ALMOST BLUE

by Williams, Mary J.

  “Running away?” Beck teased. “No need. Mrs. Johannsen informed me that she’s happy with your work. Smart, efficient, and creative were the words she used.”

  “If you spoke to Monica, why ask how things are going?” Sawyer asked.

  “Small talk?”

  They jogged across the street. Absently, Beck noted they were only a few blocks from her shop. Sawyer let out a snort, signaling she didn’t buy his excuse.

  “Nothing you say is small. Or random.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Stop avoiding my question.”

  “I simply wanted your take.” Beck swerved around a lamppost. “Are you settling in?”

  “Yes,” Sawyer said, nodding. “I had a few butterflies and questioned myself at every turn. After a day or so, everything fell into place. Helps to have a good crew.”

  “True.” Frowning, Beck tugged at his earlobe. “I can’t believe you’re on a first name basis with Mrs. Johannsen.”

  After ten months remodeling the inside and adding a workout room onto the east-facing side of the house, Beck’s charm hadn’t put the tiniest crack in the owner’s icy façade. However, barely a week into landscaping the backyard, and Sawyer called the woman Monica.

  “You’re a miracle worker.”

  “She likes my cherry bonbons.”

  Cherry bonbons? Beck kept his gaze trained on the road ahead while his fertile imagination pictured Sawyer’s breasts, bared and ready for him to take a taste. How could the universe hand him the perfect straight line and not expect a retort? The answer was simple. He’d landed on somebody’s shit list and for the life of him, he didn’t know why.

  “Cherry bonbons as in the pastry, not my boobs,” Sawyer explained with a casual tone of voice. “Cooking is my relaxation, remember?”

  “Oh, come on.” Beck came to a screeching halt. “I bit my tongue rather than make a suggestive remark. Then you toss your boobs at me? Unfair.”

  “I didn’t toss them.” Sawyer’s eyes dropped to her chest. When she looked up, she had the nerve to bat her lashes as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “They’re right where they belong.”

  “Stop.” Beck had reached his limit.

  She did as he commanded—probably the first time in her adult life she followed anyone’s orders.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “I’m not a eunuch.”

  “Good to know.”

  “A woman mentions her boobs, a man takes notice. Do you want me to look?” For now, Beck kept his gaze locked with hers. If he took a quick peek, well, he was only human. “Give me the green light, and I’ll do more than look.”

  Sawyer blinked as if unsure what to say—another first. Finally, she found her voice—that damn, sexy, husky voice.

  “You find me attractive?”

  Rather than hem or haw, or make excuses, Beck told her the truth in one word.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?” She sounded more confused than surprised.

  “Don’t be coy, Sawyer. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  “But you’re… We’re…” Frustrated, she jabbed him. “You wanted to be friends.”

  “You wanted to be friends,” Beck reminded her, rubbing his arm. “Remember? I planned to ask you out on the spot until you said we couldn’t date.”

  “Not couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Or wouldn’t.” Sawyer crossed her arms. “And stop looking at my boobs.”

  “Then stop drawing my eyes to them,” Beck muttered. “Friends is great, Sawyer. Terrific. All I ask is for you to explain why we can’t—shouldn’t try for more.”

  “My reasons are complicated.”

  “I know about your husband. If you’re still in love with him—”

  “I am. I always will be,” Sawyer said, echoing what Beck’s mother told him. “David was a kind, sweet soul. All he wanted was for me to move on; to be happy.”

  “Sounds like a good man,” Beck said. “What’s stopping you?”

  “He is.”

  “But—”

  “I have to go.”

  Sawyer sprinted down the sidewalk, stopping to unlock the yellow door leading into Hale’s Nursery. Confused, Beck watched her slip inside.

  “She claims her husband wants her to be happy. Yet, he’s the reason she can’t move on. Doesn’t make sense.” Beck frowned. “What’s your opinion, Ringo?”

  The dog, tongue lolling to one side, seemed to shrug.

