Rusty Nailed (Cocktail 2)

His blue eyes were huge, and I could see his jaw clenching. He cleared his throat. Twice. Then he swallowed hard. Shit.

“So keep the car, don’t keep the car, whatever. I just wanted to do something nice for you, because I could.” His voice wobbled a bit, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I was in front of him, pulling him close and wrapping his strong arms around me. I held him tight. A minute later, I felt him hang on. Sweet boy.

What the hell was wrong with me? Picking a fight with my favorite person on the entire planet.

I pulled away just a smidge, placing my hands on either side of his face. I kissed one cheek, then the other, then his eyelids. My lips came away just the tiniest bit damp. I cringed inside, but all he saw was my smile.

I backed away and started pulling on my jacket. “You’re leaving?” he asked.

“Yep, and you are too,” I said, handing him his coat. “Let’s go for a drive.”

There is nothing like a Wallbanger grin. It gets me every time.

Just before we left, I heard the telltale rattle of glass. Racing, Simon beat me to the dining room and snatched up Clive, who was halfway through the rusty old casement window again. I checked Clive over, then slammed the window shut.

“I’ll keep the car if you fix that damn window,” I said, pointing my finger at Simon. He nodded and I turned my finger on Clive. “And if you do that again, you go on catnip detox. Permanently.” He rolled his eyes at me.

Then Simon and I went out for a joyride in my new effing convertible, which I admit, was totally sweet. The things you do for love.

• • •

It was late, well after three in the morning. We’d been lying in the dark talking for what seemed like hours. It was as if once I started, I couldn’t stop telling him everything.

“And now this thing at work—I mean, how in the world could I ever say no to this? It’s such a great thing. If I had to do this on my own, do you have any idea how long it would take to try and build my own business? It’s not enough to just be a great designer; there are very talented people who try to go it alone all the time, and it just doesn’t work for whatever reason.”

He nodded, rolling over to be closer to me as I talked it out. It helped.

“But now, to be offered the chance to basically help run things? Permanently? It feels amazing. That Jillian has that kind of faith in me, you can’t know what that feels like. It’s a lot more work, sure, but I can do it. I’d have to be crazy not to, right?”

He just showed me his teeth. He knew better than to answer that one.

“And then this house—it’s literally a dream come true. Well, it will be when all the work is done. But holy shit, it’s overwhelming! Living through a renovation like this is a pain in the ass! And I know it’s been tough on you too, being stuck here all day while it’s going on. It’ll be worth it, though; this place is going to be amazing.” I sighed, laying back and curling closer.

I wanted to say the other things, the bigger pickle things, but I couldn’t. It was as if I said them out loud, especially in this house, then I was admitting I had a problem. Not “the first step is admitting you have a problem” kind of thing, but—

Actually. Maybe that’s exactly what I needed to say. Maybe I needed to give voice to the bigger issue here—the one that was so terrifying that I was even avoiding it in my own head. What was my problem?

We met under very unconventional circumstances. We fell in love in the most unconventional way possible. The first time we made love? Conventional. Didn’t work. The first time we fucked? Definitely unconventional, what with all the flour puffing and the raisins. Fucking fireworks, baby.

And for a year we lived unconventionally. He was gone, I was here. We traveled together when we could, seeing places and doing things I’d never imagined were in the cards for me. I didn’t need spooning every single night; I liked having a bed to myself every now and again. We laughed, we loved, we nooked. And it worked.

Now we were moving closer and closer to a more conventional relationship, which was packed with awesome, no doubt about it. But it was almost . . . too . . . shit. I didn’t know what it was. I just knew I needed to say it out loud.

I was once herded—very delicately, but herded nonetheless—toward a conventional relationship. I didn’t want that. So at some point I was going to have to share this pickle.

“Keep this between us, okay, mister?” I said, scratching under his chin.

