Best Laid Plans

by Lauren Blakely

  “I cannot account for anything that knucklehead does.” I hope that little white lie does the trick.

  She exhales as if she’s erasing Shaw from her head. “Dashiell Hammett. I know what your grandpa was talking about with the schnauzer.”

  She shows me a paperback—The Thin Man by Dashiell Hammett.

  I give her a questioning look.

  Her face brightens more. “The two married detectives have a dog. A female schnauzer named Asta. In the movie, the dog was changed to a male wire fox terrier. You said your pops liked hard-boiled detective books.” Her smile radiates as she keeps going. “I don’t think he was misremembering his collies. I think he was talking about this book when he was telling you about a female schnauzer. He was saying he wanted the female schnauzer because he didn’t like that the dog had been changed from the book. That’s what he was meaning.”

  The cogs turn in my head, clicking into place. A sense of wonder bordering on awe spreads through me as she solves the puzzle of his strange dog comments that weren’t so strange after all. “That was it. Holy smokes. I think you’re right.”

  Smiling, she hands the paperback to me. “It’s a gift for him. From me to him.”

  My heart kicks around in my chest. I want to tell her that this detective work makes me fall a little more for her, because this means so damn much to me. I don’t say those words exactly. Instead, I tell her in a way that shows how much she matters. “Would you like to come with me tomorrow and give it to him yourself?”

  Her eyes light up like sparklers. “I would love to meet your pops.”

  27

  Gabe

  I’ve never brought a woman to see my grandfather before.

  No need. No reason. It’s not exactly where you go on a date, and I haven’t been serious enough with anyone to bring her around. These visits—they’re a family thing.

  As we turn down the fifth-floor hallway, my shoulders tighten, and I stretch my neck, trying to loosen up. I’m glad I haven’t run into Darla today, though, and I hope it stays that way.

  Arden tells me she has to stop in the restroom, and I point in the direction of the elevators. “Right over there.”

  She doubles back, and I watch her turn the corner, then I lean against the wall, telling myself to relax.

  When she joins me a minute or two later, I reach for her arm and meet her gaze. “Listen, he has good days and bad days. I never know which it’ll be. That’s the thing about walking into his suite—it’s a little like answering a call. You hope for the best, but sometimes it’s the worst.” I take a breath, bracing myself for an eventuality. “Well, it hasn’t quite been the worst yet, but someday it will be.”

  She nods, her big brown eyes filled with understanding. “That makes sense. There’s a great unknown factor to what he’s going through.”

  “Sometimes he’s in another place entirely. Another time . . .”

  “Does he know you?”

  I swallow roughly. “He still does. I’m grateful for that. Sometimes he thinks it’s another year, or that my grandmother is still alive.”

  “That’s hard for everyone.” She offers a small smile, keeping her eyes locked on mine. “Tell me what you want me to do or say if that happens.”

  My breathing steadies, and it’s because of her, how calm she is, how she’s not weirded out by any of this. “Just be yourself. I try to talk to him like I talk to anyone, and I remind him of when and where he is if he doesn’t seem to know.”

  “That’s easy. I can do that. We can do that.”

  I breathe a big sigh of relief. She’s a natural with people. She knows how to talk to anyone, how to meet a person on his or her level without talking down or looking too far up. She’s an eye-to-eye, face-to-face person.

  We reach his suite, and the nerves quell a little bit more. I take a steadying breath and say a prayer that it’s a good day. After I knock, I walk in with Arden by my side.

  Pops is parked on the couch, his gray hair neatly combed, his reading glasses perched at the end of his nose, peering into a book—101 Places to See Before You Die.

  My heart leaps into my throat, tightening like a fist around it. I hate that last word, and I hate, too, that he likely won’t see any of those places. “You have a new book, Pops?”

  He looks up. “Emily gave it to me the other day.”

  And we’re back in time. The fist tightens harder, gripping my heart. Arden takes my hand and squeezes it.

