Love Handles (A Romantic Comedy)

by Gretchen Galway

  “Lonely? But you’re—” he paused, trying to think of an unloaded term. Anti-social. A loner. Reclusive. “You’re so independent.”

  “Not in Milwaukee apparently. I got home from school, ate, hung out online, went to bed. Never saw a living soul who wasn’t part of my daily routine—work, shopping, whatever.”

  Liam couldn’t hide his confusion. “How’s that different from here?”

  “I don’t know. Just was.”

  “Huh. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “I know. Maybe it’s pushing thirty or something. I keep getting crazy ideas.” Mark tapped his forehead with his knuckles. “How about you?”

  He felt his face get warm. “Not yet.”

  “Whoo-hoo,” Mark said, grinning. “That’s progress. Last time you mentioned pigs and hell. Who’s the lucky lady?”

  Liam stared at his brother, the man who had more experience with Legos than dating. “Let’s hear more about how you’re going to use Mom as some kind of practice wife.”

  “I know I don’t want to be alone forever. That will require skills I don’t currently have. It makes perfect sense.” He stuffed a second egg into his mouth. “So, what’s her name?”

  Liam put his glass down on the table and shook his head. At least now their mother would be too busy to give Bev much attention. “I think I’ll go see the dogs. Make sure they haven’t been eaten. You want to come?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “Right.” To avoid his mother and sister in the kitchen, Liam slipped out the front and walked around to the dog run along the side of the house, watching his step as best he could in the growing darkness. Inhaling the sharp evening breeze, he peered across the electronic fence line at Ed’s—Bev’s—house and wondered why it was so quiet. Where was she? It was past eight. To his knowledge she didn’t know anyone other than Ellen in the Bay Area.

  He was annoyed. She’d better not be still at Fite. That wouldn’t be safe, even with the security guys, not for a woman who looked like she did. Like there was no way she was a man. Even walking to her car and driving to the Bay Bridge wouldn’t be a good idea.

  He’d have to talk to her about that.

  But maybe he was overreacting and she was home, just conserving electricity. He walked back up the slope to peer over at the driveway, and was standing there in the dusk, casing the joint, just as her little RAV4 came around the bend, signaled, and turned into the driveway.

  Liam jumped out of sight and reminded himself to go see the dogs. In the evenings they preferred to stay inside where their little bodies wouldn’t catch a chill, but if company was coming over his mom kept them in an insulated porch off the kitchen. She’d installed a children’s playhouse and carpeting and piped in their favorite bluegrass music, just so they wouldn’t feel left out. He followed the sound of Ralph Stanley’s banjo around the back.

  His attention was behind him, however, on the house next door.

  He heard her engine die and her car door slam. So why weren’t any of the house lights coming on?

  Biting the inside of his lip, he looked down at the quivering dogs. They looked like they would be happy to have a run around the yard, maybe check out any strange noises. In fact they were pressing their little bodies up against the door with desperation.

  He jabbed the button on the screen door handle. Three of the quickest dogs jumped out and tumbled down the stairs, the rest following like geese in formation. They ran away from him and across the yard, their yapping building in volume and enthusiasm as they approached Ed’s house.

  Liam smiled and sauntered after them.

  Chapter 9

  Without pausing even to pee the dogs rushed to the top of the hill, immediately across the property line from Bev’s car. Because of the electronic collars they wore, the dogs stopped in a row along the driveway and focused their energies on barking.

  “What’s the matter with you guys?” Liam said loudly, with as much irritation as he could muster. “Bev, are you there?”

  Stepping into view, Bev had her keys in her hand and an exhausted, angry look on her face. “I’m here. Why are you?”

  “The dogs got out again. My apologies.” He tickled one dog behind an upright ear and walked over the boundary to Bev. “You all right?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Bev?”

  She exhaled loudly. “The key doesn’t work.”

  Knowing it was the wrong thing to do but unable to stop himself, he laughed.

  “Oh, go away. Just go away.” Her voice hitched and, waving him away, she turned back to the house.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just—” He followed her. “I’m sorry. Let me see.”

  She swung around to face him and held up the keys. “It fits inside and turns. But the door won’t budge.”

  Gently he took the keys from her and noticed how she jerked away from his touch. “Then it’s probably nothing. Just sticky.” He fitted the key in the hole, twisted, and the deadbolt slid open easily. Pressing the handle latch, he shoved. It opened a fraction of an inch then stopped. A chill prickled the back of his neck. “No problems with this yesterday?”

  “None. It was all new. Nothing like this.” Her voice shook.

  “How about the side door?”

  She buried her face in her hands.

  “What?” He didn’t like seeing her upset. “Stay here. I’ll go see for myself.”

  Bev sank down to the stairs and sat there, forehead on her knees, while Liam strode around the house to the side door. This time the key wouldn’t even go in the hole, as though something were wedged inside. He crouched down to peer at the lock, but it was too dim.

  Strange. Very strange. He hiked down the slope and gazed up at the house from below, then made his way back up the flagstone path.

