She took the pill and leaned onto the cushions, tucking Daniel’s pillow beneath her head. Daniel lifted her legs carefully and covered her with his quilt. He sat beside her while James and Gary looked on apprehensively. “You have to tell us if it’s too much,” he murmured.
“I liked sitting with you.” A wisp of a smile tugged the corner of her mouth. “It gave me a butterfly in my stomach.”
He brushed a silky strand of hair off her forehead. “Me, too.”
Her eyes slid closed. Her breath deepened, and soon she dozed off.
While James and Gary helped Daniel clear the table, working quietly so as not to disturb Brenna, Gary had the idea of going to her house to get some of her clothes. He wanted to normalize her life as much as he could, get her psychologically out of sick mode.
“The car keys are on the hook by the door,” Daniel said.
“We get to drive the Mercedes Benz?” Gary marveled. “I’m amazed you let it out of the driveway. It’s a classic. Fabulous.”
“Moreover,” James told Gary. “You’ll finally get to see Brenna’s wall. That’s when you truly behold the master. There’s photos there that date back to childhood. You can see the talent developing.” He turned to Daniel. “They’re her personal pictures. Few people see them. This is a first chance even for Gary—Brenna always visits us in New York.”
Daniel felt a little jealous of Gary’s opportunity. He wanted to see what her home space was like. He’d always thought that ‘home’ said a lot about a person. More than that, however, he wanted to stay near her. “I’ll clean up while you’re gone. Maybe you could stop at the grocery store on the way back, pick up a few things for tonight?”
The house quieted after their departure. Daniel cleaned the kitchen and mixed up some pizza dough for dinner, setting it in a covered bowl to rise. Thinking it counted as an interactive project, such as his mom had suggested for Brenna, his idea was to set out toppings and let everyone create their own personal meal.
After prepping the mushrooms and peppers and onions he had on hand, he stood in the middle of his kitchen, surveying it, and the spaces beyond it.
Home. Several rooms and one garden more than a hotel room. How could this serenity, these commonplace rituals of daily living, possibly appeal to a woman accustomed to the intensity of life in Kavsak? This would seem like a way-station to her, not a destination.
He took a deep breath, reset his shoulders. One step at a time, he told himself. Advance, see what happened next. For now, he should go upstairs and get his laptop. He could sit with Brenna, do some statistical searches on the war in Kavsak, prep for the documentary. He had to get moving on it. The clock was ticking on the project, more insistently every day.
Sam would be retiring by the end of August. Soon, he would transfer his projects to him, training him for the job, which would add to his work load.
He went still.
Why hadn’t Sam started that process?
Thinking about it, he realized that while Sam said he wanted him in the position, he hadn’t actually offered the promotion. Eyes scanning the kitchen, not seeing it, he thought back on his recent interactions with his boss. All Sam had done was push him to bring in an Emmy-winner with Brenna’s documentary.
If Sam wanted him, but the promotion hadn’t been offered, it meant one thing. For some reason, the board wasn’t behind Daniel. A quiver of apprehension shot through him. You need to be minding this Kavsak documentary. I’m telling you as a friend to pay attention.
Sam had been warning him.
The promotion wasn’t in the bag.
He felt a punch of shame. If he didn’t get this, it would be the first time in his career he didn’t advance when there was an opportunity.
He took his glasses off and ran his hand over his face. Home and work were both set to blow up in his face.
Chapter 22
The first thing Brenna saw when she opened her eyes after her nap was her wrist, a few inches from her face. Daniel Loves Me. It made her heart melt. And it scared her. He was so open, so easy to hurt.
She heard a rustle. He was seated in the armchair across the coffee table from her. He closed his laptop and crossed the room with his long-legged athletic grace to sit on the edge of the coffee table, facing her.
“Hey, beautiful.”
She could tell by his face—by the sincerity of his smile—that he meant it. He was so blind to her. She was in shambles.
“Hey,” she said, awkwardly sitting up. She pulled her knees around, wincing as she set her feet on the floor between his.
