Dr. Dan, for your diagnosis. I'm a snot with permanent PMS.”
He gave her a half grin. “You're not a total snot. Remember how you used to always make M&M cookies every time I came over?”
Her cheeks got hot again. “Brett liked them.”
“So did I. You knew it. And remember that time Brett and I broke into old man Mosier's place and drank all his beer? You knew, didn't you? But you never ratted us out.”
“I didn't want Brett to get in trouble.”
“You could have ratted me out.” He smiled. “You're only a snot when your back is up.”
“You're one of the few people who gets my back up.”
Dan grinned. “What can I say? It's a gift.”
She shook her head at him and turned, walking back to the door.
“Speaking of gifts, change your mind and accept mine,” he called after her.
She stood in the doorway, looking out at the lake, shimmering in the early afternoon sunlight. In the middle a fish jumped, making a splash and sending out quiet ripples. “I think if I had a place like this I'd never want to leave.”
She heard the sound of Dan's work boots as he walked up behind her. “Too bad it won't stay this way forever. Everything changes eventuallyâplaces, people.”
“People do change,” she agreed. “You can't go back.” And that was a good thing. Going forward was where a woman found her true happiness.
“You're right,” Dan agreed. “You have to go forward. But there's nothing wrong with looking back and remembering.”
Yes there was. And lately, just looking at Dan made her feel like she was in some stupid remake of
Back to the Future,
trying to rewrite her way to a sappy new ending. As much as she wanted to think of him as a goofball, he'd grown into a very attractive man.
Back to the Future,
trying to rewrite her way to a sappy new ending. As much as she wanted to think of him as a goofball, he'd grown into a very attractive man.
“Take the flowers,” he said softly. “Please.”
Erin sighed. “Okay.”
And now it would be best to leave.
“Thank you,” Erin said. Then she bolted for the door before she could be tempted to make herself at home on that porch in the morning sunshine.
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It had been another grueling week of toil at Wise Ass and Greed, and Megan was fried. Even so, she wished she had some interesting plans for the weekend. Other than taking a spin around the track on Saturday afternoon (when Tanner would not be around to see her sweat), she had nothing going. Pretty depressing. She consoled herself with a promise of checking out some of the online options for meeting men once she'd lost some more weight. Right now she wasn't ready to be posting a picture of herself on the Internet for all the world to see.
She sighed as she shoved papers into her briefcase. All those TV legal shows made a lawyer's life look so glamorous. What a joke.
Someone knocked on her door, probably Tanner with some fun project to eat up the entire weekend. Oh, well. What did she care, really? She had no weekend to eat. “Come in,” she growled.
Pamela Thornton stuck her head around the door. “My, aren't we bitchy? Is Tanner picking on you again?” Megan opened her mouth to shoot back a smart retort, but Pamela didn't give her time. “Randall and I are going to go wash away our bad memories of the week with grapefruit martinis. Want to join us?”
Pamela wanted her to go out with them? What did they need her for, ballast in case they encountered a strong wind?
“Well, let's go,” Pamela said impatiently as if it was all decided. “People are dying of thirst.”
And so she went. And drinks slid smoothly into dinner. And by the end of dinner she realized that friends came in all sizes, and sometimes a girl was wise to try on one that looked too small. Looks could be deceiving.
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It was now the beginning of March, and the daffodils were about to bloom. Angela had finally joined Weight Watchers online and lost six pounds. She wouldn't be hot by her birthday, which was only a few days away, but at least she was on her way. And she intended to keep going, too. She'd already asked her mother to go easy on the fattening food when they went to her parents' for her birthday dinner on Sunday. She'd liked to have gone someplace a little more special for her thirtiethâno offense, Momâbut, oh well. Rachel was history, she was sure of it, and she had her dolce vita back. That was what mattered.
But on Friday things changed. While Brad was showering for work Angela went looking in his wallet for a spare dollar to give Gabriella for popcorn at preschool and found not only the needed dollar but a receipt from Victoria's Secret. Of course, it was a birthday present for her, so she didn't say anything. She played dumb and sent him off to work with a big kiss.
And then she began the hunt for her birthday present. Brad was a terrible present hider. In all the years they'd been married, he'd never been able to keep anything from her. She went to the closet and opened his carry-on suitcase, his favorite hiding place, for a peek at the prezzie. Empty. Okay, that meant it was stuffed in his second-favorite hiding place, the filing cabinet in their home office. Nothing but files. She scooted out to the garbage and wheeled his big tool chest away from the wall. Only
wall. Hmmm. He'd done a good job of hiding her present this year. Where was it?
wall. Hmmm. He'd done a good job of hiding her present this year. Where was it?
Nowhere in the house, she concluded after a thorough search. Maybe he had it stashed at the office. Maybe someone was keeping it for him.
Maybe someone was wearing it for him.
Where had that come from? That was ridiculous. Everything was fine now and Brad wasn't cheating on her. But he always kept her present somewhere in the house. That was part of the birthday tradition. He'd hide it and she'd find it.
So he did something different this year, she reasoned. There's no need to panic. She went back into the houseânot panickingâand tore the hall closet apart. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing! Something was wrong here. Her woman's intuition was going off like a three-alarm fire.
Brad called that afternoon and announced that he had to work late. And then she knew. She knew! First the receipt for the invisible present and now this.
She tried to talk herself down from the ledge. So he had to work late. That didn't mean anything. Brad was happy with her again. They were happy. “Who else is working late?”
“Just me,” he said.
Brad never lied, he was always reminding her about that. But there was something in his voice that told her he was now. That meant it was just him and Rachel.
She ground her teeth. “Okay,” she said tightly.
“I'm sorry, Ang, I really am. Something came up.”
She just bet it did. She should have kept her mouth shut, but she couldn't resist saying, “And Rachel isn't working late, too?”
“Oh, Ang, come on,” Brad said, sounding irritated. “Of course she's not.”
“I was just wondering. Go ahead, work as late as you want,” she told him, trying to sound like she didn't want to run down to his office and put him through the paper shredder.
Wait a minute. Maybe she did want to run down to his big office in the city and pay him a surprise visit. If he was with Rachel she could put them both in the paper shredder.
“I'll be home as soon as I can,” he promised.
“Okay. Bye.” She hung up and looked at the clock. It was now a little after four. If she booked it, she could get there before the after-hours party even started. She looked to where the girls were playing dolls in the living room. She couldn't take them with her. That would scar her babies for life.
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