by Nicole Snow
“Oh, of course, I, well, I –”
Even her stutter is adorable. I watch her lips moving too long.
Pure torture. I huff a breath, waiting for her to untie that sweet tongue and get the words out.
“Natalie. I brought some supplies for Natalie to use,” she says at last. “For her dog picture, I mean. It was the best in the class. I just wanted to make sure she had the right stuff.”
“What kind of 'stuff,' Ms. Derby?”
I whip around at the sound of Natalie’s voice.
“You really think my picture's best in the class?” Her green eyes sparkle. “The very best?”
“Yes,” Blue answers, kneeling down in front of Natalie. “Here's to you, queen. I brought you some drawing books. They’re more advanced material, old ones I used in college, and some colored pencils.”
“Really? Wow! Thank you.” Laughing, Natalie’s eyes are still glowing when she glances up at me. “Ms. Derby can stay for supper, can’t she, Dad? Everything's just about ready.” She turns back to Blue. “It’s spaghetti night. I just took the noodles off the stove.”
I easily read the look in Blue’s eyes. She’s wondering why I would let a ten year old cook.
None of her fucking business.
Who does this woman think she is? Showing up here after last night? Breaking my shit and leaving me with another hard-on I'll be fighting all week?
If it wasn't for the smile on Nat's face...damn it all.
“Thank you, but I can’t,” she says, clearly reading my mind. “But here.” She stands up and hands a cloth bag to Natalie. “There's the stuff I promised. Also,” she unzips her purse. “Let me pay you for the pot right now. So clumsy.”
Since I rarely use the front door, I have no idea where the pot even came from, but assume Julia put it there. I give her some creative leeway so Nat doesn't have to grow up in a man cave.
“Forget it, Ms. Derby. Your money's no good here.”
“Well, then, um –”
“Please, Daddy, can’t she stay?” Natalie asks. “There’s more than enough food. And it isn't that late.”
Agony. I can't lie in front of Nat.
There’s always more than enough food, unfortunately. Despite every instinct screaming 'don't,' saying no to Nat is as impossible as ever.
She rarely asks for anything. I'm also interested in knowing what's really going on here. Why Blue felt inclined to bring Natalie art supplies when she could just wait until the next class.
“Be my guest.” I step aside and wave for Blue to enter the house. Nat beams like the Phoenix sun.
“No, that's all right, really, I just –”
“My Natalie would really love you to stay for dinner, Ms. Derby. Please.” I touch her shoulder and give her a soft push forward. “There’s more than enough. My ma's sauce recipe.”
“Okay! That sounds lovely, but –”
No. No buts. She's not getting out of this if I couldn't.
“I made a salad, too, and garlic bread,” Natalie chirps, taking Blue’s hand and tugging her inside our house.
3
Spaghetti Night (Izzy)
How did I wind up here? He’d had a gun in his pants.
I saw it. A black pistol.
It’s not there now, but only because he stepped into a room off the hallway while Natalie led me into the kitchen. Who answers the door with a gun?
I should have left. If I hadn’t gotten jumpy, hadn't knocked over that plant with my bag, I'd be halfway home by now. No one would've ever known I was here.
I'd never admit it out loud, but Clara isn't the only Derby with the nosy gene. Last night, I spent some time online. There wasn’t a lot in search for Brent Eden, other than a very impressive website for his business dealing with hazardous waste clean up.
Hazmat spills, dirty jobs, and crime scene clean ups are his living, true. But do men need a gun for that? I wouldn’t think so.
He’s not on any social media sites, but his name did come up in an obituary. A brother, David Eden, who died three years ago. He'd been young, only in his late twenties. The obit didn’t give a cause of death.
I'm not sure it matters. That mystery isn't the reason I’m here.
“What would you like to drink, Ms. Derby?” Natalie asks sweetly, holding the fridge door open. “We've got milk, OJ, grape juice, or water.”
Brent stands on the other side of the large marble topped island, placing serving bowls full of food on the table. I’m trying very hard not to look his way.
