by Ewens, Tracy
“I don’t even want to know what that means,” she said.
Kate felt her face warm and she discovered she actually wanted to go to dinner with him. She wanted to see him. “Grady, thank you for the invitation, but I’ll just talk with you tomorrow.” She hung up before he could say anything else and began to hyperventilate as she rounded the corner to her apartment. Suddenly she was filled with a strange intrusive weight. She wanted her strudel, strudel was just fine.
Her phone rang.
“What?” she said in her most unprofessional voice.
“Please, just listen. I know I can be a pain in the ass. Have dinner with me and we can put this behind us? I’ll be on my best behavior. How about I cook at your place?”
Kate said nothing, this guy was incredible . . . the balls. My place, would we call it a place? What are you doing Kate?
“Kate?”
She took a deep breath. “Fine. My apartment in an hour. I have the basics, but you’ll need to bring anything extra to make dinner. I don’t cook.”
She could feel him smiling through the phone. “Absolutely, don’t worry about a thing. Just text me the address. I’ll bring everything. Hey, Kate, what kind of beer do you like?”
“Well, that depends on what you’re making.” Flirting? Jesus, Kate, are you flirting now? “I don’t eat mushrooms,” she said, and then hung up before she was stupid enough to say anything else. Her heart was racing, her hands were clammy, and she was in trouble. Shit.
Chapter Fourteen
What was she thinking? She didn’t even have a real home to cook dinner in. Boxes, strategically arranged boxes, that’s what she had, and Grady Malendar was arriving any minute. She must have slipped into some sort of exhaustion coma because she truly didn’t care. Her hair was still wet and she moved her lips, feeling the Chapstick she’d put on after getting out to the shower. Everything was heightened. She noticed the fade in her jeans and the shine of her toenail polish. She remembered the salon lady saying the bright red polish she had chosen was called Lady is a Tramp. Her mother, who was in the pedicure chair next to her, had snickered and clearly disapproved. Kate decided then and there that the Lady is a Tramp would be her “go to” color from then on out.
Kate was hovering, pacing, not sure what to do, and then the doorbell rang. She didn’t even bother to look in the peek hole. Grady stood in the open door, with several paper bags hanging from those damn arms again, and that smile. He was trouble in a linen shirt, but she stepped back anyway and let him walk right into her insanity.
“Wow, I love what you’ve done with the place,” he said, taking the bags around some boxes and into the kitchen.
“I’m still unpacking.” Kate said, grabbing the beer dangling from his full hands and suddenly realizing she was hungry as she saw the bread peeking out of the bag.
“I didn’t realize you just moved in.”
“Yeah, well . . . beer?” Kate asked as she put the bottles in the fridge.
“Please.” He began unpacking the bags. Fresh vegetables. She hadn’t seen those in a very long time. Wasn’t she supposed to be tending to him? Well, not him exactly, but his image? Why was she beginning to feel he was trying to take care of her?
“So you and your husband have been—”
“Oh no, we are not jumping into that. You promised food. I need food and we are here to discuss potential questions following the senator’s statement, remember?”
Grady nodded. “Can I have one question? Just one? I make my own marinara sauce. Come on.”
Kate sighed and gave in. “Fine, one question.”
“There’s a little pressure here. Hold on. And this doesn’t count as my question—do you chop?”
“I suppose.” He handed her one of the knives he’d pulled out of the block and gently guided her in front of a cutting board full of carrots and onions.
“Great, you chop,” he said wiping his hands on a towel. He grabbed his beer and sat up on the counter. What are you, five? she thought, but did not say. She had not sat on a counter in a long time, probably since she was a kid. It looked like fun. Grady was nothing if not fun. She envied that part of him. It seemed so simple in theory, to just have fun. She set her focus back to chopping—it wasn’t something she did often, so she actually needed to pay attention.
“Okay, here goes. It’s a two-part question.”
She stopped chopping and looked at him.
“Like a compound word, two parts.”
