by Meg Maguire
She frowned. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. We jumped the gun just now. I know you’ll never let me take you on a real date, but let’s go drink some wine and look at art, like I took you someplace half-classy.”
She considered it, and caved. “Okay.” Why not? It was still early, and they’d need to pass the evening somehow. And even if it was lame, they wouldn’t even have to leave the building to get back to her place.
She pulled on her new jeans and sweater. Patrick was stuck in his work clothes, but oh well. A man in a smart shirt was nice, but deep down she still loved a guy in his old, broken-in jeans and a tee.
He waited by the door as she found a pair of flats.
She grabbed two tumblers, per the flier’s instructions, plus the calzone boxes, thinking it’d be polite to bring an offering, seeing as how there was no way in hell she could justify buying any art, not on her budget.
Patrick smiled as she flipped off the lights. In the hall, he took the boxes from her and offered his arm. She linked it with hers.
“Ready for our first official date?” he asked, his smile goofy and fond.
“I better be, considering how many bases I just dragged you across.”
He grinned at that, and they headed for the elevator.
7
THEIR DATE WAS FAR TOO FUN. Far too easy.
Steph had imagined being taken to a gallery opening by some polished young man Jenna might find for her, and she’d been worried. She wasn’t great at small talk and knew squat about art. But her time with Patrick at the open studio was a blast. She got a little tipsy on the boxed cabernet, and Patrick charmed everyone without even trying.
By the time they headed back to her place, she was torn between two completely different sensations—an easy, happy feeling, and a curdling dread.
Dread about the date she’d be on, this time tomorrow. Dread that maybe she didn’t want what she’d thought she did... All that fancy stuff. A fancy man. Patrick was messing with her priorities, but she couldn’t abandon her trajectory with Dylan just because some hot contractor was dismantling her common sense with his big hands and deep kisses.
Patrick said good-night to her at the couch. She saw that invitation in his eyes again. She saw his hope there, asking if they could maybe enjoy a repeat performance of their earlier entanglement.
But Steph was a lightweight when it came to both alcohol and sugar, and in the wake of the fun, the wine had left her strung out and punchy. That plus the voice of her better judgment let her resist the bait. The same bait that had turned too many supposedly no-strings one-night stands into friends-with-benefits imitation romances with too many guys like Patrick.
It wasn’t easy, though. She could still feel those hands on her body, still hear those dark, heavy breaths against her skin. Still smell him. Still taste him.
But with his invitation blocked, instead of a spirited manhandling, Patrick offered a kiss on her cheek. Dutifully sweet and patient, as though he’d just walked her to her door after a trip to the malt shop, and she climbed the little ladder to her loft feeling strange and bashful and confused.
She woke the next morning still confused.
The smell of coffee had roused her and she squinted across the apartment at the kitchen. Patrick was leaning on the counter with her laptop open, watching something with the sound turned way down as the coffeemaker did its job.
“What time is it?” she asked, stretching and hoping she sounded totally casual and unfazed.
He checked her screen. “Eight twenty.”
“And my brother’s coming at nine?”
He nodded.
Steph clambered from the loft and dressed for work in the bathroom. Funny how she’d flashed this man the other week, but now that they’d gotten each other off, she felt weird stripping down to change in front of him. He made her vulnerable, a sensation she wasn’t used to. And a sensation that made no sense, considering how utterly non-threatening he was. Well, physically. He posed plenty of threats to her best-laid plans.
As she joined him at the counter, he handed her a mug of steaming coffee, cream already added.
“Thanks.”
“Sleep well?”
She nodded, eyes on the news he was streaming. “Fine. You?”
“Your couch is a bit hard, but not bad.” He paused, poorly stifling a grin.
“What?”
“Actually I slept fine. I could have lain awake all night and I wouldn’t have minded. After...you know.”
She shot him what she hoped was a stern look, but it dissolved almost immediately. Seeking a distraction, she sipped her coffee. Exactly the right amount of sugar. Huh.
