Within Reach (6 page)

Long-haired guy shifted his weight ostentatiously, drawing attention to himself.

Angie looked a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m being rude. Carlos, this is Michael and Charlie. Carlos has a studio on the fourth floor.”

“Good to meet you. I hope things didn’t go too badly for you last night.” Michael offered his hand.

“I was lucky for once, since they skipped me. But poor Angie was not so lucky.”

“No,” Michael said, very aware of the other man sizing him up.

Carlos stepped closer to Angie and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I need to get back to my work, but we’re still on for lunch, yes?”

There was a faint lilt to his voice, indicating that English was not his first language.

“Can I call you? I really want to get as much of this sorted today as I can. I can’t afford to lose more time.” Her forehead was puckered with worry.

“You have to eat, beautiful,” Carlos said. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips, maintaining the contact longer than was strictly necessary. Almost as though he was trying to make a point—although to whom, Michael had no idea. “Call me, okay?”

Carlos gave Michael a reserved nod before leaving. Angie jiggled Charlie on her hip, making him giggle.

“This is a nice surprise, isn’t it? A lovely surprise,” she said. Her cheeks were a little flushed, as though she was embarrassed about something.

Michael surveyed the room, taking in the graffiti and the pile of glass and other debris that had been swept into the corner. Pieces of a broken table and chairs lay beside it, and twin piles of books were stacked near the door. A mid-century sideboard in teak veneer lay facedown on the ground.

“They did a real number on the place, huh?”

“Pretty much. If it moved, they smashed it, and if it didn’t, they painted it.” Angie shook her head with disgust.

Michael crossed to the sideboard and crouched, getting a good grip on it before easing into an upright position. Once it was righted he saw it was still half-filled with books, which explained both why it was so heavy and why Angie hadn’t tackled it on her own. There was more broken glass underneath, as well as the smashed remains of what looked like a porcelain menagerie—a lion, a tiger, an elephant and a monkey.

“More casualties.” Angie’s face was taut with unhappiness.

“No be sad,” Charlie said, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “You no be sad.”

She immediately smiled, rubbing her nose against his. “It’s okay, Charlie-boy. I’m okay.”

Michael pushed the sideboard against the wall and crouched to tidy the books on the shelves.

“Don’t worry about those. I can do that later,” she said.

“We came to help.” He was aware of feeling off balance as he tidied the books. It took him a moment to understand that he was thrown by the discovery that Angie had a boyfriend.

She hadn’t mentioned anyone to him, not even in passing. The omission left him feeling oddly unsettled. As though something small but significant in his understanding of the world had shifted.

In the months since Billie had died Angie had laughed with him, cried with him, cooked for him, changed his son’s diapers and read bedtime stories to his daughter. Yet she hadn’t even so much as hinted that she was seeing someone.

Newsflash, buddy—you don’t own her. She doesn’t owe you anything.

He knew the voice in his head was right. He had no right to feel…
possessive
was the wrong word, but it was close…of Angie. She didn’t belong to him and the kids. She was her own person, with her own life and her own dreams and wants and desires. All of which she was entitled to keep to herself if she so chose.

“What does Carlos do?” So much for minding his own business.

“He’s a musician, plus he does a bit of sound-engineering work on the side.”

“Right.”

Shut up. Not another word.

“So how long have you two been…?” He kept his gaze on his task, very carefully not looking at her. He had no idea why he was asking, why he felt the burning need to know what was going on in her life.

Angie laughed, the sound reassuringly startled. “Me and Carlos? I don’t think so.”

He allowed himself to look at her. “Yeah? The way he was marking his territory just now, I figured you guys must have something going on.”

“I have no idea what that was about. We’ve had drinks after work a few times. But he’s not my type. Too brooding and artistic. I like a little less drama in my life.”

She might not have any idea what the other man’s ostentatious display had been about, but Michael did. For some reason, he’d seen Michael as a rival for Angie’s affections. Which went to show how good the other man’s instincts were.

Angie took up the broom and resumed sweeping the floor, Charlie clinging to her leg. It occurred to him that bringing a two-year-old to the site of a break-in hadn’t been his smartest move. But he hadn’t exactly been thinking rationally when he’d turned the car toward the city. He’d only wanted to make sure Angie was okay.

“Here, I’ll do that,” he said, holding a hand out for the broom.

“I’m almost done,” Angie said, smiling at Charlie, who was looking at her with bright eyes.

