He knew it was all true and he applauded the rational part of his brain for trotting out so many convincing arguments. Still, he felt like a crummy asshole by the time Charlie was finished. He collected Eva from outside the girls’ change room where she was giggling with her friends and went home via the supermarket.
By evening, the asshole feeling had subsided somewhat and he was more inclined to give himself a break. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be stomping all over any thoughts that strayed into forbidden territory where Angie was concerned. He simply wasn’t prepared to go there. End of story.
He did feel honor bound to check in with her after their boozy evening. When she hadn’t responded to his earlier message by dinnertime he called her again. The phone rang and rang and he was beginning to think he’d be talking to her voice mail again when she picked up.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself. I wanted to make sure you didn’t spend the whole day hugging the toilet bowl courtesy of my bad idea.”
“I’m fine. Nothing a few painkillers didn’t fix, anyway.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.”
“How’s your day been?”
Michael frowned. Was it just him, or was there a certain…coolness to Angie’s tone? A polite, arm’s-length distance?
“Pretty low-key. Swimming with the kids then some grocery shopping. With a bit of luck, they’ll both crash early and I can sneak some work in.”
“Sounds good. Listen, I need to get going. I’m due somewhere. But I’ll see you Monday, okay?”
“Sure. Have a good night.”
He disconnected, an uneasy feeling in his gut. He hoped like hell he’d been imagining the coolness, that it was merely a figment of his guilty imagination. Because if he’d put her off-side with something he’d said last night, if he’d somehow jeopardized their friendship by confessing too much…he would kick himself from here until next Tuesday.
She’s going out. Since when did you turn into such an old nana that you had to overanalyze every little thing?
He chose to believe the voice in his head but the next few days didn’t do much to allay his fears. On Monday night, Angie was packing to leave the second he arrived home from work, barely stopping to exchange greetings. He’d left her bra in her studio for her, neatly folded in the shopping bag, but she didn’t so much as glance sideways at him to acknowledge its return as she headed for the door. Tuesday night was the same. Wednesday night was what had become “her” night to cook and she honored the tradition by making a huge shepherd’s pie—enough to feed him and the kids and the neighbors for the next week. He barely had a chance to comment on how good it smelled when she started gathering her things.
“You’re not staying?” he asked, surprised. He’d just walked in the door from work.
“I can’t. I’ve got a thing.” She slipped the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and avoided looking him in the eye.
She was a terrible liar. He figured it was a credit to her, really, but at that moment he wished she was a more accomplished bullshit artist because the unease that had been sitting in his belly since Saturday night was rapidly solidifying into out-and-out worry.
Baffled and tense, he stood with his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets while she kissed Charlie and Eva goodbye.
“I’ll see you crazy cats tomorrow, okay?” she said, straightening and tossing her hair over her shoulder. She risked a glance his way before turning toward the door. “Remember, don’t take the pie out of the oven till the potato’s crunchy on top.”
He followed her to the door, which earned him a startled look.
“Well. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, too,” she said, flashing a quick smile as she exited to the porch.
Michael caught the screen door before it could swing closed between them. “Are we okay?”
It was a hard question to ask, but he didn’t want to lose her friendship because he’d let something fester between them.
“Of course.” Her voice was higher than usual. Unconvincing.
“Listen, if I said something the other night… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise that from now on this will be a confession-free zone. No exceptions.”
Her forehead puckered. “No. You don’t need to apologize. You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”
He wanted to believe her, but he wasn’t stupid. Something was going on.
“So why do you keep bolting the second I get home?”
“I’ve got some stuff going on, that’s all. I’m trying to get on top of it….”
He waited for her to elaborate, then realized she wasn’t going to. Whatever was going on in her life, she didn’t want to share it with him.
“Okay. Well, you know our door is always open. If you need to talk or whatever.”
“I know. You’ve always been great. You and the kids.” She smiled, the first real smile he’d had from her all week.
He stepped into the house. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“Michael—” He waited for her to keep talking but she pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Just ignore me, okay? I’m a moody artist type. This is nothing to do with you. It’s all me and my craziness. Okay? You’re great.”
She reached out and caught his wrist, her fingers sliding against his skin until she was gripping his hand with her long, strong fingers. He returned the pressure, letting her know she was important to him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” There was warmth and absolute sincerity in her deep blue eyes.
“Okay.”
She slipped her hand free and strode toward her car.
He hoped she’d been speaking the truth. He hoped he hadn’t stuffed things up between them. He didn’t want his life without Angie in it. Even the thought of it made his belly tight. He needed very badly for them to be okay.
* * *
ANGIE HAD TO BLINK AWAY tears as she drove home. She’d been trying to do the right thing, and instead she’d made Michael uncomfortable and guilty.
