Button Holed (5 page)

“Oh, yes I do.”

Note to self: a thirty-three-year-old woman in her flannel sleep pants, her Chicago Bears T-shirt, and her Crocs can move faster than a seventysomething guy. Over near the window and far enough from Stan so that I didn’t have to worry he’d grab the newspaper back from me, I took a closer look at the photograph and saw what Stan had seen. What I hadn’t had a chance to see the first time I looked at the picture.

Pikestaffed, I stood there with my eyes wide and my mouth open. Oh yeah, I looked like a Lake Michigan carp, all right, and at that point, I didn’t even care.

Because the only thing I could do was stare.

At Kate in the center of the picture, the light catching the highlights in her hair and accenting the sparkle of her smile.

And at me, over in the corner.

With my head under my desk.

And my butt sticking out.

Stan came up behind me and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Hey, kiddo, sure, a million or more people are going to see that picture this morning. But look at the bright side. At least you’ve got a nice butt!”

Chapter Three

SOMETIMES, MITCHELL KAZLOWSKI STILL SHOWS UP IN my dreams.

Though there are certain . . . er . . . benefits that can result from the situation (like the night I had that vivid dream about how we were back in Barbados on our honeymoon . . . in that cute little hotel with the ocean view . . . in that darling little tropical-colored suite . . . in that big ol’ bed we hardly ever left except when we needed food, rum drinks, or the night we dared a little sex on the beach), this is not necessarily good news.

Having warm and fuzzy thoughts about Kaz is like dealing with a not-so-reputable collector for an entire too-good-to-be-true-priced box of buttons.

Sure, there are some tantalizing things at the top. But as I learned back when I first got into the button business, when I dug deeper, I found out I’d been sold a bill of goods.

Just like with Kaz.

I admit, over the years, he’d made my heart dance around plenty.

Mostly, it was just from annoyance.

I hung onto the thought and reminded myself I could no way, no how let go of it (at least not without completely losing both my self-respect and my mind) when I rounded the corner on North Wells Street the next evening and caught sight of Kaz coming the other way.

Oh yeah, my heart started dancing, all right.

Damned heart.

Didn’t it know I didn’t have time to tango? I had just run out to pick up a turkey sandwich and was on my way back to the shop for my follow-up appointment with Kate Franciscus. I didn’t need to get distracted.

And there is no distraction quite like Kaz.

“Hey, Jo!” He closed in on me fast, but then, that’s the way Kaz does everything. Well, almost everything. There was that sweet little room in Barbados, and—

I batted the thought as far away as it was possible for it to get. Not so easy because before I knew it, Kaz was two feet from me, a smile in his brown eyes and his face lit with the sizzling grin that had been known to make even the most levelheaded button diva forget herself.

“I just stopped by your store,” he said, tilting his head back the way he’d come. “Some girl was there. She said she didn’t know when you were coming back.”

“Brina.” I supplied the name, not so much because it mattered that Kaz knew, but because when he was standing there looking me over and I caught a whiff of the aftershave I used to buy him every Christmas simply because it magically seeped into my brain and made me nuts from wanting him, I knew it was wiser for me to concentrate on work than on Kaz.

Kaz in nicely worn, butt-hugging jeans.

And a dusky blue shirt, open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up above his elbows.

I forced myself to watch a passing bus, the better to keep my mind on other things, and said, “Brina is my assistant. I left her in charge.” I lifted the white carryout bag in my right hand. “While I went out to grab some dinner.”

It was all I was willing to say. In fact, as soon as I got back to the Button Box, I was going to send Brina home. It was only five-thirty, and Kate wasn’t scheduled to arrive for this evening’s appointment until eight, but I wasn’t taking any chances. When Kate made this appointment, she’d insisted we meet alone. None of her assistants, and no sign of mine. Apparently, after looking over my buttons, she was ready to make her choice, and like everything else about her royal wedding, she wanted this detail to be a surprise. For everybody.

“An assistant, huh? You’ve come up in the world.” I didn’t have to look at Kaz. I could hear the amusement coloring his words. “She sure doesn’t look like an assistant. She doesn’t even look like your typical button nerd.” He didn’t bother saying he was sorry for the slam. But then, Kaz never does. In the long line of things that had pushed me over the edge from Mrs. to ex, it was the one that still grated the most. “She looks like she should be working at some biker bar.”

“She’s Adele Cruikshank’s granddaughter.” Kaz didn’t need to know that Adele had begged and I had given in. Kaz already knew I gave in far too often. It was the only thing that could possibly explain why we’d stayed married for three years.

As for what had finally forced us apart . . .

It wasn’t much of a mental leap for me to remember the two goons in my shop. Or that just about the first thing I’d thought of when I ran into them (after the whole terror/panic/ scared-senseless thing) was Kaz.

The thought threw ice water on the heat that had been building since I set eyes on him. When I looked Kaz up and down, I’m surprised goose bumps didn’t blossom on his arms.

“Who are you in trouble with now?” I asked him.

Kaz has a way of stepping back, throwing up his hands, and proclaiming his innocence. It’s a great act. Too bad I’d seen it so many times, I know it means he’s as guilty as hell. He did it now, and when I didn’t immediately cave, he looked genuinely disappointed.

“Come on, Jo.” He poked his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You know me better than that.”

“Yes, I do.”

One heartbeat.

Two.

When you’re married to a man like Kaz, you learn how to work a punch line.

“That’s why I’m asking.”

There was no point in waiting for him to tell me I was wrong. Of course, that’s exactly what he was going to do. Of course, he’d be lying through his teeth. I started walking. It was the un-subtlest way I could think to show Kaz we had nothing to say to each other. Not anymore.

He tagged along. Just like I was afraid he would.

