Authors: Megan Caldwell
Vanity Fare (28 page)
“Yeah,” I said slowly, “I thought he was interesting at first, but I realized it was just the British accent and the sleek clothing. Underneath it all, he’s just a bubba.”
“Whereas Nick . . .”
“Nick’s a stone-cold fox, but I have to get over this silly crush. Besides, he’s leaving the country, Keisha. I don’t think there’s a chance for us no matter what his ‘complications’ are.”
“But you’re seeing him on Tuesday, right? So you could have one night of passion.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead and sighed dramatically.
I batted her hand away from her head. “Have you been reading my trashy romances again? Because it doesn’t happen like that in real life. In real life, something like that is called a one-night stand, and it’s usually sordid and you feel tacky and cheap afterward.”
“Darn.”
“Yeah, darn is right. I just hope I can handle Tuesday without freaking out. At least not too much.”
My only question was, how much was too much? And what would I possibly say to him?
I only had a few days to figure it out.
You won’t need your glasses to view the delicious taste of these chocolate cream pies. They’ll make grown, professional, too-gorgeous-for-words men cry. And you’ll be elected ruler of the island without having to kill anyone. Unless you consider death by chocolate an actual mercy killing.
26
“WHAT THE FU—THAT IS, WHAT SHOULD I WEAR?”
Aidan, Keisha, Mike, and Lissa were all perched on my bed, trying to help me figure out the best outfit for the Not Quite a Date, but Not Quite Not Dinner with Nick. My bed hadn’t seen so much action since—well, ever.
“Black. Black’s a good choice,” Keisha advised, a sassy grin on her face. I glared at her, then dove into my closet. I emerged with two pairs of black pants, a black dress, and a black and white skirt, just for variety’s sake.
“So?” I laid everything out on the bed, trying not to notice Mike’s and Aidan’s complete lack of interest.
“The black pants. These,” Lissa said, gesturing to the ones with the low waist. “You look sophisticated yet casual.”
Keisha rolled her eyes. “Honestly, can’t you drop the fashion oxymorons? Just wear whatever makes you look skinniest. That’s what you want to wear, right?”
Mike leaned over and covered Aidan’s ears. “Just wear whatever makes you look hot. Like, you know, with cleavage.” He removed his hands from Aidan’s ears. Aidan just smiled at him—he and Mike had already played about a thousand games of Justice League, so Mike could do no wrong.
My girlfriends nodded. “He’s right. Give him some skin, baby,” Keisha said, reaching over and yanking a slinky black tank top from the top of my bureau. She held it out for me to take.
“But it’s March! I’ll freeze!”
Keisha kept her hand out. “Would you rather be warm or
warm
?” she said, giving me a wink. Only Keisha could wink like that and not look like a perv.
“Warm.” I sighed, taking the top from her hand. “And now, if you guys will get out of here, I’ll get dressed.”
When the bell finally rang,
right around seven, I’d managed to screw up two applications of eyeliner and was thoroughly convinced my eyebrows were mismatched. In other words, a typical pre-evening out.
Keisha opened the door to let Nick in, but only after I admonished her about behaving herself. I still didn’t trust her, but at the moment, I looked like the women from those old Tareyton cigarette ads from the 1970s where everyone was sporting a black eye and a cigarette. Yeah, I’d rather fight than switch, too.
I heard their voices drift through the hallway. Nick sounded smart, solid, gorgeous, and totally unattainable. All that from a few overheard words.
Oh, who was I kidding? I was so spoony over him I was surprised I hadn’t sent him a Secret Admirer card like Bob Farrell did to me in third grade. I’d wound up with bubble gum in my hair and he’d gotten a split lip.
“Be right out,” I called from the bathroom. I dropped my eyelash curler on the floor and immediately stepped on it. Keisha came into the bathroom and fussed with my top, pulling it lower. I immediately hiked it back up.
We walked down the hall together, her trying to drag my top down, and me fighting valiantly to hitch it back up.
She won, but that’s because I let her.
Nick was sitting on my sofa, surrounded by Mike and Aidan. Lissa was straightening up, bless her heart. Nick rose as soon as he saw me. “Ready?”
I nodded, struck dumb in his presence. I wondered if it had taken two women, one Irish carpenter, and a six-year-old Power Rangers fan to get
him
dressed. Probably not.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Keisha sang as she locked the door behind us. Sometimes my friends could be
too
cute. I gave a nervous giggle as Nick offered me his arm.
“So where are we going?”
He opened the building door for me. I passed close enough to him to smell his scent, that totally masculine smell I’d adored even when I thought he was Mr. Forbidding.
