by Liv Rancourt
Eamon’s contact high had worn off, and she pulled some objectivity out of her ass. “Enough pity party already,” she said to the waves.
She’d been made assistant manager of the NICU at the age of thirty for a reason. Dealing with people was her thing, although she apparently sucked at applying work skills to her personal life. She decided to follow Eamon’s advice, to a point, and once she had a to-do list together, a list that started with “Call Vickie and apologize”, she slid into Maeve’s old sleeping bag and tried to turn off her brain.
Only to have her cell phone wake her up too early the next morning.
Maeve greeted her with a sputtering soliloquy about the meaning of friendship.
Danielle almost hung up.
“I’m sorry, Maeve,” Danielle said, as soon as she could edge the words in. “I wanted to say something sooner. I just … didn’t. But I apologize for taking you by surprise.”
“You’re letting yourself be used.”
Danielle unwrapped from the sleeping bag, shivering as the fabric cocoon fell to her waist. “How do you figure?”
Maeve groaned like Danielle was being intentionally stupid. “If he’s messing around with you, he doesn’t have to deal with his issues.”
His issues? Danielle extended her index finger to keep from accidentally on purpose hanging up the phone. Eamon had said to go along with Maeve, and Danielle thought about it, but the combination of worry and irritation had her breathing so fast she was lightheaded. “If I back off, it’ll be good for Ryan?” In some other universe.
“Yes!”
She forced herself to attend to each inhale and exhale. “I like your brother, and I don’t want to make trouble.” Both true statements.
Maeve coughed into the phone, the rough edges to her voice showing how hard she’d played the night before. “Then give him some space.”
Danielle’s head got so light she saw spots. Grow a pair, Jacobsen. “We’ve been friends forever, Maeve, but Ryan and I are both adults.” Her tone of voice was much calmer than the free-for-all underneath. “If we want to have dinner together, or go to the movies or something, it’s really none of your business.”
“Oh.” There was a long pause, as if Maeve couldn’t believe Danielle had actually taken a stand. “What?” Another pause. “You mean it, don’t you? You’d choose him over me.”
“No.” Danielle swallowed down enough frustration to keep from shouting. “I’m not choosing anyone. I’m just telling you how it is.”
This time Maeve paused for so long Danielle worried she’d hung up. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Maeve said. “I mean, I feel like kind of an asshole, but I’m here.”
“I realize it’s awkward.”
“Awkward.” Maeve ended the comment with a sour laugh. “And where the hell are you, anyway? Where’s your stuff?”
“At my grandmother’s house.”
“Are you coming back?”
“Nah, I’m heading into crunch time, and I’ll get more work done if I’m not driving across town.” And you won’t be able to keep tabs on me and Ryan.
“Fine.” Maeve sighed, a soft puff of sound that might have been exhaustion. Or resignation. Either way, she’d regroup soon and come back for another round.
“Merry Christmas, by the way,” Maeve said, as if she was trying to smooth everything over with two small words.
“Merry Christmas, Maeve.”
They ended the call, and Danielle burrowed down into the sleeping bag. She was due at her uncle’s for dinner at noon. Until then she’d hide, and stew, and wonder whether she had to add the word “former” to Maeve’s BFF title.
A few hours later, her cell phone chirped. The text was from Maeve.
You’re still on for the New Year’s Eve party.
It wasn’t a question.
Tuesday afternoon, Danielle pulled on her rubber gloves and picked up the little wad of fine steel wool she’d been using to scrub decades of soot off the fireplace surround. Working carefully to keep from scratching the tiles, she uncovered brilliant greens and blues one inch at a time. The tiny repetitive movements made for slow work, and required just enough concentration to prevent her from thinking.
A sliver of steel wool poked through her glove, stinging her fingertip, and she flipped the pad across the floor. She hadn’t heard from Maeve, and Ryan hadn’t turned up. She’d had no reason to lie, and nothing to lie about. It ticked her off.