  “I’ll see if I can break in for you,” he said. “I see a window open. It’s not much of a climb.”

  “Break in?” She got to her feet. “Climb?” Her voice was quiet, but steady.

  “That all right with you?”

  “Just don’t hurt yourself and sue me.” She brushed off her pants and followed him back around the house. “This isn’t your doing, then?”

  He stopped, swung around, saw the exhaustion in her face. “No. This is not my doing.”

  “And I suppose the broken desk chair and deleted software and HR hassles weren’t you, either?”

  An unpleasant dread settled over him. “You’ve been having trouble this week?”

  She narrowed his eyes. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  He didn’t like the idea of people screwing around without his permission. “You should tell me everything that happened. Though it sounds pretty typical—the usual Fite FUBAR.”

  “It really wasn’t you? You’ve been pretty direct about your other nastiness.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “The binders—all seventy-three of them—were a nice touch. I especially liked your suggestion to design a spreadsheet outlining the selling history for every jogging short Fite had ever done.”

  “I hope you got a lot out of that.”

  To his surprise, she smiled sweetly. “I did, actually. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “But the other stuff—not you?”

  “No.”

  She nodded. “Well, that’s some relief. I didn’t want to have to fire you.”

  “Well, good news for both of us, then.” If somebody was getting creative he’d have to put an end to it. Broken chairs and failing computers were common enough to be accidental, and he’d be suspicious if HR didn’t have hassles for her; still, he’d have to look into it.

  They hiked around the house until the deck was looming over their heads. He pointed up. “See that window on the south side? It’s open, right?”

  “Yes, but how can you get up there?”

  “If I can jump high enough, no problem.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Really.”

  “Really.” Doubt his
physical prowess, did she? He studied the deck over his head—about eight feet. He slapped his hands together, glancing at her.

  She edged away. “Is this when you ask to use me as a step stool?”

  “If I can’t jump high enough, I’ll be the step stool.” He tilted his head back and gazed up. “But that might not be necessary.” Tensing his muscles, Liam bent his knees, paused for a second and, with a massive groan, leapt into the air. The fingers on his right hand went over the edge, the nails scraping wood, but the left was short, and he came hurtling back down to the ground. He felt his ankle twist on the uneven ground.

  “This is crazy,” Bev said. “I’m trying the front door again. It’s just stuck or something.”

  But Liam made another jump. This time he got both hands over the edge. Flooded with triumph, he swung by his hands to build momentum then hooked his right foot, then knee over the edge, and soon was hauling himself up over the railing. On his feet and panting, he peered down at Bev. “Oh ye of little faith.”

  “Sorry!” she called up. “Won’t happen again.”

  Now he had to get around to the window. It wasn’t over the deck but around the corner. He swung a leg over the railing to straddle it then got up on it like a balance beam. Reaching around the corner he found the open window with his fingers. “You see a screen on it?”

  “No screen,” she said. “In fact, that’s what’s so strange. I—”

  Whatever she said he didn’t hear because he was leaping through the air, praying his grip on the sill would hold. Once his second hand was secure he began to breathe again. His fingers burned with the strain. He kicked his foot up over his head into the open window, then his calf. Finally, he hauled the rest of himself up.

  He fell, shoulder first, into the bathtub, striking his forehead against the edge.

  “Aaach.” He rubbed his head. Try to be a hero and fucking kill yourself.

  Was that it? Was he trying to be a hero?

  Bev was yelling. He staggered to his feet and stuck his throbbing head out the window.

  “You made it!” Her teeth flashed in the dark.

  Flooded with pride, he bit back a smile and waved. “Don’t look so surprised.” He pointed towards the front of the house and brought his head back in. He checked the mirror, glad to see there was no blood. Though that might earn him some points. Points for what, he didn’t want to think about.

  He walked through the house to the front door, then stopped cold and stared down at the floor.

  Somebody had wedged the door shut. A black metal stapler, the old-fashioned, heavy kind, had been flipped open and worked under the door where it should swing open. A dozen pens were forced under as well, and when the gap became too small for pens, the intruder had shoved in a few pencils, scraping off the top layer of yellow paint.

  Could Ellen have done this?

  Breathing heavily, he worked all the obstructions loose and made a pile off to the side.

  He stared at it a moment, feeling queasy, before he got up to open the door.

  “Hurray!” She rushed in with a huge grin on her face and threw her arms around him. He felt soft roundness press against his chest, his pelvis, and under his hands as they came down, instinctively, to hold her against him. His heart had been pounding before, but now it stopped. Every inch of his body focused on the nearness of her, how she smelled, the taste of the smell of her, the breathy happy sounds she made in his ear.

  Then she pulled away, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, not meeting his gaze.

  Heart thudding, he gestured at the mess on the floor. “No reason to celebrate,” he said, more roughly than he intended, angry with himself for the unexpected lust. He turned away. “Sure you want to stay here?”

  “What do you mean? Of course—” she stopped and seemed to realize the significance of the office supplies. Her voice fell to a whisper. “Were these stuck under the door?”

