by Mara Wells
Too bad. She wouldn’t mind coming home to orgasms like that every night. But she couldn’t linger on the loss; she had a job to do. Whatever happened between them, it was clearly over now. As a child, she’d perfected the art of anticipation, that hopeful gaze into the future. She relied on it now. No sense dwelling on mistakes made. She should probably call Adam after all for that second date. He seemed like the kind of guy who’d appreciate a perfectly placed sea-glass soap dish.
* * *
Lance rubbed his sore shoulder. Lugging a few hundred pounds of other people’s stuff would do that to a guy. It didn’t seem possible, but he was pretty sure the Dorothy’s residents had returned with more luggage than they’d left with. After marveling over the new elevator—it didn’t shake! Or groan! And the numbers on the panel were so big!—the residents were finally settled, and as far as he was concerned, he was long overdue for a beer. He grabbed one from Riley’s fridge, popped it open, and downed half of it in one long swallow.
“Who’s the very best dog in the whole world?” Riley scooped up LouLou and squeezed the dog to her chest, pressing kisses on the top of her fuzzy head. “Is it you? Yes, it is.”
“She doesn’t like LouLou to worry about who the good girl is,” Caleb explained with a fond smile at his fiancée. “She tries not to let rhetorical questions dangle too long for fear of hurting LouLou’s self-esteem.”
Lance snorted. “LouLou’s self-esteem is just fine.”
“No kidding.” Caleb clapped a hand on Lance’s sore shoulder. Lance manfully held back his wince. “Thanks for taking care of her.”
“No problem.” It was Lance’s hope that Caleb and Riley never learned of the afternoon LouLou ran through the neighborhood, but he figured someone was bound to tell them. His plan was to avoid that conversation as long as possible by not bringing it up himself. “It was convenient to be on-site for the beginning of the project.”
“Can’t believe the elevator’s already done. And the roof? You’re a miracle worker.”
Lance smiled. “That I am. Plumbing in the lobby bathroom is finished, too. Laundry room is once again fully functional.”
“Incredible!” Caleb tugged Riley toward him. “When do I get a little poodle time?”
Riley smiled and handed over the dog. Caleb rubbed LouLou’s ears. “Did you take good care of Lance for us? Yes, you did!”
Lance noted that Riley was not the only one concerned about leaving LouLou in doubt as to her greatness and central importance. Lance had to admit it, though. He was going to miss the fuzzy fur ball.
“She and Beckham became good friends while you were away.”
“I bet you did.” Riley held LouLou’s face between her palms.
Caleb set LouLou on the floor, and she promptly jumped on his leg, asking to be picked up again. “Wait, I thought Beckham lived with your ex.”
“He does.” Lance cleared his throat. “They’ve been coming by.”
“Really? With your son?” Caleb gave in to the poodle’s demands, slinging her up and over his shoulder in a clearly practiced move. LouLou curled around Caleb’s neck like an old-fashioned fur wrap.
Lance smiled at the ridiculous sight. “Yeah.”
Caleb waved one of LouLou’s paws at Lance. “And how’s that going?”
How could he explain to Caleb what he couldn’t explain to himself? Lance decided to stick with the brief, work-focused version. Because as long as he kept it about business, he didn’t have to think about Carrie’s disappointed face when he walked out of Kristin’s bathroom. “I hired Carrie to be our interior designer, and she’s been bringing Oliver and Beckham to Fur Haven and also sometimes with her to work.”
“You hired someone without asking me?” Caleb handed the poodle back to Riley.
“Your son?” Riley held LouLou under her arm like a football. “How come I didn’t know you had a son but Caleb did?” Her accusatory glare scraped both brothers.
“Wasn’t my secret to tell.” Caleb shoved his hands in his back pockets and rocked on his heels.
Lance looked up at the ceiling. “We’re going to need more beer.”
“A lot of it.”
“I’m calling Knox.” Riley set LouLou on the floor and picked up her phone. “Enough with you brothers and your secrets.”