  “Women are a mystery,” Beck agreed. “But Sawyer tops them all.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ♫~♫~♫

  “WHEN I SAID finish the back deck, I meant today. Not tomorrow or the day after. Today. Understand?”

  Beck felt little satisfaction when the three members he chose to take his bad mood out on scampered back to work, their tails tucked between their legs.

  “Jesus, Beck. They were on a break.”

  “Five minutes over.” Beck shoved his watch in Chet’s face. “Ever heard the phrase time is money?”

  “Now you’re spouting worn-out words of wisdom?” Chet shook his head. “Damn, man. Whatever has your panties in a twist, take a break and find a new pair before half our crew quits in protest.”

  “We aren’t losing anyone,” Beck said with confidence.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Pay’s too good.”

  “Cocky bastard,” Chet snorted.

  “Just stating facts.” Beck lowered his voice as his conscience came knocking. “When you meet for a beer after work, put Barney, Milt, and Steve’s brews on my tab.”

  “You won’t be there?” Chet asked.

  When he was onsite, Beck made a point of hanging around with the crew after work. He didn’t believe the boss was above everyone simply because he paid their salaries. Besides, they were good men—and women—and good for a few laughs.

  “I have a date.”

  “Well, hallelujah, I’ll alert the media.” Chet slapped him on the back. “Celibacy is bad for the digestion. Have a good time and dust the cobwebs off your junk.”

  Beck was ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain his junk would remain in his pants tonight. He liked Holly Cole. He and the local radio station manager had flirted on and off since she took over the job almost a year ago. But between his schedule and her pending divorce, the time never seemed right.

  Finally, Beck found himself with a free night, and Holly found herself without a husband. He made his move when they ran into each other at the grocery store and regretted the impulse almost immediately.

  When he stopped long enough to question why he had arranged the date then and there, the same day he shared his run with Sawyer, he wasn’t happy with the answer, or himself.

  Beck wouldn’t fall into bed with Holly when he wanted someone else. However, no harm in going out and enjoying each other’s company.

  “Dinner and a movie. Nothing more,” Beck said for Chet’s benefit as well as his own.

  Buster Holmgren joined them, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt. Pushing forty and married over half his life, he believed in working hard, playing harder, and wasn’t above listening in on other people’s conversations. Given a chance, he rarely kept his opinion to himself.

  “One of the perks of having a single friend is the chance to live vicariously through his varied and plentiful sex life,” Buster sighed. “You aren’t living up to your end of the bargain, Beck.”

  “Chet fills the bill. He’s happy to expound on his exploits with anyone who’ll listen.”

  “Chet lies.”

  “Hey,” Chet protested. “My stories are completely true.”

  Buster raised an eyebrow, doubt gleaming in his dark eyes.

  “Mostly true,” Chet grumbled. “Everyone lays on a bit of color for the sake of entertainment.”

  Buster snorted, shifting his gaze to Beck.

  “Tell me again why your rock star e
xploits are off limits?”

  “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Beck said, using his usual excuse.

  “You aren’t a gentleman,” Buster and Chet said in perfect unison.

  “Answer one question,” Buster urged. “Did you participate in an orgy?”

  Yes. Once. He’d been young, single, and up for anything. He couldn’t say the experience left him wanting more. Still, he didn’t regret the night he spent tangled up with a dozen other bodies. The memory was… unique.

  Not wanting to encourage his friend’s endless curiosity, Beck kept the information to himself.

  “I have to go.”

  “Come on,” Buster shouted as Beck headed for his truck. “Yes or no?”

  “See you on Monday.”

  “How come you get to leave before five o’clock?” Chet called out.

  “Sometimes it’s good to be the boss. And Chet?” Beck said without breaking stride. “When you meet the other guys for drinks? Everything is on me.”

  “And that, boss man, is why we love you.”

  The sight of Buster and Chet high fiving each other like demented Energizer Bunnies as he pulled out of the worksite kept Beck amused all the way back to town.