“Actually, I was hoping you might want to take me to one of your favorite spots,” he said, giving me this look that almost stopped me dead in my tracks. Or was it that he was actually soliciting my opinion? Hugh had always assumed he’d known best, and Simon had seemed to assume I’d known nothing.
“Um, I really like this Indian place down the street. Or maybe Italian? I mean, if you don’t like Indian, some people can’t eat coriander, they think it tastes like soap. Or Chinese, there’s a good Chinese place just a few blocks away . . .”
“Indian’s fine,” he said, stopping my babbling.
We walked in silence for a block.
“Mol—”
“Nick—” We spoke in unison. “You first,” I said.
“Look, we obviously have a lot to talk about. But I’m starving, and I can’t think straight on an empty stomach. How about we talk after dinner?”
“Sure.” A beat of silence, then I spoke again. “We can talk, right, just not
talk
talk.”
“Right. Talking is fine. Talk talking is not.” He sounded just as confused as any man who’d encountered the feminine use of the repeated word for emphasis. What good was an MBA against female double-speak?
Over poori, saag panir, and raita, I was reminded again why I just liked Nick so darn much. He asked me about Aidan, about the Teaching Fellows’ program, my mother’s debts, how I’d met Keisha and Lissa, and what made Jane Austen such an amazing author.
In short, he asked me about
me
.
When we finally pushed our saffron rice–strewn plates away, I felt satisfied. Oh, I was still anxious, because he hadn’t told me about his marriage, or his feelings for me, or any of that, but he’d shown he cared.
He reached across the table and took my hand, which had been nervously playing with my water glass. “I suppose it’s time we talked.”
I gulped and nodded.
He took a deep breath and tightened his grip on my hand. “I told you Emma was Simon’s cousin. She’s also the daughter of Simon’s primary investor. I got hired to work on the project because of her, and he’s given me every opportunity. It’s not that I didn’t earn those chances, but I wouldn’t have gotten past the front door without her. And for that, I owe her. We got married right after my first promotion, and she started cheating on me right after my third.”
He took a sip from his beer. “I was too wrapped up in work to notice, at first. When I did, it was too late. And by that time, it was Simon.”
“So what happened?”
“Naturally, Emma didn’t want her father to know about it. She asked me to put off making any permanent decisions until after I returned from New York, after we both had time to think. I promised I would, even though I knew my feelings wouldn’t change. I always keep my promises.” He fixed me with an intense gaze. “No matter how hard that is.”
I felt a little shiver run up my spine. “And you couldn’t tell me you were married because—?”
“Because when we met, it was a completely professional relationship. And then when we did become friends, I just didn’t want to bring it up. It’s not anything I want to think about. I didn’t think it’d be an issue. Until it happened, I had no intention of kissing you. You were just so—”
“So what?”
“So . . . you. Being with you makes me happy. Do you understand why I didn’t tell you? I’m not sure I do. And now I can’t stop thinking about you.”
He swallowed. “And I’m going back home in two days.”
We sat in silence for a moment. It was a comfortable silence, the kind of stillness that only happens when two people are in sync with each other.
But one of them was leaving to go home to his wife.
Man, my luck
sucked
.
I pulled my hands out of his grasp and placed them on my lap, knotting my fingers together. “Well, thanks for telling me. I mean, you did tell me before I fell madly in love with you”—
but not before I started lying
—“and you could have waited until after, that is, after things happened.”
He lowered his gaze. “I was tempted.”
“Look, things can’t be different. We both know that. But we can stay in touch—can’t we? You’re not so honorable you can’t e-mail me once in a while, are you? And Aidan would love to hear from you, too.”
He gave me a sly smile. “That was a mean trick, bringing Aidan up. Of course I will. And, if you ever get to England—”
“I won’t. Not anytime soon.”
He drew a deep breath. “Well, then. E-mail it is.” He handed me his business card. It looked like him: clean, neat, professional, totally in control. I tucked it into my purse and scribbled mine on an old receipt.
He checked his watch. “I have to get going back to the hotel. Simon’s left some papers for me to go over before Thursday.”
He walked me back home, holding my arm the way he’d done that first time. It was too soon when we arrived back at my apartment building. He walked me up the steps, then waited until I had my keys out.
“Good-bye.”
I kissed him. Quick and hard on the mouth so he wouldn’t have time to react. I stuck my key in the lock and flew upstairs, feeling my heart about to break.
“Mommy!”
I heard Aidan’s feet scurrying down the hallway and he barreled into me just after I checked my watch: 10:07.
“What are you still doing up?”