Patrick hit the mute button on her laptop and crossed his arms over his chest, leveling her with a stare.
“Yes?”
“Can I say something?” he asked. “I can’t figure out if it’s tacky or pathetic. But I want to say it anyway.”
She hugged her cup in both hands. “Shoot.”
“I know you’ve got a plan in motion, for your love life or whatever. And I respect that.”
“Okay.”
“And I know I don’t fit into it, which is fine, too. But the way we keep winding up together? Like, sex-wise?”
“Yes?”
“It’s really nice. For me.” His eye contact faltered, gaze dropping to her mug. “You make me feel good in a way I haven’t in a really long time. And I know this might get me smacked, but I just want you to know, if you want to keep, like, hooking up until you start seeing somebody...I’d be down for that. Knowing full well you’re not into me for anything serious.”
Steph frowned, unsure how this announcement made her feel. Insulted that he was pretty much asking her to be his booty call—or him to be hers? Sad that such a nice man was selling himself so short? But this was Patrick, and she knew he wasn’t the kind of guy who dissected what he was after. He wanted what he wanted, and could come out and name those desires.
“Right,” she drawled, stalling.
“Like I said, I know it won’t turn into anything more. But I really like being with you that way. And I think maybe you like me that way, too. So...”
She nodded. “I hear you. And yes, it’s been really nice.” Too nice, frankly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever take you up on that offer, but thank you. Message received.”
“Cool. It’s good until you find your Mr. Right. Or who knows—until I find somebody.”
That final thought landed like a slap. Of course he hadn’t meant it to, but the idea burned. Mess around with Patrick in some casual, mutually agreeable arrangement, all the while thinking she was the one in a position to hurt him...Then bam! He finds someone serious first, and she could be left just as single as before, only now short a convenient lover.
She could scream. This whole dating dance was so frigging complicated and messy and weird.
She mustered a smile. “We’ll see.”
“Great. You’ve got my number. And sorry if that was tacky. I just really—”
The door buzzer cut him off, and thankfully so. Steph was wound up and antsy, frustrated by how tangled everything felt. She pushed the intercom button. “Tim?”
“That’s my name.”
“We’ll be right down.”
She emptied the coffee pot into a travel mug and loaded it with sugar, and they got their coats on, finding Tim halfway down the block by Patrick’s conspicuously parked truck.
He turned and offered that big-ass grin. “Heya, Pen.”
“Steph,” she corrected. A lost cause. She couldn’t remember Tim ever calling her anything but Penny.
He introduced himself to Patrick, and they looked like a perfect pair in their canvas work jackets and jeans and boots.
The day was cold, but not as cruel and gusty as it had been. There was a promise of snow in the air... Maybe Steph’s date with Dylan would get called off due to a blizzard. And damn it to hell, that had been a hopeful thought, hadn’t it?
She
stood by as Tim and Patrick got to work, offering the mug and holding the occasional tool. Inside twenty minutes, the men were joking and laughing like they’d known each other since grade school, and if this were the afternoon, Tim surely would have finished the job by suggesting he and “Pat” head to the bar and catch the game.
Mercifully, on the continuum of slip-up to catastrophe, whatever had happened to Patrick’s timing belt fell on the more harmless end, and the men managed to replace it with little more hassle than a bunch of smeared grease.
After testing the engine, Tim dropped the hood and gave it an affectionate smack. “And she’s good to go.”
“You are a lifesaver, man. How much do I owe you?”
“Not much. Just the part and an hour’s labor.”
“And the drive,” Patrick said.
“Nah, the trip’s included. Sibling discount. I’ll send you an I.O.U. when I get around to it—shouldn’t be more than fifty, sixty bucks.”
Patrick’s head dropped back with relief. He took the mug from Steph and held it up in a toast, drinking deeply. “Thank you—both of you. God knows how much you’ve saved me on a tow.”
“My pleasure, man.” Tim offered his gloved hand and gave Patrick’s a hearty shake.