About the time her whining knees threatened anarchy, headlights swiped across the front lawn. High and wide-spaced, the glare ran down the side of what could possibly be a large black pick-up truck.
A huge blast of adrenaline hit her. She pulled off her rubber gloves, flexed her numbed fingers, and counted to ten to keep her breathing steady. A key turned in the lock and she stood, unable to keep from smiling wide enough to let all her big teeth show. “Hi.”
Ryan dropped a toolbox on the floor and let loose a sigh. “Hi.” He rocked his shoulders in a circle, running his gaze up and down her body. “You look good.”
“Liar.” She took a tentative step, pretty sure she smelled like a mix of unshowered sweat and chemical cleaners. He reached out. Their hands clasped. They each took another awkward step. “My sweatshirt has holes in it.” And a faded yellow chicken on the front.
“And you still manage to look like a movie star.” His head dipped toward hers, and his free hand went to her waist, a provisional gesture of possession. She raised her face to his, chuckling at their junior-high stumbling.
“I wasn’t sure if I should call you or not.” Part of her still wasn’t sure she should be groping him in the living room.
“Probably good that you didn’t.” He curled around her in a big, safe hug, disabling her resistance.
She pressed her lips into the warm skin at the base of his throat. “You were pretty mad at me.” She tasted salt, and his earthy scent made it hard to keep from dragging him down on the floor, cranky or not. She nuzzled in closer, debating the best way of saying, I’m sorry and I’m an idiot.
“You know, I came over to work on the cabinets.” His voice grew warmer, naughtier, and he massaged her lower back, each stroke moving farther up under her sweatshirt.
“Ah yes, the infamous kitchen.” She propped her cheek on his shoulder with her face angled up, making it easy for him to kiss her. If he wanted to.
He did.
His groan vibrated against her lips and Danielle went nuts, rubbing up against him like she could burn away the useless fabric separating their bodies.
Give me more.
More.
His kiss tasted of cinnamon, his late-day beard chapped her skin, and she twisted her fingers through his curls. Three days’ worth of loneliness, capping nearly two months of longing and desire turned the simple press of lips into a deep and intimate connection. This was right, in a way nothing — not Braden, not the half-remembered boys from college — had ever been before.
When they eased apart, Danielle blinked her eyes, trying to fight the confusion brought on by her carbonated hormones. Breathing hard, she ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip. “Gum?”
“Burrito for lunch,” he said, his voice low and rumbly.
“Hmm.” She laced her fingers with his, then lifted his hand to get a look at the dried paint and white dust edging his fingernails.
Her half-baked idea about what to do with his fingers was killed by a sharp rap on the door.
“Who is it?” Ryan whispered.
Danielle slid away from him, waiting until the very last minute to release his hand. The doorknob jiggled and the door opened just as Danielle reached it.
Maeve came in, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Christopher was right behind her.
Ryan had a lifetime to learn Maeve’s smiles, and the one she wore as she came through the front door showed an evil blend of anger and triumph.
Maximum trouble with minimum effort.
Dani tucked
a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Nervous.
Ryan stepped aside, but Maeve managed to nudge his shoulder on her way by. His father wasn’t around to keep him from fighting with Maeve, and he let his claim on Dani show in his cold stare.
“Well hey, you guys. Looks like you’re working hard.” Maeve stuck her palms on her hips, spreading her black wool coat like a bat’s wings.
A bitchy bat.
With a mean streak.
Dani moved to a spot midway between them. “What’s up, Maeve?”
“Ryan, you know Christopher, right?” Maeve said.
Christopher reached out to shake, and Ryan responded, making a conscious effort not to snap the guy’s hand like a bundle of twigs.
“Christopher’s a real estate agent.” Dani’s eyes were too wide and her cheeks several shades too bright.
