by Linda Seed
“You need some help?” Will offered. “It’ll give me an excuse to put off working on my dissertation.” Will was working on a doctorate in evolutionary biology, and he worked as a caretaker at a mansion up the coast because it allowed him time to study a particular species of sea bird that lived in and around Cambria.
“How’s that coming, anyway?” Daniel asked Will. “We any closer to having to call you Dr. Bachman?”
Will shook his head sadly and looked into his beer mug. “I don’t think you’ll have to get used to that phrase anytime soon.” He pushed his glasses farther up on his nose. “So, yeah. A skylight would give me something else to think about.”
“Appreciate it,” Ryan said. “It’ll be good to have someone there to call 9-1-1 when I fall off the roof.”
Ryan was sitting in a straight-backed chair with his long legs stretched out, his feet propped up on another chair, legs crossed at the ankles. He shelled peanuts and popped them into his mouth.
“Surprised you could make it tonight,” he said to Jackson. “What with you being all coupled up. Why aren’t you at home with the missus?”
“We’re not married. Yet,” he said.
“Oh ho!” Daniel said, leaning forward in his chair and gesturing toward Jackson with his beer mug. “Yet!”
Will raised his eyebrows at Jackson. “Is there an imminent development we should know about? You getting ready to pop the question?”
“No, no.” Jackson waved them off. “Nothing like that. It’s just …” He ran a hand through his auburn hair. “Yeah. I can see it, you know? A future. Kids, the whole bit. I don’t think we’re ready yet, but …”
“Huh,” Ryan said.
“Yeah.” Jackson nodded thoughtfully, then took a slug from his beer. “Anyway. Kate’s having a girls’ night. The four of them are probably sprawled all over the living room right now, drinking margaritas and watching some weepy chick flick.”
“Ah, jeez. Sympathies,” Daniel said.
“No, no. It’s good.” Jackson nodded. “Kate’s friends make her happy, and if she’s happy, I’m happy.”
Ryan shook his head. “You’re gone, all right.”
“Yeah,” Jackson agreed. He grinned. “And you know what? I wouldn’t change it.”
“That’s sweet,” Daniel said. “Really. I think I’m tearing up a little bit.” He made a show of wiping imaginary tears from his cheeks.
“Ah, shut up. Asshole,” Jackson said mildly.
“So, I guess Gen’s at your place, then,” Ryan said.
“And Lacy,” Daniel added, waggling his eyebrows at Ryan.
“I notice he didn’t ask about Lacy,” Will observed. “He asked about Gen. What’s up with that? I thought you had your sights on our lovely blond barista.”
Ryan shrugged and looked at his beer. “Ah, that’s never gonna work out.”
“Finally,” Daniel said.
“ ‘Finally’ what?” Ryan asked.
“Finally, you can see what’s been obvious to the rest of us,” Daniel said. “Lacy just isn’t going there. Sorry, dude.”
“That’s okay,” Ryan said. And it was. He found that he’d been thinking of Lacy less and less often, with less and less longing. It was peculiar, really. All of the energy he’d put into it over the years—the strategizing, the one-sided flirting—and his desire for her was fading like the sunlight at the end of a cold winter day.
“So, Gen, then,” Will said.
Ryan shrugged one shoulder. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it. I was just wondering if she was over there at Jackson’s place.”
“She is,” Jackson said. “Probably wearing little pajama shorts and one of those camisoles girls like.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Ryan.
“Hey. Shouldn’t you be thinking about Kate instead of Gen and her … her pajama shorts and her …” He gestured at his own chest to indicate a camisole.
“Ha! That settles it,” Daniel said, smacking Ryan companionably on the back. “Our boy has a thing for Gen.”
“I wouldn’t call it a thing,” Ryan said.
“What would you call it, then?” Will asked.
“More like a … a yen.”
“Is a yen greater or lesser than a thing ?” Daniel pondered.
“Lesser than a thing, greater than an itch,” Jackson supplied.
“Oh, shut up,” Ryan said.