They hadn’t had time alone together and needed to talk. Everything she’d told him at his charming hospital-grounds picnic was still true. Now, worse, she’d tasted his sweetness, his home, and she felt greedy. Imagine, telling him her ugly truth: I want to stay with you, to drink up your kindness, to enjoy the warmth of your home until you discover who I really am and kick me out.
She wanted as much of Daniel as she could get. A loving respite, a sweet fantasy before she fell the rest of the way. And fall she would. There was no such thing as a secret, merely facts waiting to be revealed. Sooner or later—this afternoon, a year from now—he would realize that the pieces she had given him didn’t fit. The truth would eventually be exposed.
Come that day, he would hate her. Not just for her actions, but for her subsequent deception.
She lifted her wrist. “About this—”
His head jerked fractionally to one side, like a man standing blindfolded before a firing squad, hearing the bullets being chambered. His reaction was fleeting, but she saw life in thousandths of a second.
His fingertips shot to her lips.
“Jinx,” he warned.
She closed her mouth. After her request at breakfast, he would feel set up.
When he was sure she would say nothing further, he removed his hand. “It’s a gift, Brenna. Something you need, that I can give. No obligation. Nothing expected in return.”
She caught a breath, to protest.
“Shh,” he murmured. “Accept it. For however long you want it.”
She reached for his chest, for that spot over his heart, then stopped herself.
He caught her hand, drew it forward, pressed it against his chest, holding it beneath his own. “And stop pulling away. I’m not some delicate statue that’s going to be damaged by a few handprints.”
“But—”
“Hush,” he said. “Just…keep moving forward. Don’t retreat.”
She closed her eyes, shaking her head. He was in so much trouble.
He tilted his face. “You know,” he said, smiling, “this will go better once you decide you can trust me.”
He was quoting her own words back to her, from the day in Kavsak when they agreed to work together in partnership. “It’s me I don’t trust,” she mumbled. “It’s like I’m drunk and you’ve handed me the car keys.”
He edged forward, brought his forehead against hers. “So let me drive for a while.”
She eased her hand upward, around his neck, circled his shoulders and rested her head against his shoulder with a resigned sigh.
“There,” he said, and began stroking her back in that steady, comforting way he had, until she relaxed completely and stopped resisting his embrace. He nuzzled the side of her face with his cheek, and kissed her. Tender kisses, one after the other, on her temple, her neck, her shoulder.
Which she didn’t resist, either.
Outdoors, by the side of the house, she heard his car roll into the driveway.
“That’ll be James and Gary.” He sat up, eased her back.
“Daniel?”
“Yeah, hon.”
“Are you…all right…with them?”
“They love each other. They love you.”
“They’re on your list of things that count?”
“That’s right, sweetheart. My one-item list.”
His response warmed her. He welcomed her family. “You’re a good man, Danie
l Ellsworth.”
He caught her fingers and kissed them. “I’m a humbled man. My arrogance about what I thought I could achieve in this world reduced to one hope.”
“Lucky you do it well.”
“We’ll see.” He squeezed her fingers and released them. He went to open the French doors for the grocery- and clothes-laden men coming up his deck.
She watched him cross the room, worried for him. Her beloved, reckless Daniel had such faith in her.
She loved him. She wanted to show it, to feel it, if only for a while. She wanted to get handprints all over him.
While Daniel and James put away the groceries, Gary took Brenna to the bathroom and helped her change into a form-fitting forest green, soft cotton tee-shirt and a dove-gray above-the-knee skirt with a small purple flower pattern, that wouldn’t chafe her wounded thigh.
By the time he got her back to the family room, Daniel had fixed a colorful plate of paté, rich cheeses, crackers, and crunchy vegetables and sour cream dip for her. He set it on the coffee table within easy reach and sat beside her on the couch.
“It looks beautiful,” she said. “James was right. You are spoiling me.”