“Is there a bin where we can dump all this stuff?”

“I hadn’t even thought that far ahead.” She tucked a strand of long dark hair behind her ear. “There’s supposed to be a wheelie bin on each level, but half the time it disappears.”

“I’ll go see if I can find something.” He started for the door.

“Michael?”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“I meant what I said before. I really appreciate you coming in like this.”

“Not a big deal.”

“It is to me.” Her smile was a little wobbly.

He could suddenly see all her hurt and anger and frustration, all the emotions she’d stuffed deep inside in order to do what needed to be done to get her studio back in order.

“We’ll fix it, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

Before he could stop himself, he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. She tensed for a second and he thought she would push him away. Then her arms circled his waist and her body softened and she rested her forehead on his shoulder. For a long moment they were silent. He was aware of her knees touching his and the warmth of her body and the faint fruity scent of her shampoo. He rested his cheek against her hair, wishing there was some way he could make things right for her.

After a minute she lifted her head and he let her go.

“Thanks,” she said with a small, self-conscious smile as she stepped backward.

“I want cuddle, too,” Charlie demanded, both arms raised.

Angie laughed. “Of course you do.”

She stooped to pick him up and Charlie wrapped his arms around her neck and pressed a big, wet kiss to her cheek.

Michael smiled. “I’ll go find that bin.”

It wasn’t until he was turning the corner in the corridor that it occurred to him that hug had been his first adult human contact in months.

CHAPTER FOUR

“H
EY
, C
HARLIE
,
COME
away from there. You don’t want to touch all that nasty stuff,” Angie said, herding him away from the pile of debris in the corner.

Charlie complied readily, trotting off to inspect the safe instead. Angie watched him distractedly. She was still getting over the surprise of Michael’s spontaneous embrace.

They had hugged before, but not often, and usually only briefly, in greeting or thanks. And, of course, after Billie’s death there had been condolence and sympathy hugs.

Today’s hug had felt different, and she couldn’t understand why.

Charlie spun the dial, fascinated. Angie thought about the moment when Michael’s arms had come around her and she’d found herself pressed against the firm, warm wall of his chest. She’d been surprised at first. But then something inside her had relaxed as she’d understood that she was in a safe place and she’d allowed herself to take comfort from him.

Then he’d shifted slightly or she had and their knees had bumped and she’d become very aware of how well-matched their bodies were—knee to knee, hip to hip, breast to chest.

The realization had been enough to make her step away then, and it made her feel uneasy now, even though he’d been gone for more than ten minutes.

Because that moment had been about sexual awareness. The woman in her noticing the man in him.

But Michael wasn’t a man. At least, he wasn’t an ordinary man. He was Billie’s husband. He might as well be Angie’s brother.

And yet there’d been that funny little moment when he’d opened the door wearing his running gear yesterday and she’d seen him with fresh eyes and registered that he was a very attractive man….

There was a loud rumbling in the corridor and Michael appeared in the doorway, a large wheelie bin in tow. She forced herself to meet his eyes, almost as though she was testing herself, and was relieved to feel nothing. He was simply Michael.

Exactly, drama queen.

“Looks like you hit pay dirt,” she said.

“Yeah.” There was a flatness to the single word.

“What’s wrong?”

“I went to the bathroom.”

She grimaced. “Yeah. I should have warned you about that. The plumbing’s not great. Might want to wash your shoes when you get home if there was any ‘water’ on the floor.”

“I checked out the ladies’, too.”

He was so stern, so disapproving, that Angie had to suppress a smile.

“Not up to the Michael Robinson standard?” It was a rhetorical question, because she knew they weren’t. Many was the time she’d simply crossed her legs and waited until she went out for lunch to avoid having to set foot in the space.

“This building is a complete shit hole, Angie.” He glanced at Charlie to see if he’d registered the four-letter word, but his son was inspecting the wheels on the bin. “Half the lights are out, the roof leaks and I bet most of the windows are rusted shut. The bathrooms are possibly the worst I’ve ever seen. I’m including the developing world in that assessment, too, by the way.”

“It’s true, the old girl ain’t what she used to be, but that’s why the rent’s so reasonable. Beggars, by which I mean artists, can’t afford to be choosers.” She shrugged philosophically.

“Even if that means being exposed to deteriorating asbestos, lead paint and electrical wiring that can’t possibly be up to code?”

“Asbestos? What asbestos?” she asked, alarmed.

