Threads of Hope: Quilts of Love Series (13 page)

Was there any point in mentioning that someone’s own daughter shouldn’t be considered “company”? Except that in her parents’ house, that’s exactly how Nina felt. Apparently they did, too.

Nina checked the time on her phone. Unless she wanted to meet Mr. Luke the Beautiful in her wrinkled, hot pink, polka-dotted scrubs, she needed to find something more presentable to wear. A quick shower, a pair of jeans, and a black turtleneck later, Nina declared herself ready when the doorbell rang. She tapped on Aretha’s door as she opened it. “He’s here,” she announced to an obviously undressed roommate who looked uncharacteristically frantic.

“I don’t know what to wear.” She sat on her bed and held up a pair of black pants, “These make me look like I’m ready for Halloween wearing them with that sweater. And these,” she tossed a pair of jeans to the floor in disgust, “are too tight. . . .”

The doorbell rang again. Aretha hissed, “Don’t just stand there. Go let him in before he thinks no one is home.”

Nina looked in Aretha’s closet, shoved hangers back and forth, parting waves of clothes until she reached for a pair of khaki pants. “Here, wear these. They’re capri length on me, so they should be the right length for you. And let it be known that I’m nice to you even when you’re not.” She heard an “I’m sorry” as she closed the bedroom door.

She scooted Manny out of the way, and opened the front door, anxious to see the man who captured her friend’s attention. Instead, she saw the one who once captured her own.

Brady Lambert stood on her doorstep behind a bouquet of far too many long-stemmed white tulips.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Brady said as he handed Nina an armful of flowers. “And make sure you didn’t still have a lump on your forehead.”

Nina held on to the tulips like she was hauling delicate firewood. “Well, you’ve surprised me,” she said, still slightly stunned. “Um, thank you for these . . .”

“May I come in or were you on your way out?”

Dressed in his typical starched, button-down shirt and knife-pleated jeans, Brady always had that “on his way to somewhere” look. Unlike Nina who tended to look like she wasn’t sure where she was going. Like today.

“Of course. I wasn’t going anywhere,” she said, but then wished she hadn’t admitted it because she just lost an out for his leaving. She juggled the bouquet and tried to hold Manny back from dashing out the door as Brady entered.

“You’re not Luke.” An equally surprised, but finally dressed, Aretha peered over the steps after Nina shut the door.

“Hello again, Aretha. And, no, I’m not.” Brady smiled, but not unlike someone who just told the cat where the canary was hiding. “Just checking on Nina’s injury.”

Nina set the tulips on the counter and moved her bangs aside to show Brady the swelling had gone down. “No more egg. Just a little bruise.”

She found the only vase-like accommodation for such an armful of flowers, a tall ice bucket. She filled it with water,
tried to arrange the not-so-cooperative tulips, and hoped Aretha would save her from a task at which she was totally inept. Nina watched her friend descend the stairs, and she wasn’t rushing to help. In fact, she leaned against the granite bar, arms folded, and surveyed Brady and his flowers.

“Great choice, Brady,” Aretha said. “Nina, I think you may have to trim the stems.” She looked back at Brady. “Don’t worry, that won’t lessen their meaning.”

Nina rifled through rubber bands, a collection of twist ties, and pens in what was supposed to be the utensil drawer for the kitchen shears. “Meaning? What meaning?” She found the shears mixed in with ladles and spatulas. “Aha,” she said and held them up like a trophy. No one else seemed to be impressed. Not even Manny who growled as if on a timer, every few minutes, at nothing or no one in particular.

Brady cleared his throat. Without a camera slung over his shoulder, he lost his casual, cool factor. He looked so uncomfortable, Nina almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “The florist told me they mean, um, forgiveness. I guess since Aretha hinted at it, it must be true.”

She looked from Brady to Aretha. “How did you know this?”

Aretha walked over and took the shears from Nina. “Because studying design isn’t limited to furniture. I wouldn’t want to decorate a lawyer’s office with lavender, which signals distrust.” She snipped the stems of the tulips and dropped them into the ice bucket. “Not the most elegant of containers, but the rustic look offsets the tulips quite nicely.”

“She can’t help it. The decorator gene just has to flaunt itself,” Nina explained to Brady as she placed the arrangement in the center of the kitchen table.

Aretha tossed the pile of stems in the trash. “Okay, I’m done here. Going back upstairs for the finishing touches.” She patted Brady on his arm. “Best of luck in New York,” she said.

He opened his mouth as if he intended to respond, but instead he smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Aretha. I appreciate that.”

Since Brady had never arrived unannounced, Nina wasn’t sure of the next step. Or if he had one in mind. She wanted to stay and meet Luke, but the thought of four people as awkward as strangers in a crowded elevator nixed that idea. But close quarters in Brady’s little convertible, when he looked and smelled so appealing, and her defenses were weak from the same environment less than twenty-four hours before? Another idea she should nix. But she had to do or say something to counteract the weird vibes.

“Would you like something to drink . . . coffee . . .” she opened the refrigerator, “diet drink, water . . . not much else there.”

“No, thanks. I can’t stay long, but I thought, maybe, we could talk,” he said, glancing up the stairs.

Talk as in without Aretha overhearing. Okay. You’re on
.

“Sure. I need to take Manny out for his post-breakfast stroll. I’ll leave a note for Aretha, and then we can go.” Nina scribbled a smirk-inducing note, “Manny and I out with Brady. Please don’t hate me for dognapping Luke’s excuse for a walk. Back soon,” and they headed out.

