by Karen Booth
“This is a gut job.” Chris shook his head. “The appliances, the sink, the floor.”
Good God, the floor. Yellow-and-white linoleum. “The cabinets might be salvageable. They’re solid.” I strode into the breakfast area. A sliding glass door lead out to the patio, with another view of the lake. “Look. Ducks.” Good, Claire. Like wildlife will help.
Chris joined me. “Cute.” It was the most positive thing he’d said since we’d walked through the front door. “I suppose a pool might fit.”
“We can get you a big new grill.” There I was, throwing man toys at him—grills, televisions.
He kneaded his forehead and wrapped his other arm around me. “That’d be nice. Not sure it makes up for the disastrous state of the rest of the house.” He granted me half of a smile. “Do you want to keep looking?”
“I do. Don’t you?”
He pursed his lips. “Let’s have a look at the bedrooms and the bathrooms before we talk anymore about it.”
Bob had played the seasoned real-estate agent, staying silent during our discussion. “There are four bedrooms and two and a half baths. And a home office.”
“Don’t forget the home office. We need that,” I said. “Four bedrooms. The perfect amount.”
“Yes, darling, I know.”
Bob lead the way down the hall, past a half bath that was serviceable, but out of date. The same could be said for the home office, although it was on the back corner of the house and overlooked the backyard. Beautiful. Upstairs, the first two bedrooms were just off the landing, both a good size, with a Jack-and-Jill bathroom between.
“Hardwoods up here.” I tapped my heel on the floor.
Chris poked his head into the bathroom. “This is in surprisingly good shape.”
He was right—attractive ceramic tile in a sage green that had managed to come back into vogue since the house had been built.
“I believe the tile is hand-glazed. Very desirable,” Bob said.
Even better, the fixtures were white. Aha. No avocado green. “Is the Master down here?” I asked, starting down the wide hall. A single step into the room, I ground to a halt.
Chris nearly ran right into me, grasping my shoulders from behind. “Wow.”
“I know.”
“Is this the same house?”
Bob laughed. “It is. Some mid-century design has aged better than others.”
Stunning was the only way to describe it—a wall of windows with an unobstructed view to the lake, divided only by a black slate fireplace dead center. There was ample space for a King bed, which would mean a big upgrade. As much as I loved cuddling close to Chris, sleeping in a Queen with a six-foot-four man with wandering limbs had sometimes left me wishing for a pillow wall between us.
Tall ceilings gave the room a spacious feel. It was hard to believe how perfect it was. I kept waiting for something avocado green to leap out at me.
“There’s a large walk-in closet.” Bob opened a door and flipped a light switch.
Chris ducked his head in. “Unreal. This is as big as my closet in LA.”
“And that’s a big freaking closet,” I quipped.
“Let’s see how the master bath suits you,” Bob said.
I braced for Strike Three. Instead, my breath was taken away again. The bathroom had a gorgeous double vanity, made from an exotic-looking wood. The countertop was done in a beautiful aqua mosaic tile in near-perfect condition. The glaze was varied, exactly like the hand-glazed tile in the Jack-and-Jill bath.
“Is that bamboo?” I asked.
“I believe that’s walnut.” Bob ran his hand along the rich wood drawer fronts adorned with chrome pulls. “Shows off the vertical grain. You can’t even buy cabinetry like this anymore.”
“The profile is a little low.” Chris stood before one of the two round vanity mirrors. The countertop reached his crotch.
Bob laughed. “Not the best spot for you, is it? That’s easily fixed by a good carpenter.”
I noted two windows with splendid wooded views. “No tub?”
“Afraid not,” Bob said. “But in exchange, you got a huge shower. This was unusual for the time, but apparently the original owner spent a lot of time in the shower.”
Chris snickered and stepped into the oversized glass enclosure, which had the same aqua tile. “People in the 50s were short.” The showerhead hit him square in the neck.
“That can also be fixed,” Bob said.
Chris cocked an eyebrow at me. “Lots and lots of room in here, darling.”
My face flushed with heat when I saw the look in his eye. “I see that.” I had to glance away so as not to embarrass myself by blurting out that now would be a good time for Bob to go away.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Bob flipped through papers in his folder.
I poked my head into the shower. “One more bedroom to see?”
Bob led us to the end of the hall. “It’s a small room, but perfect for a little one.”
The light streamed in from a window that looked into the backyard.
A smile crossed Chris’s face when I sat on the built-in window seat and patted the spot next to me. “Bob, may we have a moment?”
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Chris joined me, sitting nice and close. He took my left hand, pulling it in to his lap. “You like it. I can tell you do. I just—” He squinted and looked around the room. “I’m not sure. The whole point of getting a new house was to get a new house. As in new.”
“I know, but I can’t see us living in some massive house with a home theater. It doesn’t feel like us.”
“That was a beautiful house in a very safe neighborhood. More importantly, a gated neighborhood, where we wouldn’t have to worry about fans or photographers or other invasions of our privacy.”
True. “That hasn’t been insurmountable so far.”
“Things could very well change. You never know when people will figure out that I’m living here full-time.”
