Screwdrivered (Cocktail 3)

Me? Still in the middle. “Seriously guys, this is silly. How about we—”

“I. Got. This.” Clark grabbed once more for the knight and just like that, Hank let go. Tumbling Clark into the backseat.

Tumbling me into Hank. Who caught me tight around the waist. After weeks and weeks, I was finally, blessedly, pressed up against his naked chest.

Hank laughed, clutching me even tighter.

“I got this, Clark,” he said, his hands now splayed across my lower back.

We were all frozen in a sick, twisted tableau. Except for Hank’s hands, which continued to rove.

I pulled away, something I never thought I’d do in a million years. But he was being a total jerk.

Oh, Christ. Clark.

White-faced, he scrambled up and out of the car, grabbed the other half of the knight, and disappeared into the house without a word.

Hank looked at the other half in the backseat, then at me. “You want some help with that?” he said, his face already losing the intensity that had been on display a moment before.

“No. I’m going to wait for Clark.”

He nodded, and was in his truck before I even had a chance to wonder what the hell had just happened.

I heard the porch door bang open and looked up to see Clark barreling down the steps. Still not meeting my eyes, he grabbed the other half and started to head back in. “Hey, wait, let me get the door for you,” I said, trying to get there before he did.

But that’s not how Clark rolled. Holding the bottom half under his left arm, he held the door open for me. Still looking at the ground, but holding the door open. For me.

I was no fool. I let him. He followed me inside, and when I went left to the living room, he again headed upstairs. It was stuffy inside from being closed up while I was away, and I busied myself opening windows and shoving aside curtains. When I heard him coming down the steps, I turned to face him.

His tie was tied neatly, hair once more parted and neatly combed. The color had come back to his cheeks, and as he pushed his glasses up on his nose I smiled at him, relieved to see that he was okay.

“Vivian, my understanding is that the contractor will be here to begin reviewing the work orders on Friday. Is that still correct?”

My smile fell. “Um, yes. As far as I know, but—”

“And your friend Caroline is also due back this weekend, yes?”

“Yes,” I answered frowning at him slightly.

“Very good. I left a few notes for you on some of the changes you want to make; please review them before Friday so we can discuss.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“Friday. It comes after Thursday, which comes after Wednesday, which is preceded by—”

“Clark, stop,” I interrupted. “Are we back to this? Listen, I know what happened back there wasn’t—”

“Please review the notes before I come back on Friday,” he said curtly, and started for the back door.

“Wait, just wait a minute,” I said, hurrying to keep up with him. He paused before the door, silhouetted by the setting sun. “I’m not going to see you until Friday?”

“I’m very busy, Vivian, and I’ve spent enough time on this project already. Please make sure you’ve gone through those notes.” He headed out through the door, stopping when he was at the bottom of the steps. Turning back just slightly, but still not meeting my eyes, he said, “It’s going to rain later this week. I noticed while you were gone that the tarp had come loose on the southwest corner, so I took care of it. You shouldn’t have any trouble.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

He finally turned back and met my eyes, and I was crushed by the coldness in them. He acknowledged me with a nod, then left.

That night I slept with the knight on guard once more. The chilly ocean wind buffeted the house on all sides, but inside, it was warm.

Well, the house was.

I wasn’t.

Chapter thirteen

I looked at the calendar that week more than I did my senior year of high school counting down to the last day of school. I was planning Caroline’s visit and getting things ready for the contractor to arrive, making sure I had as much done as I could before the real work started.

I missed Clark. I missed the shit out of him. I was used to him being there, telling me interesting factoids and bits of trivia. Used to him challenging me on everything from the proper way to save photographs to why a properly working fireplace is essential to life as we know it. I was used to his neatly parted hair, his dusty eyeglasses, and his low chuckle when something I did truly tickled him.

I missed his phone calls. I missed the insight into the man behind the tweed, the man who was interested in more than memorabilia and historical significance. I missed the innuendo after he had a Scotch or two and the delicious way his deep voice slid over me. I missed Nighttime Clark a lot.

But Nighttime Clark didn’t call.

I finally started cleaning out Aunt Maude’s bedroom, the last one to be done. I let the knight keep watch from the hall while I began to declutter, starting with the bowling balls down the center of the bed. I put fresh sheets on, along with a new duvet I’d picked up in town. I cleared out clothes, clutter, and stacks of old mail.

But her closet yielded a fascinating windfall. Buried behind an old chest of drawers, in the deepest part of the closet, was another trove of paintings. I dragged the entire stack out into the late afternoon light and went through them one at a time.

These were not landscapes. They were of a decidedly more intimate nature. Sensual, erotic, beautiful, in fact. The faces were mostly suggested rather than shown clearly, but the one or two that did include features showed that the woman involved was Aunt Maude, and the man was . . . No.