ThisTimeNextDoor

by Gretchen Galway

  “That too.”

  “Asparagus?”

  “Sure.”

  Rose tucked an errant strand of golden hair behind her ear. “Blair is right. It might make it easier, having you here.” She gave him a slow, intense once-over that made him shift in his seat. “You clean up nice.”

  He leaned back, crossed an ankle over his knee, trying to ignore the way his pulse raced when she looked at him like that. “Am I supposed to hold him down while you swing?”

  “Tempting, but not tonight,” she said.

  “When do you think he’ll get here?”

  Rose made a face. “Who knows. Maybe he’ll catch a movie on his way over. Do a little shopping. Have his hair trimmed,” she said. “Selfish pig. I promised Blair I’ll be nice, but it’ll be hard. She’s probably counting on your being here to keep me from killing him.”

  He dropped his foot to the floor, crossed his other leg, thought of his father.

  Never a good idea. His father had died before he’d graduated from high school, but that had been long enough to leave scars. What would the big man have done in Mark’s shoes? (The new ones, not the ones with duct tape.) Stand guard at the front door and tell John to get a motel? His father had had the bravado to pull it off, in addition to the physique of a linebacker. He’d scare John shitless and Blair would see what a real man looked like. Like his mother, she’d swoon and never recover, no matter how cruel and hard that kind of man would be as a father.

  Blair came back into the room with a glass of wine. “Sorry again about the mix-up.” She handed it to him and settled on the couch across from him.

  “No, I’m sorry, not your mistake,” Mark said, taking a sip.

  His father wouldn’t be here at all, he realized. Two women alone, one pregnant and unmarried, the other large and sarcastic; he wouldn’t even have loaned them his jumper cables. His father’s weak powers of empathy would’ve been reserved for the man in the story, and never, not even for Mark’s mother, would he give his heart to a woman who bore another man’s child.

  Unfortunately this didn’t make Mark feel better. Only raw and vulnerable.

  “If you’re uncomfortable sticking around, I totally understand,” Rose said quietly. She stood next to the couch, a plate of cheese in hand. “It might get ugly.”

  “No, it won’t,” Blair said. “We’re not like that. We can handle this.”

  Rose set the plate down on the coffee table. “I’m not good at hiding my feelings.”

  “You won’t have to. John and I will go out,” Blair said. She twisted her hands together in her lap. “What do you do, Mark?”

  “I’m a computer programmer at the moment. Software engineering. Geek stuff.”

  “At the moment? What did you used to be?” Blair asked.

  Her eyes were light caramel brown, very gentle, but her gaze made him uncomfortable. “Oh. More geek stuff. Math teacher.” He sipped his wine and forced it down his throat.

  “You didn’t mention you were a teacher,” Rose said. “What age did you teach?”

  “I’m sure there’s tons about Mike we don’t know,” Blair said, staring at Rose with a look he couldn’t read.

  Rose tapped him on the head again. “I know enough to bet Mike here is too polite to tell you his name is actually Mark.”

  “Mark! Jeez. I’m so sorry. I’m such a mess,” Blair said, standing up. “They say it only gets worse. When the baby gets here I won’t remember my own name.”

  He smiled. “It’s okay. Call me whatever you want.”

  “Will you go lie down like I told you?” Rose said to Blair. “I’ll let you know when he’s here. You’ll make yourself sick again.”

  “I’m fine. I like talking to Mike. Mark.”

  “It is such a shame you can’t drink,” Rose said with a sigh, and went into the kitchen.

  “Why can’t you drink?” he asked.

  “Bad for the baby,” Blair said.

  “Really? Just a little wine?”

  “Oh, yeah. My book is really firm on that.”

  “I had no idea.” He sipped his own wine and then, feeling guilty, set it down next to the cheese. It looked good, but it might make her turn green to watch him eat it, so he passed. He’d gone to a lot of trouble today to prevent girls from vomiting at the sight of him.

  “None of your friends have had babies yet?” she asked.