Also true. “All I can wonder is where our child will learn to ride a bike in a neighborhood like that. Who will there be to play with? A bunch of wealthy old people?” I turned and gripped his other arm. “Families live in this neighborhood. It’s the whole reason to live in Chapel Hill.”
He nodded and scratched his head. “We’d have to find a contractor. Somebody who can work fast.”
Does that mean yes? I pointed to the other side of the room. “I can see a crib right there.”
He squeezed my hand. “You can?”
“And I can see a rocking chair in front of the other window. I can see reading books on this window seat on a dreary day, watching the raindrops on the lake.”
He squeezed again. Harder. His eyes found mine, and the pictures in my head of our future came to life. “Tell me more.”
“I can see us in the back yard, in our new pool, you teaching the baby to swim.”
“You really love it, don’t you?”
“I really do.” Please say yes. Please say yes.
“Then let’s do it. Let’s take this one part of our lives off hold. No more looking.”
“You mean it?” Without question, I hadn’t smiled that hard since he’d asked me to marry him.
“Come on.” He held out his hand. “Let’s tell Bob. I’m sure we’ll make his day.”
I twined my fingers with his and he pulled me quickly into a hug. “You make me so happy.” Leaning in, I pressed my lips against his.
“You make me so happy.” He kissed me softly. “And now that we have the house situation settled, we can start planning the wedding.”
Chapter Thirteen
I hung up the phone. Bloody hell. Amazing when things go the way you want them to. “We’re all set,” I called out to Claire from her office. “Bob wants us at his office at nine tomorrow morning to sign the papers.”
“I can’t believe it went that fast.” She filed into the room wearing a purple workout top that showed off
her incredible shoulders and a pair of perfectly snug yoga pants. Shame that the amount of privacy in the house with Richard around was nil unless he was fast asleep.
“It significantly speeds up the process when you pay cash.”
“Yeah, well, I never bought a house that way, so I wouldn’t know.” She perched herself on one end of her desk. “So, um…” She twisted her lips into an adorable bundle. “Now that we’re getting married and buying a house, I feel like I have to ask if everything is okay money-wise.”
Cute. “Yes. Everything’s fine. I don’t want you to worry about that.”
“You really want to hold on to this house? I might be sentimental, but we don’t have to do that.”
I rolled the office chair closer. “That’s not sentimentality. That’s simplification and self-preservation.”
“I have no clue what that means.” She took down her ponytail, then gathered her hair in her hand and pulled it back in place.
“Selling a house is a pain in the ass and we have five hundred balls in the air right now. I don’t want to deal with it.”
“Five hundred is a bit of an exaggeration.”
“Not really. As far as self-preservation goes, I have a sneaking suspicion that your father is going to want to spend more and more time in Chapel Hill once we have a baby. It’s silly that he lives four hours away.” I watched as the lights went on behind her deep blue eyes, but she still made a bit of a face. “This way we keep him at arm’s length and we give him a project. He could work on this house all day long every day and never finish.”
“You know my dad will never accept a gift like that. He’ll want to pay you for it.”
“Either I’ll tell him it’s payment for his project management on the studio or I’ll come up with something else. You know, if we wanted, we could have him stay here and not come to live in the guest room of the new house.”
“I like where you’re going with this.”
My email beeped and I rolled the chair back to check. Two new messages, one from Graham: Are we psyched for the tickets to go on sale today? “I’d just like to see your father happy. He’s got a lot of years left in him and it’d be nice if he was a little less underfoot.”
She craned her neck, looking into the living room. “Did you notice he was super moody again this morning?” she whispered.
“How could I not? How long can the man possibly hold a grudge? It’s been nearly three weeks since the Rosie dinner.”
Claire hopped down from the desk and closed the French doors on her office, cringing as one of the hinges squeaked. “If my dad is holding a grudge, he doesn’t let it out like that. He holds it inside until it burns a hole through his stomach. I don’t think its Rosie.”
“Maybe it’s old age. Does senility run in your family?”
She leaned into me when I snaked a hand around her hips. “Not that I know of. Maybe I should get him to see the doctor. Knowing him, he hasn’t had a check-up since my mother died.”
“It’s not a bad idea.” Speaking of check-ups and medical things… “Are we still clear to take a test tomorrow morning?”
“We are.” She smiled and crouched down next to me. “Fingers crossed.” With a delicate touch, she drew a short line down my thigh and punctuated it with a dot.
I cleared my throat. I have work to do, darling. “Going for a run?”
“Yep.” She stood and twisted from side to side, then pulled one foot back behind her butt to stretch. “I’m way too amped up about the Amanda story coming out today. I need to take the edge off. Will you be here when I get back?”
“I should be. The tickets for Radio City Music Hall just went on sale at ten. I’m sure I’ll be getting up-to-the-minute updates from Graham.” I returned to my laptop. “Otherwise, I’m trying to see if I can get the contractor to meet us at the house tomorrow. Your dad and I are off to the studio later.”