  ~ ~ ~

  THE REASON BECK left work early wasn’t a secret—exactly. Not to him. However, he hadn’t been anxious to share his destination with two men who for some inexplicable reason, believed everything he did off the job potentially ended with sex.

  Though Beck fantasized about Sawyer in his bed, or her bed, or any place of her choosing, the last thing he wanted was to put her on Chet and Buster’s radar.

  As Beck walked through the gate into Monica Johannsen’s backyard, a colorful bed of flowers he couldn’t name were the first thing to catch his eye. Like a cheery hello, the sight was a far cry from how the area looked during the months he worked remodeling the house.

  The previous owners centered their life around four large, destructive dogs and let them run loose and unchecked in their outdoor playground. They were given the same free rein inside. Considered the babies of the household, nothing was off limits.

  The mid-century modern house was one of the oldest buildings in Eatonville, and Mrs. Johannsen fell in love immediately. A woman with a good eye, she saw past the holes in the walls, chips in the floors, and overall rundown condition. The bones were good, as Beck’s inspector certified.

  An excellent businesswoman, Mrs. Johannsen negotiated down the price to the bare minimum—though she confessed, if pushed, she would have paid the full asking price.

  Beck had a blast restoring the home to its former glory.

  However, he was no landscaper. Mrs. Johannsen wasn’t his first client to ask for a recommendation. Until Sawyer moved to town, the choices were slim to none which meant hiring someone from Las Vegas, an inconvenient, often frustrating option.

  As Beck scanned the finished backyard, noting how the elegant design blended Sawyer’s vision with the customer's preferences, he knew with an influential woman like Mrs. Johannsen singing its praises, Hale’s Nursery would be booked solid for years to come.

  Sawyer walked toward him, dirt smudging her jeans and long-sleeved shirt. Removing a pair of gloves, she slapped the leather against her leg.

  “Checking up on me?” she asked. Her expression showed she was none too happy at the prospect. “Afraid I fumbled on the one-yard line?”

  “You’re good at the sports analogies.”

  “I’m good at a lot of things. Including landscaping.” She nodded toward the yard. “Monica is thrilled.”

  Beck’s gaze fell on a solar fountain made from recycled terracotta. Strategically placed so anyone on the large cedar deck could enjoy the tranquil sound of water falling, he took a moment to listen.

  “Her opinion is the only one that counts.”

  “I know,” Sawyer sighed. “Wouldn’t hurt to receive a metaphorical pat on the back from the man who recommended me.”

  Understanding, Beck took his time and looked around. He already knew Sawyer was good. She had an eye for color and composition—an artist’s perspective. But he didn’t want to tell her how talented she was without giving her accomplishment its due.

  As he moved through the yard, Sawyer moved with him watching for his reaction. Beck didn’t smile or frown. Instead, he kept his expression thoughtful.

  “Well?” she demanded after he completed the tour.

  The kind thing would have been for Beck to put Sawyer out of her misery. But she looked so serious, so earnest, he couldn’t resist teasing her a little longer.

  “Stone walkways and shrubs aren’t my areas of expertise,” he hemmed.

  “Beck?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I have a bag of chicken manure in the back of my truck, which I’d be happy to dump over your head.” Sawyer grabbed his arms and gave him a shake. “Tell me what you think, damn it!”

  Laughing at her threat and the memory it invoked, Beck gave in to her demands.

  “You should be proud of what you made here.” He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Beautiful.”

  Unaware he meant her, not the yard, Sawyer hugged him tightly. Beck hugged her back. If he’d known a little compliment was all she needed to wrap her arms around him, he would have said something weeks ago.

  “I need a celebratory drink. And a very large pepperoni and black olive pizza.”

  “You’ll find a bottle of champagne in your apartment refrigerator. I suggest you order the pizza from Bella’s.”

  “I know. Best sauce ever.” Sawyer frowned, stepping back to look him directly in the eyes. “How and why?”

