by Karen Booth
Delia nodded like this was the most sensible explanation ever. “Oh, right.”
Lela was standing with her hand on the doorknob, but she wasn’t about to turn it yet. “Are you done? Can I answer the door?”
“Yes. Sorry,” Tammera answered sheepishly.
Lela opened the door for Donovan, who was completely loaded down with takeout. “Cute” had never been a word she would have attributed to him—it was too gross an understatement. But something about him standing there, smiling and peeking over the top of an armful of brown paper bags, made it pop into her mind. A warm breeze picked up his hair and blew it sideways across his face. He artfully jerked his head to flip it back into place.
“Hey,” he said in a voice that Lela would only admit to herself still did something to her.
“Hey. Can I help?”
“This is a very carefully constructed mountain of Indian food. If we move one thing, it could all come tumbling down.” He stepped into the foyer.
“Donovan, this is Tammera and Delia.”
Tammera was in hyper-drive, sizing him up and shooting Lela inquisitive glances. “Hi, Donovan,” she said with a very leading tone.
“Nice to meet you,” Delia said.
“Likewise,” Donovan replied. “I should probably set these down somewhere.”
“Come on. The kitchen. Tams and Delia, do you want to open the bottle of wine? There are glasses under the bar in the living room.”
“We’re on it,” Tammera said.
Lela led Donovan down the long hall. He carefully set the bags on the island, unwrapping his arms from the bundle. And that was when Lela saw it. “Donovan. Your shirt.”
He looked down at himself—square in the middle of his crisp white shirt was a round bright golden stain the size of a dinner plate. “Oh, shit. One of the bags leaked.”
“We need to get you out of that. Your shirt’s going to be ruined if we don’t get it into the wash.”
“What am I going to wear?”
Lela snickered. “I have no idea, but I’m sure I can find something.”
“Why is this funny? This isn’t funny. I just met your friends and now I have to wear your clothes all night?”
“It’s a tiny bit funny. Come on.” Lela ducked into the living room to tell Delia and Tammera to go ahead and start with dinner if they wanted to, then she and Donovan went upstairs to her room. She got straight to it, sifting through her closet. “I got rid of anything Mark left behind, so that’s out.”
“I don’t think I want to wear your ex-husband’s clothes, anyway.”
“He had terrible taste, so good call on your part.”
“Speaking of which, I noticed you got some new furniture. I liked what I saw.”
Indeed, on the one year anniversary of the divorce, she’d had all of Mark’s crap hauled away and then had been gradually replacing everything. Her most recent purchase was a sublime peacock blue velvet sofa. “It’s a work in progress, but it’s getting there.”
“I’m glad to hear you continue to move on.”
Lela was happy about it, too, although moments like this made her feel a bit like she was once against stuck between the past and the present. “Oh, wait. I have a T-shirt that I think will fit you.” In the corner of the closet, she had a set of wire mesh sliding bins crammed with clothes she rarely wore. She had a very hard time throwing anything away. At the bottom of the last bin was an old R.E.M. T-shirt, faded raspberry pink with yellow printing of the band’s name and a simple line drawing of a bicycle. It was an XL, and had always been huge on her, so it would definitely be big enough. “Found it.” She stepped out of the closet and was quickly confronted with an image she should have prepared herself for—Donovan’s enticing bare chest and abs. “Oh. You, uh, took your shirt off.”
“Well, yeah. It has a giant yellow stain on the front of it.” A smug grin crossed his face as his arms casually hung at his sides. He was so at ease with himself, it always made her a little jealous. “It’s okay to look, Lela. You’ve seen me without my shirt tons of times.”
“Of course. Whatever.” She averted her eyes, knowing exactly how unable she was to brush this aside with a single dismissive word. Here they were, in the same room where he’d given her the orgasm that made her spill the beans. And his bare chest was calling to her. If things were different, and they definitely weren’t, it would’ve been two seconds before she was spreading her hands over his pecs and asking him if he was cool with dinner getting cold.