  “You mean she gave it to you a few years ago?” I remind him gently.

  He scrunches his wrinkled forehead. “She said we should check out some of these places sometime.” He sets the book down and stares at Arden with hard eyes. “Is she a new nurse? A new aide?”

  He doesn’t like it when the rotation changes unexpectedly on him.

  I shake my head, smiling. “This is my friend Arden.”

  His ruler-straight mouth shifts to a grin. He stands, smiles, and extends a hand.

  Arden walks over and takes it. “Hello. I’m Arden East.”

  “Michael Sullivan, and you are a lovely lady. Gabe’s mentioned you a few times.” He flashes me a devilish grin. “You’re the one he thinks is quite pretty.”

  What was I thinking? My pops knows nearly everything. I am a great and complete idiot, because he has the power to spill all. I hope to hell he doesn’t give her the keys to figure out what’s going on in my heart.

  But on the plus side, he seems fully present now.

  Arden simply smiles. “Thank you so much. But the problem is, Gabe never mentioned to me how handsome his pops is. Do you think he was holding that back on purpose?”

  My grandpa winks at her. “I think I’m falling too.”

  Too.

  I told him she was special, but I never told him I was falling. I’m going to pretend he didn’t say the word too. Or the word before it. Falling.

  But in my head, I can’t pretend, because it tugs at me. It feels like a whisper of the impending truth. Like I’m heading in that dangerous direction. I’m no idiot—I know I have Feelings for her with a capital F—but in the last few days they’ve grown stronger, more intense. Maybe they are cruising into Falling Town, and we all know where that road leads.

  I’m going to pray that my pre-visit prep with Arden will keep Pops from spilling the beans.

  He wiggles his brow then pats the couch. “Sit. Join me.” He looks at me as I grab the chair across from them. “Gabe, why didn’t you ever bring your girlfriend here before? She’s much prettier to look at than you.”

  Girlfriend. He’s going to kill me. “You are such a dirty dog, Pops.”

  Arden laughs and turns to him again. “Do you think he takes after you, Michael?”

  He chuckles. “I had a way with the ladies. One in particular. I miss her so.” Now he’s most definitely in the present.

  Arden seizes the opportunity, tapping his book. “I love this book. Where have you been? Where do you want to visit most?”

  “So many places. I’ve been all over America. Been to Mexico. To Alaska. But after reading, I think I’d like to go to one of those ice hotels. Mostly, I want to see if it’s as crazy as it sounds.”

  “It does sound nuts, doesn’t it? Every time I read about one, I shiver inside. Do you feel that way?”

  “That’s exactly how I feel. Maybe I ought to focus on traveling to Fiji since it’s so much warmer.”

  “You could get a hut on the ocean and read or fish all day long.”

  His blue eyes light up, and he’s more animated than he’s been in ages. “I’d go to Thailand next and try the street food.”

  “Have you seen the entry on Morocco? There’s an entire city in that country called the Blue City. Everything—all the walls, all the buildings—is blue.” She takes the book and flips through the pages, finding the entry and showing it to him.

  He smiles then looks up at me, speaking in a faux stage whisper. “I think your girlfriend wants you to take her to the Blue City.”


  “I’ll have to look into it.”

  He turns his focus back to Arden. “You’re the bookstore lady?”

  “Yes, I am. In fact, I brought you a book today.” Dipping her hand into her purse, she gives him the Dashiell Hammett.

  He chuckles. “The Thin Man. Can you believe they changed the dog for the movie?”

  “I simply cannot.”

  He flips to the opening chapter and reads the first few words. “I was leaning against the bar in a speakeasy on Fifty-Second Street . . .” He stops to look up from the pages. “I bet it’d sound prettier if you read it.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  As she reads, I realize bringing her here might be both the greatest and dumbest thing I’ve ever done. As he asks for more and she keeps reading, my heart free-falls with every word. She never stops, never wavers. She does all the voices and reads another chapter, and then just one more chapter, each time he asks.