She was walking a fine line. She barely knew him and yet she found herself comfortable sharing at least part of herself. She said nothing, didn’t protest, but didn’t encourage, and returned to the cutting board.
“Right, here we go.” Grady took a sip if his beer and continued. “I’m assuming you’re divorced. How long have you and . . . ”
Kate laughed, she couldn’t help it. “Nick,” she said filling in Grady’s implied blank.
“Nick, right. How long have you and Nick been divorced?”
Still chopping and not looking at him because her heart was racing, Kate said, “Yes, we are divorced. Just over two years.”
It was silent for a moment, the only sound was the knife slicing through carrots.
“Part two. Have you lived anywhere else since you moved out?”
Kate set the knife down. “Oh, aren’t you cute?”
“Well, my mom really thinks so, but . . . ”
“You don’t need to dance around me, Grady. Just ask what you need to ask. Have I been living out of boxes for almost two years? Yes.” Kate glanced quickly at him and then returned to chopping. “Ever been divorced?” she asked.
“No.” Probably the first one-word response she had ever heard out of his mouth.
“It’s not fun.” She was finished with her task. Kate gestured for the towel from Grady and wiped her hands. “Done.”
He hopped down from the counter and reviewed her work. “Nice chopping. Were you in love with him? I mean, of course you were, are you still?” With that he moved to his cans of tomatoes without looking at her.
For one moment Kate thought about laughing him off, but it was a genuine question and there was not a hint of sarcasm. She wasn’t sure why she answered. His two-part question was over. She didn’t need to say a word, but she did anyway. Maybe it was partially for herself. “Yes, I was in love. But no, I no longer have any feelings for Nick.”
“Hmm,” he said, and began sautéing the carrots and onions. “So what do you think—”
“Grady,” she warned.
“Right, too personal. Hand me that olive oil.”
They ate and she tried to steer clear of anything beyond typical first-date questions. Wait, this wasn’t a date, she thought, but then admitted that’s what it felt like. A first date, maybe even more than that. He was in her home, cooking them dinner. That was a date, all things considered, so why didn’t she hate it? Why was she asking him if he wanted ice cream instead of showing him the door?
Grady talked a little about the traveling he did after he graduated and Kate talked about her job.
“Why do you give it so much?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Your job, that place, the people you work with? Why is it all so important? I mean, there’s more to life than a job, right?”
“Well, I suppose there is, but I need to get paid. Besides, I love my job. I need to be there and I give what’s required.”
“I’d say you give it quite a bit more than what’s required.”
“Doing my best work is important to me. I would think as my client, you would appreciate that.”
Grady smiled. “I’m not your client and I get that a job well done is important, but what about your life, the rest of you?”
“What does that mean? My life is . . . great, it’s fantastic, really. You should have seen me a couple of years ago.” Kate attempted a laugh and messed with the napkin in her lap.
“I would have liked to have seen you a couple of y
ears ago.”
What the hell does that mean? He’s into nut jobs? “Why?”
“I don’t know, maybe you were a little more reckless, free?”
She looked at him and could not figure out where this was going. “Reckless, by your definition? I can guarantee I’ve never been reckless. I was born grown up. I’m sorry that bores you, but I’m probably the perfect antidote to your free spirit.”
She smiled hoping they would move on.
“You seem very . . . in control. I’m intrigued by that.”
“Don’t be.”
“But I am. You’re so wound up and sort of obsessed with creating pictures for other people and yourself, maybe. I understand being driven, but it feels like you’re hiding, and you know what, Kate?”
She was annoyed now. “Oh great, another pearl of wisdom?”
“I think you want to be found. I think beneath all this, this pencil skirt, tightrope-walking, you’re probably breathtaking. I’m guessing you’re brilliant when you’re flustered and spinning out of control.”
She didn’t know what to say. Kate felt warm and he was looking at her like he saw something she had never imagined being. She did what she always did in uncomfortable situations, she dismissed it.
