“You’re curious,” he said.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just because it’s a Thursday. Who goes to Bakersfield on a Thursday?”
“Oil tanker drivers?”
“Which describes you to a T,” she said.
He smiled. “I’m just overdue for a visit, that’s all.”
“Nobody’s birthday?”
Usually he avoided talking about his family, but at that moment, while the shadows of the top layer of the bridge flickered over the road, he heard the words pour out of him. “My parents never celebrate birthdays. They were raised in a religion that didn’t believe in it.”
He squeezed the steering wheel, waiting for the outrage that usually came when he told people that. Not celebrating birthdays got more of a reaction than finding out his first wife had died at twenty-six.
“Interesting,” she said. “Were you raised in that religion too?”
Surprised by her mild tone, he relaxed slightly. “They left the church when I was a baby. But they never tried to be, you know, like other people.” He cleared his throat. “They’re very private people.”
“Unlike me, obviously,” she said, making a face. “Sorry. I thought you’d have to have a really good reason… or a bad one… to miss a workday.”
“Well, since the design team would be in LA anyway, I figured it would be a good time to take off.”
“I was such the last to know, wasn’t I?”
“If I’d realized you didn’t know earlier, I would’ve called,” he said. “I heard Rita is out on family leave.”
“Both her kids are sick.”
“Bad luck.”
“Yeah. Poor babies,” April said. “I thought about getting some candy or toys for them, but I don’t know what little kids like these days.”
“I was talking about you,” he said. “Does Liam have any plans for getting somebody in there to manage the department?”
“I was going to ask you that,” she said. “But no, I don’t think so. The assistants have to do more of their own work until she gets back.”
“Or lay it on you.”
“I’m not going to worry about that. It’s much too nice out. I love spring, don’t you?” When he didn’t say anything, she added, “Thanks for calling to tell me they’d left, by the way. That was… nice.”
He felt himself blush. For Christ’s sake. “You’re welcome.”
The car became very small and quiet for a few minutes. Then April cleared her throat. “So, you’re going to meet with Bev?”
“Yes.”
“I think she’s looking forward to getting back to work. She asked me to babysit Merry on Fridays from now on.”
“All day?”
“For a little while. She’s going to work one or two full days a week, with hours from home on the other days.”
“That’s a lot of babysitting for you, isn’t it?” he asked.
“It’s the deal we—” She fell silent.
“Deal?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“I don’t want to know, do I?” he asked.
“You really don’t.”
“Was this Liam’s idea?”
“I forget whose idea it was. Mine, probably. I wanted to work in the art room at Fite, they needed help with Merry. It just made sense.”
“It makes a lot of sense for them, I agree,” he said.
“It makes sense for me. I wasn’t going anywhere. If I took another temp job, I was going to jab my eyes out with some stranger’s hole puncher.”
“Sounds messy,” he said.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “So, why are you going to the house?”
At that moment he was driving through the Oakland Maze, a region of tangled concrete spaghetti where the major freeways collided at the edge of the bay, and he couldn’t respond for several minutes.
“It was on my way,” he said finally. “And I won’t be in the office tomorrow.”
“What does Bev want to talk about?”
“You’re full of questions,” he said.
“And you’re full of answers.”
He smiled. The truth was, stopping by had been his idea. He was on his way to the Central Valley anyway, they hadn’t met in person for a few weeks, he knew April was headed this way…
“Will you be scheming for a dinner invitation, too?” she asked.
He lifted his chin. It had occurred to him. Not that he’d admit it. “I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.”
“Just as well,” she said. “Mark won’t be there until Sunday, when the whole family gets together. Maybe you can find a way to get Mom to invite you to that one,” she said. “Casually mention you’ll be driving past the house at around, say, four o’clock.”
He got off the freeway and came to a stop at a red light. She was playing with him. She tried to be so tough, as if she couldn’t get burned by this attraction between them—as if only he could.
It made him want to teach her a lesson.
Lifting the sunglasses above his eyes, he turned his head, met her gaze. “How about you?” he asked, pitching his voice lower. “Will you be there on Sunday?”
Her tongue darted out and flicked across her lips. “I’m always there. I live there, remember?”
He dropped he glasses over his eyes and grinned as he drove around the corner. “Then maybe I’ll see you there.”
Chapter 16
HOW COULD I BE SO stupid? April asked herself. It was Sunday afternoon. She stood in the kitchen, staring out the window at the early evening fog shrouding San Francisco and the Golden Gate. I practically invited him to dinner.
“Did you baste the birdie?” Trixie called out from the living room, where she was playing the piano. Zack had called from the road from Bakersfield and expected to arrive any minute.
April poured herself a glass of iced tea. “Yes!” she called, taking a sip. The unfortunate fowl was already out of the oven and resting under foil. Stool was sprawled on the floor by the refrigerator, on his back with all three legs in the air. She squatted down and scratched his belly, smiling as he panted his appreciation.