  My heart spins faster in her direction, and I so badly want to tell her everything he’s said about her feels true. I am falling for her, and I absolutely know what I’m falling into.

  When he declares he’s tired, we stand to leave, and Arden gives him a peck on the forehead.

  “You come back now. I want Emily to meet you.”

  He’s lost again. Oh, Pops.

  I jump in. “I wish Nana could meet her too. But she can’t, since she’s not here anymore.”

  He sighs. “Oh.”

  “I love you.” I give him a hug.

  As we leave the suite, Arden squeezes my shoulder. “He’s so wonderful.”

  “He’s a great man. He came to all my games in high school. Many in college too.”

  “What about the majors?”

  “He came to most of those as well. That was before . . .” My voice trails off. I collect myself. “He was there for my first save and my last one in the majors.”

  “He loves you so.”

  “The feeling is completely mutual.” I shoot her an apologetic smile. “Sorry for all that girlfriend stuff.”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine. I understand completely.”

  A small stone climbs up my chest, burrowing and pushing painfully. She understands because it’s plausible that he messed up the fact.

  The stone wedges against my lungs, and it hurts like a lie. I don’t want to throw him under the bus. I don’t want to use his fading memory as a parachute for the fact that I don’t know how to tell her that what I feel for her is so much more than friendship.

  But I’m not sure now is the time and place to tell her either. Nor do I want her to think I’m taking advantage of her when she’s come to me for help.

  That time will come soon enough though. Today’s the fourth day. And we haven’t tried a fourth-day experiment yet.

  I choose a slice of the truth, serving it up like a small piece of pie. “I did tell him about you.”

  “You did?” Her voice rises, sounding hopeful.

  “I told him what you meant to me. And I might possibly perhaps have mentioned how pretty you are.”

  Her smile is majestic. “Thank you.”

  That’s all I say. I’m not lying, nor am I blaming him for twisting my words.

  When we reach the elevator, I wish I could twist my words into a new truth. I wish she was with me and I could wrap my arms around her, kiss her forehead, and tell her how much more I want to mean to her.

  But this will have to do for now. All the sex talk between us has muddied the waters, even though bringing her here today has made my heart clearer.

  When the doors open, more clarity arrives.

  It’s in the form of her wishes. Her desires. Her secret fantasies.

  There’s something she wants, and I can give that to her. I shift gears in another direction entirely, toward her list and perhaps something we can explore today.

  The second the doors close, I know we have very little time. Maybe fifteen seconds. I meet her eyes. “What do you know? We’re in an elevator.”

  She nibbles on her lower lip. “Yes, we are.”

  We’re both in the same moment, talking the same language.

  “Time for a lesson? We only have a few more days,” I say.

  “Let’s make the most of it.”

  I step closer, take her wrists in my hands, and lift them above her head in one fast move. I push her against the wall. She lets out the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard, a sensual cross between a gasp and a murmur.

  “Ohhhh.” She juts out her hips, a beautiful fucking invitation. I move closer, reading her every step of the way. Her eyes, shining with desire. Her lips, parted. Her chin, raised.

  She nods, giving me permission to raise her arms higher, press harder. I align my body with hers as the car whisks down.

  Her brown eyes are hazy. “I love this,” she whispers.

  “You really ought to be kissed into oblivion in an elevator . . . and by someone who knows how.” I lean my body into hers, and a heady whimper falls from her lips. She must know how aroused I am. My hips press against her. She wriggles against me.

  My mouth is inches from her delicious lips. We are hovering, poised in a moment when all these lessons could fly out the window and this could turn into a real kiss. A hot kiss. A hungry kiss.

  I know she wants it.

  Trouble is, I don’t know if she wants it from me—or to learn how it feels.