“Plus, I see your side-boob every time a bus goes by, so we’re even.”
Sights squarely focused on a lamp she didn’t care about, she thrust the T-shirt in his direction. “Here. This should fit. I’ll throw your shirt in the wash.”
“Hold on a second… I’ve been looking for this. For like over two decades.” Arms straight, he held the shirt out in front of him. “You had it all this time?”
“Had what? That is my T-shirt. I specifically remember wearing it when we went to see R.E.M. at Madison Square Garden.”
“No way. I wore it that night. Not you. You wore a dress. Some green vintage thing with black tights and Doc Martens.” Donovan threaded his arms into the sleeves, tugging it over his head. “Look at this thing. This is my shirt. There’s no way you bought one this big.”
Lela gnawed on her thumbnail, her eyes raking over his too-appealing form. The T-shirt was old and wrinkled, but it fit him perfectly. “Huh.”
“Yeah, huh.”
“I guess it is yours. I wonder how I got it.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I loaned it to you one of the times you crashed on the couch at my apartment?”
Lela was transported back in time to the many, many nights she slept over. He’d be in his bed, she in the living room, wondering why he didn’t like her more. “How do you remember what I wore to a concert thirty years ago?”
“It’s not hard to guess. That was your uniform at the time.”
That seemed like a convenient answer. He’d been specific about the color of her dress. What guy remembered that? “I guess.”
“That and lots of eyeliner.” He clamped his hand on her shoulder and she peered up into his face, wishing things had turned out differently between them, but maybe this was the way it was always meant to be—just friends, a bit of verbal sparring, nothing more. Still, Out of Touch insisted on worming its way into her head, a song about longing, love, and contradiction. Hall & Oates were once again way too closely aligned with her psyche.
A loud meow came from Lela’s doorway. Rio happily padded his way into the room, straight up to Donovan.
“Oh, look. It’s Simon LeBon.” Donovan scooped up the cat and gave him a head scratch.
“His name is Rio and you know it.”
“I will never forget you gave him the lamest possible Duran Duran name.”
“Shut up, or I won’t wash your shirt.”
“Fine.” He smiled wide, then gently placed Rio back on the floor. “I would like to salvage it if I can.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Lela and Donovan returned downstairs, with Donovan going to the living room in search of wine and Lela heading to the laundry area off the kitchen. A thorough spray of stain remover and she tossed it into the wash, then joined her guests. In her de facto dining area, which was really just one end of the living room, Donovan, Delia, and Tammera were already seated, laughing and drinking wine. Placemats and plates were out, a candle was lit, and the vast array of takeout containers snaked across the center of the table.
“Who did all of this?” Lela asked, taking a seat next to Donovan.
“Tammera,” he answered.
“The candle was Donovan’s idea,” Tammera added. “I think we should eat. This food is getting colder by the minute.”
They passed the cartons and filled their plates, with everything from saag paneer to chicken tikka masala, plus more garlic naan and pakora than Lela had ever seen in her life. The food was amazing, as was the conver
sation, especially once they moved on to a second bottle of wine, the plates got cleared, and then they pulled the cork on a third.
“Wait a second. Hold on.” Tammera reached across the table and tapped the back of Donovan’s hand. “You have to tell me what Lela was like when you met her. In college.”
Donovan turned to her before he spoke, his eyes full of amusement and intoxication. Feeling a bit tipsy herself, Lela swallowed a sigh as she scanned his handsome features—the scruffy beard, the lips she wouldn’t mind kissing, and his adorable forehead wrinkles. Why did he have to be so nice to look at?
He turned back to Tammera and Delia. “Lela was the most amazing person I had ever met. Smart and funny and incredibly generous of spirit. So pretty, a little weird because she liked to sneak into weddings, and of course, she had the second best taste in music. I, of course, have the best.”