* * *
Crammed in Riley’s less-than-spacious living room was not what he’d meant when he asked Knox to have a beer with him sometime soon, but apparently their older brother had a soft spot for Caleb’s fiancée and answered her messages much faster than he ever answered Lance’s.
Lance stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles, beer resting on the flat plane of his belly. “So I hired her. She really is the best. You guys won’t be disappointed.”
Caleb grumbled something, and Knox saluted him with his own half-empty bottle of beer.
“I’m good with it.” Knox took another swig of beer and petted the poodle who’d parked herself on his lap. “I like her.”
“I had some people lined up.” Caleb picked at the label on his bottle, some weird Belgian ale that Riley kept stocked for him. “There were going to be interviews.”
“You’re welcome.” Lance grinned. “Look at all the work I saved you.”
Caleb growled.
Lance stood. “Maybe you all can day-drink the afternoon away, but I have work to do.”
“We’re not done here. What happened with the permits?”
They were so done here. He wasn’t ready to spring the whole new dog park plan on them, not yet. He needed this emotional roller coaster of a day to end. Tomorrow was soon enough for Caleb and Riley to learn the fate of their beloved dog park.
Lance gave Riley a little wave. “Catch you all later. Maybe you should schedule some business meetings or something, Caleb. Get us all on the same page.”
“Oh, I will schedule a meeting. A mandatory meeting.” Caleb was already tapping away at his phone. “There will be shared calendars and quarterly reports. You have no idea what you’ve unleashed here.”
Knox shook his head and downed the rest of his beer.
“Another one?” Riley popped out of her seat on the couch next to Caleb.
Always a man of few words, Knox merely smiled his agreement. Lance took the opportunity to sneak out.
“I see you.” Riley held a bottle of Caleb’s ale in one hand and a long neck for Knox in the other. “You totally have more secrets. Trust me, you should come clean now. We’re going to find out eventually.”
“I know.” Lance saluted her. “See you eventually.” He let the door close behind him. Just because he had a son now didn’t mean he was any better at family than he used to be.
* * *
Carrie kicked off her heels as soon as she crossed the threshold into her condo. She really should put a shoe rack by the door. If only she had more square feet, she would. A shoe rack in this entryway would be a fire hazard, which was what the shoes would also be if she left them there. With a sigh for the never-ending concerns that dictated her every waking moment, she hooked the shoes with two fingers and headed for her bedroom.
“Carrie!” Sherry emerged from the kitchen, the same something smeared across her cheek also splattered on her white polka-dot blouse. “We were making you some dinner.”
“I’ve told you, you don’t have to do that.” Another sigh escaped Carrie. She loved her mother; she really did. But she could be exhausting. And outside of omelets, she was a terrible cook. Carrie had been looking forward to putting her feet up and ordering some Chinese food. Mmm, Chinese food. Vegetable dumplings. The way she was feeling, she’d been planning one of everything from the menu.
Instead, she accepted a lumpy bowl of mac and cheese that looked as dejected as she felt.
“How did it go with that fancy bathroom?” Sherry brought her a glass of pink wine, obviously pi
cking up on the crap-day signals Carrie was throwing out.
“Fine.” Carrie chugged the wine first. It would make the mac-n-cheese easier to swallow. “Kristin loved her bathroom.”
“And I suppose everything is fine with Lance, too, and that’s why you look like your best friend died.” Sherry’s wineglass was filled with apple juice. She liked to keep it classy.
“Farrah is not dead.” Carrie choked down a bite of not-warm-enough-but-not-cold-enough-to-complain pasta. Or so she assumed. They hadn’t talked in forever. At this point, BFF was more an honorary title than a description of their actual relationship. “Everything is fine.”
“Uh-huh.” Sherry watched Carrie over the rim of her glass. “Why don’t you take a bubble bath tonight? I’ll stay and watch Oliver.”
Carrie smiled grimly. “Sure. That sounds”—she searched for the right word—“fine.”
“Well, as long as everything is fine, no need to worry, is there?” Sherry flounced into the kitchen.
