by Lizzie Shane
“Of course. I’m sorry too. I’m just cranky.” She plucked at the ratty carpet beside her hip. “The workmen are because there was a little electrical fire at my place.”
“Oh my God. Sweetheart, why didn’t you call me? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she murmured. Though she might start hating sweetheart as much as baby. “It was scary, but a neighbor helped me and now we’re getting things put back together.”
“You know, maybe this is a good thing.”
“I’m sorry?” She couldn’t have heard that right.
“It could be good exposure for you.”
“A house fire is good exposure?”
“If the networks pick up the story. Or even if they don’t, it’s the perfect excuse to get out of there. You could move to LA. We won’t be able to be seen in public together, but you can get started on your new life. Make contacts with music people in the area. This could be a great opportunity, bab—ah, sweetheart.”
“I don’t want to move.”
His voice grew more persuasive, slathering on the charm. “It would only be a couple months early. And we might even be able to work out a system for a secret rendezvous or two.”
She’d always let him guide the conversation when they were talking about their future, but now that she was home, it felt different. “I don’t think I want to move, Daniel. I love it here. This is my home.”
“Hey, it’s my home too. Home is where the heart is, right? And my heart is there.”
It was sweet. Romantic. The kind of line that would have worked a few weeks ago. Hell, maybe even a few days ago. But now it just felt like a cheap ploy to get what he wanted without having to take her wishes into account. Like he could throw but I love you so much into any argument he wanted to win.
“I just don’t know if I want to move to LA.”
“Hey, it’s okay. We have lots of time before we start our new life together.”
“No, I meant…” Ever. But he was talking again.
“Don’t worry, baby. I mean sweetheart. Sorry. It’s going to work out. All you need is love, right?”
And what if I’m not sure I ever loved you in the first place? “Daniel…”
But he’d always seemed to have a sixth sense whenever she was about to say something he wasn’t going to like. Something she hadn’t really thought about until she saw that first show and saw him dodge other girls and their drama. He spoke quickly now, before he could hear her doubts—which would make them real.
“I’ll let you get back to supervising your workers. Gotta keep a close eye on ‘em. Make sure they do it right. Love you. So much, ba—sweetheart.”
She couldn’t say it back. The words had never rung with truth, but now they felt like an outright lie. She ought to say something, but with Will and the guys in her apartment this didn’t seem like the time to get into it with him. So she let him evade.
“Goodbye, Daniel.”
Will knew the moment Caitlyn reentered the apartment, and it had nothing to do with the soft click of the newly hung door. The air seemed crisper, charged with a certain kind of tension when she was in the room. Light brighter. Sounds louder. All of it waking him up.
And earning more than a few speculative glances from Dale—who would undoubtedly be reporting back to Julia, who would spread the word to his entire family. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. They were hardly subtle when they decided to match-make, but he wouldn’t mind being set up with Caitlyn. He hadn’t been interested in a woman in a long time, hadn’t been looking, but something about Caitlyn opened his eyes.
Though he kept getting mixed messages from her on whether or not she returned his interest.
For the last two days it had been a constant back and forth. He’d catch her watching him, undeniable heat in her eyes, but then she’d blush and avoid his gaze. They’d be working side by side, easy and comfortable, laughing and flirting—and then she would seem to realize what she was doing all of a sudden and she’d stammer awkwardly, retreating again.
Hot and cold. Playful deep blue eyes and bashful rosy cheeks. Back and forth.
But maybe the mystery of her was why he couldn’t seem to look away.
He looked away from his work as soon as the task allowed, in time to see her tucking a cell phone into the pocket of her jeans. She seemed different. Subdued.
“Everything okay?” he asked softly when she was closer.
She nodded absently. Then she seemed to shake herself. “Wow, you guys are making amazing progress.”
Dale looked up from his side of the drywall patch they were hanging. “My guys are the best,” he bragged with a grin. “We should be out of your hair by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Just finish work now.”
Dale led her away to talk about the final details of the project and Will watched her go, feeling that tug of awareness go with her.
“If you ram that hammer into your thumb, I’m just going to laugh,” Ben, one of Dale’s regular guys, drawled beside him. “No sympathy.”
“Shut up,” Will grumbled, turning back to the job at hand. But he was grinning as he said it. Yeah, he was smitten—but it was so nice to feel something different after six months of anger, he couldn’t be embarrassed by it. What was the harm in a little crush?
Chapter Thirteen
The night skiing lights on the mountain were flickering on in the twilight dimness as Caitlyn watched Will slowly packing up his tools. Dale and Ben had already gathered up their things and headed out for the night, slapping Will on the back as they went and nodding with courteous ma’ams for her. Will didn’t have any more stuff than the others, but he took his time with each and every tool, lingering.
She didn’t mind. She’d love nothing more than to find some excuse for him to stay.
She had a good idea what she would do when he left. Her stupid guilt over the conversation with Daniel would return and she’d call him back. If he took her call, in her current mood, she’d probably end up agreeing to move to Los Angeles after all—or breaking things off entirely.
