Austensibly Ordinary

by Alyssa Goodnight

  He’d brought a bottle of wine and proffered that first, perhaps as a peace offering of his own.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, turning to set the bottle on the counter. “Is the wine a substitute for your charming self?” I teased.

  When I turned he was behind me. In fact, his body had me trapped against the counter. I’d just heard a truck door slam, so there was a good chance Rodney had shown up. I crossed my fingers that they’d be flirting and chatting at grillside for a few moments, but I’d definitely need to disentangle myself soon. I’d promised myself I’d resist Ethan, no matter what, but I hadn’t counted on him being pressed up against me. That wasn’t playing fair, so as far as I was concerned, all bets were off.

  I looked up at him as he lifted his hand to cup the back of my neck. He gave me two long seconds to refuse. I didn’t.

  I was tentative first, feeling my way. Nobody had reviewed the code of conduct with me for situations like this. On the one hand I felt like I should balk at this offer after Ethan’s standoffish behavior recently, and on the other, I had no self-control whatsoever. I’m pretty sure Ethan wasn’t keeping score, so it was an easy decision.

  Two more seconds and I was up on the counter with him between my legs, and we were kissing like he was freshly back from a tour in the Middle East. I couldn’t stop my fingers in their urgent quest to be everywhere at once, and I could feel my lips chapping against the stubble already shadowing Ethan’s face, but I couldn’t resist him. My mind was lost to everything but him.

  It was actually the oven timer going off right beside us that had us springing apart, and me off the counter, my legs nearly buckling under me. Ethan caught my elbow until it was clear I’d rallied.

  I’d been feeling particularly flushed and had attributed it to my reaction to Ethan, but evidently part of it could be blamed on a four-hundred-degree oven. But with nothing in the oven, we were left to assume that Mom had set herself a preheating timer . . . and she would shortly be in the kitchen.

  Much as I felt like I should be looking anywhere but at Ethan, I ignored my own instincts and stared up at him, wanting to assess the impact of our impromptu make-up session. He didn’t look flustered the way I felt flustered, but he definitely looked affected. It occurred to me that I could ask him what he thought about the journal’s supposition that he was my Knightley. I suspected it would be rather fascinating to watch his expression when faced with that news. But I decided to go for show over tell—if nothing else, it was a way to get him upstairs.

  “You want to come upstairs after dinner? I want to show you something. In the journal.” My thoughts were already tripping me up.

  Ethan stared down at me with a twinkle in his eye that I read as optimism that he was “getting some.” I didn’t disabuse him of the notion; I merely wondered if I had a matching twinkle.

  “Can you pour me a glass of wine while I see if I can figure out what goes into the oven?” I asked, moving toward the refrigerator. I found some sort of Saran-wrapped casserole but, given that it wasn’t readily identifiable, I wasn’t enthusiastic about sliding it into a hot oven. “You want a beer?” I asked, holding a bottle in Ethan’s direction.

  “Okay, I’m stumped,” I said, trading the beer for my glass of wine. “It looks like we’re going to have to break up Mom and Rodney’s romantic little tête-à-tête beside the propane tank if we’re ever gonna move dinner along.”

  He moved with me to the door and stepped out right behind me to witness something so utterly bizarre that I simply stood gawping.

  Mom was lying across the patio table with apparent disregard for the effort I’d gone to in setting the table, not to mention hygiene. Silverware was askew, napkins had flown off the table and were now caught in the shrubbery, and as I watched, two plates slid off the table to crash and scatter on the pavers below. And that wasn’t even the unbelievable part!

  Rodney was on top of Mom. Okay, he was bent over Mom, kissing her passionately—and somewhat obliviously given that he hadn’t let up since we’d walked onto the scene. And even worse, his right hand was gripping Mom’s left ass! Left side of her ass. Whoa! By the looks of things, Mom had gotten used to the idea of being set up, and sex was definitely not off the table. I’d bask in the rosy, contented glow of a match well made, but it was seriously all I could do not to drop my wineglass and consign its pieces to the fray. I tore my gaze from the sight that was now officially burned into my retinas and turned to Ethan, both shocked that he should be seeing this and relieved that he should be seeing this with me.