Carrie held Beckham on her lap, stroking his wiry fur and shoring up her courage. She wouldn’t mope around about Lance like she had after the divorce. He’d moved on quickly back then, and she’d take a page from his book. They could be perfectly civilized adults when it came to Oliver, but she wouldn’t let her heart get broken. Not again.
While Sherry kept Oliver busy in the kitchen, Carrie found Adam’s number on her phone and sent a text: Dinner soon?
His response was immediate: Thai or Indian?
They worked out the details for the next night, but it wasn’t Adam she was thinking about as she fell asleep after her long bubble bath and an even longer session of reading Chicka Chicka Boom Boom to Oliver. Instead, she tossed and turned in the bed she’d shared with Lance until she couldn’t take it anymore and finally got up to change the sheets. Clinging to the idea that she could still smell him on her pillow wasn’t helping anything. She’d considered calling Farrah and asking for advice, but she didn’t want to be that friend who only called when having romantic problems. No, it might take a minute or two to find a new normal on her own, but she’d do it. If not for her own sake, then for Oliver.
Chapter 27
“Thank you so much for making time for me this morning, Ms. Carson.” Carrie followed Riley into Grams’ second-floor apartment. First stop on the road to normal: work. Now that Kristin’s bathroom was completed, she could throw herself wholeheartedly into her plans for the Dorothy. She loved going into research mode, immersing herself in time periods and styles, hunting for the perfect inspiration for her client. When she’d called Riley about getting some background on the building, Riley suggested calling her grandmother. Luckily, Grams invited her right over, enticing Carrie with promises of thousands of photographs.
“Please, call me Grams. Everyone does.” Grams’ décor was so perfectly 1985 that Carrie wanted to take some photos for inspiration. Burgundy carpet, mauve sofa, teal throw pillows. Carrie couldn’t help but imagine a new color scheme and a few updates for the living room, but she wisely kept her ideas to herself.
“We’re happy to talk with you.” Riley sat on the overly stuffed sofa. An equally overly stuffed cat jumped onto her lap. Riley stroked her hand along its back. “Anything we can do to help.”
“You mentioned you have photos of the building from its early days?” Carrie got comfortable in a Queen Anne mahogany wing-back chair upholstered in a large floral print with a celery-green background—a horrible thing to do to such a lovely piece. She placed her portfolio bag on the floor beside her, and the cat hopped down to sniff it. “I’m pulling together some ideas for the redesign, and I’d love to see the building’s original décor.”
“No problem.” Riley popped off the sofa, calling to her grandmother, “Did you find them yet?”
“Here we go.” Grams bustled in with an armful of photo albums. Dressed in mauve pants and a flowing top in a lighter shade, Grams cut a dramatic figure with her upswept hair and rhinestone-adorned sandals. She sat on the couch, her pants blending into the upholstery, and laid the albums on the coffee table, an oblong top on Queen Anne legs that matched the wing-back chair.
Carrie scooted in closer. “Wonderful.” She sat on her hands to keep from reaching for the albums. “I can’t wait.”
“We had some good times back then.” Grams flipped the top album open to pictures of a holiday party. Grams figured prominently in every photo in a red satin dress with a plunging neckline and a slash up the thigh that from certain angles showed a Christmas bow peeping out.
“That dress!” Riley laughed. “Grams, I can’t believe you.”
“You know what I always say. If you got it, flaunt it. And baby, I’ve always got it.” Grams shimmied her shoulders to an inaudible beat. “Come on, girls. You’ve got it, too.”
Riley groaned, but Carrie was game.
“Like this?” She shook her shoulders and found it lifted her spirits. Perhaps shimmying regularly would be part of her new normal.
“You got it now.” Grams hummed a jazz tune, shaking-shaking along with Carrie until Riley finally relented and joined in. Grams sat back with a satisfied grin. “That’s more like it. Now you’ll understand the Dorothy better. She’s a bit of a party girl, I have to say.”
Carrie sent Riley a questioning look, but Riley merely shimmied back at her with a grin.