“Purely medicinal,” he said. “I’m fattening you up.” He picked up a cracker. “Cheese? Or paté?”
She pressed her lips together. “Mm. Can’t decide.”
“One of each, then.” He prepared little crackers for her, one with each type of cheese, setting them around the rim of the plate, then spread paté on the last one and held it out to her.
She took it, and bit in. The cracker broke. A large crumb landed on the front of her blouse.
He reached out, thought better of it. It was resting on her breasts. Breasts no longer constrained by a sport bra, but plumped up in civilian undergarments.
She chuckled. “Go on,” she said. “I’m not a statue, either.”
His ears burned. “I’m well aware of that, my dear.” He tucked his hands between his knees.
“Tell-tale ears,” she teased, lifting her hand, creating an intimate space between them as she ran a soft fingertip over the burning rim.
“Drat,” he whispered. “The crumb fell off when you lifted your arm.”
She saw it in the folds of her skirt, plucked it up, and popped it into her mouth, smiling mischievously. “He who hesitates, misses his chance.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled back. “But he who touches your breasts will have more than tell-tale ears, and we have company.”
We, he realized he had said. As if they were a couple, and they lived here together, and James and Gary were visiting.
Gary wandered into the family room from the kitchen, where James was slicing Italian sausage. He held up a bottle of red wine in one hand, white in the other. “Preference?”
Brenna, Daniel thought. I prefer Brenna.
Gary set the bottles down on the coffee table, distracted by Daniel’s wall of CDs. “We need music,” he said, going closer to read the cases. “This has to be the most eclectic collection I’ve ever seen.”
Daniel loved music, and his taste was wide-ranging. He had everything. Rock, reggae, blues, swing, opera, classical. Foo Fighters, Benny Goodman, Sarah Brightman.
“Can I dee-jay?” Gary asked.
“Sure,” Daniel said. “While you line up the music, I’ll go open the wine—red okay for you?”
“Mm-hmm,” Gary replied, already engrossed in the musical panoply.
Knowing that alcohol didn’t mix with Brenna’s medications, Daniel offered her a juice spritzer. “I’ll put it in a wine glass, so it feels dressy.”
“That would be nice.”
Before long, he was back. He set Brenna’s cranberry juice spritzer by her side, and handed Gary a glass of Chianti.
Gary picked up the remote control with his free hand and aimed it at Daniel’s state-of-the-art sound system.
“James and I have a bit more prep to take care of,” Daniel told Brenna. “Do you need anything else?”
“I’m fine,” she said, dipping a slice of English cucumber in the sour cream and bringing it to her mouth, her free hand carefully cupped beneath it.
No spills this time. But she’d declared herself open to a few handprints herself, and gravity was always on. He returned to the kitchen, smiling, as the first strains of Abba’s Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) filled the family room.
In the kitchen, knives chopping to the upbeat tempo of Gary’s selections, Daniel and James made short work of the food preparation. They set the pizza toppings on the dining room table in small bowls and went to join Gary and Brenna.
Daniel sat beside Brenna on the couch. Her bare toes, peeking out beneath the hem of her skirt, were keeping time with the happy music. Judging by the way she had kept asking Gary the names of the songs he was playing, it had been a long time since she’d just sat and listened.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Gary warned James as he settled in the armchair with his wine. “Right after this Bette Midler tune, I’m playing the Cha-Cha Slide.”
James groaned good-naturedly. His furrowed brows—a permanent fixture since Daniel met him—were gone. Between the wine, a good night’s sleep, and Gary’s easy charm, he was relaxing.
“It’s the only song he’ll dance with me,” Gary explained to the others.
“Because it comes with instructions. Normally, Reases don’t dance.”
“Maybe not the men,” Daniel said. “But Brenna waltzes beautifully.”
James shot a surprised look across the room. “Really.”
Brenna covered her mouth with the backs of her fingers.
“And when, during your three days of walking through hell together,” James continued, “did you discover this charming fact?”
She turned her face to Daniel and gave her head a small dip, as if to say: Explain that, Mister.