  But I don’t know that I’m going to find the answer right now, so instead of searching for it, I take another liberty. Letting go of her wrists, I unclip her hair. The lush blonde strands fall through my fingers as I press a kiss to her neck. She moans.

  She moans my goddamn name.

  “Gabe.”

  I nearly die of an overdose of desire. I nip her neck, and she murmurs. Everything between us could change in an instant. She could turn her face to me. I could bring mine closer to her. Our lips could brush together.

  I bite her neck, and she’s groaning now, practically melting against my body.

  Everything could change if I moved my lips.

  One kiss and we’d no longer be playing games.

  The moment expands into choices, a cascade of options that all entice me.

  But those choices end when the car stops. The elevator doors open on the first floor. We separate, and I see Darla.

  28

  Arden

  The redheaded nurse is fresh-faced, with glowing skin and clear blue eyes. But she gives us a clinical once-over, and it’s as if I’ve been caught stealing meds from the pharmacy closet.

  The way she stares is knowing, as if she’s adding up the clues.

  My hair is down, a little wild.

  Yet my hair wasn’t down when I ran into her in the fifth-floor ladies’ room when I first arrived.

  Does she know I was about to be kissed senseless in the elevator seconds ago? Does she know I was ready to wave the white flag of surrender and give in to all these wild feelings I have for my friend? She can’t know that, of course. She doesn’t know me.

  But she knows him.

  Her eyes flick to the man next to me, and she says his name in a businesslike manner. “Hi, Gabe.”

  Too businesslike.

  His Adam’s apple bobs, almost painfully, it seems, as he swallows. “Hi, Darla.” His voice is strained.

  “How’s Michael? I trust he’s well?” Her tone is chipper but forced.

  “Having a good day.”

  “That’s wonderful to hear.” She raises her chin and casts a quick glance at me.

  It doesn’t take a detective to figure out the mystery.

  My stomach churns as the answer clicks into place.

  He dated her.

  I don’t know when. I don’t know for how long. He never mentioned her, nor would I have expected him to do so. But he clearly did.

  “This is Arden,” he says, as if the words are new and strange on his tongue.

  She raises her hand in a clinical wave.
“Pleasure to meet you.” She gestures down the hall. “I should get back to work. I’m glad everything is going well. Have a great day.”

  Darla’s voice is professional as she turns on her heel, but beneath that veneer, I can make out all the undertones. I can hear everything unsaid.

  She wanted to ask Gabe for more. He wasn’t interested in more because that’s who he is. He’s the ladies’ man. He’s the charmer. That’s exactly why I asked him for help.

  But at this moment, his past cuts me. It makes me want to shut down, protect myself.

  Yet, maybe this run-in is exactly what I need to remind me we can’t be more. When he looks at me with fire in his eyes like he did in the elevator, like he did at the Garden of Eden, it’s because he’s remarkably good at sex and remarkably good at charming women.

  Not because he’s craving me the same way I’m longing for him. I want him in a way that’s more than physical, in a way that’s dancing scarily close to my heart.

  I purse my lips, locking in emotions I don’t want to set free.

  I don’t want to be her. I don’t want to feel icy or cold toward him. I don’t want him out of my life.

  He means too much to me. I can’t let my burgeoning emotions or my blooming libido lure me into situations that feel too risky, like a kiss. If we kiss, I’ll fall into trouble. I’ll lose control of my heart.

  We continue out, and when we reach the parking lot, he clears his throat. “I’m sorry about that. I went out with her.”

  The admission of what I knew to be true still hurts. I try to shrug it off. “It’s no big deal.”

  “It was only once.”

  The hurt goes deeper, because it’s like he’s justifying his one-and-done ways for my sake. “Gabe, it’s fine.” I rustle in my bag for my sunglasses because it’s bright and because I need to hide my eyes from him.

  “I didn’t feel anything for her,” he adds, and it’s too much. Too much to know he can connect with a woman without feeling a thing.

  I hold up a hand. “There’s no need to justify anything to me.”