  “No.” He folded his hands in his lap. “Though my brother is engaged. Of course you knew that. My mom can’t wait for them to push out a few puppies. Human ones this time.”

  “Human this time?”

  His internal dork alarm was buzzing. Hard to go up against so many years of conditioning. “I mean, of course humans are babies. I mean, babies are human.” Oh, he was sinking. Press on, man, there’s still time to recover. He forced a laugh. “My mother loves dogs. She does Chihuahua rescue. Or she did. That’s what I was trying to say—since she used to call her puppies her babies, I wonder if she’ll call the actual babies her puppies.”

  Oh, give it up. He sank down into the sofa. Why was it always so hard for him to talk to women? He could actually feel his muscles growing fatigued from the excessive tension throughout his body. He’d be sore tomorrow.

  “That’s cute,” Blair said. “I like puppies.”

  “Me too,” he said. So lame.

  “Hey, you’re not eating the cheese,” Rose said, coming into the room. “You assured me you were pro-cheese.”

  Mark turned to her in relief. “I am definitely pro-cheese. Some might even say I’m cheesy.”

  “Then get to work, mister. Blair, could you help me with something in the kitchen?”

  Sensing a life raft, Mark clambered to his feet. “I’ll help.”

  Rose stared at him. “Are you sure?”

  “Why? Is it hard?”

  “No, but you’re a guest.”

  “Let me work for my keep. That was part of my rationale for living with my mother—picking up a few much-needed domestic skills.” He smiled at Blair as he bolted, hoping she was too distracted with her own problems to notice his discomfort.

  Stepping into the kitchen, he felt his tension drain away. Rose was already back at work at the counter with her back to him, a row of spice jars, a head of garlic, onions, and a bunch of fresh basil on the counter in front of her. Her hair was pulled up on top of her head, exposing the back of her neck. Pale, smooth skin peeked out under tendrils of blond hair, making her look surprisingly vulnerable.

  She swung around with a knife raised. “Can you mince garlic?”

  “Sure.”

  When he was set up at a cutting board next to her, she said, “I was actually trying to get Blair away so you’d eat some of the cheese. You were trying to be polite, weren’t you? Not eating or drinking?”

  “Whenever she looked down she made this face.” He demonstrated a grimace.

  “Morning sickness is such a bullshit term. It’s all day long.”

  “I’m so glad I’m not a woman.” He whacked the garlic clove with the flat of the knife. “Begging your pardon. You must’ve felt differently.”

  She glanced at him.

  “Before you got the operation,” he added.

  Her laughter almost made him forget about the agonizing conversation in the other room.

  “Ten points.” She bumped her hip against his. “Shall we call it even?”

  “No, not yet. Though I did warn you I didn’t get out much, so your expectations should’ve been low enough to prevent taking serious offense.”

  She handed him the basil. “I wasn’t offended.”

  “Mmm,” he said.

  “Don’t ‘mmm’ me.” After a moment snapping asparagus stems, she added, “What would you say was the major factor in your faulty first impression of me? Because if you tell me it was jumping my car, I’ll be disappointed. For one thing, I won’t be able to let you fix our furnace because I’ll have to represent heterosexual womanhood.”

  “I was impressed
with your confidence around an engine, I’ve got to admit.”

  She sighed. “Shoot. I really wasn’t looking forward to getting up on a ladder to fix the ducts, but it looks like you need another demo.”

  “I’ll do it. I really don’t mind.”

  “No, I can’t let you, not now. You need proof women like me exist.”

  “No, I don’t. My mother is proof enough.”

  “I’m like your mother?”

  “My mom is very handy,” he said.

  “But single. For all you know…”

  It took him a second to understand what she was saying. “Are you suggesting my mother is a lesbian?”

  “Oh, sure. Now you’re offended.”

  “You don’t know her at all. Have you ever even talked to her?”

  “Sure. When I told her dinner was off,” she said. “Don’t look like that. I’m just kidding. Of course I don’t know anything about your mother. And if she were gay she would’ve hooked up with a woman by now, right? Half of the Bay Area is gay from what I can tell. Either that or married with kids. Or both. If she wanted to snuggle with Jane Doe from the Chihuahua Club, she would.”