“Sam is actually going to grace us with her presence at dinner tonight. Are you confident enough in your grilling abilities to tackle some fish? I was thinking Snapper. It’s her favorite and I wanted to officially ask her to be my maid of honor.”
“Am I confident?” I shook my head. “At this point, there’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Okay, Mr. Grillmaster. I’m putting you to the test tonight.” She kissed me and was out the door.
My fingers were poised above the computer keyboard when my phone rang. Speak of the devil. “Please tell me you and Angie are in London right now. I can’t even fathom the idea of you being awake at seven am West coast time.”
“LA, baby. And I get up early.”
“Since when?”
“Since I became a grown-up.”
“So you’re a week into it?”
“Very funny. Will you shut the hell up so I can tell you the news? The first night is sold out. Eleven minutes, P-man. Eleven minutes.”
The time on my laptop said 10:19. He’s certainly on top of this. “Brilliant. Good to know the die-hards are anxious to see us.”
“I’m getting updates from the agent. Second and third nights are already 80% sold. He wants the green light to add the other two nights.”
And Claire just ran out the door. “Can’t we wait a day? If people want the tickets, won’t they want them just as much tomorrow?”
“Hold on. I’ve got a text.” From the sound of it, Graham fumbled his phone. “Second night is sold out. Two hundred seats left for night three.”
“Bloody hell.” The theater holds 6,000 people. “I guess the fans really do want to see us, huh?”
“Of course they do, and no, we can’t wait. We need to announce them right away, when people are in a frenzy to get seats.”
I blew out a deep breath.
“It’s two nights, Chris. Just say yes.”
“Can your voice hold out for five nights in a row? I don’t think we did that more than once or twice in our heyday.”
“Don’t you worry about my voice. I’ll take care of that.”
“Terence and Nigel are on board?”
“They want to do as many shows as possible.”
“Okay. Yeah. Do it. Pull the trigger.”
* * *
The silence wasn’t deafening—it was insufferable. The new issue of Entertainment Weekly had gone online that afternoon and Claire hadn’t wanted to talk about it, at all. No, she declined to discuss how crushed she was that her long-awaited story on Amanda Carlton had been cut down to a three-question sidebar.
And Sam was late for dinner. Again.
“Claire, come on. Say something.” My voice seemed to boom through the near-silent kitchen.
“There’s nothing to say.” She chucked cherry tomatoes one-by-one onto a heap of spinach in the salad bowl. “They turned my story into something a trained monkey could’ve written. The biggest actress on the planet told me a huge secret, with the tape rolling no less, and I couldn’t write about it.” She jerked open the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of salad dressing. “Of course, like an idiot, I bragged to Laura Simmons about it. That’ll sure boost my credibility with her.”
“You don’t need to worry about your credibility with Laura. She adores you.” I carried a pitcher of iced tea to the table and returned. “Perhaps you need to speak to your editor.”
“And say what?” She threw up her hands. “I can’t blame him. After Amanda’s publicist begged me to pull the stuff about her dad, I had very little left to write about. She answered some other questions for me, but it was all a bunch of fluff.” She picked up the salad and headed for the table, but I blocked her path.
“Give me that.” I took the bowl from her hands, set it on the counter, and corralled her into my arms. “Come here.” I rubbed her back, which was so tight I could feel exactly how wound up she was about this. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard.”
“Thank you.” She sighed so deeply that her shoulders rose and dropped several inches. “What’s done is done. I’m just looking forward to starting
this new job and not having to be at the mercy of editors anymore. I’ll finally have some control.”
“Control over what?” Richard asked, traipsing into the kitchen.
Claire grumbled and let go of me, picking up the salad bowl and making a beeline for the table. “Nothing, Dad.”
“For all of the stuff that’s going on around here, I sure do get a lot of nothing answers to my questions.” He took his seat at the table and poured himself a glass of tea.
“Claire’s disappointed with her Entertainment Weekly story,” I said. “Her editor cut it pretty significantly.”
“Chris—” Claire said.
“What? It’s true.”
“Well, Jellybean, you win some, you lose some. I’m sure you tried your hardest and that’s all that matters.”
I brought the Red Snapper to the table on a beautiful platter Claire had garnished with fresh herbs from the garden and slices of lemon.
“It looks incredible, Chris.” Claire took seat next to me.
“Thank you.”
She consulted her watch. “Too bad Sam isn’t on time to see it like that.”
“You know, Ladybug, I think you need to lay down the law with her.” Richard reached for a dinner roll without making eye contact with Claire. Eye contact was too personal, especially when doling out unwanted parenting advice.
“Dad, please.” Claire unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. Her eyes pled with me for something—a rescue from her dad, my opinion, a pat on the back. It was hard to know what she wanted when it came to her writing and even more so when it came to Sam. “I’m trying to find the right balance between letting her have her independence and keeping her in check. This is part of that.”
I doubted I was dreading next September as much as Claire, but it was close. It would be very difficult to watch Sam walk out the door. “I think you’re doing a splendid job, darling. So she’s late for dinner. There will be other dinners.”
Richard cleared his throat and swiped the butter with his knife, slathering his roll.
