by S. A. Gordon
“Would you?” Caitlin swallowed.
“Uh-huh,” he said, leaning closer.
“I, uh … I have to go to the ladies’ room. Mind my seat?” Caitlin pushed off the stool, grabbed her handbag and almost ran to the washroom.
Standing in front of the mirror, she splashed water on her face. She didn’t know what she’d thought would happen by coming to these bars, but after several nights of being approached by men she wasn’t in the least attracted to, offering her drinks she didn’t want—loaded with the intention of offering her other things she didn’t want—Caitlin wondered if maybe she was just not interested in men.
Boys, she thought, looking at her reflection. You’re not interested in boys.
The realization didn’t help her when all that seemed to be on offer was boys. She wondered what men even were these days—what was the definition of a man? She refused to believe that it was keeping your haircut and teeth perfect and bragging about how much money you earned. Surely a man—one worthy of the name—was confident in himself, not needing to broadcast his achievements; surely he moved with quiet authority and didn’t need to suggest that buying a girl a drink entitled him to have sex with her. Surely a man was educated enough to realize that his immediate circles of work, friends and family didn’t contain the whole world. A man was curious about things; he knew a lot but wanted to know more. And he knew who he was—he never tried to be someone else.
These boys had no idea who they were; they were all trying to be someone else—Caitlin just had no idea who that was. Maybe they were all trying to be what they thought a man was, some image cobbled together from reading men’s magazines and the sports pages, and watching the sorts of television shows she never would. And it had to be an image—not an ideal—because they were all so shallow and having ideals implied depth.
Caitlin was startled to discover that tears had gathered in the rims of her eyes. She hadn’t realized she was getting so worked up about this. She’d never really thought about it so much before. Before you saw him.
“Just stop it,” she snapped at the mirror. “This is getting ridiculous.”
“What’s getting ridiculous, hon?” said Lisa as she came up behind Caitlin. “Where’d you get to?”
“I got to here,” Caitlin said flatly.
“What’s the matter?” Lisa said, frowning. “That guy is out there waiting for you.”
“Yeah, well,” Caitlin said, turning toward her roommate, “I’m not waiting for him.”
“Cait?”
“I don’t like these guys, Lise. They’re sleazy and they’re boring.”
“Well, duh,” said Lisa, bending forward to check out her reflection. “You gotta kiss a lotta frogs before you find a prince, y’know?” She straightened as she saw Caitlin stiffen. “Oh, right … you’ve already found the prince.”
Caitlin’s cheeks colored. “No. No, that’s not it.”
“Really?” Lisa appraised her. “I’d say it is. I’d say no one’s good enough for you now that you’ve met Prince David.”
“I didn’t meet him,” Caitlin said tersely.
“That’s right,” Lisa said pointedly. “You didn’t. And you’re not going to. And for all you know, he’s as sleazy and boring as those guys out there.”
“So, what—we just accept that that’s all there is?”
“It’s not all there is, but it’s a numbers game, sweetie—the more you meet, the greater your chance of finding a good one. If you just give up, you’re never going to meeting someone. And there are plenty of someones who want to meet you.”
“You think?” Caitlin said, sniffing.
“Oh, honey—of course there are. Now, come on—let’s get back out there.”
Caitlin sniffed again. “Not tonight,” she said. “I think I just want to go home. Another night, okay?”
Lisa pursed her lips.
“You’ll be all right, won’t you?” Caitlin said, half pleading.
“Sure. I think I’m onto something, so don’t be surprised if I don’t come home.”
“Be careful, all right?”
Lisa nodded. “You too,” she said, looking at Caitlin meaningfully.
Caitlin frowned and then headed for the door.