Dogs were better than men in so many ways. Because of Zack, she’d changed her outfit six times, settling on an old sundress with combat boots (a classic combo). She’d painted her nails. She’d put on her favorite cobalt-blue eyeliner.
She’d cooked a chicken.
“I’m such a dork,” she whispered to Stool. His adoring look said he didn’t agree.
So much better than men.
Bev and Liam wouldn’t be joining them because they’d taken Merry up to Lake Tahoe to take pictures of her in the snow and pretend she would remember any of it. Mark and Rose, though, were already at the house, arguing about the honeymoon again while Trixie played Beethoven’s “Wedding March” on repeat.
Why was she so nervous? They weren’t going to have sex with each other—what did she care? Why bother? He was just passing through. He was nice, but he wasn’t long-term material.
Or she wasn’t.
The kitchen timer began beeping.
“He’s here!” Trixie stood in the kitchen doorway. “You go answer the door, I’ll take out the bird.”
Wiping her hands on her hips, telling herself to calm down, April walked past her into the dining room. “Never mind the timer. It’s already out.” She strode to the front door and flung it open. “Welcome.”
Zack stood there in dark jeans and a snug long-sleeved T-shirt. His cheeks were slightly sunburned. The hazy sunlight lit up his blue eyes. No glasses today—she wondered if he wore contacts. To stop herself from staring at his eyeballs, looking for lenses, she turned her gaze lower.
Oh, my.
She’d had no idea he had shoulders like that. Or muscles. Of course she figured he had some muscles—how else could he pick up his laptop?—but these were bigger than anyone would need to pick up a laptop. Or a desktop. Hell, a desk.
“Hi,” he said. “I hope I’m not late.”
“You’re not late,” she said. “Come on in.”
A scream from the kitchen made them both turn in surprise.
Another scream.
“Mom?” April jogged away from him through the house to find her mother playing tug of war with Stool.
Oh, no. He had the chicken. Her perfectly browned, basted dinner was hanging out of his mouth.
She fell to her knees and joined her mother in a high-pitched, frantic struggle to free the slippery bird. Stool had already consumed half of it.
“I thought you only liked poop, you crazy dog,” April gasped. The bones could choke him, especially since he was snapping and gulping it down like an alligator.
Her mother flung a dripping handful up into the sink. “I think he got a wing.”
April wrested a drumstick away from him, but only the bone came away in her hand. She hooked her fingers through his collar and dragged him off to a corner.
What scraps remained of her gourmet meal were smeared across the tile floor.
“He’s still breathing, so I guess he survived,” April said, with mixed feelings. She took a moment to recover from the shock. “I can’t believe he climbed up on the counter. I had it pushed up against the back wall.”
Her mother sighed. “Just too tempting, I suppose.”
Mark, Rose, and Zack crowded the doorway. “Anything we can do?” Rose asked.
“You two go back to your honeymoon planning,” Trixie said. “April and Zack will go out and get us emergency takeout. That’s okay with you, isn’t it Zack? Just down to College for something. Whatever you like.”
“He’s been on the road all day,” April said.
“I really don’t mind,” Zack said.
Trixie beamed. “Thank you so much. Maybe it’ll be nice to get out and walk around? College has dozens of great restaurants. Order whatever looks good. We don’t have any special dietary needs.”
Zack looked at April. “We’ll have to take my car. I’m parked behind you.”
She released Stool, who promptly commenced mopping the floor with his elongated pink tongue, and walked to the sink to wash her hands.
She wondered if her mother had actually handed Stool the chicken or if she’d moved a chair over to the counter for him. She’d probably removed most of the bones first. Trixie Johnson wouldn’t have fostered dozens of dogs over the years if she didn’t love them so much.
“We’ll be right back,” April said to her, her voice firm.
Trixie flung a morsel of chicken in front of Stool’s eager snout. “Take your time.”
April grabbed her coat and walked with Zack out to the car. When he got behind the wheel, she put a hand over her eyes.
“I’m so sorry about this,” she said. Her fingers still smelled like chicken.
“I really don’t mind.”
“Mark’s favorite restaurant is Zachary’s Pizza,” she said. “Chicago-style.”
“How about you?”
“His favorite is Zack’s Special. You could joke and bond over the name. Then he’ll be so grateful, he’ll hire you to be his right-hand tech minion.”
He backed out of the driveway. “I thought you said you were sorry. You’re being kind of argumentative.”
“God, you’re right. I am sorry.” She pointed. “Turn left here. It’s faster.”
He signaled at the stop sign and headed down the hill. “I’m interested in working with lots of people. Your brother Mark is just one of them.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m a solo consultant. I have to network if I want to survive,” he said.
“I completely understand,” she said. “By the way, he really, really likes this pizza. I don’t think you should let the opportunity to make him so happy pass you by.”
He made a face and kept driving.
“How were Mom and Dad?” she asked.
“Great.”
“That’s good.” She studied the shape of his skull. Some barber in Bakersfield had gone a little nuts with the razor. “I like your haircut.”
“I doubt that.”