Will would be the perfect distraction, but he’d already helped her remove all the dust covers from the furniture and she didn’t have any more tasks for him.
He probably had plans anyway. A girlfriend waiting for him. A sexy dinner date waiting.
He stood finally, picking up his tool bag. “Well, I guess I should—”
“Do you want some pizza?” she almost shouted, then blushed at the volume. “It’s just, I have all that leftover pizza from lunch and I certainly can’t eat all that by myself.” She forced a laugh. “I should probably be supervised if I’m gonna use the oven, too.”
He frowned. “You’ve gotta stop making cracks like that. The fire wasn’t your fault.”
“No, I know. It was a joke. Ha.” Her face flamed. She’d blushed more in the last three days than she had in the entire eight weeks she’d been on Marrying Mister Perfect. She wasn’t sure what that meant.
“Was it? You know what I think? I think you want to be perfect all the time and you make jokes at your own expense when you think you’ve messed up—which you didn’t—and you would take on the guilt of the world if it let you, making everything that happens in your life your fault, whether you have any say over it or not. Am I wrong?”
Her jaw dropped. A smart-ass remark rose to her tongue. Who knew Sigmund Freud moonlighted as a ski instructing fire fighter? But she swallowed it. Because he wasn’t wrong. And he’d somehow figured out in three days what Daniel hadn’t been able to learn in two months. And as terrifying as it was to be known like that… it was also unspeakably hot.
“So… no pizza?”
He laughed. “I’d love some pizza. If you still want me to stay.”
And never leave. Caitlyn blinked, startled by the clarity of that little voice in her head. She squashed it. She was engaged. They were just friends sharing some pizza after a hard day’s work. That was all this was. “I could use the company.”
&n
bsp; He grinned cockily. “I’ve been told I’m excellent company.” He dropped his tools next to the door before joining her in the kitchen. “Napkins?”
She pointed him to the right cabinet and turned the dial to pre-heat the oven—and suddenly everything was easy and natural. No stiff, formal manners needed. Not even plates. Just laughing as they shifted the freshly reheated pizza from hand to hand to keep from burning their fingers through the napkins.
Cold beer would have been perfect—especially since Caitlyn had never had a beer in her life—but they made do with the liter of flat soda left over from lunch. Turns out she didn’t need alcohol to feel that giddy, fizzy feeling around Will.
And then Will went looking for red pepper flakes and found the vodka.
He held up the half-full bottle, eyebrows arching. “Is this the infamous marshmallow vodka I keep hearing about?”
“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” She sat at the café table, the nearly empty pizza box in front of her, bonelessly relaxed.
He took off the cap, sniffing gingerly. “You just drink it straight?”
“It’s good on the rocks, but you can mix it with soda or cranberry juice too.”
He returned to his chair and splashed some into his coke. “You only live once, right?” He sipped carefully and pulled a face.
Caitlyn smothered a giggle.
“It’s like drinking sugar.”
“Pretty much.”
“I am far too manly to drink anything so sugary.” He tipped the bottle, pouring another liberal draught into his cup. Caitlyn’s giggle escaped. He tilted the bottle questioningly over her cup.
“No, thank you. I’m still in recovery.”
He grinned, setting down the bottle in the narrow space not taken by the pizza box. “Tuesday night was something else.”
Not to mention the previous two months.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about the free-flowing bar that was the Marrying Mister Perfect experience. They wanted their Suitorettes loose and entertaining—which meant alcohol was never hard to come by. Caitlyn hadn’t been much of a drinker before she went on the show, but a cocktail to take the edge off before filming had become part of her daily ritual. And now it was a habit she wanted to get out of.
In a way, it was tempting to tell Will all the things she wouldn’t normally admit about the show. She trusted him—probably far more than she should—but she also loved that he knew nothing about the show. He didn’t see a reality TV girl when he looked at her. He just saw Caitlyn. It was unbelievably freeing talking to someone who had no idea where she’d been for the last two months. He was a different world. A little pocket of calm that felt a thousand times more real that her recent reality.
What would he think of Daniel?
“Do you believe in love at first sight?”
She slapped a hand over her mouth. She couldn’t believe she’d asked that. And she wasn’t even drinking.
Will laughed, ignoring her shock, eyes crinkling. “Absolutely. The first time I saw you, you were lying on the floor in a puddle of tulle and marshmallow vodka. How could I resist?”
Her face flamed. Why couldn’t she seem to keep her verbal filters on when she talked to him? She was usually so reserved. She didn’t over-share with strangers—but he didn’t feel like a stranger. Maybe all the rules evaporated when someone saved your life. “I didn’t mean me. I just meant in theory. The idea. I mean obviously you and I didn’t…” Though her first sight of him had definitely been memorable. The dark god… “We don’t… it’s not like—”
“Caitlyn,” he interrupted gently when she would have babbled herself deeper into the hole she couldn’t seem to stop digging. “I was teasing you.”
She wrinkled her nose, disgruntled. “How do you even know what tulle is?”
He lifted his marshmallow vodka filled cup in a mocking toast. “Three older sisters.”
“Oh wow. I can’t imagine that. I’m an only child.”