CHAPTER SIX
Caitlin stared out the window of the Jitney as it made its way along Long Island to the Hamptons. There was a light drizzle that threatened to turn this weekend into a book-reading marathon rather than the ocean-swimming, beach-walking mini-break she’d been dreaming about. Her friends had taken a house for a week—that is, her far wealthier friends had taken a house for a week. In fact, it might even be one of their houses—one of their wealthy fathers’ houses. And her far wealthier friends could all somehow take the whole week away from work to enjoy the house, but she certainly couldn’t. The weekend was all she had.
Caitlin had neither a wealthy father nor a wealthy father’s house but every now and again she was grateful that one of her friends did. She also understood the deal: she had to be an entertaining house guest and tell lots of stories about what it was like to work at a fashion magazine. Even though she’d told her friends—many times—that she was a sub-editor and that she didn’t have much to do with the fashion department apart from checking the details of clothes with them, she was still expected to talk about which designers were tricky and which were fabulous; whether the models were really vacuous—everyone wanted to know that—and what the editor was really like and whether or not she had a Birkin bag in every color. Caitlin really didn’t care about any of those things. When she’d started at the magazine she’d wanted to be a features writer and working her way up through the subs department had seemed to be as good a place as any to start.
Still, she’d made a big fuss to her friends and family in San Diego about how she had to move to New York in order to have the career in publishing she’d always dreamed of—books or magazines, she hadn’t really minded—and now she had a pretty low-level job that threatened to stay low level for the next ten years, and she wasn’t sure that publishing was the fulfilling, glamorous career she’d thought it was. Maybe it was for the people at the top—but she didn’t know any of those people. So she just kept turning up to work each day, hoping that maybe she’d find some kind of inspiration and a reason not to give it all up and try organic goat farming. She wanted to find a career path in among it all, but it didn’t seem to be emerging according to her plan, let alone her hopes.
After the bus let her off at Sag Harbor, she stood and looked around. She hadn’t been to this particular friend’s house before so she really had no idea where she was or how to get where she needed to go. Someone was meant to meet her here. Not anyone specific—she’d just been breezily told, “Someone will meet you.” She jiggled the bag of cinnamon rolls that she had baked that morning—another contribution she could make to the weekend—and kept looking curiously at the people on the street.
“Caitlin?”
Whipping her head around, Caitlin saw a slender young man with a blond crew cut and sea-blue eyes.
“Uh—yes,” she said.
“Hi—I’m Liam.” He extended a hand and she shuffled the rolls around so she could extend her own.
“Hi—I’m Caitlin,” she said, vigorously shaking his hand.
Liam smiled, showing straight white teeth. “Yeah, I … I know.”
“Oh, sorry.” Caitlin took back her hand and slapped her forehead. “I guess I’m just excited to be here.”
“Don’t worry—it’s cute.” His gaze lowered to her feet and then lifted, slowly, up her body until he beheld her eyes once more. “You’re cute.”
Caitlin blushed. “Oh …” she started. “I, uh …” Her blush deepened as she realized that this almost impossibly perfect-looking man found her attractive.
“May I …?” He gestured toward the small suitcase that Caitlin was clutching in her left hand. Compared with Liam’s overall shiny neatness, she was suddenly conscious of the case being old an
d battered, and she hesitated about whether or not she should hand it over.
“I’m stronger than I look,” he teased, gesturing once more.
“Oh.” She blushed again. “Sorry—sure, thank you.” She handed it over and noticed that he didn’t even look at the bag, but he gave her another good look.
“My car’s this way. Ingrid asked me to come get you—but you’ve probably worked that out already.”
“Oh. Sure.” Caitlin realized she sounded like an idiot but she couldn’t really help it—this guy was seriously cute and seriously nice, and she was so unused to the combination that she was rendered a bit silly. “So you’re Ingrid’s, uh …”
“Cousin,” he supplied with what looked like a knowing smile. “It’s my family home that we’re all staying at.”
“Right, right—that’s right.” Caitlin took a breath, still aware of sounding like an idiot. “I thought it might have been her dad’s—I knew it belonged to her family somehow.”