Clive gave a soft meow, and nodded his head toward the stairs. I picked him up and took him back to bed, where Simon was sound asleep in the remains of the blow-up bed.

chapter twenty

I drove my new car into the city the next morning. It generated quite a stir in the office, something I quickly tried to defuse.

I spent the morning with Jillian going over her proposal privately. She didn’t want to worry anyone, and of course she didn’t want our clients to know until she was ready to announce her semiretirement.

As we went through everything and I saw how it looked on paper, I admit it was a pretty heady thing. I’d continue to run things as I’d done before, essentially taking over the day-to-day operations. And since I made it clear that I still wanted to keep up with my clients and be able to bring in new business, it was also clear that we would need to hire another full-time designer.

She told me to think it over, to talk to Simon about it, but more and more, I realized that this wasn’t something I could say no to. I mean, I could, but why would I ever want to?

So before we broke for lunch, I accepted her offer. I was now a partner in Jillian Designs! We shook hands, popped a bottle of champagne, and did everything but throw our hats into the air like Mary Tyler Moore.

Feeling a little on edge, from all the excitement, of course, I left work early and celebrated on my own that afternoon at World of Tile—favorite store ever. It was time to select the all-important backsplash for my kitchen.

Oh my goodness, my kitchen. Now here was something I could get excited about. Let me tell you about my kitchen.

White custom cabinets. Glass front on some, a few with open shelving. Deep gray soapstone countertops. Sub-Zero fridge. Two wall ovens—count them, two. And the best part of all?

Viking.

Stove.

Angels.

Sing!

And it gets better. A custom island with an inlaid sink, covered in white Carrara marble with veins of the barest gray and blue. Seating for six on one side, with custom cooling drawers on the other. Just for dough.

Deciding how tall to make the island was an exercise in ridiculous. Simon carried me around the house, setting me down on different heights to see what was the most comfortable. I’m sure the entire crew knew exactly what he was up to, and I didn’t care. I was getting the kitchen of my dreams, and if my boyfriend wanted to make sure that the counter was a perfect height for sexy times? That kitchen just got dreamier.

It made me smile as I walked up and down the aisles, looking for exactly the right tile. Would it be subway? Would it be a glass design? I didn’t know exactly what I wanted until I saw it. And then I turned the final corner and saw it.

Or him, rather.

James Brown was shopping World of Tile. And he was heading right for me.

“Caroline, what a surprise,” he called out. Damn, he looked good. He always looked good.

“Hey, James.” I smiled as I walked toward him. I hadn’t seen him since I finished his design job last year. His apartment was young lawyer chic with an urban flair. “What are you doing here?” I asked as he leaned in to give me a kiss on the cheek.

“Tile, what else?” He laughed.

“Are you remodeling already? That’s going to get expensive. I charged you an arm and a leg last year, as I recall.”

“I do and you did. And you did a great job. I always tell everyone who my decorator was.”

“Not a decora— That’s great, James; thanks for helping get the word out,” I said. Wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Not worth the breath it would take me to explain it again. “So, where’s the new tile going?”

“Marin, actually. I just bought a house there.” He grinned.

“Really, wow, that’s great.”

“Yep, settling down, just got married. Hey, honey! C’mere, want you to meet someone.” He waved toward a woman in the next aisle.

Wife?

“There she is. Come here, sweetie pie, and say hello to Caroline.”

“Hello, Caroline,” the prettiest girl in the world said to me. Blinking, I looked at Mrs. James Brown. Tall, blonde, young. Beyond pretty. She looked really sweet. “I’m Krissy.”

“Of course you are,” I said, then coughed to cover it. “It’s wonderful to meet you. When did you get married?” I asked James. I felt like I was reeling.

“Just a few months ago. We’re newlyweds.” He grinned and tucked her into his side as she giggled. “We met at the club. Her father is a client of mine, and the rest was history.”

“It happened so quickly, it was just like we were supposed to be together, you know? He proposed just three weeks later. Can you believe it?” She giggled again, showing her ring. It looked like a skating rink.

