He loved seeing her work. Each piece was like a different glimpse of her soul, offbeat and original and brilliant.
Her figure studies were subtle and lovely, each portrait capturing its subject at a perfect moment of individual vitality. He recognized her friend Kate in one exquisite charcoal sketch. She sat curled up on a chair with a book open in her lap, staring off into space with her eyes rapt and her lips slightly parted, as though chasing some vision she’d seen in the pages she’d just read.
He recognized a few more of her subjects, too—Norbert and Amy and Quentin, among others. She’d done Quentin in watercolors, onstage as Prospero from The Tempest. There was a speech bubble issuing from his mouth as in a graphic novel. “We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.”
He could have stayed for hours, but he forced himself to go after only twenty minutes.
The living room was empty next door. The flat was quiet, so Zach made his way softly across to the bedroom and looked in.
Henry and Simone were both asleep. Henry was under the covers, the green-and-purple throw around his shoulders. Simone had fallen asleep on top of the blankets with her head on Henry’s shoulder.
If he were an artist like Simone, he’d capture them just like this: the old man and the young woman, bound together by the illness and vulnerability of the one and the strength and kindness of the other.
Wanting to do something, anything, to help, he started in on the empty takeout containers. He gathered them up quietly and took them out to the kitchen, finding a rubbish bin under the sink and filling it up. After that he took out everything else he was certain was trash—Styrofoam cups and plastic utensils and used tissues.
Once that was done, he hesitated. The men didn’t let Simone clean in here. But the more he looked around at all the dirty laundry, the more he couldn’t stand it—and Simone, he was sure, felt the same way.
Well, what the hell. It wasn’t her doing it; it was him.
He found a basket, piled the clothes into it, and carried it downstairs to the laundry room. He stuck a ten-dollar bill into the change machine and quarters poured out. He bought detergent from a vending machine on the wall, loaded two washers with dirty clothes, and went back upstairs.
Henry and Simone were still asleep. He couldn’t vacuum, but he found a box of disposable dusting cloths and used them on the floor in the bedroom as well as on the furniture. Once he was done with that, it was time to go back down and put the wet clothes into dryers.
Upstairs again and out of chores to do, he started to think about the day-to-day reality of Noah and Henry’s life . . . and Simone’s, too, doing what she could to provide support.
He had a way to help, but he was a stranger. Would they think he was being presumptuous? Engaging in some kind of noblesse oblige?
He slid his hands into his pockets as he paced around the living room, pausing in front of a black-and-white photo of Henry and Noah. It had been taken about twenty years ago, by the looks of it.
It was wintertime, and the two men had their arms around each other. Henry, the taller by six inches, was laughing as he looked up into the gray sky. Noah, looking up at Henry, was laughing, too. Both men wore black overcoats, and the white flakes of snow were visible against them.
Zach stared at the photo for a long moment. Then he pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was early morning in New York, which meant it was late morning in England. He scrolled through his contact list and started making calls.
An hour later, the sun was up and Zach was folding clothes. The door to the apartment opened and Noah came in, his arm in a cast and an exhausted look on his face.
“How are you?” Zach asked, concerned.
“I’ll do. I feel like I could sleep for a week, but I’ll do.” He focused on the laundry basket. “Did Simone—”
“It wasn’t Simone,” Zach said quickly. “It was me. She told me you don’t let her clean in the bedroom, but I needed something to do when she and Henry fell asleep. Sorry if I overstepped.”
Noah shook his head. “You did indeed, young man . . . and I’m very grateful to you. Please don’t tell Simone, though. In an effort to pretend we’re not completely dependent on her, we said we’d take care of the bedroom. I kid myself that it lightens the load for her a little bit. She does so much for us already, and we can’t seem to stop her. Not that we try very hard,” he added wryly. “I honestly have no idea what we’d do without her. Simone is an angel, if you didn’t already know.” He glanced toward the bedroom. “They’re asleep, you said?”
Zach nodded, and the two of them went over to the doorway to look inside. Henry shifted in his sleep just then and Simone’s head slipped from his shoulder, waking her up.
She yawned like a kitten and opened her eyes, blinking up at Zach and Noah.
“Hi,” she said, sounding confused. “What time is it?”
“Much too early,” Noah said gently. “Thank you so much for staying, Simone. Did he give you any trouble?”
“Not at all,” she said, running her hands through her hair as she got to her feet. “He was fine. I got him to take his meds, too.” She looked at Noah’s wrist. “How’s the arm?”
“I’ll live.” He gestured around the now-tidy bedroom. “Did you see what this whippersnapper did while you were sleeping?”
She looked around and her eyes widened. “I didn’t tell him to, Noah. Honestly.”
Noah was grinning. “I know. Apparently he’s one of the few people in your life who won’t blindly follow your instructions, which makes him either very brave or very foolish.”
Simone looked relieved. “Well, I’m glad you’re not upset.” She sniffed. “And I must say, it smells a heck of a lot better in here now.”
