Half an hour spent on his hands and knees to make sure Flick was appropriately shod. “Women’s clothing is complex. I never thought about how there is a code. What you choose to wear is part of that. Oh sure, I know a dark suit is conservative, and you don’t wear a party dress to the office, but when you wear leopard or zebra shoes with your black skirt, you’re making a statement that you’re more than the suit.”
Her hands went to her hips. “Who are you and what did you do with old Tom?”
“Josh already knew all that stuff, didn’t he?”
“He did. And now I’m completely freaked out by you. Please go back to being the oblivious Tom I know and deeply resent for not needing to wear animal-print shoes to make a statement, or I’ll think you’re back on with Flick and start to worry you’ll do something rash, like quit and move to Washington with her.”
“When have I ever done anything rash?” It would be rash to throw up his job here to start again somewhere else. Denise Revero as much as said so.
It wasn’t rash to assume Flick would be home for dinner and hungry, so he went by the market first. She was home, standing on the balcony still wearing the clothes and shoes he’d laid out for her. It was perversely pleasing to know it was a one-off. If he tried suggesting what she wore outside for something like a hike, he’d be risking skin. Although he had every intention of seeing her in the black thing that looked odd on the hanger.
He joined her, smoothing both hands up her back, closing his fingers over the bunch of her hair and pulling her head back to his shoulder so he could see her face.
“How did the day’s wardrobe choice work out?”
“Very fine, thank you.”
The words and the expression didn’t match. Her voice was flat and there was no sunshiny smile. He moved Flick in his arms so they were face-to-face, a shot of fear zipping up his spine. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Flick?” If it was Drew, he had to know. If it was Drew, he needed to work out what she needed from him and be there with it.
She put her hand to his face. “Oh, Tom, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”
He’d read her wrongly. He’d taken her hiking and made her come in the bath and held her while she grieved, dressed her for work without screwing up. He’d made her scream with delight and howl in annoyance. How was it still possible he could get her moods wrong?
“Oh, hell. I had another fight with Elsie. It always makes me feel rotten.”
“A fight with your sister.” That’s all. He forced a stale breath out. He should be relieved.
“Yeah. I knew it would happen too. I’m such a patsy. The bikes she blackmailed me into buying, they’ve been stolen. I mean, I don’t know if they’ve truly been stolen or traded away. I only have Elsie’s word and she’s insisting I buy two more bikes, as it’s my fault these two got taken.”
“You’re upset about a bike.”
“Two bikes, and maybe it is my fault. I could’ve bought less expensive ones. They were probably a target. Thing is, I wouldn’t put it past my stupid brother-in-law to have pawned them.”
He shook his head and turned away. Dumping his suit coat and tie, undoing buttons and rolling up his sleeves. He’d gotten it so wrong. He didn’t know Flick at all. It was a good reminder they were only in this temporarily. It was coupons, not commitment. He was an idiot for letting himself get in so deep when this was only a distraction.
“Oh, Tom, you thought it was Drew.”
Now it was anger that fizzled in his head. Bikes. He went to the kitchen and started on dinner.
He bashed around, acutely aware she’d followed him inside and was sitting at the counter. “Hey, can you look at me, Tom?”
He fiddled about with the stove, keeping his back to her.
“I annoyed you. And I haven’t taken anything off and spread it around the room yet.”
“Let me get this started.”
“Which is your way of saying you don’t want to talk to me.”
He turned to face her. “What do you want me to say?” You’re leaving. I’m fucking invested in you and you’re leaving. It occurred to me there was nothing stopping me from following you.
“That you got upset because—”
“Thought you’d fixed things with your sister.”