Loving Mr. July

by Margaret Antone

  Kurt, or his decorator, she thought, evidently also liked the same design aesthetic she did—clean-lined, 20th-century modern furniture. From working in Sharon’s shop, she recognized the Breuer chairs casually grouped around a white Saarinen table, the black Le Corbusier sofas and the Noguchi coffee table. Except that it lacked the color she would have preferred and it could use more plants or flowers, she could move in and feel perfectly at home. Suddenly Kurt’s offer to let her stay at his house for three weeks took on some additional allure.

  “Is there a reason why you’re not moving?” Kurt’s voice behind her, where he was trapped on the stairs, jolted her back to reality.

  “Sorry. Just admiring the view.” Cynthia moved out of the way, heading to the kitchen at the rear of the living space. That area didn’t disappoint either. A little impractical with its gleaming white cupboards, white subway title and white Viking appliances, it nonetheless featured every convenience a real cook would want. Apparently Kurt wasn’t much of one, as everything looked spotless. More than spotless, it looked like it had never even been used.

  Cynthia headed for the massive built-in refrigerator, where one glance inside confirmed her suspicions. The shelves sat bare of any food except for a carton of milk, a six-pack of beer missing one bottle, and an unopened bottle of pinot grigio.

  “Into cooking, I see,” Cynthia said, reaching into the shopping bag to unload packages of fish and chicken.

  “Kind of hard to make stuff for one person,” Kurt said. He put the three shopping bags he carried on the counter and started to unload. “It’s usually just easier for me to grab stuff on the way to or from work.”

  “Or you’re wining and dining people, as Blake told me.” Cynthia took the vegetables as he handed them to her and placed them in the refrigerator.

  “Part of the job,” Kurt acknowledged. He held up a block of low-fat cheese. “Have you actually eaten this stuff?”

  “Not recently.”

  “It’s vile,” Kurt told her. “Mom used to buy it when she went on one of her diet kicks. You might as well eat rubber.”

  Cynthia ducked behind the refrigerator door, so Kurt wouldn’t see her face. She tried to stop a giggle from coming out. Failing, she covered it up by coughing.

  Yeah, the stuff was vile, she agreed. If Kurt could see the contents of her kitchen, he would know she was up to something. Nothing artificial ever entered its hallowed grounds. She cooked with real butter, whole dairy products, and fresh everything. Some would see that and say that’s why she was sort of overweight. But she knew better. She had a healthy diet and ate well most of the time. She just also occasionally binged as a coping mechanism when she brushed up against the scary rooms in her mind from her childhood. That and the fact that she was vertically challenged as well as somewhat allergic to exercise didn’t help either.

  She got her humor under control enough to emerge and answer. “You wanted Carl’s recipes, you got it.”

  Kurt scowled at her. “Great. The reward for having to pose like I think I’m some stud muffin is tasteless food for the next three weeks.”

  “But just think of how the woman who buys your fantasy weekend will appreciate your awesome body,” Cynthia said in an overly sweet tone, patting his arm like he was a little boy she needed to comfort.

  Kurt let out a deep sigh. “I’ll be in such a foul mood from weeks of starvation, I’ll probably scare her.”

  Cynthia bit back the laughter that still threatened to emerge and glanced down at her watch. “We’re a little off schedule here. I’ve got some things to do this morning, so if we’re going to work out, we’d better get to it.

  Kurt didn’t answer. He had crouched down to rub Lucky’s belly.

  “Or I could just come back tonight for the gym workout?” Cynthia tried not to sound too hopeful.

  “I don’t think so,” Kurt said in measured tones. There was a gleam in his eye that Cynthia didn’t like. When he grabbed a leash from the counter, sending Lucky into a barking frenzy, she resigned herself to the idea that she was indeed going to have to run this morning. With a sigh, she followed him down the stairs.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kurt led the way out of his house and onto the sand. The marine layer from the night before hadn’t yet abated, leaving the air still thick with moisture and the skies grey overhead. The cooler temperatures meant that not too many people were out on the beach. Of course, it could also be because the more intelligent people were still happily sleeping. Like he wished he was.

