by Cach, Lisa
“I—” he started, then cut himself off as the music ended and a tinny voice spoke into his ear. “Hello, yes, I need to check if my flight is leaving on time “
A minute later he hung up. “It’s delayed ten minutes.”
“We only have another fifteen minutes, tops, until we get there,” I said, feeling a surge of hope. “You might still catch it!”
I felt a burst of adrenaline. We really might make it! “There’s only one thing that could stop us now.”
“A speeding ticket?”
“It only feels like we’re going too fast because the ride is rough.” I glanced at the speedometer: seventy-five. Could he see it from the passenger seat? “No, the only thing that could stop us…” I trailed off as I saw my nemesis up ahead: the drawbridge over the Duwamish Waterway.
“Yes?”
“Is that. Dammit!” Up ahead, the warning lights beside the bridge began to flash and the black-and-white gate to come down. There was no one ahead of us, and I knew that it would actually be another minute before the drawbridge began to come up. Flashes of movies came to mind, cars flying off the rising section of road as if trying to jump a row of school buses. For a moment, my foot pressed down on the accelerator.
“No!” Ian shouted in such a firm and commanding tone that my foot immediately came off the pedal. “You will not!” There was no question in his voice, no pleading, just the demand of someone who would not be opposed.
I put my foot on the brake and glided to a long and easy stop several feet before the barrier gate. My heart was pounding, and I felt a tremor in my hands. There was part of me that had been ready to take the risk. “I wouldn’t have,” I said. “That’s not the type of thing I do.”
He didn’t answer. I looked at him and found him staring at me, examining me as if he were an entomologist who had come across an unknown form of beetle.
I didn’t know who I was myself at the moment, either. My friends occasionally said I was eccentric, especially when I became obsessed with research and design for a theater production and could talk about nothing else, but I’d never been a spontaneous or unpredictable person outside of that. And I’d never been a physical risk taker.
Was I that desperate for some male attention?
The bridge slowly began to rise. The seconds ticked past, and then minutes as a barge moved slowly through the gap. A sailboat came after it, motoring sedately, its mast bare of sails.
“We’re not going to make it,” I said quietly, feeling a wash of shame. This was my fault for hitting the snooze button.
“They might be able to get me on another flight. I doubt I’ll be trapped here over Christmas.”
Christmas. Oh, jeez. He might have to spend it alone in a hotel room because of me.
The bridge finally lowered and I gunned the engine as the gates came back up. I was across the bridge in a shot, my hands tight on the wheel and my gaze scanning the road for all possible obstacles. Ian was silent, and a quick glance his way showed me a man lost in internal thoughts and calculations. He didn’t look happy.
We finally made it to the airport, and I dropped him at the curb in front of his airline. “Good luck!” I called to him as he took his bag out of the back.
“Thanks for the lift. Have a merry Christmas, Tessa. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, too,” I mumbled as he shut the door. He headed toward the sliding glass doors but turned once, giving me a smile and a wave. I waved back, and felt my heart sink as he disappeared through the glass.
Gone.
I put the Jeep in gear and pulled away from the curb, the days ahead suddenly looking bleaker and emptier than they had a day ago, not counting my drunken sobbing over the Christmas cards. School was out and I’d filed the grades for my classes; I had nothing to do but finish making a few presents, debate attending a party I’d been invited to on the twenty-third but which I knew I’d chicken out of at the last minute, write uninspired Christmas cards to my friends, and spend Christmas Day in nearby Snohomish with my family, deflecting the pitying looks of sisters-in-law who thought it a shame I couldn’t catch a husband.
The only intriguing element of the whole week was presently checking in for a flight out of here.
Or was he?
I saw the turnoff for the parking structure and on impulse took it. Ian might not catch his flight, after all, I told myself as I drove around and around the upward-spiraling ramp. He might be delayed several hours. Maybe I could buy him breakfast as an apology for making him miss his plane.