  His eyes wide behind his glasses and a quirked smile playing about his mouth, he tipped his head slightly in the direction of the house. Excellent plan. We’d go in, pretend we hadn’t been traumatized by the sight of two active seniors going at it on the patio table, and come out again a bit later . . . or not. At this point I was happy to leave them to it and just go for pizza.

  We’d just pulled open the back door when I heard shifting behind me, then a creak, and then laughter, slow chuckles at first, that quickly turned into hysterical, gasping-for-breath giggles and guffaws as Ethan and I turned back to stare at them as they helped each other up off the table.

  I eyed them both dubiously, silently wondering if they were both on some sort of sexual stimulation medication with a side effect of uncontrollable laughter. “You know, Ethan and I can go get pizza,” I offered. “You can have the place to yourselves.”

  “Evidently we were too convincing,” Rodney said, a huge grin splayed over his face.

  “Well played,” Mom said formally, offering him her hand.

  “What are you two talking about?” I asked, wanting to be let in on the joke.

  “This was just our way of telling you that we’re not looking to be set up,” Mom told me quietly.

  “Well, you might try another strategy,” I suggested, “because I’m not convinced.” I glanced at Ethan, who looked to be biting the side of his mouth to hold back a smile.

  “Why don’t you get the chicken from the fridge, Rodney, and I’ll break it to her gently,” she said, winking at him. I frowned as she turned back to me. Judging by the way she took my arm and turned us toward the table, I could tell she was going to suggest we sit down, but I preferred to keep my distance from the patio table for the time being. Ethan drifted off into the shrubbery, ostensibly engaged in some activity with his phone. I wasn’t fooled, but I was jealous. I’d like to vanish into the shrubbery myself.

  “Break what to me gently, Mom?” I started, tipping my head to the side in irritated confusion. “I was here last week, Mom—you and Rodney hit it off great. So, why are you faking a passionate embrace—on the freakin’ patio table?” It wasn’t clear to me exactly what I was angry about, but I was definitely angry.

  “It was just a joke, Cate.”

  “His hand was on your ass, Mom!” I nearly shrieked.

  My mom forcibly squelched the humor on her face and switched to defensive posture. “So what if it was? If I gave the go-ahead, what do you care?”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head, willing the two of us to reach common ground.

  “Okay, so let me see if I can break this down. You’re trying to tell me you don’t want me to play matchmaker in general, and specifically not with Rodney, but I shouldn’t freak out if I come across the two of you going at it on the patio table. That about it?”

  “More or less, the point being that you won’t be coming across me and Rodney doing it again.” My relief was palpable. “But that doesn’t rule out anyone else.” Mom had switched to cagey, and I countered with suspicion.

  “What are you not saying, Mom?” I had a sudden vision of a living room in utter disarray and a chocolate cake destroyed. “Are you seeing someone?” I quizzed, my voice raised in accusation.

  Mom’s chin jutted forward. “I am, yes.”

  “Who?” I demanded.

  “Brady,” she admitted with a soft smile.

  “Brady? Is
that someone from the garden club?”

  “You met him, Cate. He’s my Geek Freak,” she said simply.

  I couldn’t have been more shocked. If I was any judge, Brady was a good five years younger than me. That meant my mom could be his mother. It also meant my mom was a cougar. Oh my God! I actually fell into a chair at the table and then looked over at the jumbled cutlery and wrinkled napkins and bolted right back up again. If her little grope with Rodney had been just for laughs, things with Brady could have gotten way more serious on this table. Naked serious. I shivered.

  “What could you possibly have in common with him?” I asked.

  “We both really like sex,” Mom deadpanned before smiling mischievously. “I like going to Zumba, and he likes the results. He bought me a black lace thong, Cate!” That last part was confided in sotto voce as Mom leaned in companionably.

  “Oh, dear Lord!” It was all I could manage. Until I thought, “What are you going to do when Gemma shows up?” and actually said it aloud.