  Cynthia trudged beside him, taking two steps for each of his one. He hadn’t realized just how short she was until she stood next to him in running shoes instead of her normal heels. Her outsized personality made her seem bigger somehow, but the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She had slight frown lines between her eyes. She was either a little annoyed or else determined, possibly both.

  Obviously, the last thing she wanted to do was run. If the newness of that loud workout outfit indicated anything, running wasn’t something she did often. He had barely stopped himself earlier from telling her she looked like a giant banana. It was a comment he could easily have gotten away with if it had been any of his guy friends, but years and experience had taught him the wisdom of silence on occasion.

  Kurt stopped, made Lucky sit. “So I usually run to the south first, if it’s low tide. That way when we run back, I can take Lucky to the dog area at the northern end as a treat. This time of year, she can be off-leash. And she loves it.”

  “Run to the south,” Cynthia repeated, an uncharacteristic look of hesitancy on her face. “How far south are we talking?”

  “If we run along the cliffs to the bridge and back from here, it’s about four miles total. From here up to the dog area and back, it’s another couple. So by the end of the run, we’ll have done about six miles.”

  He stopped walking when Cynthia grabbed his arm to slow him down.

  “Kurt, I’d be doing well to walk six miles, let alone run.”

  “You don’t have to,” Kurt said. “We’ll go in that direction, you go as far as you want to. I’ll run ahead and catch you on the way back and then we’ll head north.”

  “If you’re not wanting me to run with you, remind me again why I’m here?” Cynthia bent down to retie her shoe.

  Kurt waited until she stood back up before he answered. “Bocher Foundation ring any bells for you?”

  Cynthia raised her hand in defense. “Okay, okay.”

  Kurt started running at his usual slow, loping, warm-up pace. Within a minute or two, it was clear that Cynthia was suffering. Her face had taken on a red hue and her breath was labored. He decided to take pity on her and stopped for a minute.

  “Now that we’ve warmed up, I usually stretch a little before I pick up the pace,” he told her.

  “If I pick up the pace any further, I’m going to have a heart attack,” Cynthia said the words slowly between gulps of breath. “My warm up was walking to the water’s edge.”

  “Well, we’ve got three weeks of this. I’m sure you’ll improve.” He kept his voice deliberately cheerful.

  He thought he heard her mutter, ‘if I live that long,’ underneath her breath.

  “I’ll catch you on the way back?” At her nod, he took off with Lucky, running quite a bit faster now.

  He was out of shape too, just not as badly as she seemed to be. And although he had coerced her into coming partly as a payback for the way they had all backed him into a corner, it was also true that without a workout buddy, he would have rolled over and gone back to sleep this morning.

  Running wasn’t one of his favorite activities, especially alone. Granted, he had Lucky with him, so he wasn’t completely alone, but he preferred the camaraderie of team sports. Running was, however, very effective at getting him back to shape in a hurry. And right now, it served his purpose of making Cynthia work for her photographs.

  He pushed himself to go as fast as he could to the mouth of the marshy area underneath t
he highway bridges he used to mark the turnaround. Heading back north, he saw the bright yellow outfit far before he could recognize her face.

  She wasn’t running. Wasn’t even walking.

  She was quite animatedly talking with a man. Doing more than talking, apparently, as he watched her run her fingers over the man’s abs.

  The man laughed and gave her a hug.

  She couldn’t be friendly to him, but within half an hour of time by herself, she had managed to engage the only other fool on the beach this early in conversation? And just why was the guy running shirtless when it couldn’t be more than 55 degrees out?

  “What happened to running?” Kurt called out as he approached, trying to hold back an odd feeling of irritation.

  Cynthia turned abruptly to him, a rather guilty look on her face. The man with her just grinned, and kept his arm loosely over Cynthia’s shoulders.

