by M. S. Parker
Or risking having someone describe me as suitable.
Damn, that word rankled and it wasn't even about me.
The sound of a car blasting down the street drew me out of my memory, and I sighed, shoving my hair back from my face.
I was cold, so cold I was shaking with it, and I knew it was less because of the early March weather and more to do with the shock I'd had this morning.
Slowly folding the paper, I stood up. They did suit each other, I decided.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, staring at their picture, both of them so elegant and refined, Paisley with her perfect sweep of expensively cut hair and clean, classic beauty. Jal was just as beautiful in a clearly masculine way, and the two of them complemented each other. The picture looked candid enough, but my gut said it'd been a little more posed than that.
Before I could crumple the paper into pieces, I went inside and left it on the chair where Tyson would find it and read it. Mom might see the announcement or she might not. Either way, we wouldn't talk about it.
I headed upstairs, determined to get out of my clothes, into the shower, and try to wash away the feeling of inadequacy, that sense of being out of place.
Always out of place, no matter where I was.
Chapter Two
Jal
Cold air stung my lungs as I rounded the corner. My destination lay ahead although I didn’t particularly want to go there. Not yet.
Pretty pathetic. My new fiancée was back in our warm bed, probably still asleep, and I could slide in next to her and warm myself up while waking her up, and I had absolutely no desire to do it.
I wasn’t about to slip into bed with Paisley right now. I’d hoped the run would clear my head, and in a way, it had. But instead of making me feel better about how things were going, I just felt more certain that I was making a big mistake.
We'd come home after the proposal rather than staying at a hotel in New York, but that had been more my doing than Paisley's. She'd have been fine with upgrading to a more decadent room, spending tons of money on champagne and the most expensive room service she could order. But I wanted at least some of the comfort that came with being at home.
Even that wasn't the same anymore though. Paisley and I kept some clothes and things at each other's places, but I'd successfully avoided any conversation about us moving in together. I had a bad feeling that I wouldn’t be able to keep that going for much longer.
As I slowed to a walk in front of the building, the doorman greeted me. “Good morning, Mr. Lindstrom. Did you have a nice run?”
“Good as you can expect in this cold,” I said as I slowed to a walk. “I want warm weather, Dennis. You know that?”
“Don’t we all, sir. At least you kept moving. Helps you stay warm a bit, I’d imagine.”
“True. Miserable day for you. Maybe you should go for a run when you’re done.” It was an old joke between us.
He slapped at his belly. He wasn’t what I’d call obese, but the man was as solid as they came. Running wasn't much his style.
“I don’t think I’ll be doing that, sir.”
“On a day like today, I don’t blame you.” I clapped a hand down on his shoulder.
“Your paper.” He held it out as I headed through the door.
I accepted it with a smile and little enthusiasm, although he wouldn’t know that. Taking the paper and reading through depressing news or commentary on social tangles held no interest for me.
Once I was upstairs, silence greeted me. Paisley was still sleeping. I breathed a sigh of relief. I still had a little time on my own. Or at least I thought so until my cell phone rang. I really needed to get caffeine in me before dealing with the phone call, but if I didn’t answer, she’d try again.
“Hello, Mom.”
“Have you seen the morning paper?” she asked.
Good morning, son. I trust you slept well? How was your flight to New York? Did last night go well? What’s the weather like?
No chit-chat, no greeting.
That was Ginnifer Lindstrom, getting right down to whatever she deemed important.
Normally, I would have just ignored the abruptness, but the foul mood I’d woken up in had me responding without thinking. “Why, good morning, Mom. I’m doing great…you? Yes, I was just sitting down with some coffee before I took a look at the paper.”
She huffed out a breath. “Really, Jal. How are you?”
“Like I said…” I snapped open the paper. “I’m doing great.” Like hell. “Afraid I haven’t had a chance to look at the paper just yet, like I said.”
“I assume you're looking at it now.” She made it a statement rather than a question.
“Yes, of course.” I flicked a look at the top headline, wondering if there was anything urgent that had her calling me so early. Nothing. Of course. With a fatalistic sigh, I unfolded the paper completely and then I saw it. It would be impossible to miss. “Well, I expect this pleases you.”
“Of course it does,” she said with a bright laugh. “That was very clever of you, arranging to have a photographer there.”
“I didn’t arrange it.” The second the last word left my lips, I knew I should have kept quiet. Mom didn't like it when I interfered with my own life.
“You...didn’t arrange for the pictures?” she asked.
“No.”
“Well, I imagine it’s just lucky coincidence that somebody was there.”
Oh, now that was bullshit. Of course, I was more polite when I pointed that out. “That wasn’t luck. Paisley had her hand in it, and I'm pretty sure that doesn't come as a surprise to you.”
She didn’t deny it. She didn't confirm it either, but I didn’t need her to. “Jal, what's wrong with you this morning?” she asked. “You’re very…out of sorts.”
Out of sorts. That was probably the most accurate description I'd heard of how I felt. Everything was getting ready to change, and I had no way to stop that. There really was only one highlight about those changes.