Every time I do, my eyes wander to his lips. Heat wells inside me, recalling how amazing, how easy, how natural they felt on mine. Then I remember the gun.
Dear God.
“Um,” I clear my throat. “Water will be fine, Natalie. Thank you.”
“How 'bout a lemon slice in it?” Natalie smiles, already reaching for a yellow lemon in a small bowl.
Who is this kid? My own freaking mom doesn't offer lemon water. The teacher in me can’t help but worry a little. “No thanks. I like mine plain and ice cold.”
She smiles and fills a glass with ice, then water from the dispenser on the front of the fridge. “You can go ahead and sit down.”
I glance towards Brent, who gestures towards a chair. I help carry the glass of milk that Natalie had already filled, and set it near the plate he points to, then take a seat on the other side of the table. Natalie carries two glasses of water to the table, setting one near his plate and the other near mine.
“This is so fun! It's been forever since we had company,” she says.
“Have a seat, baby girl,” Brent says.
Considering I skip as many family dinners as possible, and live alone, it’s been ages since I sat at a table and ate with other people willingly. “It smells fabulous,” I say. At least that part's true. Still makes me more nervous than I recall being in a very long time.
Partly because of the way Brent keeps watching me. He knows I’m not just here to drop off art supplies, and he’s right.
He also has my insides tied in knots. I’ll never forget last night's kiss.
It’s been on my mind all day. Especially while Principal Jacobs questioned me about Preston and then Brent. Preston told Jacobs what Brent said last night, about us dating. There was a good solid hour this afternoon where I thought I'd be fired for sure.
Until Jacobs said he'd heard another story. Brent personally assured him we're not dating.
Hence my reason for being here. To thank him all over again for saving my butt a second time.
Dread storms through my stomach while we slowly pass food around. I fill my plate and eat, telling Natalie how delicious it is between bites.
All the while wondering how I'll ever drop the other bomb.
How do I warn Brent about my family?
After I got home from work this afternoon, I got a phone call from mother. Clara did her homework and then some. Found out who Brent is. The name on the side of his truck gave it away.
Then, like the annoying sister I never had, she told mom about seeing us together in the school parking lot.
Of course, she elaborated. A lot.
Said she’d caught us in a passionate embrace. She denied that when I called her, but the damage is done.
It's too late to fall back into a normal life. Not with Derby women hot on the trail, like hounds specially trained to track down every last whiff of cupid. I cringe, imagining the day either mom or Clara herself show up on Brent’s doorstep.
Asking his intentions.
Asking when the wedding will be.
Jesus.
Pure humiliation washes over me. I shouldn’t have come here, really.
But I can’t have him stuck in the middle of a Derby family clusterfuck.
Clara won't be satisfied with just a name and a quick glimpse of my Not Fiancé. She'll dig deep to learn more. And she'll succeed.
Hell, she probably already has his address, phone number, birth date, and, knowing her, his net wor
th.
“What kind of books did you bring me?”
I snap out of my funk and glance across the table, smiling at Natalie. So young, yet so mature.
I shouldn’t have, but I asked her pod teacher about her today. I pretended it had to do with her art, how impressive it is.
Not that I needed an excuse, however true. Mrs. Gates was more than willing to tell all. Natalie Eden is extremely smart, but struggles to keep up emotionally. She’s been in the same school since kindergarten. Skipping grades has made it impossible for her to continue friendships, and difficult to build new ones.
My heart goes out to her. Kids, without even realizing it, can be so mean. Rich kids from powerful families can easily feel intimidated by someone with her brains and talent.
I wipe my lips with my napkin before saying, “I'm glad you asked. One's about drawing animals. It covers their anatomy, how to do form for things like birds, whales, turtles, you name it. The other book, that's for drawing people. I also put some charcoal in the bag if you’d like to experiment with it on your dog drawing.”
“Of course!” Her green eyes pop. “Wow, thank you! I saw some charcoal drawings online this afternoon. They looked almost three-dimensional.”