  He felt like punching the guy. A fact that was more than a little disturbing, seeing as not only was it totally out of character, but it begged the question of why?

  “Kurt! You’re back fast.” Cynthia sounded overly cheerful to his ears.

  She also leaned a little into the guy at her side. It made him even more irritated. The guy looked as if he knew it too.

  “Kurt, meet Sam. Sam, Kurt.” Cynthia rattled off the introductions.

  Kurt automatically held out his hand.

  “I understand you’re doing the calendar this year,” Sam said, a big smile on his face as he took Kurt’s hand in a firm grip.

  Kurt raised his eyebrows at Cynthia. Surely she wasn’t telling everyone about their deal? How much embarrassment did one guy have to take?

  “Sam was Mr. October for the Bocher Foundation a couple of years ago,” Cynthia told him.

  “Ah,” Kurt said, suddenly glad that a shirt covered his own stomach, but he couldn’t stop himself from sucking it in anyway.

  “Our firemen hunks of San Diego County year.” Cynthia developed a keen interest in one of her fingernails.

  Sam was a fireman. That had to be why the man was in such amazing shape. Being fit was part of his job, right? Kurt decided to cut himself some slack. “So was the whole auction process as scary as it sounds?”

  Sam laughed. “A little. Sort of feel like a piece of meat up there. But it’s all for a great cause. A couple of other guys from our station were in it too, so we had fun with it.”

  “That would make it easier,” Kurt acknowledged, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “I’m getting major ribbing from my staff.”

  “Goes with the territory.” Sam nodded. “If it makes you feel any better, I did extra workouts for a couple of months before my shoot.”

  “Seeing as I only have three weeks, because I was just coerced into doing this yesterday, no, it doesn’t make me feel much better.” Kurt gave Sam a smile to soften the sarcasm.

  “Rough.” Sam sympathized. “Just don’t work my favorite girl here too hard.” Sam hugged Cynthia again before he dropped his arm.

  Cynthia’s smile lit up her face. Not for the first time, Kurt wondered why she only looked like that for other people.

  Sam gave Kurt another friendly handshake before taking off in the direction from which Kurt had just come.

  Kurt looked at Cynthia. She appeared a little flushed. Whether that was from exertion or guilt, he wasn’t sure. “You date him or something?”

  “Sam?” Cynthia asked. Her look of wonder gave way to giggles. “No! Why?”

  Kurt shrugged. “Seemed pretty cozy when I ran up.”

  “He’s a good friend.” She turned around to fall in step with him.

  “You that familiar with all your male friends?” He started a slow jog.

  “Jealous?”

  “Just a question.” Kurt subtly increased the pace. “As long as you’re at my house for the morning run and evening gym workout everyday for the next three weeks, doesn’t really matter who you shack up with.”

  “Who. I. Shack. Up. With?” Cynthia puffed out the words, her volume increasing with each one.

  “And don’t bring them to my house either.”

  “Of all the rude…” Cynthia gasped air in big gulps. She abruptly stopped.

  Kurt kept running, kicking himself as he did. What was it about her that got to him? What did it matter if she ran her hands over some guy’s washboard abs? There were plenty of women out there to keep him company.

  He picked up the pace even further, punishing himself, trying to run away from the little niggle in his gut that was shame.

  Chapter 4

  Cynthia glanced at her watch. Only one hour remained before she was supposed to be back at Kurt’s house. Not that she wanted to go anywhere within a hundred miles of the place. But a commitment was a commitment.

  She still seethed over his comment from the morning. Did he really think she would bring other guys to his house? He hardly knew her, why would he think that?

  Granted, she had been a little too free with her favors in the past. Her counselor, when she finally got the courage to go to one, had told her that was often the case with child abuse victims. She had made her peace with it as best she could a number of years ago.

  With the help of good friends and excellent counseling, she had grown to respect herself more. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t still engage in friendly flirtation. She liked men. Liked their easy way of kidding each other, the way they looked, the way they felt.