“Oh.” Patrick dug through his wallet for a business card. “If you ever have any carpentry work that needs doing, I’ll give you an awesome rate.”
“Gimme a few of those—I’ll hand them around the auto shop.”
Patrick gave Tim all the cards he had. “I better head out—I need to go in search of some hardware before I head to my job. Sorry I can’t give you a ride,” he said to Steph, looking legitimately bummed out.
“I’ll be fine. Thanks again for the ride last night,” she added, then felt her cheeks warming at the accidental double entendre.
Patrick thanked Tim one last time then climbed into his truck, pumping his fist triumphantly when it started once more. With a wave, he pulled away from the curb.
“Well done, Pen,” Tim said.
Steph rounded on him. “Well done how?”
“That dating service actually works, huh? And here I thought you were wasting your money.”
“Mom just can’t keep her mouth shut, can she?”
He grimaced, realizing he’d just broken whatever silence vow their mom had sworn him to. He shrugged. “Whatever. He’s got my blessing.”
“We’re just friends. He’s been doing contract work at my new gym.”
“You’re not dating him? How come?”
“Because I’ve dated nothing but guys like him since I was seventeen. I want to try something new.”
His brown eyes narrowed. “What’s he doing parked outside your building, then?”
“I tweaked my hamstring and it was two degrees out. He gave me a lift. But we’re not dating.”
“That’s a waste. He’d fit in great back home.”
“Marry him yourself, if you like him so much.”
Tim let it drop, but it was too late—she’d already imagined introducing Patrick to her older brother Robbie and their folks, and yeah, he’d fit right in. They’d be head over heels before he even got his coat off.
Steph checked her phone. “I may as well head to work. Want to give me a lift?”
“You got it.”
She ran inside for her gym bag as Tim warmed up his car, and soon they were crawling toward Chinatown through the morning traffic.
“Are you bringing a date to Kristy’s wedding?” Steph asked.
“Nah. Too much pressure, wedding dates. They give women ideas. And the chick I’m seeing now is the kind who’d take those sorts of ideas way too seriously.”
“Then I bet you she’ll take not being invited equally seriously,” Steph warned.
“I’d rather suffer a fight than a bunch of hints about what kind of engagement rings she likes.”
“I really want to bring a date,” Steph said wistfully. “An insanely handsome, successful date to rub in Kristy’s stupid face.”
Tim laughed at this regression to her ten-year-old self. “I bet you do. She was such a bitch to you when we were kids, wasn’t she?”
“Unless my date tonight goes perfectly, I don’t think I’ve got time to find someone.” And something in her gut knew the date wasn’t going to go perfectly. From the outside, it might look perfect, but on the inside... Her heart still had Patrick’s big fingerprints all over it, for better or worse. Surely worse. “Here. This is my building.”
Tim parked along the curb. “What about Pat?”
“Patrick.” She frowned. “I think he likes me. A lot.”
“How’s that a bad thing?”
“And a family-wedding invite is a pretty major signal.”
“So?”
“I don’t want to lead him on.”
“Oh.” Tim put the car in Neutral. “Because you think he’s not good enough for you or something?”
Patrick and Tim were cut from the same cloth, and she could appreciate how that might rub him wrong. “It’s not that he’s not good enough. Not at all. It’s just that he’s... Well, he’s broke.”
“And?”
She goggled at him. “And why would I sign up for that, after watching how stressful it was for Mom and Dad? It’s not like I make some amazing salary and can afford to support the two of us, if it got serious. I don’t want to be poor.”
“That’s harsh, Pen.”
“Maybe, but I don’t care. I’m not asking to marry a millionaire, just someone stable. I don’t think it’s that unreasonable a standard to have. Neither does Mom.”
Tim frowned. He hero-worshipped their father, and it would hurt him to imagine his mom advising his sister not to make the same mistake she had or something to that effect. Or perhaps of any woman thinking she could do better than, say, a mechanic who lived in the apartment above his parents’ garage.