“I can picture that. With envy.” He sipped his drink. “So what about you? Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“No.” She hadn’t thought about her answer. It just jumped out her mouth, hard and firm. “We trick ourselves into believing in this magical, mystical connection. Our brains play these games, trying to mash what we want and what we see together even if they don’t quite fit. You’ve got the square peg and the round hole, but sometimes we want so badly for them to fit that we don’t notice how wrong they are.”
“Let me guess. Bad break up? That was him on the phone earlier, wasn’t it? Seemed great at first and then when the shine wore off… I’ve been there.”
There was such understanding in his eyes, which for once weren’t melty and soft, but brittle and defensive. He did get it. It was like he understood her life better than she did—until she was with him and it all came spilling out. But she couldn’t tell him the truth. Not about Daniel and her doubts. Not about the show.
God, he was too intuitive by half. She didn’t know if it was growing up surrounded by girls or just something about him, but he got her in a way that was scary. And appealing.
Too appealing for a woman who was still promised to someone else. Even if she was having doubts. She wasn’t free yet.
“I should let you go.” But the whisper was weak, her voice betraying her, the lilt of it begging him to stay.
He nodded. And his gaze fell to her lips.
Chapter Fourteen
Suddenly the hot and cold vibes he’d been getting from her all week made sense. Bad break-up. He’d been there. Hell, if he was honest with himself, he was still there. And he’d had six months to get used to his new baggage. He had a feeling Caitlyn’s relationship drama was much more recent.
He hadn’t noticed any men coming and going from her apartment since he moved in, but she’d been gone for the last two months. With the guy from the phone call? He recalled the tightness on her face when she read the caller ID, her distraction when she came back after talking to him. Whoever he was.
An old lover? Maybe one who was unavailable. Had she discovered he was married? Maybe he’d run off with the maid of honor.
Not that it mattered. His imagination could take him on all the joyrides it wanted. It didn’t change the fact that the woman in front of him was working her way through heartache and didn’t need him complicating her life. No matter how tempting her lips were.
He forced his gaze away from her mouth, scrambling for a light, safe topic of conversation. He jerked his chin toward the wall. “A few coats of paint and you won’t even know anything happened.”
“I can’t believe how quickly you put everything back to rights. I’ll never be able to repay you.”
“It was good timing. Dale was glad to have the work—you’re helping him pay off his Santa Claus bills.”
“And I’m sure he’s undercharging me, but it’s you I really owe. You have to let me buy you dinner.”
He arched a brow at the pizza that had been lunch for the whole crew and dinner for the two of them.
“A real dinner,” she insisted.
“Caitlyn Gregg, are you asking me out on a date?”
A blush instantly painted her cheeks. “No, of course not. It’s a thank you meal. Between friends. Just friends.”
She was so cute when she was flustered he almost wanted to let her keep babbling, but he took pity on her. “A friendly dinner sounds nice,” he said, smooth and calm, holding her gaze.
If anything, her blush deepened. “Good.” Her voice was surprisingly husky. She looked away, breaking the connection. “This weekend?”
He grimaced. “I can’t this weekend.”
“No, of course you have plans,” she instantly began chattering and he cut her off before she could really get going.
“I traded shifts with another of the ski instructors. I’m gonna be doubled up all weekend covering his schedule and doing ski patrol for night skiing.”
And he had no intenti
on of telling Caitlyn he’d switched up his schedule, getting Ray to cover his Friday classes so he could be here with her, giving his brother-in-law an extra pair of hands so all the work would get done before Caitlyn’s students were scheduled to come back. It was a small thing to him, but would make a big difference to her, so the decision had been easy, but he had a feeling she’d get all tangled up in misplaced guilt if she knew. She was already trying to guilt feed him.
“Tuesday,” she blurted. “How about Tuesday?”
He grimaced. “I have a family thing. Every week my sisters ritualistically dissect my life and tell me what I need to be happy. Usually it’s the love of a good woman, so if I told them it was a date they’d probably let me play hookie—”
“Wednesday.”
Okay then. Apparently the word date was off limits even for jokes. “Wednesday sounds great. I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“I…” She hesitated. “Me too.”
Caitlyn sat staring at the door long after Will had gone back downstairs, citing an early morning as he made his escape. She had a date. Though it wasn’t a date because of course it couldn’t be a date.
But it felt like a date.
Butterflies in her stomach. Anticipation. Counting the days, the hours.
She might as well admit it. She had a freaking enormous crush on her neighbor. Which was fine. He was decidedly crushworthy. As long as she didn’t do anything about it.
Like go on a date with him.
Oh, Chopin’s Pinky Finger, she was so screwed.
She went to the Steinway, lifting the dust cover off the keys, though she left it draped over the body of the grand. She slid back the key cover and let her fingers whisper over the keys, letting her mood seek out the perfect piece. Mozart erupted into the air—bright and sparkling, dizzy and effervescent, bursting with possibilities and hopes. Her fingers danced and as always happened when she played, she let herself feel it—whatever it was she couldn’t let herself feel any other hour of the day, it came out at the keys.