  Mark put down his knife.

  Studying his face, she laughed. “Now who has morning sickness?”

  “I told you I was sorry I thought you might be gay,” he said. “I didn’t give it much thought, honestly, and we hardly know each other. As you say, half the Bay Area is gay, so you should expect your neighbors to be open to the idea. Without prejudice. So can we drop it?”

  She bit her lip and went back to the asparagus. Chop, snap, chop. He turned his attention back to the garlic, which was now minced into infinitesimal pieces, mere molecules of garlicness on the cutting board.

  “Mark, I’m sorry. I’m a little tense about John surprising us tonight.”

  “Maybe I should go home.”

  She put a hand on his arm and gazed up at him with those stunning blue eyes. “No, please don’t. I’m glad Blair asked you to stay. I’d just be storming around here making her feel worse if you weren’t. I promise I’ll tone down my annoying personality. Okay?” She squeezed his bicep, face smiling, eyelashes flapping.

  “You’re not annoying.”

  Her smile faltered a little. “Thanks.” She ducked her head, went back to work.

  Like with the car, she was quick and efficient in the kitchen. Her air of confidence suited a more mature woman. But looking at her face up close, he guessed she was still a few years from thirty.

  Unlike himself. “How old are you?” He peered over the edge of his wine glass.

  “Twelve going on fifty. You?”

  “Can’t you answer a simple question?”

  “No.” She grinned. “Whoops. Just did.”

  “I’m twenty-nine, in case you were wondering.”

  “Really?”

  “You thought I was younger, didn’t you?”

  Shaking her head, she poured steaming pasta into a bowl, drizzled olive oil over it. “Older.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Though I give you credit for picking up on my unfortunate habit for falsehoods, no. I really did.” She lifted a lid to stir something.

  “I don’t believe it. I’m still living with my mother.”

  “So? You’re not twelve or anything, right? What’s the difference between twenty-nine and thirty-nine?”

  The wine seemed to hit him all at once. He leaned against the counter for support. “You didn’t think I was thirty-nine.”

  “I didn’t say I did.”

  “But—”

  She held up a hand. “Shh. Did you hear that?”

  He paused, still shaken by the idea of him a decade older and still living at home. That he looked the part. “You think he’s here?”

  “I swear, it’s like waiting for a car accident. Drain the asparagus, will you? I’m going to go look.”

  She returned a moment later, rubbing her hands on a dish towel, her full lips pressed into a tight, flat line. “Let’s get this party started.”

  Chapter 5

  ROSE LEFT MARK IN THE kitchen and jogged down the hall to tell Blair her prince had arrived. She was sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed, her back perfectly straight, eyes closed. An iPod rested in her hands; the white earbud cord snaking down her torso was in stark contrast to her black clothes.

  Her eyes popped open the second Rose tapped on the doorframe. When she saw Rose’s face she bolted off the bed and yanked the cord out of her ears.

  “Deep breath,” Rose said, grabbing her by the shoulders in the doorway. “Stay here. Look cool. Let him stew a little.”

  Blair froze, nodded. “Cool. Right.”

  “I’ll tell him you’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “No, you shouldn’t rush to him either,” Blair said.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take my time.”

  “You haven’t seen him since…”

  “I’m just going to let him in. Relax. I won’t start anything,” Rose said, adding to herself, Not now, anyway.

  She strode back down the hall to answer the front door, then paused, more than a little annoyed when she heard he was already inside. Two male voices rumbled through the house, one too quiet to make out the words, one very clear.

  “Mark Johnson,” she heard John say. “My mom told me you were back home.”

  Rose put a hand on the wall and drew in a breath, telling herself to calm down. She’d promised Blair she would stay out of it, but as she stood there, knowing she’d have to listen to John's cheerful, arrogant charm in person, she wondered if that was going to be possible.

  Mark said something in reply she couldn’t make out. Then John's infectious laugh rippled through the air, setting Rose’s teeth on edge.