“I really can’t.” I smiled, trying to keep my eyebrows from flying right up into my hairline. Too late.

“Well, when it’s right, it’s right. Right?” James said, and Krissy’s answering laughter was like tiny silver bells. He grinned at her and reached over and patted her belly. Which I now noticed was noticeably round. She laced her fingers through his and they held her perfect little round belly together. Krissy was on the nest. James smiled smugly at me.

“How do you know Jimmy?” she asked.

“Jimmy?” I asked. Eyebrows were officially a lost cause; they were on the back of my head at this point.

“Caroline and I used to date when I was in law school, and then we reconnected when she decorated my apartment last year. How’s that going, by the way?”

“Fine, Jimmy. Great actually,” I said through my teeth.

“Oh, you’re a decorator! I love decorating. I took a class last year all about it. I love that tile you’ve got there. Are you decorating something for a client?” Krissy asked, referring to the black and neon-green geoprint tile I’d inadvertently picked up and was clutching so tightly my knuckles were turning white.

“This? No, just browsing. Actually, I’m looking for myself today. Just bought a house over in Sausalito, so yep. Tile. For my new house.”

“Oh, I love Sausalito! Jimmy and I go there all the time. He takes me over for pancakes sometimes on Sunday mornings.” Krissy giggled.

James looked at me more closely. “You bought a house? In Sausalito? With who?”

I love that he just assumed that it would have to be with someone, that I couldn’t have bought something on my own. The fact that I was years away from being able to afford a house in Sausalito on my own was my own damn business.

“Yes, I bought a house. With Simon, actually. You remember him, don’t you, Jimmy?”

“That neighbor guy?”

“Yes, that neighbor guy.”

“Wow. That’s great, Caroline, really great.”

“Yes.” I nodded firmly. “It is.”

“I’m surprised, though. Not what I expected.”

“What? Why?”

Krissy had stepped away by now; she’d found a shiny tile.

“You used to tell me no way were you going to live in the suburbs. Never going to settle down,” he said.

“I’m not settling down, and for God’s sake, Sausalito isn’t the suburbs,” I snapped, and his eyes danced. He always liked to stir me up. “I’ll have you know I’m not settling at all—it’s an amazing house. I love it; it’s exactly what I always wanted.”

“I didn’t say settling; you did. I said settling down. And really, all I’m saying is you used to say you never wanted—”

“James, shut up!” I said, my face boiling hot at this point. Krissy was prancing back over, and I needed to get out of here. “Congratulations on getting married and everything, and good luck with your tile.” I whirled around and ran right into a sales guy.

Throwing back my shoulders, I apologized, then said in a clear voice, “My boyfriend likes to f**k my brains out on our kitchen island. Which tile would you recommend for that?”

God bless him, the guy actually showed me some.

• • •

Turns out I was glad for the convertible, because the trail I blazed back over the bridge to non-fucking-suburban Sausalito was infinitely better in a high-performance automobile. Barreling across the bay in a clunky delivery van wouldn’t have cut nearly as dramatic a silhouette on the Golden Gate Bridge. Revving the engine as I cut down the tiny streets, I whizzed up onto our street and peeled into the driveway. I got out and slammed the door.

“Caroline?” Simon called out, and I turned. He was standing at the edge of the yard, chatting with Ruth from next door. The neighbor who gave us the keys when we first saw the house.

“Oh, hey there, Simon. Evening, Ruth,” I called out in my most neighborly voice. I click-clacked across the driveway, dodging sawhorses and plastic sheeting.

Simon said, “Ruth, you’ll be amazed when you see how much progress we’ve made in that upstairs bedroom. The one you said used to be the sewing room?” He reached out for me and tucked me into his side. “Hey, babe, how was your day?”

“Oh, tip-top.” My voice must have sounded off, because he looked down at me questioningly. “Sewing room?” I asked.