“Yeah, dude. Danielle’s told me some great things about your progress.” Christopher held Ryan’s gaze, answering the challenge with one of his own. “I wanted to come see,” — he threw a glance at Dani — “the house.”
Ryan locked a smile in place, determined to keep a leash on his instincts. Maybe Maeve hadn’t entirely lied when she said Dani and Christopher were dating. They obviously knew each other. “Take a look around.” Ryan snapped the words. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” He strode off before he could say anything Dani would regret. She called after him, asking him to lead the tour.
He ignored her.
The kitchen was a mess of unfinished cabinets, patch-worked sheetrock, and exposed electrical outlet boxes. He’d left his toolbox in the living room, and instead of working, he leaned against the raw edge of the sink and stared out into the darkness. It had been a damned long day. He’d spent most of it fighting with a leaking double-paned window that somehow kept leaking no matter what he did to try to repair it.
He pulled off his sweatshirt and threw it across the room. The window topped a long list of assorted B.S. requests from a little old lady who couldn’t remember from one day to the next what she’d asked him to do. His boss sent him out on the job because he was the only carpenter patient enough and smart enough to get it done. While he appreciated the vote of confidence, some days he’d rather be a dry-waller, responsible for nothing more complicated than mudding, taping, and sanding a flat wall.
He smacked his palms on the edge of the sink. Seeing Dani show a handsome man around her house was just the last fucking straw for his pissed off camel to deal with.
They squeaked up the stairs. Ryan scratched the back of his head and focused on the assorted sticks of beadboard and quarter round molding he’d left stretched across two saw-horses in the dining room. The trim had already been cut to size for the doorways he’d widened on either end of the dining room. All he had to do was tack it up and he could move on to the next project.
Reaching for the closest piece of trim, he tried not to eavesdrop. If he turned his iPod on, he wouldn’t accidentally overhear anything. Instead of the iPod, he reached for the nail gun. It made noise too, and if he could find a rhythm he might be able to act like a grown-up when they got back downstairs. He and Dani only had an informal something and here he was acting like a jealous asshole over a simple home tour.
He held a section of molding over his head in the opening of the doorway. With a light squeeze of his trigger finger, the first nail shot home, the recoil vibrating down his arm. How would Mr. Rich and Sophisticated have behaved if Ryan hadn’t been there? Squeeze. Shot. Squeeze. Shot. And why would a classy chick like Dani choose a fucking carpenter over some guy in a three-piece suit? Shot. Shot. Shot.
The questions flashed through his mind right about the time another one carried down through the floor.
“What should I bring to your New Year’s Eve party?”
Shit.
They had to be standing right above his head for the baritone voice to make it from one floor to the next. Ryan waited for the response, but it was lost in a flutter of giggles.
With a quick jerk, he unplugged the nail gun and dumped it into the top of his toolbox. If he didn’t leave now, he was going to kick the shit out of Maeve’s friend, and for all the guy’s pretty clothes, he looked like he’d be willing to fight back.
And Dani had apparently invited him to a New Year’s Eve party.
Fuck it.
Danielle was headed downstairs when she heard the front door slam. “Ryan?”
A car door slammed in response.
“Did he leave?” Christopher asked.
Danielle picked up her pace to the bottom of the steps then jogged across the living room. “His toolbox is gone.”
Maeve trailed behind. “Could be he needed to grab some supplies.” Her tapping heels were the sound of a one-handed victory clap.
Her false concern made Danielle want to land a one-handed clap right across her face.
Christopher moved just inside Danielle’s comfort zone. He wore a light touch of exotic aftershave that made her feel like she should be dressed in a belly dancer’s skirt and sequined bra. She took a couple steps away from him, but the light scent followed her.
“He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.” She did her best to stifle the hurt and confusion coloring her voice.
Christopher shrugged and smiled, playing up the creases that framed his mouth. “Show me the rest of the place.”