  Had he heard of her past reputation somehow? The worry grew into a knot in her stomach. She took a breath and tried to calm herself. He’d only met her recently. And they hadn’t run in the same circles. He couldn’t possibly have known, she told herself.

  “Trying to kill the keyboard?” Sharon put the day’s receipts on the office desk. “And who is the black look for?”

  “Ever feel the urge to do someone bodily harm?” Cynthia sat back in the office chair, stretching her arms behind her back.

  “On more than one occasion,” Sharon replied without hesitation. “And it was usually some guy.” She moved a stack of files off the second office chair so she could sit down. “What gives?”

  “Blake sort of cornered Kurt into doing the calendar, right?”

  “And for that you want to do him bodily harm?” Sharon raised one eyebrow. “Think I might have something to say about that.”

  Cynthia smiled despite her pique. “How would you feel about losing a brother-in-law?”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you were thrilled to have him be the last minute fill in.” Sharon’s brow creased. “And Blake told me Kurt didn’t seem that upset about it.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t blame you.” Cynthia toyed with her pen, trying to decide how much to tell Sharon. “He thinks I set you guys up to the whole company newsletter thing. And he wants me to pay.”

  “Seriously?”

  Cynthia nodded, and decided to tell Sharon about Kurt’s requirements.

  By the end of the story, Sharon’s mouth gaped open. “And you agreed? I know you’re dedicated to the foundation, but come on!”

  “What was I going to do?” Cynthia stood up, started pacing, wincing a little from the stiffness in her legs. “I need him. He wouldn’t do it otherwise.”

  “You believe that.” Sharon said flatly. She looked incredulous.

  “You didn’t see him, Sharon.” Cynthia described their meeting in the barn the previous evening. “I’ve never seen the guy mad like that. You know how he’s usually charming.” Then again, she thought to herself, this morning he hadn’t been so charming either.

  Sharon nodded. “Never seen him in a bad mood. Blake tells me Kurt can be ruthless, but it’s hard for me to picture.”

  “Well I seem to bring out the worst in him.”

  “He must really like you.” Sharon’s eyes sparkled.

  “Oh please, what are we, back in kindergarten now? The guy that picks on you does it because he likes you?” Cynthia tossed the pen onto the d
esk. “I’d like to think I’ve moved beyond stupid.”

  “I don’t mean like that.” Sharon waved her off. “It’s just that Kurt is sort of unflappably pleasant to most people. And it’s genuine. Even though he doesn’t suffer fools well, he gives people benefit of the doubt. But when he really cares about something, he’s way more passionate.”

  Cynthia snorted. “The guy can have his pick of women. He’s not passionate about me, I guarantee you that. Although after a few days of Carl’s initial recipes, he’s going to feel passionate all right. Passionate about how much he wants me to go away.” She grinned at Sharon.

  “I so wish I could be a fly on the wall.”

  “I’ll give you a full report,” Cynthia said, giving Sharon a wink. “Assuming I live that long. But in the mean time, we need to talk marketing.”

  “Oh goodie.” Sharon let out an expansive sigh.

  “Relax. I’ve done all the hard work.” Cynthia pulled two layouts out from underneath a pile of papers on the desk. “I just need your artistic eye’s opinion of these two comps.”

  She walked over to a cork bulletin board, grabbed a few stickpins and hung the two layouts side by side.

  Sharon walked over. “Am I reviewing the graphic choices or the words?”

  “You don’t get to touch the words.”

  Sharon made a face.

  Cynthia gave her an apologetic shrug. “We know how your advertisements fly.”

  “They didn’t bomb that bad.”

  “When you have the word bomb in any sentence that’s assessing your success, it’s not a good thing.”

  Sharon pouted at her.

  “Just saying.” Cynthia put up her hands. “Besides, you’re the artist. That’s why you hired me to help on the business side.”

  Looking back to the comps, Sharon cocked her head, a finger on her chin, and considered. “They are both good. I like the clean lines in this one.”