“Not because she regrets what happened after Dad lost his job,” Steph assured him. “Just... Why would you choose to struggle if you’ve got the choice?”
“I guess,” Tim said, not sounding convinced.
“Anyhow, that’s why I’m not getting serious with Patrick.”
“Not getting serious?” he asked, grinning, angst forgotten. “Meaning you’ve already gotten somewhere with him.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Fine, fine. Dropping it now.”
Steph undid her seat belt. “Thanks for the ride. And thanks a ton for coming out to help. We’re officially square on the windshield.”
“Cool. See you soon?”
“Probably not until the wedding, but I’ll be sure to make a long weekend of it. Hug Mom and Dad for me.”
“You got it.”
“Love you. Drive safe.” She opened her door and dug her bag out of the back, and with a wave, Tim merged into the traffic.
He’d been a bit slow to mature, but he was turning into a reliable guy, if not the highest flier. Anyhow, twenty-six was the new eighteen. Give him a few more years, and he’d get there. A good, solid, hardworking guy, not unlike Patrick Doherty. And God willing, not dogged by the same crushing debt.
Warmth enveloped Steph as she headed for the gym’s steps and through the foyer where Patrick had installed the track lights the day before. She glanced up, thinking they looked good. Much nicer than those old fluorescent ones. Far more flattering to any woman who might check her makeup in the little waiting area—surely Jenna’s precise intention.
Then she remembered those eyes, and how pretty she felt every time Patrick looked at her in his hopeful way. She snapped her gaze to the stairs that led down to the gym and quickened her pace.
* * *
PATRICK MADE IT back to Chinatown right on time with the exact hardware he’d needed, snagging the best parking space on the block.
Because everything happens for a reason. Because whenever a seeming catastrophe struck, awesome stuff resulted.
Like when he’d gotten himself and Steph trapped in the g
ym—and they’d wound up messing around.
And when his timing belt snapped, who should he end up spending the night with? Maybe he hadn’t slept great, but he’d gotten an amazing deal on some mechanical work he’d needed to have done anyhow. And here he was, at his job site at exactly the same time as he would have arrived had the previous day gone to plan. Fate.
Though fate hadn’t yet revealed to him why his failed marriage and suffocating mortgage were good things...but the bigger the disaster, the bigger the pay-off, surely, and so the longer the wait.
He already knew intellectually that it was best that he and his ex were through, and his heart was getting closer to believing it, too. Just what opportunity would come along to cement that fact, he couldn’t guess yet... Though he did have to wonder if perhaps said opportunity might not have red hair and a supremely skeptical set of matching eyebrows.
He smiled as he carried his tools into the building, feeling warm and pleasantly stupid from his crush. It didn’t even matter that she wasn’t that into him. It was so joyful just to feel this for someone again. To know he hadn’t lost it, or used it up, or outgrown it.
He peeked in the Spark windows and found both matchmakers at their desks, no clients in sight. He knocked on the door frame. “Morning.”
Jenna smiled. “Good morning, Patrick. The back room’s all yours until we lock up at five. Any chance you might be able to finish the job by then?”
“Barring a crisis, yeah.” He didn’t bother mentioning that crises weren’t exactly unheard of where he and electrical work were concerned.
He got set up in the meeting room, snaking a cable out to the main office, which made closing the door impossible. “Sorry in advance if I’m distracting you girls,” he said, immediately wondering if these modern women might take offense at being called “girls.”
Neither seemed to notice. They got to work when he did, typing on their laptops as he managed to turn off the meeting room’s breakers without causing a floor-wide blackout. How about that? Maybe it was only when Steph was in the vicinity that disasters decided to befall him.
The girls broke for lunch at one, Lindsey kindly asking if she could pick something up for Patrick. Buying lunch hadn’t been in his budget lately, but since he’d had no chance to pack one, he gave her a few dollars and she returned shortly with their sandwiches and soup.