Back at Kate and Jackson’s house, the girls weren’t drinking margaritas—it was chardonnay—but they were watching a weepy chick flick, and they were sprawled all over the living room, just as he’d said.
Gen wasn’t wearing pajama shorts and a camisole, mainly because it wasn’t summer yet and it still got chilly at night. She’d opted for sweatpants and a hoodie instead.
The Notebook was just wrapping up on the TV, and Lacy was blowing her nose noisily into a wad of tissues.
“Jeez, Lacy, you’ve seen this, what? A dozen times? How can you still cry?” Rose asked, shaking her head.
“How can you not cry?” Lacy demanded. “Your heart must be made of stone. Wait, not stone. Ice. You’re a cold, icy-hearted woman.”
“Aw. I think it’s sweet that she cries,” Kate said from her spot under a fuzzy blanket on one end of the sofa.
“Thank you!” Lacy said.
“Of course, she also cries when we watch The Simpsons,” Gen observed.
“I do not.” Lacy, who was on the floor next to Gen on a pile of pillows, kicked at Gen with one sock-clad foot.
Kate turned off the TV, got up from the sofa, and started gathering up everybody’s popcorn bowls. “Anybody need more wine?”
“I better not,” Gen said. “I have to get up early. I need to get out to the Delaney Ranch and make sure Gordon Kendrick gets out of bed.” She sat up and started replacing pillows on the sofa.
“So now you’re babysitting this guy?” Rose asked. Her hair was alternating shades of green and purple. She had it pulled up into a stubby ponytail on the back of her head.
“I’m afraid that’s what it’s come to,” Gen confirmed. “I was already doing his grocery shopping and buying his damned sheets. Now I’m cleaning for him and making him take showers and … and literally making him get out of bed. I don’t know how he even lived before he had me to do everything for him. God, this guy’s an asshole.” She shook her head in disgust.
“How’s the gallery doing if you’re over at the ranch spoon-feeding the artist?” Kate asked.
“Oh, it’s okay.” Gen waved an arm dismissively. “Alex does a good job. And things aren’t too busy right now anyway. And I’ve got to make this thing work—I’ve got to make Kendrick work—or this whole investment will be for nothing.”
“And you won’t get back to New York,” Rose said. Her voice held a hint of hard judgment.
“I guess,” Gen conceded.
Rose’s expression softened, and she reached out to rub Gen’s shoulder. “Listen, honey. I’m sorry I’ve been giving you a hard time about moving. If going to New York is going to make you happy, you should go. I’m just going to miss you.”
Gen squeezed Rose’s hand. “I’ll miss you too.”
All of the talk about people missing each other got Lacy going again, and she honked into her tissues. “Can we stop talking about people leaving? I’m already a mess as it is.”
“She’s right. Let’s talk about something more fun. How’s the eye candy over at the ranch?” Kate said, waggling her eyebrows at Gen.
“The eye candy has to install a skylight in his barn. For the asshole artist. I mean, jeez. A skylight? I felt like an idiot asking Ryan to do it. I hope he doesn’t think that I think that’s a reasonable request. Because then I’d be an asshole by association. I don’t want to be an asshole by association. I’m not an asshole!”
“Of course you’re not,” Kate said, soothing her.
“It’s interesting how much you care what Ryan thinks of you,” Lacy said, peering at Gen over the rim of her wineglass.
“Well, o
f course I do. I care what everybody thinks.”
“I can’t live like that,” Rose said, shaking her head. “I am who I am. If people don’t like it, screw ‘em.”
“Well, sure,” Gen said. “Okay, I get that. But it’s Ryan.”
“Still nursing a yearning for the handsome rancher,” Kate observed.
Gen got up and padded into the kitchen to rinse her wineglass in the sink. “God. It’s even worse now that I have to go out there to the ranch all the time. He’s just there, with his nicely fitting jeans and his Bambi eyes and his …” She gestured with her arms to indicate height and broad shoulders. “God, the lust. I can’t even tell you about the lust I feel for that man. I just want to lick him.”
“You should,” Rose said.