I parked and headed for the terminal, a nervous sweat breaking out under my arms as I hurried through the sky bridge. What if I didn’t catch him before he went through security? I’d have to page him, and I didn’t even know his last name. They’d make the announcement on speakers throughout the terminal: “Scottish Ian, cousin to Lauren Gold, please go to a white courtesy telephone for a message from the sex-starved maniac who drove you to the airport.”
All right, so they’d leave out the maniac bit. Still, he’d think I was insane. Worst of all, would he suspect I did it because I wanted a few more minutes in which to bask in the glow of a lusciously handsome man?
Nah, probably not. Experience told me that men were obtuse about a woman being interested in them. Even if you did your best impression of a lick-lipping porn star while making meaningful eye contact, he’d only suspect that you had a salivary disorder and offer you a napkin. A truth unhappily proven to me at a college party I’d attended at age nineteen.
I spotted the sign for his airline and jogged toward the ticket counter, scanning the people in line. No Ian… no Ian… Ian! He was talking to the man behind the counter under the business class sign.
I stopped in my tracks, overcome by shyness. Now that I knew I could still talk to him, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. He might have to run to his gate, and have no time for dealing with me; or even if he was on a later flight and had a few hours to kill, he might be annoyed by my return, wrinkling his nose at me in dismayed surprise as if I were a burp after a garlicky meal.
I crept toward him, as hesitant as a stray dog unsure of its welcome. The ticket agent was busy typing and messing with unseen items on his counter, and then he handed a ticket folder to Ian. I stopped a foot behind Ian and stared at his back, trying to gather the courage to tap him on the shoulder.
He picked up his garment bag and turned around, the movement so sudden that I didn’t have time to back away. Bag and shoulder collided with me and I stumbled, his free hand reaching out to steady me, apologies tumbling from his lips in that lovely Scottish lilt. “Terribly sorry, excuse me, are you all right…?” The apologies came to a halt. “Tessa?”
“Hi.” I waved hello, knowing I looked like an idiot. “I felt bad dumping you at the curb like that, and wanted to come make sure that you caught your flight.”
He led me a few feet away from the ticket counter, the look of surprise lingering on his features. “That was kind of you. Unfortunately, they’ve given my seat to a standby passenger. Everything is booked solid, so they’ve rescheduled me for a flight on Christmas Eve.”
“Oh. Oh, dear. You can’t get a standby seat?” My stomach fell, guilt sinking it to the ground.
“Trying would mean spending the next three days here at the airport. No, I’d rather stay in a hotel downtown and take the Christmas Eve flight.”
I perked up a bit. “So the airline is paying for a room? Where? I hope it’s someplace nice.”
“It’s out of my own pocket, I’m afraid. Do you have any suggestions on where I should stay?”
I stared at him in sick shame, my lips parted but saying nothing. Not only had my oversleeping caused him to lose three days, but he was going to be out several hundred dollars on top of whatever the airline had charged him for changing his flight.
“Tessa?”
“You can stay with me,” I blurted.
His eyebrows rose.
“In Lauren’s room,”
I added. “I’m sure she won’t mind. You can’t stay in a hotel, not when there’s room for you in our house. It’s the very least I can do, when it’s my fault that you’re in this mess.”
His brows drew down and he studied me. I wondered if he was thinking it would be torture to spend three days under the same roof.
I tried to look innocent and hopeful, although I myself was suddenly wishing he would say no. What would I do with him for three days? I’d be a mass of nerves, unable to relax. “Please?”
Some mysterious thought apparently crossed his mind at that moment, for he cocked an eyebrow, tilted his head, grinned, and said, “Why not? But I want you to clear it with Lauren first.” He took out his cell phone, dialed, and handed it to me.
I took it, the plastic warm from his body, a faint scent of aftershave tickling my nose as I held it up to my ear. I turned half away from Ian and plugged my other ear with a finger, blocking out the noise of the airport.
The phone rang half a dozen times before Lauren picked up. “Ian?”