Michael pointed at the ceiling. “What do you think that is?”

She tilted her head to look at the textured stucco ceiling. “Plaster?”

He shook his head slowly. Grimly.

“I don’t like the idea of you working in this building, Angie.”

She sighed heavily. “Well, that makes two of us, but I’m afraid there aren’t a lot of options in the city. I looked around a couple of years ago, but it was a dead loss.”

“Then move farther out.”

“Right, and make my clients travel to find me.”

“They’ll make the trip. You’re worth it.”

She shook her head. “I need to be central. All my suppliers are in here—my valuer, my metallurgist, my gemsetter, the jewelers’ toolmakers…”

Michael’s frown deepened. She didn’t know whether to be amused or touched by his obvious concern.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve survived eight years in this place.”

He glanced pointedly at the debris in the corner and the four-letter word sprayed on her wall. “Just.”

She knew what he was saying made sense, but she had formed an attachment to the Stradbroke over the years, decrepit bathrooms and all.

“If it makes you happy, I’ll take a look around, see what’s out there.”

“Good.”

Charlie punctuated Michael’s words with a thump on the side of the bin.

“I think he’s seconding the motion,” Angie said.

“Good.” Michael moved to her workbench to inspect her tools. “I’ve never seen where you work before.”

“Really?” Billie had been a constant visitor, but there had never been a reason for Michael to come here. “No, I guess you haven’t.”

He walked over to where her crucibles and welding gear were located. “Is this where you make your alloys?”

“Yep.”

He turned and laid a hand on the scarred wood of her stump, a four-foot-high section of tree trunk that had served her well over the years. “And this is where you shape your rings?”

“Sometimes. But I’ve got a couple of different types of ring benders, too. It depends on what I’m working on.” She moved closer, picking up one of the many hammers that sat in the leather loops circling the stump.

“No wonder you have Obama arms,” he said.

“Don’t forget the calluses.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. She displayed her work-toughened palms to him.

“I’ve never noticed,” he said.

“I should hope not. A lady likes to have a few secrets.”

He smiled, glanced at his watch, then at Charlie. She checked her own watch and saw it was past twelve.

“Someone’s going to want lunch soon,” she said.

“Tell me about it. Probably needs his diaper changed, too, and I didn’t bring any with me.” He crossed the room and hoisted Charlie into his arms. “Time for us to go, Charlie-boy.”

Charlie immediately began fussing. Michael gave her an exasperated look over his son’s head.

“Sorry.”

“Hey, I’d cry, too, if I had to leave this palace.”

She walked them down the stairs and out the side entrance, kissing Charlie goodbye in the cobblestone laneway.

“Thanks for all your help, little man.”

He stared at her, bottom lip trembling, eyes awash with tears.

“I think that’s the saddest face in the whole wide world,” she said, unable to resist stroking his cheek with her finger.

“And yet nothing is actually wrong,” Michael said drily.

They exchanged smiles.

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

“I will. Thanks.”

She watched as they walked away, Michael’s long stride easy despite the fact that Charlie was no lightweight. She was still smiling when she returned to her studio. Having them visit had somehow taken away the worst of her angst over the break-in. What had happened was shitty, but not insurmountable.

As for that awkward flash of sexual awareness… It had been nothing. A blip. An aberration. Thinking about it now, she felt a little stupid for having been so rattled. With the benefit of hindsight, the moment settled into its rightful place in the big scheme of things: unimportant and insignificant.

The way it should be.

* * *

T
HREE
WEEKS
LATER
,
M
ICHAEL
rubbed the back of his neck as he waited at the lights. Life had been crazy lately, filled with interviews with prospective nannies—none of whom had been very impressive—as well as preparations for his first week at work. Today marked his third full day back in the saddle and he was feeling more than a little weary after two complicated client briefings and a series of phone calls that had prevented him from accomplishing anything substantial all afternoon. Just as well he’d arranged with his partners to work from home on Thursdays and Fridays—he was nowhere near match fit after so many months downtime. The lack of distraction in his home office would give him a chance to make up lost ground. Hopefully.

Despite his weariness and even though a part of him felt guilty for cutting short the year he’d intended to spend with the kids, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that returning to work was the best decision he’d made in a long time. It might have only been three days, but it was enough for him to know that Angie had been right—picking up the threads of his career had given him something to hold on to. It forced him to interact with the outside world, and it gave him things to occupy himself with that had nothing to do with Billie.

