The Wedding Dance

by Lucy Kevin

  “It blooms in spring and is a lovely light purple color.” But that wasn’t really what he was asking, was it? “Some people,” she continued softly, “think it symbolizes freedom.”

  Fortunately, just then, the waiter came back to clear their plates and take the rest of their order. Afterward, she was careful to steer the conversation clear of anything that had to do with her. Men, in her experience, loved to talk about themselves.

  “So, how long does it usually take to build a home?”

  “It can take months,” Patrick said, “but I’m not actually there for most of it. I take a few weeks to draw up the plans and then I fly in to deal with any big issues the contractors have.”

  “So you drift from place to place, always on the road, never settling down?”

  Phoebe quite liked that image. Particularly since it meant whatever brief fling she and Patrick were going to have wouldn’t hurt either of them. They’d both just move on naturally, and that would be that.

  “I suppose so,” he said, “though I like to think of it as doing what I can to help out as many couples as possible with their dream homes. Plus, I always know my family will be there for me whenever I need to be brought back down to earth. They’ve always provided me a sense of rootedness.”

  “You know,” she said as their steaks arrived and they dug into the perfectly prepared meat, “this is the first dinner date in a long time that I’ve actually enjoyed.”

  “It’s been pretty fun from this side of the table too,” he said, with a look that made it clear exactly how much fun it had been.

  She could practically feel his appreciation brushing across her skin. Still, she wanted to take the time to enjoy the rest of the date, rather than rushing Patrick home with her. There would be time enough for that. One of the best things about these brief flings was that they were intense.

  “You know, Patrick, there’s one thing I don’t get.”

  “What’s that?” he asked

  “Well, you build homes for couples, and you’re obviously deeply into marriage, commitment, and the rest of it. Yet you’re here with me, rather than at home with a wife. Why hasn’t some lucky girl snapped you up?”

  Patrick grinned. “Lucky, huh?”

  Phoebe barely held back a snort of laughter. “Now you’re fishing for compliments. And avoiding the question. Come on, if you’re so into the joys of marriage, why isn’t there a wedding ring on your finger already?”

  “Maybe I just haven’t met the right girl yet.” Patrick shot her a pointed look, full of humor and something else, something bigger than she wanted to consider. “Though I’m not ruling you out just yet.”

  Phoebe flinched so hard she almost knocked her plate off the table, her enjoyment of the evening quickly fading away.

  How could he? The evening had been heading towards being a lot of fun for both of them, the start of exactly the kind of casual fling she preferred. Now though…no.

  She couldn’t stay.

  She reached into her bag for her cell phone and pressed the button for the app that made it ring. It had come in handy on previous dates when she’d wanted to leave before the guy was ready to let her go, but she hadn’t thought she’d need to pull that with Patrick.

  Or, rather, she had hoped she wouldn’t need to use it with him.

  “I’m sorry, I need to take this call,” she told him after it rang, then put the phone to her ear. “Mom? What is it? Where are you?” She nodded, then said, “Hold tight, I’ll be right there.”

  “Is everything okay?” Patrick asked when she put her phone back into her bag.

  “Not really.” At least that part was the truth. “That was my mother. She’s unexpectedly in town.” She pushed her seat back and stood up. “I didn’t get all the details, but I have to go.”

  Patrick stood, too. “Well, at least let me—”

  “No, it’s fine,” she said quickly even though it was anything but that. Needing to get out of there as quickly as she could, she said, “You should finish dinner. And enjoy this view. Everything tasted great. Thanks Patrick,” the words tumbling out one after the other before she hurried out of the park-turned-restaurant.

  Chapter Four

  Patrick pulled into RJ’s driveway, pausing to call Phoebe again. He wanted to make sure that she was okay after the abrupt way she’d left dinner, but she wasn’t answering his calls. He’d circled the block around the park several times with his car to see if he could take her home, but there hadn’t been any sign of her.

  She looked so nervous—and guilty—right before she’d left that he couldn’t help but wonder if the whole thing about her mother was an excuse. Had he been wrong to come on so strong? To not only take her to dinner tonight...but to also make it clear that he was looking for more from her?

  Yet Patrick knew he couldn’t really have done anything else. He wasn’t about to lie to Phoebe, couldn’t act like one night together would good enough. He wasn’t that guy.

  He would never be that guy.

  RJ was sitting on the sofa watching the start of the football game. “You’ve been gone a while. Was there a problem at the site?”

  Patrick took the beer his brother offered. “No problems, everything went great.” With the property, anyway.

  He tried to get into the match-up between the San Francisco 49ers and the Chicago Bears, but it was hard to concentrate on anything but Phoebe. Especially when he couldn’t stop thinking about how soft, how sweet, her mouth had looked as she’d told him about the language of flowers. It was all too easy to imagine what her lips would taste like pressed against his.

  Not that he’d get the chance at this rate.

  “Are you kidding?” RJ yelled at the screen. “That ref is blind!”

  Patrick was glad to be able to laugh at something. “You’re just upset because my team is winning.”

  “Your team?” his brother demanded. “A little thing like moving to the other side of the country and suddenly you’ve switched teams?”