“No, it’s Tessa, on Ian’s phone. Ian missed his plane.”
“What?” A few choice swear words followed.
“I offered him the use of your room until the next available flight, on Christmas Eve. Is that okay?”
She was silent for a long moment.
“Did your sister have her baby? Are you coming back today?” I asked, thinking that she might need her room.
“No, it’s looking to be a long labor. I’ll probably just stay through the holiday.”
I lowered my voice, stepping several feet away from Ian. “I could give him my room instead, if you don’t want him in yours for some reason.”
“He doesn’t have cooties,” she said with a laugh. “No, it’s nothing like that. I just…”
“Rapist? Drug addict?”
“No!”
“For heaven’s sake, tell me! I’m getting frightened.”
“It’s just that…” Lauren paused again, then sighed. “Ian loves women, and he knows how to say all the right things.”
I snorted.
“No, really, Tessa. I remember him as a teenager, sweet-talking the panties off of girls, and from the sounds of it he’s only polished his moves since then.”
“I seriously doubt I’m in any danger from him. I don’t think I’m his type.” I imagined he went for women with bleached hair and long fingernails, high heels, tight jeans, and a lot of cleavage.
“You’re pretty and you’re single. That makes you his type.”
“I’ll be the only deer in the rifle sight, you mean, if he’s at the house. If that’s really your only concern, then will you please tell Ian that it’s okay if he stays with me? I feel terrible for not getting him to the airport on time.”
When she didn’t answer I added, “And I promise to keep my defenses up against his charms.”
“Okay, put him on.”
I came back and handed the phone to Ian. “Lauren.”
I couldn’t discern much from Ian’s end of the conversation, although when he laughed I suspected that it was at some admonition by Lauren to keep his hands off me.
I pondered the possibility of his hands taking liberties with my pale and obscenely yearning body, and where such liberties might lead. I wasn’t sure I’d have a problem with it.
At least, I didn’t have a problem with it in my imagination, which was where such acts were going to stay. I’d never had a one-night stand, and I didn’t want one now… even if an evening of wild sex with a handsome Scotsman might be just the type of Christmas present a lonely single girl could wish for.
“I swear it!” Ian was saying into the phone. “On my mother’s soul, I swear it! Now go back to your sister and give her a kiss from me. Yes, please let me know when the baby’s born. Bye, love.” He flipped the phone closed and smiled at me. “Ready, then?”
Oh, yes.
Chapter Three
I finished the final seam on a princess dress for my niece and snipped the threads. Vivaldi was playing softly on my CD player, filling my attic workroom with the energetic strains of a violin. It was good music to work to, although it didn’t keep me from trying to hear every noise Ian made on the main floor below in order to track his movements.
Upon our return to the house I’d given him a tour of the facilities and then offered him Cocoa Puffs for breakfast. Apparently he wasn’t a connoisseur of the all-time best breakfast cereal. He’d even disdained a secondary offering of holiday-colored Crunch Berries. He said he would make his own breakfast, if that was all right.
I’d left him to settle in and retreated to the safety of my attic. As I sewed I heard him shower, get dressed, unpack, run a load of laundry, and for the last few minutes he’d been making mischief in the kitchen.
A buttery, herb-filled scent drifted up the stairs, riding atop the comforting smell of toast. My stomach gurgled. I’d been too embarrassed to sit down in front of him and eat a bowl of Cocoa Puffs, so I’d gone without breakfast. And now I couldn’t muster the nerve to go downstairs and beg a bit of whatever he was making. A perverse shyness trapped me in my aerie.
I had lured the male into my lair, but I had no idea what to do next. If I were a spider or a praying mantis, I could have sex with him and then eat him. At least the bugs had a standard way of dealing with these things.
I heard a footstep on the creaky bottom stair. “Tessa?” Ian called up to me.
“Yes!” I squeaked, and jumped to my feet as if called to attention.