“That’s exactly what charcoal can do when used correctly. Add depth to a picture.”
“Awesome! I can’t wait to try it.”
Brent points to her plate. “You clean your plate, and I’ll let you out of dish duty tonight.”
“Deal!” She grins, twirling a fork full of spaghetti. “You’re the bestest, Dad.” She winks at the obvious shift in grammar.
They've got a good thing going, these two. Makes me remember how strong a connection can be between a girl and her father. And miss it.
She asks me several more questions about drawing while eating, and I answer. Brent doesn’t say much, but his eyes say he’s thinking plenty. He's a master at keeping my nerves on edge.
By the time he excuses Natalie, who nearly bolts away, it feels like I’m sitting on pins and needles.
She's barely out of the room when he sets down his fork. “Ready to tell me why you’re really here?”
I almost choke on a lettuce leaf. It takes several sips of water before it goes down and I can breathe.
“I know it’s not about fucking art supplies,” he rumbles, thunder in his throat.
I nod and sigh, having no idea how, where, to start. “You’re right, Brent. It’s not. Although your daughter is very talented. No exaggeration.”
“I know.”
“Right. I’m sure you do.”
He leans back in his chair and crosses his massive arms across his broad chest. Waiting impatiently. “Did you get fired today or what?”
“Fired? No!” I take a quick gulp of air. “Because of you, no less. Thanks for telling Mr. Jacobs the truth. I really, really appreciate that. This job, teaching at the academy...it's been my dream since I was in the ninth grade and Marlene Scott won State with her landscapes. She went to school at the academy and I was public educated. Her drawing was like nothing I’ve ever seen. Right then, I decided I wanted to teach art at the academy.” Heat leaps into my cheeks. I realize I’m not only babbling, I’m sharing secrets I’ve never told anyone.
“Teach? Why? At that age, I'd think you’d have dreamed about going to the academy and learning to draw like this Marlene yourself.”
Relieved he wasn’t put out by my rambling, I shake my head. “You’ve heard the saying, 'those who can’t do, teach?' That’s me. I’m not an artist. I love art. Love how it’s created, how it pushes buttons on the soul, but I’m not talented enough to ever create beautiful masterpieces. And I'm sure I'd be miserable in LA, New York, Paris...it's too much. I'm an Arizona girl, born and raised. I’ve known it for years. And I’m okay with it. Watching others create masterpieces is my dream. That’s why I took the full time job teaching preschool at the academy. It was a foot in the door. Hopefully someday, when there's an opening in the art department, I’ll be first in line.”
His brows furrow in thought. A sexier gesture than it should be.
“I know how it sounds: crazy. But it’s what I’ve worked at forever, and for just a little while today, I was afraid I’d lost it all. Then Mr. Jacobs told me you’d assured him we aren’t dating. He also said there'll be no repercussions against me for what Preston did.” The elation that hit hard in Mr. Jacobs' office this afternoon returns. “I can’t thank you enough, Brent. Seriously.”
I can’t say Brent smiles, but there's a...well, almost a grin. “I’m glad it worked out for you.”
I bite my lip, knowing I have to mention the other thing that happened today.
He lifts a brow. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
I nod pressing a hand against the knot in my stomach.
“Well, spit it out,” he says.
“The woman in the parking lot last night, my cousin Clara...this is embarrassing. She sort of told my mother we're dating.”
He laughs.
I don’t know what I expected, but this isn't it. “It’s not funny.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Why? This was your idea, remember? When you told Preston we were – you know.” I can't bring myself to say engaged.
Can't.
The shine leaves his eyes, turning them cold and barren. “I had good reason. The asshole was threatening you. I had to get rid of him. Don't take it so personal. Nothing could be more absurd than you and me dating.”
A touch of anger flares inside me. So that's it – I’m not good enough for him?
