But it was too late now. He'd already made his decision, his plans, and he was diving in.
He pulled the old-fashioned tape recorder out of his backpack. He'd thought it had a fun vintage flair when he'd found it in the station's dusty storeroom along with a pack of unused cassettes. He'd snagged the device and the tapes, then recorded the message. Now, he put the cued-up cassette into the recorder, checked that the batteries were good, and added a Post-it note to the top. He left the whole thing on her coffee table. All things considered, much better than a printed note.
Then he drew in a nervous breath, grabbed his suitcase, and gave the inside of the house one last, long look.
This was it, he thought as he headed for the door. For better or for worse, everything was about to change.
"Ask him," Shelby said as she walked up the steps to her front porch. "Because that's what a sane, rational, reasonable woman would do. An organized woman. A detail-oriented woman. The kind of woman who gets things done and knows how to handle herself."
Too bad that's not you anymore.
"Maybe you used to be sane and organized and on the ball, but you, Shelby
Drake, have completely lost it. How do I know? Because you're talking to yourself."
Argh.
She rolled her eyes at her own mental meltdown, then paused in front of her door. The motion sensor lights that Nolan had insisted on installing clearly illuminated the high security keypad lock, and looking at both made her heart twist a little. He took such good care of her. Surely he wasn't--
She shook her head violently, not even allowing negative thoughts in. Her friends were right--she needed to just ask.
She punched in the code, then slipped into the house. She'd caught an Uber from the bar, and she was still punchy enough that coffee was on the agenda, so she aimed herself toward the kitchen, then stopped short when she passed her couch and her coffee table. A cassette player?
Why on earth would Nolan be using a cassette player? He dictated all the time, but he recorded everything electronically so he could upload it as one of his show's effects or as part of one of his riffs.
Then she got a closer look, saw the sticky note, and felt her guts shrivel.
Shel-
Push me, play me.
N
She froze. Part of her wanted to play the tape. Another part wanted to run and hide. But that was stupid. If anything was wrong--if he was, God forbid, leaving her--then he wouldn't tell her by cassette. Would he?
Of course he wouldn't, and she knew she was being stupid. But somehow she couldn't shut off her paranoid brain.
She drew in a deep breath, bent to the table, and jammed her finger on the button marked play.
"Goooooood evening, Shelby!" Nolan's radio voice blasted from the speaker, the sound tinny but clear. "It's sometime after work on a Friday evening, and how late it is depends on how many cocktails you had with the girls."
He was mimicking his drive-time schtick--Mornings with Wood--and now he lowered his voice as the Twilight Show theme song played in the background. "Shelby Drake entered her home late one night, a little tipsy, a little off kilter. She expected a lazy evening at home, but that's not what she got. No, because when she crossed that threshold, Shelby entered a new dimension. A dimension of sex. A dimension of pampering. A dimension filled with orgasms beyond belief. That's right, Shelby. I'm your man, baby, and tonight is An Evening With Wood."
The background song changed to Rock You All Night Long, and it wasn't until the music faded and Nolan's voice returned that she realized she was on the floor, her legs having gone weak with relief.
Yup, the jury was in--she truly was an idiot.
"So go change for the evening--wear a skirt for me, okay?--and then step outside. There'll be a car in the driveway, and your driver knows just where to take you. I'll see you soon. Until then, just use your imagination. But I promise it won't be as good as our reality. Happy anniversary, sweetheart. It's been eight months since our very first night."
Eight months.
Anniversary.
She felt like the biggest fool ever.
Shelby stood, her body already on fire, and her head full of guilt. He'd been quiet and weird, all right. All because he'd been planning this. A special night to celebrate eight months. And wasn't that just like Nolan to pick eight months instead of one year? Anything to stand out.
Guilt that she'd so sadly misjudged him weighed her down, but she pushed it aside. There'd be time for self-recrimination later. Now, she hurried to get ready.