by Karen Cimms
“She’s out like a light,” I said, returning to the living room.
Rain stood by the door, her coat still on.
“I think she wore herself out with Diane’s nephews,” I said, slipping off my jacket. She still hadn’t moved. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
The look she gave me bore through me like a laser beam.
“What are these?” I caught a flash of red on glossy paper. My jaw stilled into a tight line.
One perfect eyebrow arched upward. “Well?”
She held up at least a dozen months’ worth of February, torn from calendars throughout Millstone.
I felt like I’d swallowed the Sahara. My tongue cemented to the roof of my mouth. I blinked. Twice.
“Chase.”
I might even have stopped breathing. Or maybe I was just buying time because I didn’t have a defensible answer.
Still gripping the evidence, she folded her arms and angrily tapped the toe of her cheetah-print stiletto in my direction.
I jutted out my chin and tried to look indignant. “What were you doing in my glove compartment?”
Suspicion flashed across her face. “That’s your answer? How long have you had these? And why?”
Shit. She probably thought I was a fucking stalker.
“Not long.” I stared at the wall above her head, afraid if I made eye contact, she might incinerate me.
“Just one, I might be flattered—but there are fourteen here, Chase. Fourteen. That’s creepy. And a little stalky.”
My eyes slid down to meet hers. I frowned. “I’m not a stalker.”
“You’re something,” she sighed, slipping out of her coat. When she turned to hang it in the closet, I got another panorama of her bare back.
I didn’t dare say what I was actually thinking: That the way she dressed sometimes made me act like a crazy person; a maniac running around town and demanding the month of February from anyone stupid enough to admit they still possessed a year-old calendar.
“That’s it?”
I shrugged.
She tossed the calendar pages on the coffee table and headed for the bedroom.
I forced my feet to follow.
“Because I don’t like the idea of other guys looking at you like that. I can’t help it. I’m a guy. I know how we think. I look at that picture, and my damn jeans get tight, but that’s okay. You’re supposed to make my jeans tight. I just don’t want you making anyone else’s jeans tight.”
She pulled a face. At first she looked like she would lash out at me, but she spoke to me as if I were a child. Why not? I was acting like one.
“Relax, okay? Very few men have ventured where you’ve gone.” She gave me a sassy little smile and shrugged. “Besides, it was a fundraiser for pediatric cancer. And I wasn’t even naked. I was wearing a turtleneck, for god’s sake.”
A turtleneck? Seriously? I struggled to format an answer to this that wouldn’t piss her off, some way to point out that while her get-up did in fact have a neck and sleeves, it had no middle or bottom.
“And I might as well tell you, I’ve done some other modeling for the photographer who shot the calendar. Just some artsy black and white stuff. I’m not even sure what he does with them.” She shrugged again, as if that were that, then slipped her arms from her dress and let it fall to the floor. Just as I’d suspected. No bra. I peeled my eyes off her breasts.
“And if this bothers you that much, then you should be glad I turned down that other offer.”
“What other offer?”
“The magazine,” she said, slipping into her robe and cinching it tight. “After I did the calendar, I got a call from a magazine offering me twenty-five hundred dollars to pose naked. I didn’t take it—so relax, okay?” She gave me a dismissive shake of her head. “Good thing. Not that I have any problem with posing naked, but after this, I could just picture you driving all over the country and pounding on doors, demanding that men hand over their copies of Delicious.” She frowned. “And just so you know, there would’ve been an additional twenty-five hundred if they’d used me on the cover.”
Brains. Mine. All over the bedroom wall.
“What?” She looked annoyed.
“Nothing.” I shook my head, the same head that was trying to wrap itself around what she was telling me.
“It’s no big deal, Chase. Jeez.” She whipped open the robe and threw it on the floor, knowing damn well what she was doing to me now. “It’s just a body. Everyone has one. Some people can sing, some can paint, some are good at math, some can tune an engine until it hums. My talent is this. I don’t even have to work at it.”
She strutted past me and into the bathroom. Again, it was as if my feet had grown roots.
“You’ll probably have a problem with this too,” she called out over the sound of running water, “but I was a life drawing model at the college last spring.” I could tell from her garbled voice that she was brushing her teeth. “I’m sure if you go up to Rutgers, you might be able to bribe someone to give you a list of all the students in that class. If most of them live in the dorms, you won’t even have to travel too far to strong-arm them into giving you their work.”
When she noticed me leaning against the doorjamb, she wiped her mouth and grinned.
“Funny,” I growled.
“You’re the one who’s funny, caveman—”
I didn’t let her finish. I grabbed her around the waist and tossed her over my shoulder. “I can’t help it. This,” I said, slapping her bare ass, “is mine. I don’t want anyone else seeing it or touching it—or any of your other assets.”
I tossed her on the bed, and was relieved to see the annoyed look in her eyes had been replaced with something I could work with.
She gripped my T-shirt in her hand and pulled me down on top of her.
“You’re a caveman, all right. But you’re my caveman.”
“How about roast beef and mashed potatoes tomorrow night?” Rain asked after some pretty amazing makeup sex. Not that we’d had a fight. It had been more of a loud discussion. But I still needed to make it up to her, because in my head, it could have gone much worse.