“It’s my fault. Aidan begged so he could—well, he can tell you.” Mom beamed at him.
“Mommy, come here, I’ve got something to show you.” Aidan took my arm and dragged me toward the living room. “Cover your eyes.” I held my hands over my eyes, peeking out between my fingers just to make sure I wasn’t going to trip.
Aidan ran ahead of me to his art table. “Sit down, Mommy.”
I plopped down in the nearest chair. “Can I open my eyes yet?”
“Not yet.” He grabbed something and dragged it over to me. “Now you can.”
It was a huge cardboard box he’d decorated with markers, paint, and buttons from my button box. A large green animal was painted on the side with huge writing on top. Aidan hadn’t quite mastered writing the English language, so I cleared my throat gingerly.
“Does it say ‘Dragon Transportation’?”
Aidan scowled. Apparently not. “No, it’s ‘Dragon Transformation,’ ” he said. “Can’t you read?” he added, obvious scorn dripping from his voice.
“Oh, of course. Dragon Transformation. And this box . . .”
“Transforms dragons!” He turned the box so I could see the other side, which featured a particularly gruesome dragon with blood dripping from its massive teeth. “See, the box goes on the dragon’s head, and in just a few minutes, the nastiness is gone. See?” He flipped the box back around to show the same dragon, sans blood, wearing a beatific expression.
“That’s great, Aidan. Really creative.”
“And we can
charge
people for it so we can make money.”
“Wow.” I looked at Aidan’s beaming face and smiled. “That’s great. I bet all those mean-dragon-owning people will be thrilled.”
“Mommy.” Aidan’s voice had that “you don’t understand” tone to it. “We will make money, I know you’re worried about it. I heard you and Grandma talking. And then we can get that Power Ranger, too.”
“Oh.” My heart leapt into my throat and I reached forward to enfold him in my arms. “Sweetie, we’ll be okay. I promise.” I kissed his head. “Thanks so much for doing something for our family. That’s really thoughtful of you.”
“I told him he could stay up to finish it,” Mom said. “Such a sweet boy.”
At least one good thing had come out of her problems: She’d gotten to spend time with Aidan, who adored her now more than he ever had.
I ruffled his hair. “Sure. But now it’s
definitely
time for bed.”
“Okay, but can I get that Power Ranger now?”
“Bed, Aidan.”
“What about Beast?”
“Bed.” He took one look at my face, then ran down the hall and threw himself under his comforter. Wise boy.
If only all the men in my life were so malleable.
You don’t like them—why? Because someone once told you something bad about them, and you’re not even willing to give them the benefit of the doubt? You are, in fact, dead set against them, deciding to try raisins, figs, and, Lady Catherine help us, currants instead? Please. Our prune offering is a light, moist, utterly tasty prune bread, packed with walnuts worth at least £10,000 a year (okay, not really. But they’re so crunchy!). Lavishly spread with cream cheese, this bread will make you realize everything you thought was true is not.
27
“I GOT THE LETTER YESTERDAY.” I BOUNCED IN DR. LOWELL’S
leather chair. “And I start the training in a month, and I start getting paid right away, during training, too.”
“Very good, Molly. Congratulations!”
“And Mom said she’d stay until the fall—and I never thought I’d be glad to say that, actually, be happy my mother is living with me—but she’s gonna take care of Aidan during the summer.”
“And she’ll move back home in September?” Her voice had a steely tone that reminded me just how much she knew about my mother.
“Yes. Finally.” I exhaled. “She has enough to keep the house, and she got herself a part-time job at a Hallmark store. That and Social Security will pull her through until she sorts all the paperwork out.”
I leaned back in the chair. “John and Lissa have been dating since my Freedom Party, and Lissa is so happy—John is head over heels. And Keisha gets married next summer, so I’m flying to California for it. I’m so happy for her.”
“And what about
your
love life? Done anything you wouldn’t do in a million years lately?” Her eyes twinkled like she already knew the answer.
I laughed. “Yeah, well, Nick and I have been e-mailing.”
“And?”
“And,” I said slowly, “it looks as though he’s gonna be coming back here for work.”
“His wife?”
“They’re getting divorced.” The day he’d e-mailed me that, I’d dared to hope.
“And has he mentioned seeing you?”
If you mean seeing me writhing naked under him, yeah.
“Mm-hm.” She didn’t need to know
everything
about my life. “We’ve both been pretty clear about wanting to explore a relationship.”
She sat back and held her hands out, palms up. “There’s nothing more I can do, then.”
“What? You’re dumping me?”