  “Don’t put yourself down,” John said. “You’re a fucking genius, always were. Maybe we can go into business together someday. Cash in on some of those brains.”

  Greedy bastard. He thought everything and everyone was ripe for the picking—all of humanity a buffet, with him holding the plate. Lifting her chin, she strode around the corner into the foyer.

  “Perhaps we could sell them on eBay,” Mark said, then glanced at Rose. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets and his voice was quiet, but he’d placed himself directly in front of John, blocking his way into the living room.

  Following Mark’s gaze, John turned and saw her.

  For a moment they just stared at each other. Rose knew her face was probably as red as her manicure, but she finally managed to smile, barely, and say, “Hello, John,” without spitting.

  He, of course, had no trouble at all. Gorgeous as always, charming as always. “Rosie Posey,” he said softly. “Nice to see you.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mark frown.

  Typical of John. After everything he’d done, he thought he could get out of trouble by being cute and reminding her of better times.

  Big mistake. “Blair will be out in a few minutes. She’s not feeling well.”

  His brow creased in concern that, damn him, looked sincere. “Was she sleeping? I hope you didn’t wake her up. She doesn’t have to get up for my sake.”

  “Now you care,” Rose said.

  “I deserve that. Do your worst.” John sighed, ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom? I was in such a hurry to get here, I didn’t use the one at the airport.”

  For a second Mark stayed where he was. Then he nodded and stepped aside. After John patted him on the arm and strode past him into the house, Mark raised his eyebrow at Rose.

  “Rosie Posey?” he asked.

  “I liked your blocking action. Didn’t have a maneuver for the Bathroom Trick, though, did you?” Making jokes helped her keep from screaming. Seeing John again was harder than she’d expected. Her hands were shaking. “Let’s eat. The pasta’s cold and mushy by now, but I don’t want him to think we’re going to rearrange our lives for his unannounced visit.”

&nbs
p; He followed her into the kitchen and took the plate she handed him. “Rosie Posey?” he repeated.

  “Do you mind if we just load our plates as it is? Normally I’d stir the sauce and penne together for a moment to finish it off, but—no, you’re right, I should. Why skip it just because he’s here? Hand me the pasta.” She reached out for the bowl behind him.

  “It’s fine. Let’s just eat it as is.”

  “The asparagus is cold.”

  “I’ll nuke it. Can I pour you some wine?” He took the bowl of asparagus from her and put it in the microwave.

  “I’d rather have a martini.” The mushroom sauce was lumpy. She’d forgotten to cook the chicken. Or was it prawns?

  How could he just swagger in here and smile at her like that?

  “Start with this. I’ll look for the booze.” Mark put a glass of wine in her hands.

  What a fool she’d been, thinking she could joke and tough it out. Assuming he’d never visit, let alone stay.

  She’d been wrong. Not that she knew why he was there, but she feared—and hoped—

  Oh, she didn’t know what she feared and hoped.

  Closing her eyes, she reminded herself he was Blair’s problem, not hers.

  Blair touched her shoulder, making her jump. She was wearing her coat. “We’re going to go out for a drink. Sorry about skipping dinner.” Her eyes were bright, her cheeks pink.

  “It smells incredible,” John added. He stood behind Blair with his hand on her shoulder. Blair didn’t shake it off.

  “But she can’t drink,” Mark said to John.

  “Just alcohol, dude. I think other liquids are encouraged,” he said with a grin.

  Rose turned back to the stove, pretending to adjust the burners. “See you later.” When, after a long minute, she finally heard the door slam, she put a hand on the counter and closed her eyes.

  “Drink.” Mark had an arm around her, his free hand guiding the wine to her lips. “Then we’ll sit down and talk.”

  She gulped it without tasting. “I need to grate the Parmesan.”

  “I hate cheese. Let’s just eat the pasta with your awesome sauce.”

  She let him guide her to the kitchen table. But as she took the fork he handed her, she shook her head. “I set the table in the dining room.”