The waltz having been part of her seduction, Daniel realized his revelation had been a mistake. “Well…er…”
“Christ Almighty!” James sat forward and pointed gleefully at his sister. “Gary! The bear is blushing! Mark the calendar.”
Gary, busy setting up the next disc, turned and tipped his head in her direction. “Damned if she isn’t.”
Brenna covered her face with her hand and shook her head.
Daniel regarded her, felt the tumble of pleasure in his stomach. “Nah,” he said, circling her with his arm and snugging her against his chest. “It’s just the light.” He gave her a squeeze, murmuring: “Sorry, sweetheart. I only meant—”
“Hush.” She pressed her fingers against his lips. “Just…don’t say anything more.”
“Brenna,” James leaned back, snickering, and clasped his hands behind his head. “Never. Ever. Let this man speak to the press on your behalf.”
She groaned. But to Daniel’s delight, she leaned into him, took his hand, and laced her fingers through his.
Bette Midler came on, belting out In These Shoes. Gary knew all the words, and acted out the characters in the story to Brenna’s delight. He even knew enough Spanish to sing along with the chorus. Gary, working with the dying, had learned the importance of enjoying every moment that life did give.
The Cha Cha Slide came on. Gary paused the music, held his hand out for his partner. “On your feet, handsome.”
James set down his wine and took a place beside his mate, facing Brenna.
“Daniel?” Gary asked.
“No thanks. My arms are happily full.”
“Actually,” Brenna said, shifting uncomfortably. “I need to prop this leg on a pillow for a while. You go ahead.”
While she resettled herself lengthwise on the couch, Daniel joined the men for the line dance.
“There’s no pill for this,” James advised Daniel. “You just have to get through it.”
Gary pressed ‘Play’ on the remote.
The men followed Mr. C, the singer, stomping, clapping, criss-crossing, doing the cha-cha ‘real smooth’. The more Brenna smiled, the h
arder they danced, three men set on helping her feel the pleasure of small things again.
When the song ended, James gratefully returned to the armchair and his glass of wine.
Gary beamed at Daniel. “You can actually dance,” he noted. “And not badly, for a straight man.”
“Not badly?” he retorted. “Cue up the Boot Scootin’ Boogie, pardner, and we’ll just see.”
“Brooks and Dunn version?”
“Ayup.”
“You’re on.” Gary found the disc with the song and inserted it in the player. Thumb poised over the remote, he said: “Brenna judges.”
“Wait. Judging? I’m rusty.” Two years had passed since he’d last danced.
“You crowed, pardner, not me.”
“Okay.” Daniel straightened his back, squared his shoulders. “You got it cued up?”
“Cued.”
“How many counts? Thirty-six?”
“Forty-eight,” Gary grinned.
“Show off.”
Gary hit ‘Play’.
“Wait.”
Gary hit ‘Stop’. “Scared already?”
“Winner gets a kiss from the judge.”
“Ew. Girl kisses?”
“Judge?”
“Girl kisses it is. On the lips. And Gary—I’ve seen you dance before. If you throw the contest to avoid the prize, I’m awarding double. Which you must submit to.”
“Undue pressure,” Gary said, feigning a hard swallow. “Okay.”
“Wait,” Daniel said. “If I throw the contest, do I get double kisses, too?”
“You get none.”
“Shoot.”
“If the challenger has finished delaying…”
Daniel hooked his thumbs on either side of his belt buckle and straightened. “Are you going to press ‘Play’, or not?”
Gary hit the button. Drums, guitar, and piano blasted out. Daniel began with a scuff-right, touched out, rolled his knee in, then out for the first eight-count, and left Gary to keep up. The first set of counts, he concentrated, flubbing a quarter turn by doing a half-turn, but corrected and compensated by flicking and slapping his foot behind him on the next set. Soon, the old moves came back to him, and he relaxed, shamelessly showing off his easy athletic style for Brenna.
Day Three Page 39