“What, just walk right on up and lick him?”
“Well, not without some preliminary flirting. But, yeah.” Rose raised her eyebrows, causing the little silver ball pierced into the left one to bob.
“I haven’t … you know … licked anybody in a really long time,” Gen said. She put her clean wineglass upside down next to the sink to drain and leaned against the counter, a hand on her hip. “I don’t know if I even remember how.”
“It’s like riding a bike,” Kate said. “You’ll remember. I did. And my dry spell was even longer than yours.”
“How’s all that bike riding going, anyway?” Lacy asked Kate. “You’ve gotta have thighs of steel by now.”
Kate grinned at her. “The bike riding,” she said, “is awesome. I love bike riding. And Jackson really knows how to ride a bike.”
“God, I want to ride a bike,” Gen said wistfully.
“You need to climb up on Ryan’s handlebars,” Rose said.
Gen snatched a dish towel from the counter and flung it at Rose. “I think this metaphor is getting out of hand.”
“Seriously, though.” Lacy got up from the sofa and went into the kitchen with Gen. “You should ask him out or something. You two would be good together.”
“Maybe,” Gen said. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think,” Rose said. “Just get on the bike, and maybe ring the little bell.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ryan bought the parts for the skylight—Gen had said she would reimburse him—and arranged with Will to meet him at the ranch to help him put the thing in. They met at the house on a Thursday morning and then went out to the old barn together hauling a ladder, a power saw, and a toolbox.
The morning was bright and clear, the sky so blue it almost hurt to look at it, a cool breeze ruffling Ryan’s hair and making the grass ripple.
“You ever done one of these before?” Ryan asked Will.
“Not exactly. But I researched it last night on the Internet. Should be pretty simple.”
It was just like the college boy to do his research. Probably a good thing, too, since Ryan’s style would have been to get up there and start cutting and hammering and hope something good came out of it. Usually, it worked out.
Will explained what they had to do, then they leaned the ladder against the side of the barn and climbed up.
“Is it just me, or does this seem not entirely necessary?” Will asked.
“It’s not just you,” Ryan said as he ascended the ladder. Will was already up on the roof.
“Why are we doing this again?” Will asked. “I mean, I’m not complaining. I volunteered. I’m just wondering.”
“We’re doing this so Gordon Kendrick can pretend he’s outside, instead of actually going outside, where there is, apparently, a breeze.”
Will nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
They were both up there, almost thirty feet above the ground, contemplating the placement of the skylight, when they heard a voice calling Ryan’s name.
“Hey, Ryan! Are you up there?”
Gen. Her voice did unpredictable things to him. First it sent a quick hit of adrenaline to his chest, and then it made him feel unaccountably warm. The roof was steeply pitched, so he had to crawl on his hands and knees to the edge of it to look down at her.
“Hey,” he said companionably.
“Oh, God, it’s a long way up there. Be careful. Don’t fall and break a leg or anything. I’d feel really guilty if I asked you to do something stupid and you ended up killing yourself.”
“Well, it is stupid,” he agreed.
“I know. I know it is. Have I thanked you for doing it?”
“You have.”
“Well, thank you again. Really.”
He found that he enjoyed her gratitude, enjoyed making her happy. He also enjoyed the view from up here. She was wearing a low-cut top, something black and clingy, and the angle gave him enticing scenery that had nothing to do with the rolling hills or the ocean off in the distance.
“Happy to do it,” he said.
He was just starting to head back toward Will when she said, “Ryan?”
“Yeah?” He turned back toward her.
“After this is done, I’d like to take you to dinner. You know, to thank you for the skylight. Which is a stupid job you shouldn’t have to do. But you’re doing it anyway. And I’d really like to … you know. Do something. For you.”
She sounded nervous, and he was aware that she wasn’t just asking about a thank-you dinner. His heart started to beat a little bit faster, which struck him as a non-manly kind of response. Still, there it was.
“I’m not about to say no to that,” he said, trying to sound casual. It sounded casual to his own ears, but there was no accounting for hers.