“Yeah, thank you for that, but you invited yourself to dinner so we could discuss . . . wait, why did you come for dinner?”
Grady laughed, and Kate still had that wrinkle between her brows.
“I think it was just dinner and something about questions that may come up. I wanted to have dinner with you and you said we couldn’t go anywhere in public because I’m a pariah now, so I came here and made you dinner. How was it by the way?”
“Well whatever the reason, I’m not paying you for therapy or an image make over. You’re paying me, remember? So maybe we should use this time productively. Let’s review the statement your father gave earlier today. It’s brief. Nothing too painful.” Kate stood and as she brushed by Grady on her way to her briefcase and the statement, work to quiet her mind, he took her hand. Not a grab, a hold. His fingers traced her palm and interlaced with hers. She stopped dead, but kept looking toward her briefcase, willing it to rescue her from warmth she knew she should not want and could not have.
“Kate, the dinner, the sauce, how was it?”
She looked at their hands and then at him.
“It was— it tasted— it was very good. A great sauce. Maybe you can give me the recipe. I used to enjoy . . . ”
His thumb moved over the palm of her hand and the hum of energy was too much. Kate pulled her hand away and finally made it to her briefcase.
“Careers are cold if that’s all you have, Kate. I’ve seen it first hand.”
She turned, folder in hand. Her pulse was pounding as she found herself straining to control her emotions. “That may be, Grady, but your career never wakes you up in the middle of the night to tell you it doesn’t love you anymore.” Shit. “Can we please do something productive here? I don’t want to drink beer and play let’s hold hands. I want to work, work may not be your favorite thing, but I like what I do, I understand it. Now—” She sat and handed him a printed paper. “Give it a read through. At the top are the highlights of the senator’s statement. Below that are possible follow-up questions you may receive over the next couple of weeks. After that this should die down, but whatever you do, if it’s brought up again, keep it casual and don’t get pissed.” She looked at him, hoping Grady couldn’t see the vulnerability, her need to hide behind the work. She hated that he was right about her, but he was.
“Sorry, yes, this looks good. General. I’m glad you didn’t mention names. No sense in dragging perfectly normal people into my shit storm. I’m dialed in. It’s good,” he said and took a deep breath that allowed Kate’s own breathing to return.
When there was nothing safe left to say, Kate handed Grady his jacket. Thanking her, he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. It was unexpected, and when Kate turned away, she ended up turning into him and his lips gently slid beyond her cheek to the corner of her mouth. Grady’s arms stilled her and he gently moved back to her cheek, kissed her gently there, and she felt the room spin. His closeness made her feel like she was slipping, easing into a warm bath. He lingered by her cheek and then his lips moved to her ear as he pulled away.
“Kate.” It was just her name, she’d heard it a million times before, but his voice, the dinner, the relaxed comfort of his body, it was all unnerving. She pulled back and Grady seemed a bit stunned himself.
“Grady. Christ, why do I keep saying your name? It’s you. Your strange name game is rubbing off on me.”
At that, Grady smiled and Kate opened her door.
“Thanks for dinner. It was really, well, it was nice. Thank you.”
Grady moved past her to leave. “You’re welcome, Ms Galloway. Always a pleasure meeting with you.” His thousand-watt smile was back and Kate couldn’t help herself, she laughed at his formality. “I will see you tomorrow at what should be an incredibly exciting carnival in honor of my now hip and cool father. Is this a casual, wear-shorts type of thing?”
“Yes, there will be rides, bands, the more casual you and the senator look, the better.”
“Got it. Maybe I’ll even bust out a baseball cap, eh. Really commoner myself up? Although we are in snooty Pasadena, so it will be a struggle to leave my Rolls Royce at home.”
Kate laughed again. “Do you own a baseball hat?”
“I own several actually, and for the record, I do not own a Rolls Royce. Will you be wearing, eh, casual wear, Kate? Shorts?”
Kate swallowed and gripped the doorknob. “I will.”