Lela smacked his arm with the back of her hand, but realizing how odd it felt to hear him rattle off a list of her good qualities, without explaining the mystery of why exactly they could never be more than friends. “Donovan got that flipped around. He likes REO Speedwagon, so he will always have the second best taste.”
Tammera knocked back the rest of her glass of wine. “I’m with Donovan. I love them.”
“I’m Team Lela,” Delia said. “No Speedwagon for me, thank you very much.” Her head dropped forward and she jerked it back, more than a little drunk.
Tammera slung her arm around Delia’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. “I think I need to get somebody home and into bed.”
Delia squinted as she raised her hand and pinched her thumb and forefinger together. “I might have had a teeny tiny bit too much wine.”
The four of them gathered at the front door for their goodbyes. It was the first time Lela had really noticed what a funny quartet they were—three impeccably dressed women and one bearded dude in a T-shirt that itself could be considered middle aged. “Thanks for coming,” she said to Tammera and Delia, giving them both a big hug. “I’m so excited for you both. Congratulations.”
“Yes. Congratulations,” Donovan said, having been filled in on the happy news during dinner.
Tammera pointed at him. “You, sir, are officially invited to our wedding. Date to be determined, but we’re thinking July.”
“July? That’s in a few weeks,” Lela said. “Also a horrible time in New York.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Tammera quipped. “We not only have to work around the production schedule for my show, one of the partners in Delia’s practice is retiring. It’s really the only time we can squeeze it in if we want to actually go on a honeymoon. It’ll be something small and quick. No drama. Then we’ll have a huge party later.” She turned to Donovan. “So look for an invite. I’ll get your info from Lela.”
He smiled from ear to ear. “I look forward to it.”
Donovan and Lela stood in her doorway as Tammera helped Delia down the stairs, taking things very slowly. Luckily, a cab drove by and Tams was able to hail it in time. Lela closed the door when they were safely on their way. “Oh, shit. I forgot about your shirt. Let me go check on it.”
Donovan stopped her with his hand on her forearm. “Don’t worry about it. You can bring it to the office. Or toss it if it’s ruined. It’s not the end of the world.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new shirt. I feel responsible. It’s all because you volunteered to pick up the take-out.”
He still hadn’t let go of her arm, and now the heat from his hand had permeated the thin fabric of her dress. Tingles rippled along her spine.
“You don’t need to apologize. I had the best night,” he said.
“I’m happy to hear you say that. I think Tammera and Delia had fun, too.”
“I don’t know how anyone couldn’t. Amazing conversation, we laughed our asses off, incredible wine, and good food. That’s the perfect combo in my book.”
“It really was nice, wasn’t it?” she asked, doing her best to not sound so damn wistful.
“It was. Thanks for inviting me. Thank you for letting me be a part of your life.”
A soft smile crossed his kissable lips and Lela fought her tendencies to get swept up in the moment. Her heart was pounding fiercely and with great determination. The air in the house seemed to stand still. She felt strong and weak at the same time. The longing for him had never left her body, it had simply gone to sleep, and he was slowly nudging it awake. But she had to be smarter than desire. She and Donovan had finally returned to a good place. It was a bad idea to mess with that. Friendship was too precious. Yes, she wanted him, but what they had right now was enough.
She popped up on to her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for letting me be a part of yours.” She reached for the doorknob, but she did it slowly, just to give him a chance to stop her. He didn’t. “Probably time for us both to hit the hay.”
“Yep.” He leaned down and kissed her on top of her head. “I guess the next big thing to look forward to is Echo’s wedding.”
“Only a few days away.”
“We can talk about departure times at work.”
And there it was—the new normal. “Sounds like a plan.”
Donovan jogged down the steps, but he stopped and turned at the bottom one. “Thanks for giving me back my T-shirt.”