“Well, good then.” She nodded in a that’s that kind of way. Her hair was loose today, and the sunlight made it glimmer like new copper. “Okay. I’ll let you get back to it.”
She started to walk away, then turned back as though she’d forgotten to say something. Then she nodded again, and turned again, and then she really did walk away.
It was Ryan’s effort to watch her walk away—to see the sway of her hips and the bounce of her hair—that caused him to lose his balance and slide toward the edge of the roof and the thirty-some feet of air beneath. He splayed out flat like a starfish, and that, thankfully, stopped him. The fact that he’d narrowly averted broken bones, head injuries, and possible paralysis caused his pulse to pound so hard he could hear it thump in his ears.
“You okay there?” Will asked from a few feet to Ryan’s left.
“Holy shit,” Ryan said. He tried to steady his breathing.
“That was Gen Porter down there, wasn’t it?” Will asked mildly.
“Uh … yeah. It was.”
“Distracting.” Will grinned.
“Holy shit,” Ryan said again.
“What am I doing? Why did I do that? What the hell was I thinking?!” Gen was back at the gallery, which was empty except for her, and she waved an arm for emphasis as she ranted into her cell phone.
“You asked a man you’re attracted to out on a date,” Kate said. “It’s the kind of thing adults do.”
“It’s the kind of thing idiots do,” Gen said. “Idiots, when they get all hot and bothered and take leave of their senses.”
“He said yes,” Kate reminded her.
Gen plopped into the chair behind her desk. “Yeah, but I told him it was a thank-you dinner for the skylight, and so now I don’t even know if he knows it’s a date.”
“He knows,” Kate said.
“How do you know he knows?”
Kate sighed. “He’s not stupid.”
“No, but he’s a man. Men don’t have a clue about this stuff. Emotions, and expectations, and … and subtext.”
“That’s true,” Kate admitted.
“But I couldn’t very well say, ‘Hey, Ryan, you want to go out with me on a date that I’m calling something other than a date because I’m too big of a wuss to admit it’s a date?’ ”
“Well, I guess you could, but it’s a mouthful,” Kate observed.
“So now I don’t know what to do,” Gen fretted.
“Yes you do.”
“No, I don’t. Tell me. What should I do?”
Kate’s voice was patient. “You take him out to dinner, say thank you for the skylight, then run your hand up his thigh during the soup course.”
Gen didn’t say anything.
“Gen?”
“Sorry. I was visualizing.”
“You’ll be okay,” Kate said. “You know how to do this. You’ve dated men before.”
She had. But those men weren’t Ryan. Just thinking about her hand and his thigh and the soup course made her palms damp.
“Right. I have. I can do this,” Gen agreed.
“Just, the licking thing?” Kate said. “You should probably save that for after dessert.”
They met at Neptune, the restaurant where Jackson worked as head chef, on a Friday night. Gen wondered whether the fact that they were doing this on a Friday night would tip off Ryan that this was a date-date, and not a thank-you date. It might, but then again, they’d met at the restaurant rather than someone picking someone up, and that said friendly rather than romantic. Given all of the conflicting input, she was left uncertain about what, exactly, the impression was that she was giving him.
As they sat in the crowded dining room perusing their menus, it occurred to her that the soup course might be a little early for the thigh-groping move Kate had suggested, especially if Ryan didn’t know this was a date-date. And timing was only one concern. If she ran her hand up his thigh, an event she now couldn’t stop herself from imagining in vivid detail, it was entirely possible she’d burst into flames of desire. And that wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted to do in public.
Ryan looked handsome—but then, he always did. He was wearing a light blue button-down shirt open at the neck, with a dark blazer, his dark hair neatly combed. As she tried to focus on the wine list, she couldn’t decide what was more distracting—his eyes, or his voice. Listening to Ryan’s voice was like wrapping yourself in a soft, warm blanket while eating dark chocolate. At the moment, he was talking about the wine, but he could have been talking about anything. He could have been reciting a dishwasher repair manual, and it still would have made her hot as hell.
