No Time for Surprises (The No Brides Club Book 6)

by Karen McCullough

  “The weather is supposed to be beautiful this weekend,” he said. “Normally I’d suggest we get on the bikes, but I suspect your knees aren’t ready for peddling yet. How are they for walking?”

  “They’ll do well enough, I think,” she said. “I did okay last Sunday at the museum, and they’ll have almost a week of more healing by then.”

  “Good. Want to walk the High Line on Saturday?”

  “Sounds like fun. I haven’t been on it in a couple of years.”

  “It’s close to your place, isn’t it?”

  “Not very far.”

  “I’ll come over around eleven? We can have lunch somewhere along the way.”

  “Ping me when you’re close to the building and I’ll come down to meet you.”

  He nodded agreement. “I also came to tell you that Stan thinks he has everything ready to integrate the servers and move all of your operations to our offices. Wanted to talk to you about how to do it with the least disruption to your work.” They were still discussing whether first thing in the morning or last thing in the afternoon would work better when Maureen came back.

  “Late afternoon,” she voted. “By three-thirty my brain is usually waving the white flag anyway.”

  She was right, and so on Thursday afternoon, at three-thirty, a moving crew came to take their things a couple of miles uptown to the Spieler offices. Mostly Maureen’s things, since Julie didn’t keep much in her desk other than a few pads, pens, and paperclips.

  That same evening she met her friends at the Briarwood Tavern again. Kate already knew about it, but when the others saw her face, she had to recount the story of the mugging yet again. Julie also confided to them the gist of the conversation she’d had with Dan over the weekend.

  The discussion over his request ranged back and forth, but the majority thought she should give him a chance since he seemed to be trying to make amends. “Don’t get in too deep until you’re sure you can trust him this time,” Rachel suggested.

  Friday morning found her showing up for a regular work day at Spieler’s main office after a three-year hiatus. About half of the staff was unknown to her, hired since her previous tenure with the company, but she felt sure the old hands either had or would share whatever stories the rumor mill had circulated about her abrupt exit. Nonetheless, a few people greeted her return more warmly than she expected and helped ease the way.

  She still didn’t like the feeling of being in that place again. Seeing Charles Quigley in his corner office every time she walked past it to the restrooms made her shiver, and Kris Thomas shot her a cold glare on their first chance meeting in the hall. Mistrust and hostility permeated the atmosphere.

  On the other hand, she counted it a net plus that she saw more of Dan in the daily routine. It took them half of Friday to settle in, figure out where everything was and begin to work again. She spent much of the afternoon with Maureen, mapping out the plan for completing and testing the rest of the app. Completion of the first full working version was the deliverable for stage three, with stage four being beta testing and stage five providing the ready-to-release version along with specs and documentation.

  At four o’clock, Julie gathered up her things. “There’s nothing more for me to do here today. I’m heading out.”

  She knew word would get back to Kris Thomas and probably annoy her, but it was nonetheless true. It was too late in both the day and the week for her to try to dive back into coding, work that required more concentration than she could muster then.

  “Enjoy the weekend,” Maureen said, with a glint in her eye that indicated she at least suspected how Julie would be spending some of the time.

  “You know, you could go early yourself,” Julie told her.

  “I know. And I might. But I do have a few more things I want to get through this afternoon so I’ll be ready to dive in on Monday.”

  Julie said goodbye and headed home.

  DAN TEXTED her at ten to eleven on Saturday morning, saying he’d be at the door of her building in five minutes. She put the finishing touches on her makeup, grabbed her purse, and went down to meet him, locking up the apartment behind her. She realized she was almost skipping in her eagerness and forced herself to walk more sedately toward him.

  Seeing him in jeans and a tee shirt, reminded her how different he could be outside work. In the office, he always appeared a bit stiff and reserved, careful with his words and actions. The contrast used to take her off guard all the time. It still did. Off duty, his expression relaxed, and he allowed emotion to show openly. That morning he let his pleasure in seeing her shine in both his smile and the embrace he pulled her into when they met.

  Together, they walked six blocks to one of the entrances to the path that ran along the bed of what was once an elevated railroad line serving the lower west side of the city.

  For years after the trains stopped running, the trestles had been allowed to languish and become a deteriorating, weed-infested eyesore. Parts of it had been torn down to make way for newer buildings. Then a group of residents of the West Side saw the possibilities for a public park and began to work on refurbishing the pieces that remained. The first section had opened about ten years before and the most recent part just a few years past.

  The “High Line” was now a beautiful elevated walking park. Most of it had been rebuilt or at least renovated. Skateboards and bikes weren’t permitted on the paths, which included glorious gardens, seating areas, scenic overlooks, and even a shallow splashpad.

  They got on it at the southernmost entrance near Gansevoort Street. Dan eyed the new Whitney Museum which had opened recently right next to the overlook at the end of the line.

  “Maybe later, if we have time,” she said.

  The walkway rose over busy, heavily trafficked avenues. It cut right through some buildings and offered unique views of others. Its popularity had spawned the development of specialty retail shops nearby. They stopped at the Chelsea Market, an indoor mall, for lunch, settling on croissant sandwiches from one of several bakeries in the space.