I'm about to call him out for being a ginormous ass, when I consider the other possibility. The coldness in his tone makes me wonder if the idea hit a sore spot somewhere. I know there’s no wife, but a girlfriend is a real possibility. Am I treading on another woman's turf?
Maybe the cleaning lady does more than just sweep his floors?
“Why's that? Because of Julia?”
This time, there's a bitterness in his chuckle. “Julia's twice as old as you, married, and a grandmother of six. She cleans this house twice a week and picks up groceries.”
For some stupid reason, that makes me relax. “Oh.”
“I have Nat.” He stands and picks up his plate. “She's the only girl in my life, and that’s how it'll stay. No time for other bullshit.”
I jump to my feet, pick up my plate, and carry it to the sink in the center island. “I told both my mother and Clara that we aren’t dating, but they don’t believe me.”
“That's interesting, Isabella.” He takes my plate and sets it in the sink. “And totally not my problem.”
Ouch.
I spin around, collecting Natalie’s dishes. Then the frustration boils over. “I know that, Brent, but I just wanted to let you know. Give you a heads-up in case they contact you.”
“How would they contact me? Why? I didn’t even tell your cousin my name.”
“She Googled the name on the side of your truck.”
There’s a sneer on his face when he takes the dirty dishes from my hands.
I pull the serving dishes off the table and carry them over. “Look, I’m sorry. I know it's the last thing you need.” Although I’ve never let anyone know the entire truth, I feel inclined to explain. “It's my mother driving this insanity. She's kinda been trying to marry me off for the past couple years. And Clara? Ugh. She's anyone's partner in crime where there's drama involved.”
“Why do they care? Don't these people have lives of their own?”
Ignoring the rude edge in his voice, I shake my head. “Don’t know for sure. Mom won't admit it, but I think it's because she won't marry her boyfriend until I’m married first. Some weird parental sense of duty and protocol or something like that.” I turn back to the table after handing him the spaghetti bowl.
“My father died ten years ago. For the past five years, mom's dated George. He wants to get married, but she says she can’t until I’m settled. In her mind, settled means
married.”
I bite my lip, realizing how ridiculous this sounds. Thank God for family, right?
At least they've helped me get the crazy part down before I even get my first cat.
I walk back to the table for more dishes. He follows, too, but leans down and picks up my purse and then takes my arm.
Whoa. I’m too stunned to do anything besides let him lead me down the hall.
At the front door, he says, “I don’t mind getting rid of pricks like Preston. Happy to do that any time, but I’m not a damn stage prop. You’ll have to find some other sucker to play your fake boyfriend, Isabella. We're done.”
Snapped back to reality, I grab my purse from his hand. “That’s not at all what I wanted! Not what I'm asking now. I just wanted you to know in case they contact you. A friendly warning. Nothing more.”
I'm almost choking. Appalled he thinks I was after that. After him since he's shown his true colors.
I'm nobody's prop either. Especially not for a man who's treating me like a worn out doormat.
I tap the center of his chest with my fingertip. “Don't flatter yourself, Eden. You’d be the last man I’d ask if I was looking for a boyfriend, fake or any other kind. Besides being arrogant, dating you would get me fired. Trust me, there's no man on planet Earth worth fucking up my dream for. Not now. Not ever. I’ve worked too long and hard.”
His glare shoots right through me. “Are you done?”
He's challenging me, which only pisses me off more. Big time.
“No.” I march around him. “I’m going to say goodbye to Natalie and then I'll be overjoyed to get out of your face.”
His hand clamps down on my arm, but at the same instant, Natalie appears at the top of the stairway off the foyer.
“Are you leaving, Ms. Derby?”
Even before his fingers slip off my arm, I say, “Good timing! I was just coming up to say bye.”
“Oh, good, I want to show you what I’ve done with the charcoal. It’s amazing.” I hesitate and she frowns. “I won't keep you long, it'll only take a second?”
I don’t bother looking Brent's way at all before moving toward the staircase. I walk up the steps and down the hallway with my chin up. His badass attitude doesn’t intimidate me.