Noah moved into the bedroom and made shooing gestures at Simone. “Thanks again for staying, dear heart, but you should go home and get some sleep in your own bed.”
“Can’t I get you some breakfast before I leave?”
“I had coffee and pastry at the hospital cafeteria. I’m fine. Now get out of here, for heaven’s sake.”
“All right, all right.” She kissed Noah on the cheek and followed Zach out of the flat, closing the door softly behind them.
Once they were out in the hall, Simone took in a lungful of air and let it out again. Then she looked up at him with a tired smile. “Zach, I don’t know how to thank you for—”
He shook his head. “There’s no need to thank me, Simone. It was my pleasure.”
She leaned back against the wall. “That’s what you said when Jessica roped you into coming to her wedding, and once again I say it can’t possibly be true. But it’s really, really nice of you to say it.” She yawned. “Since we’ve got a show tonight—our last show of the run, no less—I suppose we might as well get some rest. You, especially. At least I caught a few hours of shut-eye while you were dusting things and doing laundry. Total props for that, by the way,” she added. “I’ve been begging that stubborn old man to let me clean the bedroom for months.” She pushed herself away from the wall and stuck out a hand. “So . . . thanks again, Zach. See you tonight?”
He took her hand but he didn’t shake it. Instead, he held it between both of his own, tracing over the calluses on her palm with a fingertip.
“I don’t have to go,” he said softly. “I could get some rest in your flat. You’ve got a couch, a bed . . . all sorts of possibilities.”
A tremor went through her. It was faint, but he was too attuned to her to miss it.
“You can’t possibly be thinking what you seem to be thinking. You haven’t been to sleep for twenty-four hours.”
He settled his thumb on the inside of her wrist and made small, firm circles against her skin. “Some things are more important than sleep.”
She looked down at her hand, watching as he touched her.
Her lips parted and her breath came a little faster, and Zach could feel his own blood rising quicker than he would have thought possible.
Everything he’d learned about Simone came together in his mind. Her brilliant artwork, the way she helped people, the incredible job she’d done onstage last night . . . and what it all added up to was one extraordinary woman.
A woman he wanted to be with, even if it was only for a few days.
Hell, even if it was just for today. When it came right down to it, he’d take anything she was willing to give him.
But when she looked up at him again, he could tell something had changed.
“I’m tempted, but . . . I think we should both get some sleep. Actual sleep,” she added.
He knew there was more going on than that, but he also knew this wasn’t the time to push her.
“Fair enough,” he said. “But if you happen to change your mind, all you have to do is call.”
She nodded, and he lifted her hand and kissed it.
“Get some rest,” he told her. “I’ll see you tonight at the theater.”
A few minutes later he was heading uptown in a taxi. As the cab moved slowly through the traffic, his phone buzzed.
For one heady moment, he thought it might be Simone calling to ask him to come back—which he would have done in a heartbeat. But when he pulled the phone out of his pocket, it wasn’t Simone’s name he saw on the screen.
It was Isabelle’s.
He stared at his phone for a long moment as it vibrated in his hand. Then he did something he hadn’t done in years, at least not when it came to Isabelle.
He hit Decline and slid the phone back into his pocket.
He’d call her back later, of course. But for right now, as he rode through the streets of Manhattan, he didn’t want to think about his old friend.
He wanted to think about Simone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Simone pulled off her shoes and her jeans before climbing the ladder to her loft bed and falling asleep. When she woke a few hours later, she felt refreshed . . . and regretful.
She curled up on her side and thought about Zach. If she hadn’t gotten all emotional last night, he would be in this bed with her right now.
And oh, what she was missing. She closed her eyes as she let her imagination run wild. That body . . . those hands . . . and that demanding, sinful mouth.
But he could never be a sexy fling now. Because now he was the guy who’d played Gershwin for Henry and done laundry for Noah.
Her phone rang, and for one delicious moment she thought it might be Zach calling to see if he could change her mind. But when she grabbed it, it wasn’t Zach’s name on the screen but Kate’s.
“Did I wake you up?” Kate asked breathlessly. “It was all I could do to wait until noon to call. Oh, Simone, you were so amazing last night. Are you going on tonight, too? Is it too late to get a ticket? I’ll take standing room or—”
Simone laughed. “You don’t have to stand up, although that’s the sweetest request ever. I can get you a ticket.” She paused for a moment. “So . . . I have something to tell you.” She took a deep breath and told her best friend everything that had happened the night before.
“Oh, my God,” was Kate’s repeated refrain.
Later: “He kissed you? This is epic!”
“He helped you take care of Henry? Like, all night?”
“Laundry? Seriously? This man is a keeper.”
And finally: “And after all that you sent him home? Are you crazy? If ever two people deserved great sex, it was you and Zach last night.”
Simone closed her eyes. “I know. It’s just . . .” She reached for words. “It’s just . . . I know him now.”