There were a few more footsteps on the stairs, his voice coming closer. “Is it all right if I come up?”
“Sure!” My eyes darted around the room. Oh, lord. Fabric was everywhere, spilling out of under-eave cupboards and boxes and piled on the floor and tables. Machines for steaming and pressing and hemming and overlocking; mannequins and tables; racks of thread and scissors and pattern-making tools; costume drawings tacked to the slanted ceiling; shelf after shelf of costume history books, fashion magazines, and piled paper patterns; half-finished garments hanging from a portable rack, from the window frames, from the top of the door, from any nook or cranny that would hold the end of a hanger.
Ian appeared in the doorway, a plate of food in one hand and a mug in the other. His eyes widened as he took in the multicolored chaos. It took a moment for him to locate me in the midst of it all, standing as motionless as one of my mannequins. He smiled, a hint of uncertainty revealing itself in the corners of his mouth. “I know you missed breakfast, so I made up a plate for you.”
He probably thought I was as insane as Hannibal the Cannibal, standing stiffly in his prison cell. Only not as tidy. “Thank you.”
He looked around. “Shall I set this down somewhere?”
I shoved aside some material on my sewing table. “Here’s fine.”
He brought my breakfast over and set it down, then fingered the hem of the princess dress. “A costume for work?”
I felt my mouth crook upward. “It would be a very small production.” I refrained from chortling at my witticism, especially as he was still looking at me with a question in his eyes. “It’s a Christmas present for my niece.” I picked up another costume folded up on a table and shook it out. “Superhero duds for my nephew.” I put it back and touched a pile of silky quilted material. “Bathrobe for Mom.” I pointed to a dark green felt hat on a Styrofoam head. “Hat for Dad.”
“You even make hats?” He sounded impressed.
I shrugged, trying to hide my pleasure, and watched as he wandered slowly around my workroom. He stopped at a half-finished red silk dress on a hanger. “This is gorgeous. It looks like a dress Jean Harlow would have worn. Who’s it for?”
“Uhh…”
He raised his brows.
“Well…”
“Is it for you?”
I wrinkled my face, embarrassed. “Yes.” I came over and stood protectively next to it, softly touching the side seam with its pins, as if I could make the dress feel better about be
ing in pieces and ignored. “I was going to wear it to a Christmas party, but I don’t really feel like going.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged, but when he kept waiting for an answer I spilled it out. “My ex-boyfriend is going to be there—which I knew—but I just heard that he’s bringing a date.”
Ian’s face cleared. “Ah. So you don’t want him to see you there alone and think you haven’t been able to move on.”
“I’m more pathetic than that,” I confessed, his easy understanding encouraging me to spill more. “I don’t want him to think that he was the better catch on the dating market than me. He’s been snapped up, while I’m still standing around like day-old fish.” I grimaced as I realized what I’d just said to this man I found so physically attractive. Way to sell yourself, Tessa, I silently scolded. Day-old fish. Charming.
“So, when you started making the dress and didn’t know about the girlfriend, you were thinking, ‘Ha-ha! Let—’ What’s his name?”
“Alan.”
” ‘Let Alan see me in this, and he’ll be sorry he ever let me go.’”
“Something like that,” I mumbled.
“Did he break up with you, or you with him?”
“He broke up with me. He said he didn’t feel anything for me anymore.” I shrugged. “I thought at the time that he was more interested in his career than in having a relationship. Guess I was wrong; he just didn’t want that relationship to be with me.”
“So now you are frightened by the girlfriend. She must be prettier than you—more charming, more entertaining. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? What if everyone adores her and privately thinks that Alan made the right choice when he dumped you and got her?”
“Yes!” I snapped, horrified at his piercingly accurate perception. “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking, and it sucks! It makes me feel about as appealing as canned dog food!” I went back over to my plate of food and picked up the fork, moving the scrambled eggs around the plate. They were flecked with green: herbs, most likely. Why hadn’t I ever thought to put herbs in my eggs?