  “You know we’re walking on nearly hallowed ground here, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Um… No,” he answered. “Why is that?”

  “Well maybe it’s only legend, but I think I read somewhere that this is the birthplace of the Oreo cookie.”

  “Oh. Right. I think that’s true. This was once the Nabisco building and they did develop cookies here. All hail, the Oreo.”

  “The king of cookies.”

  “Nah. Give me a chocolate chip any day,” he said.

  “Only if it’s homemade.”

  “Goes without saying. Have you ever made chocolate chip cookies?” he asked.

  “No, but my mom did. Every Christmas. It was one of the highlights. I have her recipe, so maybe one day I’ll try it. What about you?”

  “Not much of a cookie baker,” he admitted.

  For a moment she flashed back to when they’d shared his homemade spaghetti at his home. They’d argued light-heartedly over spices in the sauce. She’d been so comfortable with him then. So sure of herself and him. It rubbed at that raw spot that remained from his betrayal. Could they ever be that way again?

  “I recall you do a pretty good spaghetti sauce.”

  “With some help from Ragu back in the day. But I’ve improved on it now. And some other things. In fact… No. I think I’ll save that for later.” He looked at the debris from their meal and asked, “Are you done?”

  They cleaned up after lunch and set out again. Julie was tempted by some of the stores in the Market area, but the late spring weather outside was too good to waste being indoors.

  Holding hands, they strolled past plantings of colorful flowers, most of which she didn’t recognize, stands of shade trees, and overlooks of city streets. A few patches of wildflowers had been allowed to grow in abundant profusion and stretch out onto the walkway. They stepped over a couple of branches. The path also offered interesting and varied angles on some o
f New York’s oldest and some of its newest buildings.

  When they stopped at one of the benches to rest, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to hold her close, and she let herself lean against him. She tried to stay in the moment, enjoying it, and not get sucked into worrying about the past or the future. A moment of sadness set in when she realized this could be a short-lived interval of happiness followed by more loneliness. This time, though, it would be her decision.

  They set out again and continued at a leisurely pace, stopping occasionally to enjoy a view or an impromptu dance performance. Once they got off the walkway and went down to check out a couple of interesting shops nearby. The afternoon passed in a dreamy haze as they made their way to the loop at the end of the walkway and returned the way they had come.

  As they descended the steps at the end, he said, “How would you feel about me showing off my cooking prowess by making dinner at your place?”

  “I’d be happy to let you, but I don’t keep a lot of extra food around.”

  “Point me to the nearest grocery store and let me handle that while you get some rest.”

  “We’ll pass the one I usually use. I’ll go in with you. I need to pick up a few things myself.”

  She figured out what he intended when, after snagging a cart, he headed for the aisle that featured taco sauces and seasonings. He grabbed a package of tortillas along with the seasonings and then headed for the meat counter, where he selected a tray of ground beef. At the dairy section, he picked up grated cheddar cheese and a carton of sour cream. A head of lettuce, an onion, a green pepper, and a couple of ripe tomatoes came from produce; refried beans and hot chilies went into the cart in the canned veggie aisle; and then he headed to the beverage section. He pulled out a six-pack each of beer and soft drinks.

  “Anything else you like on your tacos?” he asked.

  She surveyed the contents of the cart. “I think you’ve got it covered.” Julie tossed in a quart of milk, a bag of coffee, some bread, a couple of frozen meals, and a box of her favorite breakfast cereal.

  Doing it with him made even shopping for groceries fun. They debated brands of taco sauce, did a treasure hunt to find the refried beans, and a couple of times he pointed out some odd foods to her. Once or twice he actually hopped on the cart and rolled down the aisle like an overgrown kid, though he was careful to do it when few other shoppers lingered nearby.

  As they passed the produce area again, he pointed to a stack of odd vegetables that looked like olive-green hand grenades with sharp, pointed leaves. “Ever had a cooked artichoke?” he asked.

  “Nope.” She studied the sharp, thick leaves that encased the vegetable. “It doesn’t look too appealing.”

  “Oh, but you’ve never had artichokes Chez Foster.” He grabbed two and stuck them in the cart. “I’ll cook them for you tomorrow.” His expression turned thoughtful. “They’ll need an appropriate accompaniment. Oh.” He turned to her. “Did you have plans for tomorrow? No? Good. How about we go all the way up to the north end and visit the Cloisters, then come back and I’ll wow you all over again with my cooking skill?”

  She hesitated. Protective instincts dictated she refuse and back away. Her agreement to give him a chance overrode those.

  When she nodded, he headed to the meat department, picked out a beautiful and very expensive cut of beef, and then went to the wine area. “Okay, I know this isn’t a manly thing to admit, but I’m out of my depth here. Know anything about wine?”

  Apparently, he was still more of a beer guy. “Not much. But I know I like that one.” She pointed to a moderately priced, imported Chianti. “And it’s red, so it should go with steak.” She then went and pointed to a package of plastic wine glasses out of her reach. “I don’t drink enough wine at home to justify buying wine glasses. Yet.”

