Rusty Nailed
Page 45

Joining them at the table is an older couple. The woman is a spitting image of the pretty blonde; her mother? Ah yes, and this must be her father, shaking hands with the gorgeous man. As they sit down together, we zoom in on the pretty blonde. She seems very happy to have her family around her on this Christmas Eve, but as the gorgeous man squeezes her hand under the table, we can see an almost wistful look in her eye. What could she be dreaming of on this magical night?
Cut to the sideboard, where we are the only ones to see a cat perched, nibbling at the edge of the piecrust.
Cut to all four gathered around a Christmas tree. Discarded wrapping paper in shades of green and red, silver and gold, is scattered all around. Occasionally one of the piles rumbles, and we can see whiskers poking through. As her parents head to the kitchen, the pretty blonde retrieves a package from behind the couch. The gorgeous man looks surprised; he didn’t know there were any gifts left to give. The pretty blonde offers it to him, perching on the arm of the couch next to him. He smiles as he takes it, unwrapping this last gift.
We zoom in, and can see it’s a picture frame. We can’t see the photo, but it makes the gorgeous man tense up. We see emotions flit across his face. Unease. Raw sorrow. The pretty blonde holds her breath. And then, the gorgeous man begins to smile. And it’s breathtaking.
As he pulls the pretty blonde onto his lap for a close hug, we pull back and see her parents start to come back into the living room. Spying the two on the couch, they retreat into the kitchen.
chapter fifteen
Text from Sophia to Mimi:
I can’t believe you’re still mad . . .
I can’t believe you can’t believe I’m still mad.
I’m sorry, okay? Again! How many times can I say I’m sorry?
Once more should do it.
OK. I. Am. Sorry. I. Ruined. Your. Christmas. Party.
Forgiven. Now you want to tell me what that was all about?
I don’t know.
Oh, I know, and I know you know; I just want to hear you say it.
I’m taking back my apology . . .
Can’t. How’s the professor?
Now you’re asking for it.
Snicker.
Text from Simon to Neil:
You wanna go bike riding tomorrow?
Can’t we just hold hands and skip?
Dude.
Can’t. Working. Speaking of, you’ve been home awhile now. When are you heading back out on the road?
Taking a bit of a break
Come on, really, when are you heading back out?
No really, I’m taking some time off.
Huh.
Huh what?
Just huh. Anyway, can’t tomorrow; but how ’bout this weekend?
Done. You wanna text the idiot or should I?
I’ll do it. Blow me.
See ya.
Text from Mimi to Caroline:
Can you do the diner Saturday morning?
Yes, if you can do early. I need to work afterward.
How about 7:30?
Perfect.
Holy shit, Caroline, I was kidding.
Oh, when were you thinking?
9?
I’ve got meetings in the afternoon. Did I tell you I just picked up a new job in Sausalito? Someone walked by the Claremont the other day, liked what she saw, came by the office, and BAM I’m doing a remodel over here.
Wow, my girl is going for Designer of the Year!
No kidding. Okay, breakfast. How about we say 8:15, in the middle?
Wow, okay, I’ll see if I can get Soph up that early. She still owes me from the party.
She really does; the throwing of food is never okay.
They’re both so stupid! Ryan said that Neil’s tried to call her again, but she just won’t budge.
Maybe it’s time to sit this one out. I mean, what are the odds that 3 best friends and 3 best friends would all magically meet, f**k, and live happily ever after?
Pfft, true. What a romance novel that would make. But 2 out of 3 isn’t bad. And I still think they’re gonna get back together . . .
You old softie.
You guys want to see a movie next weekend? Or is Simon out of town?
Oh no. He’s here. He’s very much here.
???
Forget it. We’ll see. Gotta get back to work.
Portion of an e-mail from Jillian to Caroline:
. . . So it looks like we’ll be heading over to Spain sooner than we thought. I have an old friend from college who’s renovating an estate just outside of Nerja. Isn’t that where you and Simon stayed? And how is he? Benjamin said he’s not traveling as much?
I spoke to the accountant; he’s sending me everything FedEx for year-end taxes. Looks like you’ve kept up on everything really well. I did notice, however, that you need to be itemizing your meals when you’re out with clients—we need the actual receipt with the items ordered, not just the cc receipt. I can have him show you some examples if that’s easier? Let me know, and I’ll have it sent over.
Sounds like your Christmas was interesting, Vienna was enchanting! What a wonderful city to spend the holidays in.
I scrolled through that e-mail once more, then thought back to the conversation we had right before Christmas. She’d said they were going to Munich for the holidays, I was sure of it. She’d mentioned Benjamin’s friends and everything. But now she said they were in Vienna?
Something stinks in Vienna.
I put my phone away as I walked toward the hotel site. I was meeting with Camden’s assistant to make the final decision about some light fixtures in the bar downstairs. Taking advantage of the natural light, and being aware of the sometimes very foggy mornings, I had designed a space that could transition from a place to share a quiet drink in the afternoon or even a business meeting, to something infinitely more sexy at nighttime.
I tried to focus on the meeting at hand, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on. When Jillian first left, she was in almost constant contact—as much as a newlywed could be. But as the weeks went by, turning into months, the e-mails and phone calls had lessened significantly. Initially, I was so busy I didn’t realize how those phone calls were beginning to dwindle. Once the holidays were in full swing and we went back east for the reunion, I was in control enough to not need the calls, but that wasn’t really the point.
And when was she coming home? There seemed to be no end in sight. I needed to have a come-to-Jesus meeting with Jillian, but I wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. And I was positive that she had told me she was going to Munich . . .
“Caroline? You been waiting long?” A voice broke me out of my head. Camden’s assistant, looking at me expectantly.
“Sorry, no, not at all. Ready to get started?” I asked, and plastered on a smile.