It gave him a chance to be a person again, and not simply a father and a grieving husband.

He hadn’t understood how much he’d needed that until today when he’d finished a phone call with a supplier and noticed that he’d gone a whole four hours without thinking of Billie once. Guilt had come hard on the heels of the realization, of course—but there had been relief, too.

It was exhausting living with the constant weight of grief on his shoulders.

The lights changed and he accelerated through the intersection, very aware of the need to relieve Mrs. Linton. He’d been fortunate enough to get Charlie into day care three days a week, but Mrs. Linton had saved his bacon, agreeing to pick up Eva from school and look after her until he could make a more permanent arrangement. Still, he didn’t want to abuse her generosity.

He swung by day care to collect Charlie, then headed home. A familiar green SUV was parked in front of his house when he pulled into the driveway. He smiled as he hit the button for the garage door. Angie had been busy putting her studio back together and they hadn’t seen much of her lately. It would be good to catch up with her. Good to assure himself that she was recovering okay from the break-in.

It would also give him a chance to hassle her about the rental listings he’d sent to her, too. He’d touched base with a handful of his real estate contacts and put the feelers out for a suitable studio space for her, determined to get her out of that death trap of a building. So far, her only response had been silence. If she thought that stonewalling him would make him give up, she didn’t know him very well.

He released Charlie from his car seat and locked the car. Michael could hear voices and laughter as they entered the house. He walk into the kitchen and found Angie and Eva putting toppings on three pizza bases.

“Hello,” he said.

They looked up with identical surprised expressions, obviously so involved in their conversation they hadn’t heard his arrival.

“Perfect timing. Dinner is almost ready,” Angie said.

Charlie immediately went to Angie, gazing up her worshipfully.

“Why, hello there, Charlie Bear,” she said, tapping his nose lightly.

She looked different. For a moment Michael was puzzled, then he realized it was because her hair was tucked high on her head in a ballet dancer’s bun. She was wearing her yoga gear, too—tight black leggings and a soft-looking pale pink top with sleeves that stopped at her elbows.

“Mrs. Linton left a note for you before she left. Something about having a doctor’s appointment next week,” Angie said.

“Right. Thanks.”

“Guess what we’re having for dinner, Daddy?” Eva asked.

“Could it possibly be pizza?”

“Yes! With the lot. I mean
everything.
”

“She’s not kidding on that one.” Angie cast a significant glance toward the pizza Eva was working on.

It was piled high with salami, cheese, tomato and mushrooms to the point where it looked more like a pie than a pizza.

“Check that out. Sure you don’t want to throw a chair or table on top of that thing, too?” he asked Eva, dropping a hand onto the back of her neck and squeezing lightly.

She tilted her head backward so she could look at him upside-down. “Which pizza do you think is the best?”

Michael pretended to consider the options. “I like the simplicity of this cheese-and-tomato one, which I’m guessing is for Charlie. And Angie’s is nice and colorful…”

Eva gave him a look, clearly knowing when she was being strung along. “Just admit it. Mine is the best,” she said with the unashamed egotism of a six-year-old.

“It does look pretty special.”

“Let’s put it on the top shelf so all the many, many layers will get a chance to cook through.” Angie slid the pizza onto a baking tray and turned toward the oven.

He followed her movements idly, not really paying attention, but when she bent to put the pizza in the oven his gaze slid down her slim spine to her backside, perfectly showcased in black Lycra.

He quickly looked away, but not before he’d noticed that Angie had a very nice ass.

He cleared his throat. “I might go change while those cook.”

“Sure,” Angie said.

He could feel heat in his face as he headed for the bedroom and he hoped like hell that she hadn’t noticed. He kicked his work shoes off with more force than was strictly necessary once he was in his room. He had no business noticing her ass. She was Billie’s best friend. Better yet, she was
his
friend. The shape and size of her ass was utterly irrelevant. Certainly it was of no interest to him.

No interest whatsoever.

Even if it was a very fine, very firm-looking ass.

Giving himself a firm mental shake, he concentrated on pulling on his jeans.

* * *

A
NGIE
CHECKED
ON
THE
pizzas, then poured herself a glass of wine. She was glad she’d given in to the impulse to surprise Michael with dinner. Even though she hadn’t seen him much recently, she’d been very aware that this first week at work might be hard for him. He’d been on her mind a lot, and she’d wanted to let him know he wasn’t alone. Dinner wasn’t much, but it was something.