Vision in White
Page 71

“Maybe, but have you seen her closet? It’s like a layout in a magazine. It’s like what the Queen of England probably has. Without all the odd hats. Jack! Just the man I wanted to see.”
He stood in the doorway, tall, clad in jeans, work shirt, and boots—and very male. “I don’t want to come in there. You’re not supposed to touch anything at a crime scene.”
“The only crime here is that.” She pointed at her closet. “An empty closet with one stupid bar and shelf. You have to help me.”
“I told you we needed to design the closet when we altered the space.”
“I was in a hurry back then. Now I’m not. I know I need at least two bars, right—a lower one. And more shelves. Maybe some drawers.”
He glanced around. “You’re going to need a bigger boat.”
“I’m purging. Don’t start with me.”
He walked in, hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Roomy.”
“Yes, which is part of the problem. All that room, I’ve felt obliged to fill it. You can make it better.”
“Sure I can make it better. A kit from Home Depot would make it better.”
“I’ve looked at them. I want something more . . . More.”
“Ought to line it in cedar while we’re at it. You’ve got enough room for some built-ins here. Run a short rod on the side, maybe some box shelves there. I don’t know. I’ll think about it. I know a guy who could knock it out for you.”
She beamed a smile at him. “See, I knew you’d know what to do with it.”
“Hauling all this stuff back in’s on you.”
“Goes without saying. While you’re here—”
“You’d like me to design your broom closet?”
“No, but thanks. Male point of view.”
“I’ve got that on me.”
“What does it mean when you tell a woman she should leave some of her things at your place?”
“How did I get the concussion?”
“Typical,” Emma muttered.
“Hey, she asked.”
“It’s a woman you’re involved with exclusively. Intimately,” Mac explained.
“And now she wants to leave her strange female products in the bathroom. Then she needs a drawer. Before you know it she’s buying throw pillows for the bed, and your beer has to make room in the refrigerator for her diet drinks and low-fat yogurt. Then, wham, you’re going antiquing instead of watching the game on Sunday afternoon.”
“And that’s all it is?” Emma demanded. “Sure, she can roll around in the bed, tear up the sheets, but hell no, she can’t leave a toothbrush in your bathroom. Or have a few inches of a drawer. That’s too pushy, that’s too much. Why not just leave the money on the dresser and call it what it is?”
“Whoa. That’s not what I—”
“Why should she be comfortable, why should she expect you to make any room in your life for her needs? God forbid she should infringe on your precious time, your sacred space. Pathetic,” she said. “Both of you.” And stormed out.
Jack stared at the empty doorway. “What was that? Why is she so pissed off at me?”
“It’s me. It started with me.”
“Next time warn me so I can dodge the ricochets. Is she . . . seeing someone who’s giving her trouble?”
“No. She’s not seeing anyone special. I am, and she’s frustrated because she thinks I don’t appreciate it—him—enough. She’s wrong. I do. But she’s right in that my thought process takes the same downward spiral you just outlined. And actually, she’s right. It is pathetic.”
“It’s not a downward spiral, necessarily. Maybe you want the yogurt or the antiquing. It depends.”
“On what?”
“Who’s leaving their stuff in your drawer. Got any beer?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go have a beer. I’ll sketch something out. If you like it, I’ll have the guy I know come over and measure, knock it out.”
“That’s worth a beer.”
“So, you and Carter Maguire.”
“Me and Carter Maguire,” she said as they started down. “Is it weird?”
“Why would it be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe since we sort of knew each other in high school when I was going through my artistic free spirit phase and he was a nerd. And he was tutoring Del when I had my obligatory crush on Del.”
“You had a crush on Del?”
“Obligatory five-minute one,” she repeated as she got out the beer. “In fact, I think it only lasted three. Emma made the five.”
“Emma had . . . hmm.”
“And my attention sort of skimmed over him. Carter, I mean. The oh, there’s that guy, the smart one. Then fast-forward to now, and it’s like oh, there’s that guy! Funny.”
“It looks good on you.”
“Feels good, most of the time.” She handed him the beer, tapped hers to it. “When it’s not scary. I’ve never been in love before. In lust, in serious like, but love’s a whole new level of good and scary. He’s got a school thing tonight, which is another strange and funny thing. Me, falling for a teacher. The PhD. I’m the only one of us who didn’t go to college. Photography courses, business courses, but not the dorms and campus and the whole shot. And I’m wrapped up in a guy who grades term papers, gives homework, leads discussions on Shakespeare.
“You’d make more sense, come to think of it.”
“Me?” Jack blinked at her. “I would?”
“No need to wear the panic face. I’m just saying you’d be a more logical choice. We both think in images, in concepts. We need to visualize to create. We both run our own businesses, work with clients. We have divorced parents and half sibs, though your parents are really nice. We have a close circle of mutual friends, are commitment phobic. And we like the occasional beer.
“Plus,” she realized, “our names rhyme.”
“You’re right. Let’s go have sex.”
She laughed. “Missed that boat.”
“I guess we did.”
Amused at both of them, she tipped up her beer. “You never made the move.”