  “At least when they’re winning.”

  “Traitor.”

  They made it through to halftime like that, with RJ cursing every mistake the home team made and Patrick making a point of cheering for the Bears as loudly as possible. After all, if you couldn’t revel in the sporting misfortune of your sibling’s favorite team, what could you do? For a little while, it was like being kids again crowded into their parents’ old home with everyone in front of the TV watching whatever big game was on.

  At halftime, RJ asked, “Was Phoebe upset with me? I should have warned her that I might need her to step in to take a look at the landscaping for Rose and Donovan’s property.”

  Patrick caught his brother’s slight twitch at the eminent plastic surgeon’s name. “No, she wasn’t upset, although we both were surprised you’d decided you couldn’t help.”

  RJ shrugged. “I had a lot to do back at work.”

  Patrick was pretty sure his brother could have had his work done at the Rose Chalet in no time flat if he needed to. Not to mention the fact that the owner, Rose, seemed perfectly happy to let him off the hook for a few hours to take a look at her property.

  But rather than giving Patrick the chance to ask any further questions, RJ got up off the couch to grab a new bag of chips from the kitchen. “You hungry?” he said as a clear subject changer. “I could throw some burgers on the grill.”

  “No, I ate. I took Phoebe out to dinner.”

  His brother raised an eyebrow. “Just as a thank you for helping out, right?”

  Patrick frowned, even though it was precisely the reason he’d given Phoebe to get her to finally agree. “No. As a date.”

  “A date?”

  “Why are you so surprised?” Patrick asked a little more hotly than he needed to.

  “It’s not you. It’s just that Phoebe’s not exactly a relationship kind of girl.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Patrick demanded, immediately taking offense at his brother’s offhand
judgment. “I thought Phoebe was your friend.”

  “Take it easy.”

  “So you can keep insulting her? I don’t think so.”

  RJ shook his head. “I’m not insulting her. All I’m saying is that Phoebe isn’t the settling down type. Just…don’t expect too much, okay?”

  “Are you actually telling me you’ve never been tempted to ask Phoebe out on a date yourself?”

  RJ actually looked shocked by his question. “What? No. No way.”

  “Oh, come on. I know that our taste in women isn’t all that different. You must have thought about it.”

  RJ shook his head. “That’s not how things work in the Rose Chalet.”

  “Why?” Patrick asked. “Have you all taken vows of celibacy?”

  His brother smiled at that. “No, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t in our employment contract. It’s just that we’ve all been working together so long that we think of one another more like family than anything.”

  “Really?” Patrick asked before he could stop himself. “What about Rose then?”

  RJ looked at him sharply. “Especially Rose.”

  Patrick suddenly realized why RJ hadn’t wanted to work on Rose and Donovan’s house plans. At least one thing was clear tonight.

  “Are we going to sit here arguing,” RJ asked, “or are we going to watch the second half?”

  Patrick took the second beer his brother handed him and forced himself to sit back to watch Chicago claim their victory, though there wasn’t a lot of pleasure in it by then.

  How could RJ think that Phoebe wasn’t ever going to respond to a guy who was looking for more than a one-night stand? And even if that really was the case, did it matter?

  Patrick already knew he couldn’t give up on the chance to be with her just because she was the kind of woman who put up walls around herself to keep other people out. He would just have to find a way past them. Then he would build what lay between them slowly and carefully, until it was something that could really last.

  Fortunately, he thought with his first real smile since she’d walked out on him at dinner, if there was one thing he was good at, it was building things that lasted.

  Chapter Five

  Phoebe paid the taxi driver, then began to make her way up the stairs of her apartment building. All she wanted was to get to the other side of her front door so that she could shut out a world where guys like Patrick Knight thought it was perfectly acceptable to start talking about marriage on a first date.

  First and last.

  There was no way she was ever going near Patrick again romantically. He might be gorgeous and fun to be around, but there were plenty of guys like that out there.

  Well, maybe not quite as good looking or as easy to be with as Patrick, but at least they wouldn’t go around demanding more than Phoebe was willing to give.

  She turned a corner and almost walked into a guy she had seen coming out of an apartment downstairs a couple of times. “I’m glad I ran into you,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to introduce myself.” He held out his hand. “I’m Jack. My girlfriend and I live in 1F.”

  “Phoebe.” She shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  She was already starting back up the stairs when he said, “Listen, we’re planning to throw a party in a few weeks to celebrate getting engaged and we thought it would be nice to invite everyone from the building. We figured it was a good excuse to finally meet the neighbors. We’d love to see you there.”

  “Congratulations,” she said, and then, “I often work weekends, but once you know the date, let me know and I’ll check to see if I can make it.” She hoped she wasn’t being too rude for not prolonging the conversation, but all she could concentrate on just then was a long bath and vegging out in front of the TV with a glass of wine.

  But, for some reason, the combination of engagement parties and her day looking at Rose’s property with Patrick, had her needing to push back a strange longing for something more than her little apartment, for a house and garden of her own to putter in.

  Didn’t all her friends with houses and yards always tell her how lucky she was not to have to deal with all the upkeep a house demanded? And didn’t they always marvel at how she managed to live virtually clutter free?

