The Guardian

"He came in for a haircut."

"Why?"

"Well, that's what we do in the salon."

He gave her an impatient glance, and she went on. "Oh, don't make this into something it wasn't. I barely talked to him. Andrea cut his hair, not me."

"But he wanted you to do it, right? Even though you broke it off with him?"

"That I can't deny. But I think he got the impression that I'd rather not see him anymore, even at work. I wasn't mean about it, but I'm sure he got the message."

"Well . . . good," he said. He paused. "He does realize that you're . . . you know, seeing me, right?"

Instead of answering, she reached for his hand. "You know, you're kind of cute when you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

"Of course you are. But don't worry, I think you're cute all the time. See you tonight?"

For the first time since he'd spotted Richard, Mike felt himself relax a little. "I'll be there," he said.

When Julie went back into the shop a few minutes later, Andrea was already working again, though her face was still flushed from her time with Richard. It was the first time, Julie realized, that she'd ever seen Andrea look nervous around a man. And good for her. Andrea deserved someone employed for once, though she couldn't imagine her sticking with someone like that for long. Julie had the strange suspicion she'd get bored with it rather quickly.

She finished up with her work a little after five and began closing up. Andrea had finished up a half hour before and was already gone. Mabel was cleaning up in the back while Julie took care of the reception area, and it was then that she noticed the pair of sunglasses on the counter, beside the potted plant.

She saw instantly that they were Richard's, and for a second she considered calling him and letting him know they were here; then she decided not to. Mabel or Andrea could do it. It was better that way.

Julie swung by the grocery store to pick up the makings for dinner and was walking in the front door when she heard the phone ringing. She put the grocery bag on the table and answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Julie," Richard said. His tone was friendly, nonchalant, as if they spoke on the phone every day. "I wasn't sure you'd be in yet, but I'm glad I caught you. I missed not being able to talk to you today."

Julie closed her eyes, thinking, Not again. Enough is enough already.

"Hi, Richard," she said coolly.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

Hearing her tone, he paused on the other end. "You're probably wondering why I'm calling."

"Kind of," she said.

"Well, I was just wondering if you happened to come across a pair of sunglasses. I think I might have left them in the shop."

"Yeah, they're there. I left them on the desk. You can pick them up on Monday."

"You're not open on Saturdays?"

"No. Mabel doesn't think that people should work weekends."

"Oh." He paused. "Well, I was heading out of town, and it would be great if I could get them before I go. Would it be possible for you to unlock the door for me tonight? It won't take but a few minutes of your time. Once I get them, I can be on my way."

Julie held the phone to her ear without answering, thinking, You've got to be kidding. I know you left them on purpose just to have a reason to call.

"Julie? You there?"

She exhaled, knowing he could hear it on the other end, but not really caring anymore. "I think this has gone far enough, okay?" she said, no trace of sympathy or kindness in her tone. "I know what you're doing, and I've tried to be nice to you, but I think it's time to stop, okay?"

"What are you talking about? I just want my glasses."

"Richard. I'm serious about this. I'm seeing someone else now. It's over. You can pick up your glasses on Monday."

"Julie . . . wait-"

Julie pushed the button to cut off the call.

Twenty-three

An hour later, Mike opened Julie's front door and poked his head in. "Hey, I'm here," he called out.

Julie was in the bathroom blow-drying her hair, and as soon as Singer heard Mike's voice, he trotted out to greet him.

"You decent?" Mike called out. He heard the dryer click off.

"Yeah," Julie answered, "come on back."

Mike walked through the bedroom and peeked in the bathroom door. "You showered?"

"Yeah. I was feeling kind of grungy," she said. She wound the cord around the dryer and put it in the drawer. "When it's busy like today, I feel like I'm coated in other people's hair by the time I'm through. I'll be done in a few minutes."

"Do you mind if I stay?"

"Not at all."

Mike leaned against the counter as Julie reached for her eye shadow, and he watched as she applied it in short strokes, framing her eyes. Next came the mascara, and she brushed her lashes with the same practiced moves, the top first and then the bottom, leaning toward the mirror as she did so.

There was something sensual about a woman when she was doing those things, something that spoke of her desire to be considered attractive, Mike thought as he watched. He noticed the subtle differences as she changed before his eyes. Because they were staying in, this evening's performance was meant just for him, an idea he found undeniably erotic.

He knew he was in love with Julie. The past couple of weeks they'd been together made that clear, but it was different from the way he'd felt before they'd started dating. She wasn't a fantasy anymore, but something real, something he couldn't imagine living without, and he crossed his arms, as if bracing himself against the possibility that all this might still slip away.

She put on a pair of earrings, smiling briefly, wondering what he found so interesting, yet feeling warmed by his appreciation nonetheless. She reached for the perfume, spritzing a little on her neck and on her wrists, then rubbed her wrists together, this time holding his gaze.

"Better?" she asked.

"You look beautiful," he said. "As always."

Julie squeezed by Mike on her way out, her body brushing against his, and Mike followed, his eyes drawn to the gentle sway of her hips and the smooth curve of her bottom. In bare feet and faded jeans, she seemed the picture of grace, though Mike knew she was moving no differently than she always did.

"I thought we'd do steaks tonight," she said. "Does that sound okay?"

"Sounds great, but I'm not all that hungry yet. I had a late lunch at the garage. But a beer sounds good."

Julie reached for a wineglass from the cupboard. As she stood on her tiptoes, her blouse lifted enough to show her belly, and Mike turned away, forcing himself to think about baseball. A moment later, standing before him, she held out the glass and Mike poured the wine, then grabbed a beer for himself. He opened it and took a long drink.

Then he took another.

"Do you want to sit outside for a while?" she asked.

"Sure."

They went to the porch, and Julie held open the screen door so Singer could head to the yard. Her blouse was sleeveless. Mike noticed the thin muscles of her upper arm and the swell of her chest and couldn't help but imagine what she might look like naked.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Please, he thought, don't let me make a fool of myself. Please.

He took another long drink, nearly finishing the can.

This, he thought, was going to be one hell of a long night.

It wasn't nearly as bad as he'd thought it would be. As usual, they settled into a lighthearted conversation while the evening breeze kicked in; Mike fired up the grill an hour later and cooked the steaks while Julie went inside to throw a salad together.

In the kitchen, Julie reflected that Mike had the look of a nymphomaniac who'd been stranded on a desert island for years. The poor guy had been staring at her all night, and though he tried to be circumspect, she knew exactly what he was thinking, because frankly, she was thinking the same thing. Her hands were so clammy, she could barely hold the vegeta

bles.

She diced cucumbers and tomatoes and added them to the bowl, then set the table with her good china and flatware. Standing back to admire the effect, she realized that something was missing. She found two candles, put them in the center, and lit them. After turning off the overhead light, she nodded, satisfied.

She went to the living room and slipped an Ella Fitzgerald CD into the stereo and was putting the wine on the table when Mike came in, holding the steaks. He stopped just inside the door when he saw what she'd done.

"You like it?" she asked.

"It looks . . . wonderful," Mike said.