“My father bought it before I was born. It’s been our summer home my whole life.” He walked with an easy grace that Caitlin found almost hypnotic—he had the self-assurance of someone who had never doubted his place in the world or his right to it. She couldn’t quite believe that he wasn’t an arrogant asshole but he didn’t seem to be—just self-confident. It was appealing because it made him easy to be around. He didn’t require anything from her. “Did you grow up in the city too?”
“No,” Caitlin said quickly. “I mean—I wish. San Diego.”
“And you left that sunshine and temperate climate to come all the way here, to a place that is freezing cold in winter and like a garbage disposal unit in summer?”
She smiled at him, impressed at how he’d managed to make her upbringing seem more interesting than his without making a judgment about either.
“Well, there’s no place like New York. Plus, I wanted to work in publishing and the opportunities in San Diego were … limited,” she said.
“Well, that’s all right. We can overcome a provincial past.” His white, white teeth made another appearance as he smiled but Caitlin wasn’t sure if he was joking. He had to be, though, right? He was being so nice to her.
They arrived at a silver new-model Audi. Liam popped the trunk and installed her old suitcase inside, then walked around to open the door for her.
“M’lady,” he said, holding the door.
“Thank you, kind sir,” Caitlin said with a dip of her head. She was reassured by his gesture.
“So do you work in publishing?” Liam said as he started the car.
“Yeah—magazines.”
“Cool,” he said, pulling out quickly onto the road with barely a glance in his side mirror. “What do you do?”
“I’m a sub-editor. I make other people’s words look pretty.”
“That sounds like you’re downplaying things quite a bit,” he said, looking at her briefly.
“Not at all. What about you?”
“I’m, uh … I’m an intern.”
“A doctor.”
“Uh-huh.” He smiled, still looking at the road.
“Now who’s downplaying things?”
“You got me.” He kept smiling.
It took only a couple of minutes to reach the house—“estate” might have been the more accurate term. It was set far off the road down a long driveway. Caitlin could see that the extensive garden was quite obviously looked after by at least one full-time gardener—there were fruit trees and flowers and bushes of all kinds, and what seemed to be acres of them. The house itself was two stories tall, long and wide, and there were outbuildings that looked like they housed staff or cars or horses, or possibly all of those things.
Caitlin was aware her mouth was slightly open as Liam said, “It looks impressive but this place wasn’t nearly so popular when Dad bought in the area. He got it cheaply.”
Caitlin turned to look at him disbelievingly. “Yeah, right—I’m not falling for that.” She closed her mouth abruptly as she realized how rude she must have sounded, but Liam simply laughed heartily as they pulled up in the parking area next to an assortment of other luxury vehicles, mostly European.
“I like you,” Liam said, turning off the engine. “You say what you think.”
“And you don’t?”
He shrugged. “Most people in my world don’t. They say what they think other people want them to say.”
“That just sounds too much like hard work.”
He laughed again. “You’re right about that.”
Liam escorted Caitlin and her bag from the car to the house, and Caitlin realized that for the whole time since she’d met Liam she hadn’t thought or worried about a single thing. She had just enjoyed being with him—and she had no idea when that had ever happened before.
*
Caitlin sat on the absurdly comfortably double bed—“Sorry it’s not a queen,” Liam had said as he’d shown her to the room, and it had taken her a few minutes to work out what he’d meant—and looked around at the tastefully decorated space. Everything was elegant and matching, but with enough of a hint of an actual person having decorated the room that Caitlin believed she was really in a family home. On top of the chest of drawers there were a couple of family photos—Liam was a child in one and a teenager in the other, surrounded by clearly doting parents and three sisters who looked just like him.
Just outside the window she could see the beach. The Atlantic stretched blue and sparkling on a day that had turned out to be brighter than it had promised, in a lot of ways.