  She’d forgotten how handy it was to have a tall person with her to reach the things that usually had her climbing up the shelves. He snagged the package and dropped it in the cart.

  “Anything else?” he asked. “Oh wait.” She followed him to the frozen foods area, where he stopped in front of the ice cream display. “What’s your favorite now? Tacos demand something cool and sweet afterward.”

  “Still mint chocolate chip or chocolate swirl.”

  “I’m not big on mint, so chocolate swirl it is.”

  She should’ve remembered he didn’t care for mint. The details... They were driving her crazy. All the little things she recalled and didn’t recall. It felt sort of surreal, like she was waking from a nightmare. Or maybe this was the dream. The changes and contrasts disoriented her.

  “Points to you for not insisting on buying something I like that you don’t,” she told him.

  He raised a single eyebrow. “I don’t get the scoring system, but I’ll take the bonus.”

  They went to the checkout and divided up the groceries before paying. She didn’t mention it, but she mentally awarded more points for letting her pay for the things she’d added to the cart.

  He refused her offers of help in getting the food ready once they returned to her apartment, which made sense since her kitchen was so small even one person crowded the space. Instead he told her to go and rest up in preparation for a taste experience she wouldn’t want to miss.

  The smells coming from that direction after a few minutes promised the meal would live up to his boasts. Twenty minutes later he’d laid the table in the corner of her living room with plates and cutlery and had all the accoutrements for the tacos spread out in dishes on the kitchen counter. The meat was in a frying pan on the stove.

  They put together the meals and then he held a chair for her to sit. They each lifted a taco from their plates, but he waited until she’d taken a bite, watching her reaction.

  She chewed and said, “Oh, my. This is fabulous. You do get bragging rights.” The meat was just the right shade of spicy, not too hot, but not bland either, and the flavor blended perfectly with the beans, cheese, vegetables, and sour cream.

  The smile he gave in return held so much complex emotion, it tore at her. She read not just pleasure and gratitude but shades of hope and desire and a bit of longing in that curve of his lips and the lines around his eyes.

  All he said, though, was “Thanks.”

  She didn’t remember cooking being a hobby of his three years ago. “Who taught you to cook?”

  “My mother started the effort when I was a kid, but until recently I didn’t really do much of it. A couple of years ago I was helping an elderly neighbor with a few things around the house, including cooking meals. He’d once been a master chef himself, and he traded training and a few secrets for my assistance. It was a tremendous bargain. Unfortunately he passed away last January. I still miss him. The old guy was a card as well as one heck of a chef.”

  “His skill lives on in you, though.”

  “Not really. I don’t have the passion for it he did. Nor the time or enthusiasm he had. But I learned a few things. How to cook artichokes among them. And wait until you taste the steak tomorrow. By the way, it’s marinating in your refrigerator. Just let it be.”

  “Won’t touch it. Promise.”

  After dinner, they watched a baseball game, a shared interest they’d discovered early in their relationship, even though he preferred the Yankees while she rooted for the Mets. They cuddled on the couch and groaned or cheered for outstanding plays. The Mets defeated the Cardinals by several runs which left them in good spirits.

  He kissed her thoroughly before leaving and promised to call her in the morning.

  She cried in bed that night. She wanted what he was showing her so badly. It had been so good between them and could be again. He kept whittling away at her resistance. But letting him get close exposed her again to the kind of heartbreak that had almost destroyed her once.

  THE NEXT DAY he called at ten and asked if she wouldn’t mind putting off the visit to the Cloisters Museum. Unwanted disappointment surged through her until he added, “The Yankees
have a day game today and I managed to snag a couple of tickets. I’m looking for a compatible baseball fan to go with me. Know anyone?”

  “Might just. Can you handle a mostly Mets fan who will root tepidly for the Yankees when they’re playing anyone else?”

  “It’s the Royals. I can even handle it if this person wants to root for them.”

  “She doesn’t go that far. I think I’ve got just the person for you.”

  “Great. You okay with taking the subway there?”

  “No problem. Buzz me and I’ll meet you out front.”

  BRIGHT SUNSHINE BLESSED them as they made their way to the nearest subway stop. After taking the A train uptown and changing, they finally emerged near the entrance thirty minutes before the game began, which provided time to walk around the stadium, wander through a shop or two, and get a couple of hot dogs and beers to take to their seats.

  They enjoyed a good game, surprisingly tight, which the Yankees won by a single run. The food and beer satisfied. Shaded seats protected them from the worst of the midday heat and provided a decent view of the field. By far the best part of the day was the company, however.

  The more time she spent with him, the deeper it penetrated how much she’d missed the sense of closeness, of understanding, of pure joy at times in being with someone who knew her so well and still liked her so much. A person who shared many of her interests and values. Someone who felt almost like an extension of herself. Not the same, but a good fit.

  If only she could drive away that shadow of distrust. Before the month she’d promised him was up. They were down to just three weeks, depending on when they started counting, before she had to make possibly the most difficult and important decision of her life.

  CHAPTER 14