There was a short silence. Then: “Oh, wow.”
“What?”
“Something just occurred to me. When’s the last time you hooked up with someone? Not just a kiss, but the actual deed?”
She thought about it. “Well, there was still snow on the ground.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God. There was still snow on the ground!”
“That’s what I thought. So, like, almost six months.”
“Six months.” She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “I haven’t been with a guy in six months. What does that mean? You don’t think I’m outgrowing sex, do you? I was sort of planning to indulge my carnal desires well into my seventies, if not later. I was going to be the hot chick in the retirement home.”
“You and your retirement home. No, I don’t think you’re outgrowing sex. But maybe you are ready for sex with a little something more.”
“What, like romance? No, no, no. I’ll leave that to you, my dear friend. You’re cut out for romance. I’m not.”
“You know, I’ve let that assumption of yours go unchallenged for ten years. Maybe that’s too long.”
Simone thought about Zach in her apartment last night, looking at her artwork and calling her brilliant, and she felt a pang. Then she remembered the cleaning he’d done in Noah’s bedroom and the laundry he’d folded so carefully and the pang grew sharper.
“I can’t go there, Kate. Okay? I mean, let’s say it’s true. Let’s say I am starting to have romantic feelings or whatever. What does it tell you that the first guy I’ve felt this way about in forever doesn’t even live on this continent? It tells you that romance and I are not meant to be.”
Kate was quiet on the other end of the phone, and when Simone found herself actually hoping that her optimistic friend would find some silver lining in this situation—some scenario in which her connection to Zach Hammond wouldn’t have to end in a few days—she knew she was in real trouble.
“What if you went to Ireland with the company?” Kate finally asked. “I know you said Zach let you off the hook, but—”
“No way. Even if I could bring myself to actually volunteer for a plane trip, don’t you think that would only make things worse? Every minute I spend with this man will only suck me in deeper. And the deeper I go, the harder it will be to . . .” She stopped, suddenly embarrassed at how she must sound.
“Oh, Simone.”
“What?” she said defensively.
“It’s just . . . I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk like this before. I feel so sad all of a sudden.”
Her friend’s sympathy actually helped her cheer up a little. “Oh, it’s not so bad. This is probably just an aberration. Once Zach’s out of the picture, I’ll get back to normal. Don’t you worry about me.” She sat up in bed. “All I need to do is get myself up and out of this apartment. You’ll be in the audience tonight?”
“I wouldn’t miss it. Break a leg, Simone.”
A few hours later, as she was climbing the stoop to her apartment after grabbing some lunch, Noah stuck his head out of his living room window. “Simone! Is this your doing?”
She squinted up at him. “Is what my doing? What are you talking about?”
“This woman on the phone. Did you hire a home health-care company to give me and Henry full-time support?”
Full-time support?
“Do I look like I suddenly have access to two grand a week?”
Noah’s face fell, and she realized that as crazy as it was, he’d been hoping against hope that the phone call was real.
She was going to kill whoever was on the line. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was a scam, but she was going to kill them.
“You didn’t give them your social security number, did you?”
He scowled at her. “I may be old but I’m not an idiot. Anyway, she didn’t ask for any personal information. She says she’s calling to set up interviews so we can choose aides who best fit our needs and situation.”
It had to be some kind of scam. “Ask her who hired them. Keep her on the line and I’ll be up in a sec.”
She took the steps
two at a time and knocked on the door. Noah answered a moment later with his cell phone in his hand.
“She says they were hired by a charitable foundation operating out of London.” He looked miserable. “It can’t be real. Can it?”
“Who did she say she was calling from?”
“Home Care Partners.”
Simone frowned. “Okay, I’ve actually heard of them. They’re big and respected. A friend of mine hired them to take care of her grandmother.” She thought for a second. “Ask her for her number and tell her you’ll call back. If it turns out the number really is for Home Care Partners, then . . .”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll have to figure out why an English charity—”
She stopped speaking.
It couldn’t be. Could it?
She followed Noah into his apartment as he finished his conversation with the woman on the phone. Then he hung up, checked the number he’d written down, and dialed.
When the call was answered on the other end, he listened for a few seconds. Then he hung up and looked at Simone.
“It’s Home Care Partners. My God, Simone. Could this actually be real?”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, in case there’s some kind of mistake. But I think . . . maybe . . . Zach might be behind this.”
Noah stared at her. “Your young man from last night? But why on earth would he do something like this?”
Tears came into her eyes and a lump into her throat. “Because he wants to help.”
Noah lifted his arms up and let them fall. “I can’t let a total stranger do this for us. Can I?”
“Don’t think of it as a stranger. Think of it as a foundation that’s stepping in to help. Zach isn’t giving you anything directly; he’s going through a charitable organization . . . if it is him. And they couldn’t have chosen a more deserving recipient.”
Nothing Like Love Page 11