  “Introduce her,” she said with a shrug. I’d had all I could take. I was taking my chocolate cake and going upstairs.

  “Okay. Okay, Mom. This needs to sink in a little, I think. And seeing as you and Rodney don’t need a chaperone, I’m just going to skip dinner and head upstairs. Ethan can decide for himself, but there is no way I am eating a meal on that table tonight. I’ll scrounge for something.”

  I was certain Ethan had heard that—had heard all of it—so I slipped back inside, grabbed Ethan’s bottle of wine, and found him in the shadows.

  “If you want to have dinner with Mrs. Robinson, just come up after you’re through. I’ve got the wine,” I said, holding it up for display.

  “I’ll follow you,” Ethan said, pocketing his phone.

  “That was positively diabolical!” I was setting glasses on the coffee table, and Ethan was letting me rant. “And I am never going to get that image out of my head—not to mention the ones I’m imagining now that I know about the Geek Freak. What’s the visual version of ‘lalalalalalala’?”

  It suddenly occurred to me that I’d left the cake. I was just going to have to suck it up and go get it. And hope everyone was fully dressed and keeping their hands to themselves.

  “Believe it or not, I have to go back down there. I’m not giving up my chocolate cake—your chocolate cake, seeing as I baked it for you. If I’m not back in five minutes, come looking.”

  “Would you rather I go?” he asked, the veritable picture of chivalry.

  “No, I’ll go. She’s my mother,” I said, sounding, I’m sure, very much put upon.

  I left him smiling on the couch.

  Nothing was the same when I returned, barely two minutes later. As I breezed in the door, feeling light and happy for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, he was standing near the door, waiting. Wordlessly he held something out to me, and I glanced at it before refocusing on him, wondering at the total transformation. That he was angry was obvious, but I thought I detected a little hurt too, maybe even exasperation. WTH?

  “I took a call for you while you were retrieving your cake,” he told me, his voice cold, his eyebrow hiked up in a full-on confrontational manner.

  I’m sure I looked confused, but then I glanced again at the object in his hand and recognized it for what it was—my burner phone. The one I’d hidden in the bowl of Dum-Dums sitting smack in the middle of my coffee table. The one whose number was a secret from all but one person, rather coincidentally the person Ethan had warned me away from on the day before he’d slept with me himself. I couldn’t see this conversation ending well.

  “How come you answered the phone?” I asked quietly, rewriting the last few moments in my mind, desperately wishing he’d just let it go to voice mail.

  “Honestly? I thought it was you playing a practical joke. A burner phone in a bowl of lollipops—who the hell wouldn’t answer that?”

  “Who-oo was it?” I asked, my voice catching a little on the shameless misdirection. There was only one person it could be, barring a wrong number, and something told me Ethan hadn’t gotten worked up by a drunk guy only able to muster a slurred “Duuude.”

  Ethan’s lips curved up into a slightly scary smile. “It was Jake Tielman. But I suspect you already know that. He’s returning your call. Wanted to let you know that he’ll be at the brunch on Sunday. He hopes the two of you have a better chance to chat this time around.”

  I gripped the cake plate with both hands, frantically trying to hit on some way to fix this, to remind him that when we’d agreed to benefits, there were never any promises or any guarantees. But judging by the look on his face, there was nothing I could say that would make a difference right now. I needed to let him go.

  When I didn’t answer, he leaned around me and set the phone down on the little table beside the door. My eyes tracked his movements, and the smell of buttercream made me nauseous. Finally he spoke. “You could have warned me you planned to cast me as Rodney in the reprise. Gotta love a surprise ending,” he said with a brittle half smile. “Thanks for the bit part.” And then he turned and quietly stepped into the dark.

  That was how Wednesday ended, and it pretty much set the tone for the rest of the week. About the only good thing that could be said about it was that Courtney and her ghost-hunting beau managed to score a forty-five-minute exploratory session in room 525. Apparently, they’d only managed to detect a vague supernatural presence before succumbing to the irresistible romantic allure of the double suicides rumored to have taken place in that room, not to mention the other freaky, unexplained phenomena. That was true love.