“And suddenly there’s a reason to show up. Goodnight, Kate.” Grady smiled and walked away.
“Goodnight,” she said to no one as she closed her door. She leaned with her back to the door and slid into a seated position on the floor. Looking out over her sea of boxes, Kate could still smell Grady’s sauce—he’d put the leftovers in the refrigerator—and something shifted. Suddenly her space felt infused with him, garlic, spices, great bread, and his laughter, their laughter. Kate was sure she wouldn’t be able to smell anything else for days, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to. Grady, her evening with him, lingered, and even though he was no longer in front of her, the shift stayed.
It happened again. Well, of course it did, you idiot, you went to her house for Christ sake! This was nuts, but at the door, as he was leaving, he wanted to pull her into his body, taste her lips. Actually, from the moment he stepped into her disheveled space, he wanted to pull her into his arms, protect her. Which was ridiculous, because Kate wasn’t some shrinking flower, she was a force all her own, but in her space, faded jeans and laughing, he wanted her. It was primal, weird, caveman kind of crap, and Grady didn’t know where to put those feelings. He remembered being at Marcie Probst’s birthday party when he was in the sixth grade. That was the birthday party where, closed away in some closet, he figured out girls were very different than boys. That adolescent moment when things changed, and the boy in him, the future man, took center stage. It felt like that, standing with Kate, her face soft and relaxed. Her bare feet, rumpled hair, all of it called to him, just like Marcie’s glossy bubble gum-scented lips.
Christ, he wasn’t a child anymore. He was a—what was he now? He was in the shadows, pretending, and something about the light in her eyes made him want to pull back his own curtain, maybe even roll down the windows and kiss a girl.
As he slowed at the traffic light, and turned left up to his house, Grady knew that wasn’t possible. He was in too deep with his current life, he had responsibilities, and for better or for worse, he would honor those and keep his secrets safe. It was the only way. So no matter how much he wanted to climb into Kate Galloway’s eyes, run his fingers along the delicate line of her neck, he couldn’t. It would never work. Women always wanted more, and Kate was definitely a woman who wanted it all. She was relationship material and those never worked if the
y started with a lie.
Chapter Fifteen
Movie night was a tradition dating back to junior year of high school. Any time Kate and Reagan didn’t have dates, which was often, they would order pizza and rent movies based on the theme for the evening. When she returned from New York, they added a few other worthy friends— Beth, Reagan’s soon to be sister-in-law, and Poppy, who also went to school with Kate and Reagan. Poppy was now an attorney and stupid in love with Kate’s older brother, Neil, who of course, was oblivious. All four women took turns hosting, and tonight was Kate’s night.
“Kate? Everyone’s waiting for you. Did you get lost on your way to the dish towels?” Reagan was always funny, but Kate didn’t look up. “Kate,” she tried again. “Kate, damn it! Why the hell are you staring into the washing machine?”
“It’s interesting to note that when the washer hits the spin cycle my very distinct pieces of clothing—things that I recognize during most of the wash—all spin out of control and mash into one big blur.” She was still staring down into the glass top of her washing machine, the swirl, so Reagan walked up next to her and stared into the swirling clothes too.
“Uh huh,” Reagan said after a little more than a minute. The concern in Reagan’s voice was strong enough to penetrate Kate’s hypnotic gaze.
“Maybe I’m finally slipping over the edge, but suddenly this washer is a metaphor for my life.” Kate finally said.
“Okay. Metaphors are good. What are we looking at here, honey?”
“Hey, guys are you weaving those dish towels?” Beth’s voice came sailing around the corner.
Reagan looked up and grabbed the towels off the dryer. “Here they are,” Reagan shoved them in her direction. “Give us a minute. We’ll be right in.”
“Oh, yeah sure. Everything okay?” Beth asked.
“Yup, we’re great. Just checking on the laundry.”
Beth disappeared, the cycle stopped spinning, and Kate looked up at her best friend.