“You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?” Without giving me a chance to respond, she said, “Jal, there’s no reason to be doubting anything. You and Paisley are so well suited.”
Suited. I don’t think there’s anything she could have said that would've hit me harder.
With a bitter, hard laugh, I said, “Yes, Mom. We’re suited.” Something inside me felt like it was stretching to the breaking point. “Tell me something, Mom, are you certain you’re fine with the fact that your son is marrying a woman because they're suited for each other because our lives are similar and she knows the right people and how to act at a dinner party.”
“Jal, really–”
“Would you care if we ended up hating each other in ten years as long as we behaved in public so none of our friends realized anything was wrong?”
“Don’t be silly, Jal. Besides, you and Paisley would never hate each other. You’re too well matched.” She sounded more annoyed than worried.
Disgusted, I shoved back from the table and moved over to the windows. I stared out at the city skyline, barely seeing anything. “Well matched. Well suited…how many people do we know that are well matched or well suited? And yet, they hate each other. You can't say it doesn't happen.”
“Jal.” She sighed. “I don’t understand where this is coming from, or why so suddenly. But you must understand that you have a responsibility.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” I snapped. “And I expect you were just delighted with it too. You’ve only been pushing me further into this for how long now?”
I hadn’t even been aware of how much bitterness I had in me, and now it was all spilling out. I wasn't sure if I wanted to stop it or if I simply couldn't.
“Jal. Son, I only want what's best for you.” Her voice was sharp now, the familiar mothering tone I'd grown up with. The one that told me I was treading on dangerous ground.
A noise caught my ear, and I looked back, but the bedroom door remained closed, and everythin
g stayed quiet. Paisley would likely sleep until noon if I didn’t wake her. And since I wanted a peaceful Sunday morning, I'd probably let her sleep as long as she wanted. Monday would be fine.
“I know, but you’re usually the one deciding what's best. Not me.” I sighed. “Look, Mom, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later. I love you.” Before she could press the issue any further, I hung up.
Putting the phone on mute, I shoved it into the pocket of my pants and walked through the open doors to the balcony. Walking out into the bracing cold, I took a deep breath.
It didn’t do much but remind me of how ridiculously cold it still was. Sometimes I hated living this far north. I wanted someplace warm, where the temperature never dropped below fifty degrees. No, better yet sixty – sixty-five.
I imagined booking a trip to the Bahamas, staying there until June, then going back at the first sign of forty-five degrees again. Maybe Paisley would go for a barefoot beach wedding, but even as I pondered the idea, I had to laugh it off.
That would never be Paisley Hedges. Not in a million years. Soon, we’d have to start making those plans. Then again, for all I knew, she was already making them. She might already have her dress selected, a date…
We didn’t really have time to waste, after all. Aside from the scandal among our family's more old-fashioned friends, Paisley wouldn’t want to be showing when we said our vows.
It'd been two weeks since she’d told me she was pregnant.
Two weeks since my comfortable life had completely shifted on its axis.
I was going to be there for my child, and Paisley had made it clear that if I wanted that at all, it had to come with a ring.
Mom, Dad, and Baby…a nice little family.
Leaning forward, I planted my hands on the stone balustrade and contemplated the changes coming up in my life. Things just kept spinning out of control.
After the initial shock, I was actually starting to look forward to the idea of becoming a father.
It was everything else that didn’t appeal to me.
The thought of marrying Paisley, falling into the nice life that my mother had organized for me, joining a country club like Paisley kept insisting I should do. All of that just filled me with an ambivalence that was slowly turning into something even stronger.
What had changed?
That was easy.
I’d gone into FOCUS, sat in a chair, and talked to a woman who’d made me laugh, made me think.
What had changed?
The answer was simple.
Allie.
Chapter Three
Allie
“Did you see?”
Sonya showed me the paper.
“Yeah, I saw.” Checking the supplies at my station, I headed to the supply room. Alistair and Sonya had already been talking about the engagement when I'd come in, and a few others had horned in, curious. I wasn’t interested in all the hoopla surrounding him or her.
“She’s pretty, don’t you think? They look cute together.”
I shrugged as I studied the bottles lining the shelves, took some shampoo and a deep conditioning treatment I liked. After signing them out, I headed back to my station, Sonya still trailing along with me, an expectant look on her face.
I sighed. I wasn't going to get any peace until she said what was on her mind. “What?”
“You spent half the day with him. He was a nice guy. Gorgeous. And you don’t have any thoughts about this?”
“Sure.” Rolling my eyes, I dumped my supplies on the counter and then took the paper. “I have thoughts. Good looking rich guy marries good looking rich girl. They’ll have good looking babies who will grow up spoiled and over-indulged, and the cycle will repeat itself. Those are my thoughts.”
“You’re so cynical.” She huffed a little and took the paper back. “You’ve got no romance in your soul.”
“You're right,” I agreed. “But there’s nothing romantic about that picture, Sonya. It was totally staged.” People are so gullible.
She looked shocked. “No way.”