  Clearly my matchmaking was going disappointingly awry. However. . . I suspected my mom had put the moves on Brady before Rodney was in the picture, and Courtney had obviously been keeping her hands off Ethan in some sort of misguided notion that I was in love with him myself. It was time to start fresh, with virgin territory. Dmitri was first on my list, and Gemma was right behind him. I hadn’t settled on a potential match for her yet, but I still had a bit of time to figure something out. I chatted with her Thursday afternoon and hung up with renewed determination.

  “Hey, Gemma,” I’d started. “Is this a good time?”

  “Anytime is good when it’s you calling,” she assured me in a slinky voice.

  “Quit it, Gem. You know that creeps me out.”

  “Whatever you want,” she gushed, and I could picture her licking her lips.

  “Tell me you haven’t been completely corrupted and that you know how to turn it off,” I begged. The last thing I needed was to introduce her to someone and have her huskily encourage him to talk dirty to her.

  “Of course I can turn it off,” she protested. “But I can also turn it on,” she added suggestively.

  I refused to respond to that, and the line went silent until she quipped, “I’m done, okay? I’m done. How are you, Miss Priss?”

  “Just checking in, hoping to hear your plans for Thanksgiving.” I heard her murmur something on her end and prayed she wasn’t multitasking with a customer on another phone.

  “It’s a quick visit this time—I’m a little behind in my research. My flight gets in on Tuesday afternoon, and then I’m leaving on Friday morning.”

  “Were you planning to drive up and see Dad?”

  “I’ll probably go up straight from the airport and then drive back to Austin on Thanksgiving morning. Anything I should know before I get there?”

  I considered the question and decided to keep my answer simple. Maybe I’d catch her up over some s’mores. “Judging by our last phone chat, Dad’s pretty much the same—I haven’t been up there in a little while. Thought I might go up when you do. Mom is officially a cougar and is dating an undergrad computer geek named Brady.”

  “Go, Mom!” Gemma said laughing. “Tell Mom to invite him for Thanksgiving dinner. And Ethan too.” There was another beat of silence as I tried to pin down her MO. She spoke before I did, changing the subject and making me
wonder if I was being overly suspicious. “How do you feel about picking me up from the airport? I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, since I’d planned on driving up to Dad’s, but if you’re going anyway . . .”

  “You have to promise not to talk dirty to me.”

  “What about flirty?” she countered.

  “Not interested,” I said, standing firm.

  “Fine. But there are things you could learn from me. . . .”

  “I know how to find you if I’m in pinch,” I said drolly.

  “Ooh! Sorry, but I gotta take this, Cate. Booty calls!” As ridiculous as it was, Gemma’s naughty play on the overused “duty calls” never failed to lure a smile out of me.

  “Bye,” I said to dead air.

  She needed a strong personality, quirky would be best. Someone not easily offended. No one of my acquaintance came immediately to mind. I’d have to give it some serious thought. Not to worry, I had time . . . and no one to spend it with.

  I’d had an awkward chat with the school principal, wherein I’d tried to talk my way around the situation with the school board, without revealing that I’d seen Bad Manners skulking through a downtown hotel with a woman of questionable morals. I would have preferred not to give away the reason for my own evening visit to the Driskill, but decided it best to come clean and so launched into a babbling summary of my ghost-hunting activities. It was impossible to tell whether I’d gained an ally or ensured that Principal Ruffio would be keeping a close eye on me in the future himself.

  Ethan stayed away, and I decided, for the time being at least, to respect his space and privacy. It was unfortunate (and damn awkward) that things had played out the way they had, but I couldn’t help but think that maybe it was easier this way, and less awkward in the long run. I’d been second-guessing the “benefits” all along, and now I was even wondering if I’d made a slight error in judgment by throwing Mr. Darcy over so quickly in favor of Mr. Knightley.

  I didn’t bother writing in the journal—I was confident I could predict Gypsy Jane’s response. She’d somehow finagle my next entry into a suggestion to apologize to Ethan (likely suggesting I grovel if need be), and get him back. I wasn’t in the mood.