She chuckled. “Not exactly; I think you and I should see each other, just not as often.”
“Is it a space issue?” I asked. “Am I crowding you?”
“I think,” she said, meeting my eyes, “you are healthy. You have shown you can handle some pretty rough stuff, and you’re doing great.”
“Wow. I never thought I’d hear you say this.” I shook my head. “I mean, remember the first time we met?”
“And you couldn’t figure out how to tell your mother you were quitting your job to stay home with Aidan?”
“They just don’t make telegrams the way they used to.”
“You’ll be fine, Molly. You’ve proven that.”
“I guess so. I will survive,” I said with a grin as I rose from the chair. “Thank you, Dr. Lowell.”
“I didn’t do anything you couldn’t have done yourself, Molly.”
And now I knew that, too.
The doorbell rang right around noon.
The apartment was blessedly still—Aidan was with my mother for a week of pre-school prep time in her newly rescued house. The hot, humid, fetid days of summer had ebbed a bit, and while fall hadn’t exactly arrived, its smell was in the air.
I was so grateful that the summer—and the Teachers’ Boot Camp—was over that I barely remembered that this time last year was around the time Hugh left.
I had just been making my lesson plans for my first month of school. I’d gotten lost in rereading
Pride and Prejudice
—gee, wonder why?—so was startled to hear the bell. Beast leapt from my lap and tore off into Aidan’s room.
“Coming,” I said, scooting down the hall. Who would be dropping by on a Saturday? “Hello?” I said through the intercom.
“It’s me.”
My breath whooshed out of me and I felt my knees weaken a little. I buzzed the front door, then opened up my apartment door and waited on the landing. I shouted down the stairwell, not even waiting for him to get up to the landing.
“You’re here.”
He loped up the last couple of steps and pulled me up against his chest, his scent immediately surrounding me. I sniffed it all in while my arms crept around his waist. Still holding me, he walked into my apartment and kicked the door closed.
“Finally.”
I pulled away from him for a moment. Except for a little five o’clock shadow, he looked about the same as he had five months ago: thick black hair, devilish blue eyes, that chest, those lips . . . I spoke before I started drooling.
“But . . .
why
are you here?”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “After the way you burned up my ISP with your sexy talk? Molly, I’m surprised you didn’t see the smoke from London.”
Okay, Mr. Deliberately Obtuse. “But you didn’t tell me you were coming!”
He pulled me even tighter, if that was possible. “I didn’t want to make any promises to you and Aidan I couldn’t keep. I wanted to make sure Emma’s father understood when I told him I was leaving, and then I needed to wrap stuff up there.”
“So now
you’re
the unemployed one? Does this mean you’ll be a kept man?”
“If you’ll keep me,” he said, sweeping me into his arms for a kiss.
Yow. No deposit, no return, baby.
Hey, those romance novels do a pretty good job of describing passion, but not so good when it comes to all-encompassing lip and tongue concentration. Of course, it sounds really weird to say you feel as if your entire being is centered in your mouth, but that’s how it felt.
The memory of Nick’s kiss—the only one we’d ever had—had grown in my brain so it had reached mythic proportions. Keisha had yelled at me to shut up when I repeatedly insisted on titling it “The Best Kiss Ever.”
It wasn’t.
This
one was. One arm held me around the waist and was already beginning a descent onto my hips. The other arm grasped me behind the head, his fingers slowly massaging the sensitive area behind my ear. His lips were soft, yet hard, in perfect romance novel opposition, while his tongue was slowly removing every single one of my inhibitions.
I was a living noodle.
When we finally emerged from our five-month libido release, it was sometime in the afternoon, and I was starving. Nick walked to the kitchen in his boxer briefs, and I watched him walk. A little sigh of satisfaction escaped my lips. I knew I was going to be eyeing that view a lot in the future. Heck, I’d only been waiting my whole life for someone like him.
He brought back a bag of animal crackers and two Diet Cokes. I put on his shirt and my underwear, and we went to the bedroom, where we perched on the bedspread and munched cookies and drank caffeine. Bliss.
“I know you really wanted a houseboy/sex slave, Molly, but I already have some leads. I’ll be going on interviews for most of next week. You start school next Thursday, right?”
I nodded, chomping a lion’s head off. “Yes. I’m nervous as hell, but I think it’ll be okay. Lissa promised she’d come over Thursday night with some Junior’s cheesecake, and Aidan is really excited he doesn’t have to go to after-school after all. Thanks for the Power Ranger, by the way.”
“No problem. He mentioned it in his last e-mail, remember?”
“And the one before that, and the one before that, and the one before that. I got tired of typing it.”