“I do. It’s the kind of—” She closed her mouth. It was the kind of style she liked to rub with her palms, soft and bristly, like a toothbrush. She shifted in her seat and slipped her hands under her thighs. “The kind of haircut that’s very practical.”
“Number four. My father suggested number one, which he feels is the better value, but I’d rather not have a haircut that requires sunscreen.” He sighed. “Honestly, I still think I’m going to have to buy a hat.”
She could hear the love in his voice. “I got a haircut with my mother recently as a bonding experience, too,” she said. “It’s only now starting to grow out.”
“I like it.”
“Well, I like yours, too,” she said.
He glanced at her and she felt herself go all tingly again. Oh, calm down.
Shaking it off, she looked away and pointed at the road ahead. “Turn right on College. It’s near the BART station.”
“Will pizza be all right with your mother for the Sunday meal?”
“Please,” she said. “She’s lucky if we give her any.”
“I really don’t mind doing this, you know. It gives me something to do.”
She’d better watch the complaints. She didn’t want him to know her mother was trying to set them up. “Nice of you. Turn left up there. We might find parking under the tracks.”
It took over ten minutes to find a parking space, and by the time they walked inside the packed restaurant, her stomach was growling. She inhaled the thick, savory aroma of tomatoes, garlic, and roasting cheese. “You’re going to love this pizza,” she said, maneuvering through the throng to the counter, where she ordered two stuffed specials and paid in cash, refusing to accept the bills Zack pulled from his wallet.
“Please,” he said. “It’ll make me feel better.”
“Save it to buy yourself a hat.”
He laughed. She grinned back at him before internally kicking herself and dragging him back out to the sidewalk.
“The deep dish takes longer to cook,” she said. Only then did she realize she’d chosen takeout with a seventy-minute wait time. Now what were they going to do?
Her gaze fell upon the burrito place across the street. Five minutes, max, that would’ve been. Slap some beans and chicken inside a tortilla, sprinkle a little cheese, salsa, splurge on some guacamole, and off they’d go.
She never had been the type to plan things very well. “We should’ve called ahead. Now we’re stuck here on the sidewalk.”
“I wouldn’t mind walking. I’ve been stuck in that car all day.”
“I should’ve brought Stool. He’s got a meal to work off,” she said.
“Quite an impressive move for such an old dog. Getting up on the counter like that.”
“I’ll say.”
“Your mom took it pretty well,” he said. “My mother would’ve gone ballistic if my dog ate her dinner. She won’t even let me in the kitchen when she’s cooking.”
“I was the chef tonight,” she muttered.
“Oh.” He laughed. “Sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“You should’ve let me buy the pizza. I distracted you when you came to the door.”
He certainly had.
They walked past a bar and grill. Since it was early, and the place looked new, half of the seats at the bar were empty. She stopped and turned. “How about a drink?”
He paused for a split second. “Sure.”
“We don’t have to. I just thought it would be a convenient place to wait.”
“It is.” He opened the door for her, and within a few minutes, each of them had a beer in hand and a seat by the window with a view of trendy folk of Oakland and Berkeley walking past on the street.
; He nodded at a dad pushing an orange-and-black stroller with enormous wheels. “Those things cost more than many cars do.”
“Certainly more than mine,” she said.
They drank in silence, staring out the window. After a few minutes, he asked, “Where does your dad live?”
She swallowed a mouthful of beer. “Oh. He’s dead.”
He closed his eyes. “That was stupid of me. I should’ve known better than to—”
“Don’t worry about it. People ask me that all the time.” She put her glass down. “It was a long time ago. I was still in junior high school.”
He shook his head. “Professional consultants should be better at making polite conversation.”
“It’s really okay. Though… I admit, I’m surprised you didn’t know. Given the BurnBar and everything.” She grinned at him over the rim of her glass. “You must’ve done a quick Internet search on the family before you took the job, no?”
Her father had invented a popular energy bar decades ago, sold the overnight success to a huge corporation, and retired on the proceeds. Her mom lived off of the remainder, although April had no idea how much of the principal was left. Enough to eat, not enough to go to Tahiti every weekend. April used to worry about what would happen to her mom if the money ran out, since she herself wasn’t much of a breadwinner, but then Mark had confessed to being a tech millionaire, and that put her mind at ease. Except for making her feel even worse about her own (lack of) accomplishments.
Zack rubbed his thumb along the water droplets clinging to the outside of his glass. “That’s right. I did read something about that. I don’t know how I forgot.”
“It’s all right. We weren’t close.” She took a deep swallow. Why had she said that? No need to admit her own dad hadn’t had time for her.
“I used to say that about my own parents,” he said. “But as I get older, I realize we’re closer than a lot of other people. Just in a different way.”
“Yeah, well, my father and I barely knew each other. He was on the road a lot with Liam swimming, or taking Mark to chess camp, trying to turn him into Bobby Fisher. I was just a little girl. I didn’t have any talents and I wasn’t even very pretty.” She smiled to show she didn’t care. Nope, didn’t care.
He didn’t smile back. “I find that hard to believe.”
Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) Page 15