“You think I’m here to ask for money, don’t you?”

I didn’t even bother to give him so much as a sidelong look. But then, I could afford to act like I wasn’t concerned. For one thing, because I wasn’t. For another, it was exactly what I expected him to say. “I think somebody you owe money to is looking for money,” I said. “And since they didn’t find any in the Button Box the other night—”

“What the frig!” He clapped a hand on my arm and stopped me so fast that, before I knew it, we were toe-to-toe. Kaz is a heavy-equipment operator at the Port of Chicago, and he looks the part. Wide shoulders. Slim hips. Abs that won’t quit and biceps that owe their definition not to some fancy equipment at some fancy gym, but to long days of hard work.

That is, when he isn’t dodging that hard work so he can place his next bet.

He cocked his head to give me a probing look. When I saw a wave of concern cloud his expression and actually thought it might be genuine, I gave myself a mental slap. “You mean somebody broke into your shop?”

“Come on, Kaz.” I ripped my arm out of his grasp. It was that or fall into the trap of remembering how good it felt to be skin to skin. Believe me, this wasn’t the time or the place for that. Or the century. Or the universe. “You’re telling me you’re not into somebody for big bucks?”

“That’s not what we were talking about. We were talking about somebody breaking into your store. How much did they take?”

“How much did they need to take to cover your losses?”

He flinched, and honestly, I might have fallen for the whole wounded-animal look if I hadn’t seen it . . . oh . . . about a million times before. My exasperated sigh pretty much said it all, but just in case he wasn’t into nuances, I spelled it out for him. “I don’t know what they took. Not yet. I’m putting my inventory back in order and I worked on it all day today and I’m tired and I’ve got an appointment I have to keep so maybe I’ll just see you around sometime.”

Nuances aren’t Kaz’s thing. Neither is the oh-so-obvious. When I started up again, he didn’t get the message; he was right at my side. “I had nothing to do with any burglary, Jo. I swear.”

Honest to Pete, I wished I could believe him.

And I knew if I did, I’d only be proving that I never learned my lesson. This time, I did look at him, out of the corner of my eye. “You didn’t answer my question. I asked if you were into somebody for big bucks. Then again, I don’t suppose I need an answer. Why else would you stop to see me? It’s always all about the money, isn’t it?”

“Just happened to be in the area.” There was that grin again, hotter than the sun in Barbados and just as dangerous to those who were foolish enough to go out without plenty of protection. “Who says I can’t stop in to see my favorite button collector?”

“I’m the only button collector you know. You made sure of that because you made sure you kept far, far away from my business.”

“Oh, come on. If you’re going to start in on me again because I never went to any of those stupid button shows with you—”

“I’m not starting in on you. Not again. Because I never did in the first place. And this has nothing to do with you not going to button shows with me.” We were at a cross street, and the light was against us. I’d rather have taken a chance on an encounter with a Yellow Cab than continue our conversation, but traffic was heavy, and though I talk a good game, I’m really not much of a risk taker. Except, of course, when it came to Kaz. “I’m not stupid, Kaz,” I pointed out. I shouldn’t have had to. “We both know this is the time of the month I get my royalty check.”

Oh yeah, he is quite the actor. If I didn’t know better, I actually would have believed that fleeting look of surprise. “Royalty?” His eyes lit. “Oh, you mean for that movie you worked on with that Hugh Weaver guy
.
You’re still getting money from that?”

I bit my tongue. After all, we were on a public street and there were children nearby. They didn’t need to hear what I was thinking, which was pretty much that Kaz was the lousiest liar I’d ever met. Only the words that pounded around inside my head weren’t nearly that nice.

“You know I get a check every month,” I said instead, skirting the whole nuance thing again and laying it on the line. “You know this, Kaz, because back when I got my first few royalty checks, I put all the money in the bank to save it for the down payment on a house. And you withdrew all that money because you knew in your heart of hearts that the Colts were going to beat the Saints in the Super Bowl. Let’s see . . .” I tipped my head, thinking. Or maybe one side of my head was just heavy from all the sarcasm I was storing up and ready to let loose. “The way I remember it, you lost all that money and you didn’t care. You figured you’d just get more the next month.”

“For richer or for poorer!” He was the only one I knew who could make that part of the wedding vows sound like a joke.

The light changed and I crossed the street. It wasn’t hard for Kaz to keep up. I am, after all, a short woman with short legs.

“It’s just a couple thousand bucks, Jo, and I wouldn’t ask at all if it was for me. But I’ve got this friend, see, this guy down at the port. He’s been sick, and he hasn’t been able to work. And he’s got a wife who’s on disability. And kids. Three of them.”

Yes, he talked a good game, and I would have been a noble and charitable person had I listened. But I’d heard it all before. Always a sick friend. Or a relative in need. Always a story. Over the years, I’d learned that none of them were ever true. “No,” was all I said.

“But that movie you worked on with Hugh Weaver, the one you did the costumes for all those years ago . . . it’s hotter than ever. I saw DVDs in a bookstore the other day and—”

“No. I sunk all the money I could afford into the shop. And I need some money to live on until things finally take off. How else do you think I was able to quit my job at the insurance company?”

“My point exactly!” Kaz’s eyes were the color of a cup of double espresso. They packed the same wallop. “You’ve got enough money to quit your job. And enough to start this crazy business of yours. And thanks to that goofy movie, you’ll have more coming in next month.”

We were in front of the Button Box, and I stopped and said, “Yes, I will. And you won’t be getting any of that, either.”

“Ah, come on, Jo.” Kaz was brazen enough to skim a finger up my arm.

I was shameless enough to let him.

That is, right before I said no again, and turned to walk into the shop.

“But you’re going to be more successful than ever. You know, after this.”