Way to go, Bartlett. Well done.
The way he’d stood there, telling her he wouldn’t bother her with any unwanted confessions again… It had about killed her. She didn’t want him thinking that she disapproved of him or judged him in some way. He had every right to the way he felt—it was her own emotions she didn’t approve of.
What a mess—and she didn’t know how to fix it, apart from sucking up her own discomfort in order to alleviate Michael’s. No more dashing out the door. No more avoiding the fun, witty chats they often enjoyed at the end of the day. No more keeping her distance until she had a grip on her hormones or misplaced grief or misplaced sympathy or whatever it was that was fueling her unwanted attraction to him.
A part of her was stupid enough to feel happy that her self-imposed isolation was about to end. She liked spending time with Michael and the kids. She liked feeling part of the bustle and warmth of their home. It had been a wrench to make herself leave the moment he came home. Which went a long way to showing exactly how screwed up this whole situation was, really.
All thanks to you, stupid head.
She made a point of arriving fifteen minutes early the next morning, to make sure that she and Michael would have time to chat and to reassure him that she’d been as good as her word and that they really were okay.
She found him wiping Vegemite off Charlie’s face, looking elegant and almost shockingly handsome in a single-breasted charcoal suit and a crisp white shirt. His hair was damp, starting to curl, and she could see the marks from where he’d run a comb through it to tame it into business mode.
“Who are you trying to impress today?” she asked lightly.
“That obvious, is it? I’ve got a client meeting in Sydney. I need to be at the airport by ten.”
; They both glanced toward the clock. It was eight-thirty already, and the traffic to the airport could be hellish in the mornings.
“Come on, Eva, get your skates on. We need to leave on time today,” Michael called.
“I can drop her at school if you like.”
“Thanks, but I’ve booked extra day care for Charlie and I need to get him off, too.”
“I can do that. That way you can head straight for the airport now.”
Michael paused for a moment, then shook his head. “It won’t work. He needs his car seat and by the time we’ve taken it out and put it in yours I might as well deliver them myself.”
“Easily fixed—we swap cars for the day. You get my heap of crap, and I get your lovely Audi.”
She offered her keys along with a cheeky smile.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to ruin your day.”
“It’s fine. I’m ahead on everything for once. Half an hour to drop off the kids is neither here nor there.”
The tight expression left Michael’s face. “Thanks, Angie.”
She waved off his gratitude. Michael grabbed his briefcase as Eva entered, socks in one hand, shoes in the other.
“Almost ready,” she said. “Have you made my lunch yet?”
“Damn,” Michael said.
Angie shooed him toward the door. “Go. I’ve got it covered.”
He shot her a grateful look and stooped to kiss Eva and Charlie goodbye. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?” Then he turned toward her. “I owe you.”
“You don’t.”
“I do. Big-time.”
He surprised her then by stepping close and dropping a kiss on her cheek. His lips were warm and firm against her skin and she sucked in a big lungful of his leather-and-sandalwood aftershave before he moved away from her.
“Have a good one,” he said as he left.
Angie fought the absurd, teenage urge to press her fingers to her cheek where he had kissed her. No way was she indulging herself like that. No way.
A few seconds later she gave herself a mental shake and surveyed her two charges.
“Okay. One of you has to go to school today. Remind me again which one of you that is?”
Eva giggled. “You’re silly, Auntie Angie.”
“Indeed I am. Now, what shall we pack you for lunch?”
She dropped Eva at school and Charlie at day care and dived into the day’s work. She was locking up the house to collect Eva and Charlie at the other end of the day when Michael called.
“Hey, there,” she said. “Have you schmoozed your clients into submission?”
“I have no idea if I sold them the project or not.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah. Listen, Angie, there’s a problem. My flight has been delayed.”
“By how long?”
“At the moment, they’re saying half an hour. But they’re also not saying what the issue is.”
“Ah. I love it when they do that.”
“Tell me about it. I’m really sorry, Angie.”
“What for? So you’ll be half an hour later than you were supposed to be. It’s no skin off my nose.”
“I’ll keep you posted. Hopefully it won’t be a big deal.”
But it was.
Michael called again at four-thirty to tell her that the airline was still being cagey about the status of his flight. At five he let her know the flight had finally been officially cancelled and passengers were being redirected as availability allowed. Given that Michael’s plane had been full, as were most of the other Sydney-to-Melbourne flights, he had been warned it might take some time.
She told him not to worry and made the kids nachos for dinner. She was washing the dishes afterward when Michael called to say he’d been shuffled onto the last plane of the day at eleven o’clock. He was understandably furious and frustrated and Angie did her best to keep things light once he’d finished updating her.
“Look on the bright side—there’s all that fantastic airport food to keep you going,” she said.