I was about to point out all the ways it was staged when the soft tinkling music sounded through the salon, alerting us so subtly and elegantly that we had a customer. Turning to my station, I put away my supplies and checked my appearance. Time to get ready for the day.
A normal day in the life of a normal, hard-working person.
“Mr. Lindstrom!”
Shit.
I tensed, and then slowly looked up. In the large mirror over my area, I could see clear to the front and yes…there he was.
And he was smiling at me.
What the hell?
Alistair cut in front of me, blocking him from my sight. “Mr. Lindstrom. I heard about your engagement. Congratulations!”
Echoes rose up all around us. I kept my back turned to him. He had enough people fawning over him. He didn’t need more over there offering him well wishes too. As Sonya gushed about how romantic the picture was, I snorted.
Staged, I thought. Totally staged.
I gave a vague smile in his direction so I didn’t have to deal with Alistair telling me that I was being rude to somebody who was probably going to become a VIP here at the salon.
Dammit. I'd completely forgotten that he’d said he'd start using FOCUS, and somehow, I had a feeling he was the sort to stand by his word, as far as that went. Maybe somebody could get shampoo in his eyes, nick him, piss him off–
“Allie!” Alistair managed to make himself heard without yelling.
Lifting my head, I met Jal’s eyes in the mirror for the briefest moment, and the small smile on his lips made my stomach sink even more. That smile should have been a warm, inviting one – and it was, really. But it wasn't an invitation I could accept.
He was taken.
By my sister.
Still, I didn’t have much choice but turn and move to the counter where Alistair was waiting for me.
He gave me a beaming smile. “Mr. Lindstrom has requested your services. He’d like a shampoo and massage.”
“Of course.” You just had a shampoo and massage on Friday; don’t you know how to wash your own damn hair? I bit my cheek to keep from saying anything close to that and gestured for him to follow me.
Jal didn’t do that, of course. He fell in step next to me, just like he had before. “Did you have a good weekend?”
“Of course. I imagine yours was as well. Congratulations on your engagement,” I said, taking care to make sure my voice held nothing but good cheer.
“I take it you saw the paper.”
I swept out a hand toward the seat and cocked my head. “The paper? Oh! Yeah. Sonya and Alistair were quite…” I pursed my lips, pretending I needed to think that over. I just couldn't seem to behave myself with him around. “Quite a flutter. You’ve made a few more conquests there. But yes, they showed it to me when I came in.”
He actually looked a little disappointed. “That was the first you saw it? It was on the front page yesterday.”
“Shocking, you being on the front page.” It was far too easy to fall into that relaxed tone with him. I swung a cape around his neck and adjusted the chair before easing him backward over the bowl of the sink. What did it matter to him when I’d seen that damn paper? Since it did, though… “I don’t spend much time reading the newspaper, Mr. Lindstrom. It’s pretty tedious. News, most of it bad, social crap which is so very boring, and a lot of other stuff that doesn’t really pertain to me.”
“Hmm.”
I’d already started to slick my hands through the healthy weight of his hair, but that hmm caught my ear. Glancing at his face, I lifted an eyebrow. “What’s that hmm mean?”
“You struck me as the sort who seemed rather interested in keeping up with events. That’s all.” Light blue eyes caught mine, held, and for a moment, I felt almost…trapped.
It was like he was seeing right inside me.
The sound of splashing water drew me back. “There are other ways of keeping
up with events. Besides, there are only so many events that are worth keeping up with. Why pay attention to the things that don’t affect my life anyway?”
Before he could respond to that, I grabbed the nozzle and started to rinse his hair. Settling into the massage straight after, I fell into that familiar rhythm. I actually went longer than normal just because he'd quit asking questions. He'd also closed his eyes, which meant he wasn't staring through me anymore.
“You keep that up, and you’re going to put me to sleep,” he said finally, his voice thick and soft.
A quick look at the clock told me I’d probably spent twice the normal amount of time on the massage than I normally did. At least with him, I knew Alistair wouldn't mind me being a little overindulgent.
“Well, you seemed to be enjoying yourself,” I quipped. “Just trying to make sure you get your money’s worth, Mr. Lindstrom.”
I finished up and wrapped a warmed towel around his head before adjusting the chair. He was already sitting up, and I led him to my station so I could dry him. Once that was done, I could get him out of here.
Keenly aware of the fact that he was watching me again, I turned the chair so he wasn’t staring directly into the mirror – and therefore, at me. “Would you like me to style it or just dry it?”
“Do I strike you as the kind of man who wants his hair fussed with?” he asked, sounding like he wanted to laugh.
“Well…you did come to a salon twice within the span of what…a few days?” The question slipped out of me before I could stop it and I winced, hoping like hell Alistair hadn’t been around to hear.
Not even two seconds later, I was able to breathe out a sigh of relief because a bright, overly animated laugh filled the salon. That would be Esther Vosburg, one of the few clients that Alistair still saw to directly. Esther wouldn’t have it any other way. Most of us suspected that she was trying to get him to ask her out. She hadn't quite figured out that he was gay. Which wasn't really a surprise since he flirted back, harmlessly enough, of course, but he kept her happy.