“There’s a dog park about a block down on the right. He likes hanging out there,” said Nina. Manny trotted ahead on the sidewalk, ears flapping. “Funny you should stop by today. Usually I have dinner with my parents on Sundays. If I hadn’t overslept, I would have really been surprised to find flowers on my doorstep.”

“More surprised than you were to find me?”

“No, I suppose not. I don’t remember you ever making unannounced visits . . .” Nina reined Manny in closer, and
moved off the sidewalk when she saw a tricycle headed their way.

“Sadly, I don’t think I did.” He slowed his stride to match Nina’s as Manny intermittently sniffed bushes and gardens along the way.

“You said you wanted to talk. About . . . ?”

“I heard you’re going after that political corruption story. Impressive,” he said, and he actually sounded as if he meant it. “You seemed out of your element at that society benefit.”

Nina blinked a few times. She saw Brady, but her mother’s voice just popped out of his mouth. “And that means, what exactly?”

“I meant that as a compliment. I think you have more to offer as a journalist than writing about the Houston movers and shakers and their charity galas. Daisy told Janie you drew the short straw on covering it because she wasn’t there.”

Apparently, he was researching last night as well, but his information source had to have been Janie, not Google. They reached the park, and Nina hooked Manny’s leash to one of the stakes and let him roll and flop in the grass. She and Brady sat on a wrought iron bench facing a fountain that, depending on the breed, served as a watering hole, a swimming pool, or both.

“Was this what you wanted to discuss? My choice of assignments?” Nina brushed off her black sweater, which had become a haven for pollen, falling pine needles, and whatever other smut was in the air. Smoke drifted from across a wooden fence that bordered the park, and the unmistakable scent of barbeque must have reached her and Manny at the same time. They both turned toward the aroma, though Nina hoped she didn’t sniff quite as noticeably as her dog did.

Brady crossed his leg over, resting the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other. He tugged a bit at the hem of his jeans. “I called Janie this morning, and I suggested she postpone the party she’s been planning to celebrate the New York move.”

“Postpone it until when?”

“Until I decide if that’s really what I want to do.”

Nina unhooked Manny’s leash, freshened his water bowl, and read the note Aretha had left in place of hers. “Mr. B and I going out to eat . . .”

She and Brady hadn’t been gone that long, so Luke must have arrived right after they left. Nina wished she could text Aretha to relate yet another bizarre Brady-encounter. He’d left as soon as they returned, walked straight to his car, and said he’d be in touch. All Nina could think was, “Why?” Calling off Janie’s party? The man must have a death wish. Or at least no fear of finding himself a mangled mess in an ER. But the man who recently growled at her after she saturated his expensive sweater with coffee was now purring?

If today and yesterday were math problems, the addition was definitely off. She wasn’t sure what was missing from the equation, but her gut suspected an unknown variable. Her gut also rumbled its need for food, but nothing in the refrigerator looked as appealing as the barbecue over the park fence had smelled. She found the menu for Happy All Cafe and decided a delivery order of Beef with Orange Peel and Chili Peppers would silence her stomach.

While she waited, Nina opened her laptop to check the news. Brady’s obvious admiration for her story flattered her, but his comments about her being at the benefit were flashbacks to his tendency toward elitism in journalism. For Brady, what you wrote reflected who you were and where you were on the magazine staff food chain. By trashing the fund-raiser, he unwittingly threw down the gauntlet. Proving Brady wrong might be worth investing herself in a feature story that didn’t have the power to expose the corruption of local governments. After she finished her news story, she could elevate a feel-good feature into something that garnered attention.

She jotted some notes to check on Monday, then looked up The AIDS Memorial Quilt site. Aretha and her overnight infatuation arrived at the same time as her food. Manny almost collapsed from his barking frenzy after the delivery man and another strange male invaded his territory. Nina could hardly hear Aretha introduce this tall, ebony version of Patrick Stewart. He exuded charm, but not the kind that made Nina feel like she’d just been dipped in a vat of oil. He stood in the kitchen as if he’d been there all his life and watched Manny with calm amusement.

After several minutes of Manny’s performance for Luke, which included a snarling rendition, Aretha grabbed his leash. “Come on, mister, we’re going to take this Oscar-winning mad dog routine to the street,” she said. He stopped barking, but locked his eyes on Luke while she attached the leash to his harness. Aretha handed Luke a dog biscuit, “Here, put this in your pocket. And if you value that strong hand of yours, don’t put it anywhere near his mouth for now.”

By the time they returned, Luke was Manny’s new best friend, one worthy of lap jumping and face licking.

“The man must be a dog whisperer. I’ve never seen Manny fall so fast for someone,” Aretha remarked.

Nina smiled. Luke seemed to be an Aretha whisperer as well.

“If I can know I don’t like somebody in less than two days, why is it impossible to know the reverse of that?” After dinner, Aretha stretched out on the sofa with her sketch book propped on her bent legs, moving her pencil back and forth between her palms as if she was rolling dough. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I’ve always thought that.” Nina looked up from her laptop where she sat at the kitchen table, half-hidden by the bucket of tulips. She bookmarked her page, then moved the flowers over so she could see Aretha. “You mean the Luke thing? For starters, you certainly weren’t crazy about the beautiful part. That he is. If you tell me the two of you are running off to Vegas tomorrow, then you’re definitely certifiable.”

The pencil stopped. “Not tomorrow, of course not.” It started again. “But I do like him. As in, if he doesn’t call me this week, I’ll be in mourning. And devastated. And maybe therapy.” She started sketching again.