“Remind me never to fly again.”
“I’ll put a note on the fridge.”
“Angie—”
“Michael, if you say you owe me one more time, I’m going to punch you in the face when I see you. It’s not a problem. Okay? It’s not like I had other plans for the evening, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I like your kids.”
“I know.” He sounded troubled and weary.
“Here’s a deal for you—if I ever feel as though you’re treating me like your bitch, I’ll let you know, okay?”
“Okay, deal.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Will you put Eva on so I can tell her what’s going on?”
“Sure thing.”
Angie handed the phone to Eva and listened as she peppered her father with questions before holding the receiver to Charlie’s ear so he could say good-night.
By nine o’clock the children were both fast asleep. Angie cleaned up the kitchen and folded some laundry and then dropped onto the couch to watch TV. There was nothing on that interested her and she stood and went in search of a book. Billie had never been a big reader, something Angie had never been able to fathom. Books had been her closest friends when she was growing up, a secret portal through which she escaped to magical worlds and far-off places. As an adult, she read for entertainment and inspiration, leaning toward biographies and fantasy.
Feeling a little as though she was invading Michael’s private space, she ducked her head into his study. She’d never spent a lot of time in here, since it had always been very much a working study rather than the kind that simply housed a computer and a few household files. Her gaze ran over the deep, wide desk made from a piece of highly figured timber—Blackwood Box, if she had to guess—and the angled lines of a drafting table. One wall was lined with shelves filled with books, while the wall beside the door was home to an old, squishy-looking leather couch. It was a very masculine space, dark wood and chocolate-brown leather dominating, with a red-toned Turkish rug providing a counterpoint. It was very Michael, too—understated, comfortable, serious yet not unwelcoming.
She crossed to the bookshelf and was pleased to discover that as well as a wide selection of architecture and design books and manuals, Michael had also devoted a couple of shelves to biographies and crime thrillers.
Five minutes later, she had three books in her arms as she turned to go. Her gaze slid across Michael’s desk and got caught on the small framed photograph he kept there. It had been hidden by the computer monitor when she first entered, but she had a clear view from here.
It was of Billie, naturally. A candid shot taken at the beach. It had clearly been a very windy day and Billie’s hair was flying around her face, her dress billowing. She held her hair back with one hand, while the other fought to keep her skirt down. Far from being dismayed by her dilemma, she was delighted, her mouth wide with laughter, her eyes sparkling with energy.
Angie hadn’t seen the picture before but judging by the length of Billie’s hair it had been taken about three years ago. She smiled at her friend’s exuberance, but the picture made her sad, too. All that life was gone now. Buried six feet under.
And now you’re making goo-goo eyes at her husband, like the very best of friends.
She didn’t know what nasty, vindictive corner of her mind the thought came from but it made her take an instinctive, jerky step backward.
She wasn’t making goo-goo eyes at Michael. She never had. She’d become aware of him lately, and she’d been honest enough to admit she was attracted to him. But she would never even consider acting on that attraction.
She glanced at the books in her arms. She shouldn’t have come in here. This was Michael’s space, and she shouldn’t be helping herself as though she had
a right. Guilt gnawing at her, she reshelved the books.
The ring of her phone interrupted her retreat from the room.
“Guess who?” Michael said as she took the call. He sounded resigned and more than a little tired.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been delayed again?”
“Electrical storm. They’ve grounded everything until it passes through, but things are going to be backed up. Am I the luckiest guy alive or what?”
“You definitely shouldn’t waste money on a lottery ticket today.”
“So my ETA is now sometime after midnight, which means I won’t be home till the small hours.”
“No worries. The kids are in bed here so I’ll bunk on the couch again.”
“At the risk of inviting a punch in the nose, I have to say you’re a godsend.”
“Have you had something to eat?”
“I’m about to grab something now.”
“Hang tough. By hook or by crook you’ll get home.”
“So they keep telling me. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Sure.”
She made her way to the living room. Even though the television was offering nothing but pap, she turned it on and settled in for the duration. A couple of hours later she collected the bedding from the hall cupboard and set herself up for the night. Her skinny jeans were too tight to sleep in so she stripped down to her tank top and panties and slid beneath the quilt and let the late-night TV drowse her to sleep.
And every time her thoughts turned to Michael, she sent them somewhere else. Because she was not going to be that woman. She refused to be.
* * *
MICHAEL WAS BONE TIRED by the time he pulled into the garage at one-thirty in the morning. The moment his flight had hit the ground he’d headed for the short-term parking lot, thoroughly pissed at the world. He was so tired he’d walked past Angie’s green SUV three times looking for his Audi before he remembered that they had swapped cars. He’d driven home with the windows open in order to keep himself awake.
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