Grams turned the page in the album, and the season changed. Grams wore a floppy straw hat, large sunglasses, and a bathing suit coverup that slid off one shoulder to reveal the black strap of a bikini top. A few women in similar outfits gathered around her, and they raised what looked to be piña coladas toward the camera in a toast. Behind them, the Dorothy sparkled in the sun, its bright-pink exterior newly painted and the palm trees flanking the front walkway still held up by support planks.
“The place looks amazing.” Carrie scooted the chair forward a few inches to get a closer look. “I’m really interested in interior shots. Can we go back to the holiday party?”
“Sure, sure.” Grams flicked back a few pages, eyeing Carrie with a gleam in her eye. “You know I don’t show just anyone these photos.”
“Yes, yes you do.” Riley pulled a photo album from the bottom of the pile and leaned back on the sofa, flipping through it on her own. “You love to show off all your crazy outfits.”
Grams’ lips thinned. “As I was saying, these photos are special. For special people. Like family. But I hear you’re practically family. Isn’t your son going to be Riley’s nephew once she and Caleb finally get married?”
“Finally?” Riley glared at Grams. “We met in August. It’s November. Exactly how fast do you want us to go?”
Grams flipped her hand. “Changing the date, changing the venue. People are starting to talk.”
Riley huffed in exasperation. “Translation: You’re talking to people about it.”
Grams ignored her. “And what they’re saying is that maybe you’re not going to get married before Christmas after all. And then poor Patty will lose her bet. Is that what you want to have happen?”
Riley dropped the photo album back on the coffee table with a loud thump. “I will personally pay Patty whatever she would’ve won from the stupid bet.”
“Ha! So you are changing the date.” Grams shoved an album at Carrie so she could turn her full attention to Riley. “I don’t know why you don’t tell me these things.”
“I can’t imagine why not,” Riley grumbled, sounding so much like Oliver when he was upset that she wouldn’t let him eat dirt from the garden that Carrie had to smile. She covered it with her hand and flipped open the album.
Jackpot. Page after page of photos taken inside the Dorothy. The lobby back when the rattan furniture was new and the terrazzo shone from frequent buffings. Pictures inside various units, showcasing the older cabinetry and Art Deco tile work in the kitchen and bathrooms.
“Do you
mind?” Carrie pulled out her phone and held it up. “I’d like to take some shots for reference.”
“Knock yourself out.” Grams opened a third album and flipped through the pages. “You are about to be family after all. Eventually.” She gave Riley the side-eye.
Riley rolled her neck like she was trying to get rid of tension. “Grams, you know how crazy it’s been. Wedding planning has taken a back seat, but we’ll get to it. Soon. I promise.”
Carrie flipped a page to a wedding shot, Grams and a handsome man made less attractive by some truly egregious 1970s sideburns. Grams wore a bohemian-style wedding dress with bell sleeves and a tie around the waist that looked to be made of fresh flowers. The collection of albums brought home to Carrie how fleeting style is, and while interior design lasted longer than, say, a runway look, there was a lot of variation from year to year, album to album, in the look of the Dorothy’s interior.
“Seems to me a woman’s wedding should be a priority.” The cat jumped onto Grams’ lap, and she stopped perusing the albums to pet him. He kneaded her thighs for a few moments before settling into a large, purring lump. “That’s all I’m saying. A priority.”
“You would know,” Riley grumbled. “Three weddings and counting.”
“Counting what?” Carrie flipped and snapped, figuring better to have too much source material than not enough.
“I believe there was a bit of a shipboard romance.” Riley’s tone was light and teasing, but Grams stiffened like she was offended.
“That’s no one’s business but mine.”
“Shipboard romance, huh? Sounds romantic.” Carrie decided to help Riley with the topic switch. Grams was clearly used to always having things her way, so a bit of table turning seemed in order. Besides, she liked Riley. If things had worked out differently, they would’ve been sisters-in-law.
“Yep, Grams and Caleb’s grandfather were seen taking quite a few moonlight strolls on the upper deck.”