“The rest of the place” turned out to be colder and darker than Danielle remembered. Ryan’s abrupt departure felt wrong. Maeve was just being Maeve, and though he might not be thrilled to meet Christopher, disappearing wasn’t his style.
Christopher admired her Craigslist appliances, acting more sincerely impressed by the quality of the work Ryan had done with the cabinetry and trim. They talked about her plans for the bathrooms and the library, and ended up standing in the middle of the living room. With only one semi-comfortable chair and no wine for pouring, there was no point in hanging around.
“Yeah, um, that’s it,” she said, trying to gently herd them toward the door.
“This is awesome, Danielle,” Christopher said. “You and Ryan are doing some great work,”
Ryan. Where the hell did he go?
“Thanks.” She smiled, dropping in a note of goodbye.
“When you’re ready to sell, Chris is your man. You should be nice to him.” Maeve tossed the comment over her shoulder, using the dark front window as a mirror to straighten her collar. “We should go out for drinks or something.”
“I’d love to, but I smell all funky, and … I just want to hang out here.” And call Ryan.
“Rain check then.” Christopher chucked her under the chin. “See you New Year’s Eve.”
“Yeah. Looking forward to it.”
She kept on smiling until the front door closed behind them, anxiety and confusion agitating her gut. Ryan must have overheard them talking about the stupid New Year’s Eve party. The realization came with a crystalline certainty. Maeve had mentioned the party once or twice before and now Danielle was screwed.
Damn it, Maeve.
She grabbed her jacket and purse and ran for her car. The temperature had dropped ten or fifteen degrees, and she told herself her hands shook because of the cold.
Right.
The interior of the Mini was small enough the heater didn’t have to work very hard. She held her hands in front of one of the vents, thawing out her fingers and drawing up the courage she’d need to call Ryan.
He didn’t answer. She was too freaked out to start the engine, way too freaked out to leave a message.
She sat in her car replaying the evening and wondering if things could have gone any worse. Maeve apparently wanted to make trouble, and Ryan apparently tended to overreact. Danielle had to wonder if any of the O’Connors knew how to act like a grown-up.
She tried Ryan’s phone again. Voicemail.
What now?
She could go back inside, grab a shower, and wait for the phone to ring. Or she could do what she really wan
ted to do.
Go over to Ryan’s and wait for him to come home. They needed to talk about expectations.
And this is why you don’t go out with twenty-four year olds.
Doing her best to squelch the voice of common sense, Danielle put the car in reverse. Traveling north-south in Seattle was fairly easy, but the east-west routes were all stop sign-laden surface streets that took forever to negotiate. She caught the tag end of rush hour, too, and reached his neighborhood at about three weeks past forever. She’d had more than enough time to create an organized list of concerns and a head full of frantic energy. At every stop light she checked her phone to see if he’d called.
At every stop light, disappointment heaped onto her emotional brew.
Finally, she parked in front of his house. The lights were on. His truck was in the driveway. She took a huge breath and squared her shoulders. Her hand was shaking. Her finger was numb. She rang the doorbell.
Chubb opened the door. “Hey, Dani. What’s up?”
“I need to talk to Ryan.”
She didn’t like being rude, but she pushed past him, pausing to look back when she was halfway up the steps to the main floor. His semi-dreads were piled in a knot on the top of his head. Between that and the quizzical tilt of his chin, he reminded her of Shaggy from the old Scooby Doo cartoons.
“He’s in the shower, but I bet he wouldn’t mind if you joined him.” He winked at her. “Go on up.”
Um, right. Danielle stopped in front of the door across the hall from Ryan’s bedroom. The spray of the water hissed at her, and the smell of faux-floral shampoo billowed out from the cracks.
Did she have the cojones to walk in while he was in the shower?
Chapter Thirteen
Was she brave enough to open the door?
Standing in the hall outside of Ryan’s bathroom, she took a moment to bite at a stray cuticle, weighing her options, balanced on the cusp. Afraid to go forward. Afraid not to.