She had the room to herself, which she couldn’t believe—there were so many house guests, but apparently enough rooms for each of them to have privacy. Liam’s parents had stayed in the city for the week, giving the house to him and Ingrid, and all the friends Ingrid had invited. Caitlin could hardly believe that all she’d had to do to qualify to be there was bake some cinnamon rolls. A small, niggling part of her suspected there would be another price to pay but right here, in this beautiful place, she didn’t really care what it was.
A soft knock sounded.
“Hi,” said Ingrid as she popped her head around the door. “How is everything?”
“Everything is amazing!” said Caitlin with a squeak. “I can’t believe this place.”
“It’s great, huh?” Ingrid said, closing the door behind her and leaning on it, her long legs stretching out in front. “I used to take it for granted when I was a kid but not anymore. We’re really lucky Uncle Richard let us have it.”
“I feel like I should have brought a huge gift or something.”
“Please,” Ingrid said, waving a hand dismissively. “They don’t need anything and your presence here is gift enough.”
Caitlin smiled, wondering how anyone her age got to be so gracious. And Ingrid was gracious—and graceful. She worked in the beauty section of the magazine; most of the staff thought she was just biding time until she married someone wealthy but Caitlin knew that Ingrid had ambitions that did not require a wealthy husband: she wanted to be the editor of the magazine, and she was prepared to take her time getting there. If there was a husband in the meantime, so be it, but she was in no hurry. Besides, she and Caitlin had originally bonded when they’d met in the staff cafeteria and both started complaining about the behavior of men in New York. Apparently going to a good school and a good college didn’t mean that Ingrid had access to a better caliber of man; Caitlin had felt reassured by that at first but then realized that it meant that perhaps there were no decent men anywhere. Ingrid had, however, failed to mention her cousin.
“So you and Liam got on, huh?” Ingrid said, looking enquiringly at Caitlin. “He was so relaxed when you arrived.”
“Isn’t he normally?” Caitlin said, suddenly interested in chewing a fingernail.
“He was. He was … then he wasn’t for a while.”
“Oh? How come?”
“He got involved with this girl who just drove him crazy. Really crazy—maybe be
cause she was a bit crazy. Not really her fault, though. It was stressful for a while. But they broke up and she got a proper diagnosis and some meds, and now they’re friends, I guess.”
“But he still wasn’t relaxed?”
“He’s been worried about her.”
“Oh. So they’re … getting back together?”
“No. I don’t think so. Why?” Ingrid grinned.
“I’m just interested!” Caitlin flushed and cleared her throat. “He’s a nice guy.”
“He’s a lovely guy. And we’d love him to meet someone great.” Ingrid looked at her with intent.
“Wait … what? Is that why you asked me here this weekend?” Caitlin said, frowning and suddenly feeling like the hired help, although she didn’t know why.
“No! I invited you because you’re super sweet and talented and you’re great company. I asked Liam to be here because I wanted him to meet you. He wasn’t meant to be here—he was going to stay in the city and go to some party. I told him this would be better. Way better.” Ingrid’s smile was broad and warm.
Caitlin was silent.
“Oh my goodness!” Ingrid said. “You have a boyfriend or something, don’t you? I can’t believe I didn’t check. I just hadn’t seen you with anyone and I assumed—”
“Ingrid,” Caitlin said, raising a hand, “it’s okay. I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m just … really touched that you’d want to introduce your cousin to me. That’s such a nice thing to do.”
“Hasn’t anyone set you up before?”
Caitiln shook her head.
“That’s crazy!” Ingrid pushed off the door. “You’re such a catch.”
Caitlin’s brow furrowed. “Am I?”
“Totally. I can’t believe you don’t know that.”
Caitlin was speechless again.
“Okay, come on.” Ingrid held out a hand. “We have lunch to prepare. And I need your culinary skills.”
“Such as they are.”
“‘Such as they are’ is better than mine.”
Ingrid pulled her off the bed and they made their way to the perfect, stylish kitchen.