  “The champagne?” Beck asked, reading her mind. “How? I dropped the bottle off with Talia; she did the rest. Why? Because I knew without a doubt you’d want to celebrate.”

  “Without a doubt?” Sawyer’s eyes widened. “Could have fooled me. I was a nervous wreck for the first few days.”

  “But quickly found your way. On your own. Without any help from me.” Beck shook her hand. “Congratulations. You’re on your way.”

  “Guess I am.” She let out a happy sigh. “Want to be there when I pop the cork? Bubbly wine and pizza. Sounds like a great combination to me.”

  “Wish I could, but I have a date.”

  Beck hadn’t mentioned his plans for the evening so he could gauge Sawyer’s response. Yet, when she froze, didn’t make a move for a good ten seconds, he had to wonder about the surprise that flashed through her eyes.

  Sawyer recovered quickly, but Beck was left with one thought. Her response was interesting. Very interesting.

  “Friday night. Naturally, you have a date.” She punched him in the arm; the kind of exchange you’d expect between pals. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

  In the short time he’d known Sawyer, their verbal exchanges ran the gamut between light and funny to pissed off. But through every encounter, their banter felt easy without a single awkward pause. Until now.

  Who’s the lucky lady? How was Beck supposed to respond when he wasn’t convinced Sawyer really wanted to know? Unless the way he read her response was nothing more than wishful thinking on his part.

  Never a fan of man/woman guessing games, he did what he’d want her to do if the situation were reversed. He asked.

  “Do you have a problem with me going out on a date?”

  Sawyer, bless her heart, didn’t prevaricate. She did blush, which Beck found freaking adorable. Cheeks an appealing shade of pink, her head fell back, gaze skyward as if asking for guidance from above.

  “Crazy, right? I’m the one who put up a firm, no wiggle room barricade against us dating. I shouldn’t object when you ask out someone else.”

  “True.” Beck nodded while he silently pleaded with her to object away.

  “As you reminded me, you aren’t a eunuch. You desire a sex life.”

  “Very true.”

  “We’re friends. Right?” W
hen Beck nodded, Sawyer let out a hefty sigh. “Good. Friendship means I want you to be happy. If this woman gets your motor running, go forth and date with my blessing. Not that you need me to approve. In fact— Ugh. Enough mindless chatter.”

  Sawyer threw her hands up in the air, mimicked locking her lips shut then tossed the imaginary key over her shoulder.

  Beck liked the sound of her voice, enjoyed the things she had to say—most of the time. To prove his point, he mimed picking up the key and unlocked her sealed lips.

  “You told me why you didn’t date in high school. Someday, I hope you’ll share your latest reason.” An unpleasant thought popped into Beck’s head. “Unless you made up the rule because of me. In that case, keep the reasons to yourself.”

  “The truth has nothing to do with you.” Sawyer paused. “You want an explanation?”

  In answer to her silly question, Beck nodded.

  “How about tomorrow night? My apartment. We’ll crack the champagne and talk.”

  Calm on the outside, inside, Beck did a series of cartwheels.

  “I’ll be there. Pizza’s on me.”

  Sawyer tucked her gloves in the back pocket of her jeans and headed toward the gate.

  “You bought the wine; I’ll take care of dinner and dessert. Have any objections to fresh strawberry pie?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Beck opened the door of her truck, standing aside as she grabbed the wheel and pulled herself onto the driver’s seat.

  “Bring Ringo,” she said before he could shut the door. “I’ll bake him something special.”

  “You make dog treats?”

  “Not until now.” A smile lit Sawyer’s face. “Think he’ll mind acting as my guinea pig?”

  “Doubtful. After the way you scratched his belly, Ringo pretty much thinks you walk on water.”

  As Sawyer backed her truck onto the street, Beck headed toward his own and wondered. What would the world say about a man who envied his dog? A pang of jealousy over a tummy rub? Sad, very, very sad.