  Phoebe had never seen much point in weighing herself down with stuff, with two exceptions. The first was the collection of clothes that had long since outgrown the available closet space and now occupied stylish racks stationed along the side wall. The other came in the form of the potted plants dotting every surface. She loved that plants didn’t demand anything beyond a little water and some light to grow in.

  All in all, Phoebe’s apartment was the perfect space for her to remind herself of why she didn’t need anyone making things—

  “Hi, Sweetie.”

  —difficult.

  “Mom?”

  Phoebe thought back to the excuse she’d given Patrick. One little white lie about her mother being at her apartment needing help, and now here she was.

  Even by karma’s standards, that was quick.

  Angela Davis was in her fifties and people tended to say that if women ended up looking like their mothers, Phoebe was going to be very lucky indeed. Her mother exuded a sense of elegance, from the tips of her manicured nails to her perfectly applied makeup. Only a few cracks showed in the façade, such as the smudges in her mother’s makeup under the eyes, and the suitcase perched next to the sofa, pushed back slightly so that Phoebe wouldn’t have seen it immediately if she hadn’t been looking for it.

  “Hello, honey. It’s so good to see you.”

  Her mother enveloped her in a hug that immediately took Phoebe back to being five years old and sitting in the warmth of her mother’s lap, enveloped in the floral scent Estee Lauder had created out of tuberose and gardenia.

  “You too, Mom,” she said, already counting down the seconds until—

  “So you’re still in this place,” her mother said as she pulled back and looked around dismissively. “You have a good job, Phoebe. You could do so much better for yourself than this.”

  “I like my apartment, Mom.”

  “Really?” her mother asked as if that wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities. “But if you had a house instead, then you might have civilized things like spare rooms for your mother to stay in when she comes over. In fact, if you had bought when the market was at its lowest—”

  “Then I’d be stuck with a huge debt I don’t want tying me down.”

  But Phoebe’s mother wasn’t listening. Instead she was moving to run her fingers over the leaf of a flourishing pink flowering bromeliad in the corner of the room.

  That particular love was one thing they had in common. About the only thing, it seemed sometimes. Which was why Phoebe knew her mother hadn’t just dropped by for a visit. After all, they’d been through this enough times by now, hadn’t they?

  She hated to see her mother’s face fall and her shoulders hunch as she dropped the leaf from her fingertips and sat back down on the couch.

  “David left me.”

  Phoebe’s chest clenched. It was so difficult seeing her mother like this. Phoebe never knew what to say...and when she did, she never felt like it was the right thing, or what her mother wanted to hear.

  She sat next to her mother and took her hand. “He left you, just like that?”

  “He said he wanted to be happy.” Her mother was tearing up now and Phoebe reached for the box of tissues on the end table. “I thought we were happy. We had just celebrated our one-year anniversary.”

  A year was practically a lifetime by the standards of her mother’s relationships. Why anyone would invest so much of themselves in something so brief, Phoebe didn’t know. She just knew that her mother kept on doing it, and every time it went wrong—every single time—they ended up here, having the same conversation they’d had so many times before.

  Her mother was struggling not to outright cry, which meant that any minute now s
he was going to try to distract herself from her emotions by—

  “You know, honey, if you are going to live in an apartment, you could at least make it look a bit nicer. Especially with so many great furnishing stores in San Francisco.”

  Phoebe pulled her hand back from her mother’s. “I like my apartment.” She gestured to the kitchen window. “Look at how well the orchids are doing in this light.”

  “The flowers look good,” her mother agreed, “but the rest of it…”

  Phoebe stood up. She loved her mother, of course she did, but on the days when she showed up needing somewhere to stay after a bad breakup, it could sometimes be quite hard to remember all the reasons why.

  “I’ll go get some sheets and things to make up the couch as a bed. You can take my room.”

  “Thank you, honey. It won’t be for too long, I promise.”

  After helping her with the sheets, her mother sat back down on the couch and gave her a look she dreaded as she patted the seat next to her. “Are you dating anyone?”

  Phoebe felt her cheeks grow hot as she shook her head. “No.”

  But she could be, couldn’t she? If she hadn’t freaked out over dinner, she could still be out on a lovely date with Patrick...and he might even be kissing her by now.

  Oh, the thought of being kissed by that sinfully gorgeous mouth.

  “Make sure you don’t end up like me, Phoebe,” her mother said in a hollow voice. “That’s why I worry about you so much. I know you think you have all the time in the world, but trust me, the years move past you faster and faster every year. You don’t want to end up alone.” Her mother paused a beat before asking, “Do you hear anything from your father these days, Phoebe?”

  Beyond frustrated with how her night had gone, Phoebe barely held it in check as she said, “Mom, can we once, just once, not do this?”

  “Not do what?”

  Her mother actually looked surprised by Phoebe’s question. Could she really not remember the way things always went when she’d broken up with someone?

  Then again, maybe she couldn’t. Maybe that was what let her keep going around and around, making the same mistakes. It would explain a lot, but the trouble was that Phoebe could remember. She could remember far too well.