“Thanks for letting me borrow it for thirty years.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lela had heard tales of the James family estate in New Canaan, Connecticut. By all accounts, it was pretty dang swanky—a fifteen-bedroom, twenty-bathroom mansion on more than fifty acres, with a pond, a pool, horse stables, and tennis courts. When Donovan had first told Lela about it back in college, it almost sounded like a confession, as if he wanted her to know where he’d come from, but only so he could illustrate that so much privilege had come at a cost. Before that, he’d never come across like a guy from a wealthy background, and it wasn’t because Lela had been tricked by the ratty jeans and dingy high-tops. He lived in an absurd apartment for an undergrad—Lela knew something was up. But the fact that he naturally drew attention, but never wanted any part of it, gave her pause. It seemed like such a humble instinct. When Lela later heard the story about how his dad took off when he was a baby, Lela’s view of him began to shift again. She’d started to wonder if his disconnect from the big fancy house he grew up in was more of a survival instinct.
Today, she would have her chance to gather information for herself. Donovan drove Lela, Echo, and Echo’s fiancé Lucius up to the estate on the Friday morning of the wedding weekend. Lela had asked why they weren’t going earlier, since most weddings demanded a lot of family time and preparation. Echo flatly admitted that there was only so much of her mother and grandmother she could take. Plus, work was crazy, as they all were well aware, and Donovan’s mom had a bizarro rule when family gathered—no phones, Internet, or TV. He said that it had always been like that, and the more plugged-in the world had become, the more his mother insisted that everyone not participate.
“Here’s your warning, Echo. Ten minutes and there will be no more email.” Donovan peered into the rear view mirror to look at his daughter, who was sitting in the backseat. She’d asked for a heads-up while she stole a few final minutes on her phone.
“Can you slow down a bit?” she asked.
“Only a little. Your grandmother is expecting us and she won’t want us to be late.” Donovan’s voice had an unsteady edge that was rarely there.
“Maybe it’s time to focus on what we’re about to do,” Lucius said sweetly. Born in Ireland, he’d moved to the states several years ago, but his brogue was still strong. He was tall and a bit skinny, with thick, nearly-black curly hair. A writer, his personality was far quieter than Echo’s, but the two made an incredible and beautiful pair.
Lela glanced in the backseat to see Lucius take Echo’s hand. Young love was such a sweet thing. Lela not only hoped it would last, she needed to believe it would.
&nb
sp; “You’re so right,” Echo said in response, leaning in to kiss Lucius. “I’m powering down my phone right now.”
A few minutes later, Donovan turned in to a tree-lined driveway flanked by large stacked-stone columns. “We have reached the point of no return. Dun, dun, dun…” He sang, his voice gruff and deep.
“Dad…” Echo responded.
Lela peered out the passenger window as they inched along. All around was nothing but endless stretches of grass and landscaping. When they crested a hill, the house revealed itself ahead, cradled in a valley of rolling countryside and centuries-old oaks. As they closed in, the home seemed to go on forever, a three-level battleship of chalky white brick, dotted with dozens and dozens of lead-paned windows and topped with a swooping charcoal slate roof. The foundation was skirted by a riot of rose bushes in full bloom, and the corners armored with ivy-covered trellises.
And of course, there were the turrets. The house had freaking turrets.
“Wow,” Lela said, knocking her head against the passenger-side window.
“Don’t say wow,” Donovan said.
“It’s stunning. Am I not allowed to admire it?”
“Dad’s sensitive about how over-the-top it is,” Echo said from the backseat.
“It’s ridiculous and wasteful. Especially since she and her boyfriend of the moment are the only occupants. What’s his name again? Stuart?”
“Yes. Stuart. But don’t forget the dogs. And the cats. And the rabbits. And the emu,” Echo quipped.
Donovan blew out a breath through his nose, shaking his head. “How could I forget the emu? The thing pecked me on the forehead the last time we were here. I had a bruise for a week.”
“Things are never dull at Gram’s,” Echo said.
“Well, I think it’s a beautiful spot for a wedding.” Lela was determined to not let Donovan’s view of his family color her opinion. She’d decide for herself whether his mother truly was “detached from reality”. And whether his half-brother Austin was actually “a fun-loving narcissist”.