He laughed as he leaned over to kiss me. “You and your son share the same ineffable sense of subtlety.”
I whacked him on the arm. “What do you mean? I am totally discreet.”
“Yeah, you only sniffed me all the time during our meetings and gave me these hungry doe-eyes—”
“Hungry doe-eyes? Does that mean I looked at you as if you were a salt lick or something?”
“Did someone say lick?” he asked, drawing his tongue over my throat.
“Nick’s staying here?” Aidan’s voice squeaked
in excitement. He’d just gotten home, laden with books unearthed from my mother’s attic. Now he only had to learn how to read.
“Yes, he’ll be here for, for a while.” It was sudden, but we’d come to know each other over e-mail, and he’d look for his own place when he landed a job.
“Wow.” And then, “Does Dad know?”
“Yes.” He wasn’t happy about it, but he was in no position to say anything. My lawyer had done everything but nail him to the wall, and he owed me. Big time. Plus ever since Sylvia dumped him, he’d been chasing after anything with blond hair, including Lissa. And no, she
wasn’t
that dumb. Besides, she and John were seeing each other. She was teaching him about literature, of all things.
“Can he stay in my room?”
“Um . . . well—”
Aidan frowned. “Nah, maybe not, because Smoochy won’t like it.” Smoochy was the stuffed lizard he’d bought at the Museum of Natural History. Thank goodness for Smoochy’s idiosyncratic desires, or I’d have to explain the concept of “cohabitation” to my son. Not a pretty sight.
“And he’ll eat dinner with us, and hang out, and play games?”
“Yup.”
“Cool, Mom.” He looked at me with dawning admiration in his eyes. I had to say, that admiration was in my own eyes when I gazed at my reflection.
After Aidan had eaten dinner and he’d gone to bed surprisingly obligingly—probably so he could explain his new roommate to Smoochy—I started to try to clean up the mess I’d made when making up my curriculum. It was hard to work when the Smartest, Handsomest Guy in the World kept wanting you to stop working so he could make love to you.
As I was straightening, I found my scrapbook project. Banded in black lace, with black construction paper and written in silver ink, it was as glaringly self-absorbed as I’d intended. I leafed through the pages, laughing as I saw my work.
It felt good to laugh. Heck,
I
felt good. I shoved the book into my overcrowded bookshelf and finished putting stuff into piles. Then I walked to the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of white wine from the fridge. It was supposed to be “lemony with a strong finish,” whatever that meant. It sounded like we’d be drinking furniture polish.
I grabbed two wineglasses from the cabinet and went back to the living room. After turning off a few lights, I lit some candles, fluffed a pillow or two, and waited.
He got home around nine. He’d been out with a few business associates, people who were now eager to hire him, and I knew he’d be tired. After all, he’d been working nights for me. Heh, heh.
“Honey?”
“In here.”
He came in, dropped his briefcase, and pulled me up into his arms. “God, I missed you.”
“You’ve only been here a few days, how can you miss me already?” I said, smiling up at him. His only response was to kiss me.
“Oh. That’s how,” I said when I could breathe again.
“How was your talk with Aidan?” Nick’s concern for my son’s happiness moved me even more than his feelings for me.
“Fine. Great, actually. You were spared having to share Aidan’s room because Smoochy wouldn’t like it.”
“Thank God for Smoochy,” he said in a tone of heartfelt relief.
We sat down on the sofa and drank wine. I talked over my curriculum plans with him, and he told me about his meetings. The conversation was boring, routine, and ridiculously wonderful.
As I glanced over at him, I felt a thrum of happiness beat in my chest. It wasn’t that Nick and I were together—although that was pretty nice—it was that I had survived the past year, and done it all by myself. Well, with a lot of help.
I was stronger, more confident, and happy.
I
did
survive. What’s more, I’d grown as a person, discovered what was really important to me, and realized I was smarter than I thought.
I’d suffered Self-Esteem Lows, and Mothering Heights.
And no matter what life threw at me from here on in, I vowed as I sipped my wine, I will survive.
How do I love pastries? Let me count the ways.
I love cream for the depth and breadth and height
The dairy can reach, when feeling out of sorts,
For the return of calm Being and ideal Grace.
I love chocolate to invoke the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sugar and cocoa bean.
I love cake freely, as chefs strive for the light,
I love crème brûlée purely, and want to graze its crust of glaze.
I love donuts with the passion put to use
In my old memories, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love cookies with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost carbohydrates!—I love thee with the bread,
Muffins, éclairs, of all my life!—and, if I choose,
I shall but love pastries better than shoes.