I opened my eyes. “Who doesn’t like roast beef?”
“I know you like it. Does your mother?”
“I guess. Don’t fuss.”
“I’m meeting your mother for the first time. I want her to like me. I want her to know I can cook, and I’m taking good care of you.”
“I told her you’re taking great care of me. She’ll love you.” I planted a kiss on her forehead and rolled away. It was hard to face her when I was worried that my mother might not love her, at least not right off the bat, thanks to my brother and his busybody wife.
Which was why I stupidly asked what she would be wearing tomorrow night.
“Why?”
“Just wondering. My mom’s kind of old-fashioned, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. Is there something wrong with the way I dress?”
Yes. “No. It’s just that it wouldn’t hurt for you to cover up once in a while. You’re a beautiful girl, Rain. You’d look good in anything.”
“Except what I usually wear? What was wrong with the dress I had on today?”
I flipped back toward her. “It had no back. Weren’t you cold?”
With the look I was getting, the temperature had dropped in the bedroom.
“I was fine. It was a nice dress.”
“It was. It would have been great for cocktails at a club in Manhattan, but it was a little much for Thanksgiving dinner with friends.”
“Oh, now it’s too much. I thought it wasn’t enough.”
I rolled on top of her, pinning her in place, and stared down at her until I could see a crack in her stern facade.
“Fine,” she said, trying to hide a smile. “I won’t wear that dress when your mother comes tomorrow. But I do have a red turtleneck I could probably wear.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chase had to work Friday
and since I had the day off, I didn’t set the alarm and ended up sleeping until well past nine. When I woke, Izzy was watching cartoons in the living room with a bowl of cereal and a half-gallon of milk, half of which seemed to have pooled on Chase’s glass-topped coffee table.
“Izzy, you’re making a mess,” I said, rushing into the kitchen for the paper towels. “Did you climb onto the counter to get the cereal down?”
She shook her head, not even bothering to look at me, entranced by the cartoons.
“Uh-uh. Daddy left it on the table for me with a note that said not to wake you.”
Oh my god. Not this again. “Izzy! It’s Chase. Don’t call him Daddy.”
Twin pools of icy blue stared up at me. “He said it’s okay.”
My daughter wanted a daddy, and I couldn’t think of a better one, but that still didn’t make it right. The last thing I wanted to do was scare him away, even though he was the one pushing for us to live together. It was all too good—except for that whole jealousy thing—that I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
After cleaning up Izzy’s mess and getting her dressed, I made a quick pass around the apartment, scrubbed the kitchen and the bathroom, and then Izzy and I went to the grocery store.
Roast beef was a specialty of mine. I was also making Chase’s favorite mashed potatoes, glazed Brussels sprouts, an autumn chopped salad with dried cranberries, and for dessert, chocolate cake from scratch. My mother was bringing the wine.
Back at Chase’s apartment, I put the cake together first, and while it was baking, I prepped the rest of the dishes. I fried bacon and toasted the nuts for the salad, chopped the cranberries, and washed the lettuce. At four o’clock, I seasoned the roast and left it to rest on the counter, then set the table.
Izzy was playing in the guest room, which was looking more and more like a little girl’s room than a spare bedroom in a bachelor pad, and I still needed to shower. But first, I needed to figure out what I was going to wear. After allowing myself a few moments of panic, I settled on black leggings and a belted sweatshirt tunic. It was the most conservative thing I had with me, although now that Chase had made me feel self-conscious about how I dressed, I worried that it still wouldn’t be stodgy enough for his mother.
I laid the items out on the bed and myself alongside them. I needed to rest my eyes. Just for a few minutes or I wouldn’t make it through dinner.
It was dark when Chase shook me awake. “Babe. Rain. Wake up!”
I squinted up at him, trying to make out his face.
“What time is it?”
“It’s almost five thirty.”
“Why are you waking me so early?”
“In the evening. My mom will be here in a half hour, and you haven’t even put the roast in yet.”
I sprung up. “What? How? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, come on. I put the oven on, but I don’t know what temperature.”
“Shit. I just lay down for a second. I’m sorry.” I flew into the kitchen and cranked the oven up to three seventy-five—higher than I’d usually cook a roast, but I didn’t have time to do it slow. I put the roast in, slammed the oven door shut, and flew back down the hall. Chase had stripped out of his work clothes.
“I need a shower,” I announced.
“So do I.”
“We can take one together.”
“Yeah, because that will make us get in and out faster.” His frown showed how ridiculous he thought that was.
“I’m serious.” I yanked my T-shirt over my head and tossed it in the corner. “I need to get in the shower too. You’ll just have to keep your hands to yourself.”
What a joke. He didn’t even try to keep his hands to himself, and by the time we got out of the shower, I was hoping his mother would stay for about five minutes and leave, so we could pick up where we’d left off. I’d been so tired lately I was falling asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
Being in a normal relationship was wearing me out.
When I opened the door to dart down the hall to the bedroom, Izzy was speaking with someone in the living room.
“Chase is going to be my new daddy.”
“Oh god,” I whispered as I stepped back into the bathroom and pushed the door closed quietly.