  He shut the door behind them and flicked on the rest of the lights. “Tell me what you said before about the bathroom window.”

  She stared at him in silent shock.

  “Bev. The window.”

  “Give me a minute. I’m a little freaked out.” She rubbed her forehead, shoulders drawn together, and he resisted the urge to put an arm around her. “I said I remember closing the window, because there was no screen. Last night I had flies.”

  He took a deep breath. “Wait here,” he said, and stalked down the hall to the check out the rest of the house. He looked under beds and in closets and behind what little furniture there was, making sure nobody was hiding. He checked the side door off the laundry, disturbed to see the lock had been jammed with bobby pins from the inside. He went back and found Bev in the small bedroom she’d obviously been sleeping in, going through a suitcase thrown over the bed.

  “Whoever it was could have climbed out the window,” he said.

  “Nothing was stolen.” With shaky hands she unzipped a compartment and pulled out a bag. “My iPod is still here. And cash and jewelry.”

  “Bev . . . ”

  She didn’t look at him. Her suitcase overflowed with silky-looking girl things. Sexy things. Not seeing how he was transfixed by the sight of pink and black lace, Bev left the suitcase open and flopped down next to it and stared into space. “I wonder how she got in.”

  So, she wasn’t going to deny the obvious. “Did you ever get the garage door opener?”

  Bev lifted pained eyes to him. “No.”

  Liam turned and went to the kitchen to check the door to the garage. Unlocked. It would have been easy enough to come in, screw up the doors, open a window, and leave. Bev came up behind him.

  “She really wants you gone,” he said.

  “She’s not the only one.”

  He paused, then turned and met her gaze. “My motives are better.”

  “You both want the same thing,” she said. “Same motive.”

  He liked the way her left eyebrow arched up into her forehead. Mocking but not hateful. He found himself making mental notes about the subtle differences between her and her aunt’s features. “It’s the same thing you want, babe,” he said. “We’re just counting on wanting it more than you. We’ve certainly had more practice.”

  “But I have the chance to bring my family together. I have the higher motives.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “And if that were true you would apologize to Ellen. Take whatever she offered.”

  “She made that impossible. I was tempted but her terms were . . . counterproductive. Taking all that money would have killed any good will.”

  “But taking the company didn’t?”

  She rubbed her temples. “There’s still time. In a few months she’ll calm down. I never wanted her to leave like that.”

  “I misjudged you at first, but not anymore.” He strode through the house to the front door.

  Bev was on his heels. “Just because all you guys care about is power—”

  He bent down at the door and checked the lock. “As if you don’t.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re in this for yourself. Just like the rest of us.”

  “Are you saying I don’t want to help my family?”

  He straightened and tugged down his shirt, noticing the way her eyes tracked the movement down his body with as much alarm as appreciation. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “After all you’ve seen me do? I could have taken your money—”

  “But you didn’t, because I didn’t offer any power. Like your aunt—and me,” he leaned down until he could see flecks of gold in her blue eyes, “—that’s what you crave.”

  It had been a wild shot, but it must have struck true. All the anger drained out of her face and she stared at him, blinking and frowning, until she looked away. “Damn it.”

  Her look was so stricken he felt a faint pang of remorse. He could have waited until Monday to point out she was no better than the rest of them, though to his credit he never would have su
spected she knew so little about herself. Oddly uncomfortable, Liam cleared his throat. “As soon as I leave, make sure you lock all the doors and windows and disconnect the garage door opener. Shove a wrench or something through the tracks. Nobody will be able to get in.”

  “You should go now. Your mom is probably getting worried.”

  Not if she assumed, rightly, that he’d come over to Bev’s. No doubt she’d already named their future children; he’d have to tell her about the break-in before she started researching neighborhood school test scores. “I’ll check on you before I go back to San Francisco.”

  “Please don’t bother. I’ll be fine.”

  “My mother must have given you her number, whether you wanted it or not. So you could call her if there’s a problem.”

  “Exactly. So you can leave.”

  He stayed where he was, looking down at her guarded, unhappy face, missing the way she had flung herself at him. His hands twitched, remembering the feel of her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  She laughed without smiling. “You can drop the act, Liam. As you said, you’re in this for yourself.” She put her palm in the middle of his back and pushed him onto the front landing. “Just like the rest of us.”

  “You were stupid not to call the police,” her mother said an hour later. At home with Bev’s half-sister in Orange County, Gail had the truncated accents of a person laboring on an elliptical training machine. “I suppose you contaminated all the evidence?”

  Bev sat on the floor with her back to the front door, one of the mangled pencils in her fingers, thinking about what Liam had said about her motives. It had grown full dark outside but she had on every light in the house, even the tiny bulb over the stove. The vast planes of glass facing the bay reflected the interior back at her, and she felt exposed.

  Powerless.

  “Mom, this is Oakland. They’ve got their hands full with real crime. They’re not going to go all CSI on a family squabble.”

  Gail sighed loudly. “I suppose I’ll have to come up there now. Really, Bev. I wish you could show some backbone.”