“What are you doing?”
“I think your mother’s early. Either that or Izzy just told the UPS lady that you’re her new daddy.”
“Will you stop freaking out about that?”
“It’s been two months, Chase. You and I haven’t even discussed it.” I was practically hissing. “Do you think my daughter and your mother should be the first to hash it out?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He poked his head out the door and when the coast was clear, he motioned for me to make a dash for the bedroom. As I did, he went out to greet his mother wearing a towel. I knew she’d seen him that way before, but it probably didn’t reflect very well on me.
“Everything’s fine,” he said, joining me a few minutes later as I yanked a comb through my wet, tangled hair. I hadn’t had nearly enough time for conditioner. “Oh, and your mother just arrived.”
“Are you kidding? She’s late for everything and today she decides to be on time?” I slipped into my clothes, but I still had to dry my hair and put my makeup on.
“That’s not all. She brought Bert.”
Bert was my mother’s latest boyfriend. Although he was funny, he could be loud and a little obnoxious. He was also a little grabby, especially with my mother. Not that she seemed to mind.
“Could you set another place at the table and see what they all want to drink? The roast has another hour yet, and I didn’t plan any appetizers. You think your mother would mind if we started with chocolate cake and worked our way backward?”
“Stop worrying. Everything will be fine. She’s gonna love you.” He gave me the fastest kiss ever and left me to finish getting ready.
While Chase entertained everyone and hopefully put a lid on Izzy, I dried my hair and pulled it into a loose bun. I was about to skip the eyeliner, but I just couldn’t do it. I did, however, forego my usual wings in attempt to be more conservative.
It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d taken twice as long to dress. The moment I met her, I sensed that Mrs. Holgate didn’t like me. What I also knew was that her entire opinion of me had been formulated long before we met, thanks to Lorraine. When I’d told Chase I knew Lorraine from school, I’d failed to mention that her best friend had been dating Izzy’s father, who dumped her for me.
If Lorraine still hated me for that, then so be it. She wasn’t the first person to be wrong about me.
“Mrs. Holgate.” I held out a clammy hand and tried to smile. “It’s so nice to meet you. Please forgive me for being so late. The day just got away from me. Welcome.”
She gave my hand a limp bob. “I’ve been here before.”
“Of course you have. I guess you should welcome me, then.” My laugh erupted like a donkey’s bray. Chase looked startled, and my mother wore a pained expression. “What can I get you to drink? Anyone? Maybe I better have a drink.”
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Chase said. “I’ll get you a drink.”
I nodded and crossed over to my mother to give her a kiss. She pulled me into a bear hug.
“Calm down,” she whispered between gritted teeth. “You’re acting like a fool.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered back. “Oh, and thanks for making me look like the conservative one.”
“No problem.” She winked as I pulled away. Mom wore skintight black jeans and a black V-neck sweater that showed a considerable amount of cleavage. She also had on a pair of leopard-print stiletto ankle boots, and when she moved, her chunky gold jewelry tinkled like a tiny symphony.
In contrast, Chase’s mother wore flats, dark slacks, and a gray sweater set that might have been cashmere. The requisite single strand of pearls was draped around her neck. The only thing that surprised me was that she wasn’t clutch
ing them.
“Hi, Bert.” I’d only meant to acknowledge him, but he caught me off guard, treating me to a face full of thick chest hair courtesy of his overly enthusiastic hug.
When he finally freed me, I saw that Chase had set out a bowl of nuts, a bowl of olives, and some cheese. At least his mother wouldn’t starve to death while waiting for dinner. I squeezed onto the sofa beside my mother.
Chase handed me a glass of wine. I took a mouthful, then popped up like a timer on a roast chicken. “I have to finish the potatoes and check the roast.”
I had cooked the potatoes earlier. I heated some cream and butter and then mashed them, grated some cheese, and popped them in the oven to bake while the roast finished cooking. I checked the temperature. Hopefully, Mrs. Holgate liked her meat rare, because that was how I was serving it. Twenty more minutes and then a few minutes to rest. If I could keep everyone happy that long, we could start the salad.
Conversation during dinner was polite. Chase kept trying to draw his mother out, but she wouldn’t cooperate. Used to a more animated dinner table, even when it was just the two of us, Izzy was surprisingly quiet, which was probably a good thing, given her new focus. My guess was that she was as uncomfortable as I was.
When dinner was over and I stood to clear the table, Bert and my mother stood as well.
“Sorry, darling, we’re meeting friends for drinks and we’re already late.”
“You’re leaving?” I gave her a pleading look, but she ignored it.
“Sorry. Save me a piece of cake.” She smiled down at Mrs. Holgate. “Rain makes the best chocolate cake. When I put it on the menu, we sell out within a half hour.”
“I thought you were a bartender,” Mrs. Holgate said, ignoring the comment about my cake.
“Just a few days a week to make ends meet. I cook at my mother’s restaurant. That’s my real job.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Hmm.”
“Rain is a wonderful cook, obviously,” my mother said. “I wish I could pay her what she’s worth.”
Mrs. Holgate’s face contorted into something that resembled a smile, but she didn’t comment on dinner one way or another.
