Maybe because of them.
The house was a small Victorian, the oddball on the block, and she’d loved it at first sight. One look at that small turret and she’d been lost. Cole had been harder to convince. Even with the partitions needed for the duplexing, Shannyn thought it was the most beautiful house in the world. The duplexing allowed her to keep it, so she’d made her peace with that. She loved the high ceilings and the light that flooded into it in the daytime, the ornate plaster molding and the old hardwood floors. She loved the house’s quirks and its complications, its creaks and its character, though she hated that it needed a new roof so desperately.
Actually, what she hated was how much it had rained recently.
The living room at the front had a fireplace and a bay window that looked over the porch. It was pretty empty since Cole had taken the furniture, but Shannyn told herself that just allowed the architectural elements to shine. It also had given her more room to paint the walls. The beige that Cole loved had been banished from the house. The dining room immediately behind the living room had become Shannyn’s office and workspace. It was almost filled by a big table made of a wooden door on carpenter’s trestles. Her computer with the big screen was there, a stool and not much else.
There were two bedrooms on the main floor as well as the kitchen and a full bath. The kitchen had been last renovated in the seventies, but the cabinets were solid wood. Her brother Aidan had brought her a stash of Mexican tiles and they’d tiled the walls together as well as the backsplashes before he’d left again. The larger bedroom was beside the kitchen and had a fireplace, too, although the mantle was less ornate than the one in the living room. The second bedroom was at the back and chilly: it had originally been a storeroom. It was Shannyn’s sewing studio now, filled with her thrift shop scores and upcycled treasures: her sewing machine was on a desk against one wall and there was a rolling rack for the clothes. Sometimes she took a booth at street fairs to sell her wares, but lately, most sales had been word-of-mouth.
The second floor had originally had four bedrooms and a full bathroom, and now was rented to Lisa Petrovsky and her mother as an apartment. The bedroom immediately over Shannyn’s kitchen had been turned into another kitchen. Lisa and her mother used the largest room as a living room and ate in their kitchen. The remaining two rooms were their bedrooms—the turret was over the round sitting room in what had been the master bedroom and was now Lisa’s home office. Lisa was a public school teacher and her widowed mom mostly stayed home. They were good tenants and Shannyn knew she was lucky to have them.
She was also lucky to have a brother like Aidan who was really handy. He’d helped her with some of the renovations to make the duplexing possible, and those tiles, too.
Once upon a time, Shannyn had planned how she and Cole would fix up the house. They’d talked about integrating that back bedroom into the kitchen, since it hadn’t really been in use anyway, and making a huge eat-in family kitchen that opened to the backyard. That changed when Cole left, taking his income with him. It was still a good scheme, though, and Shannyn had hopes for One Day.
The back yard had never been given much attention as a living or entertaining space. Previous owners had grown vegetables because there were still square beds, although they were choked with weeds. If the kitchen opened to it, though, Shannyn could imagine a patio, maybe with grapes trained over a trellis and paths between the vegetable beds. Flower beds, too. It just took money—money she didn’t have.
There was a garage at the back of the lot, one that defied gravity by remaining upright and provided accommodations for wild creatures. It could be rebuilt, if it was done before it fell down, but without a car, Shannyn’s current priority was the roof.
She smiled at the echo of a feline yowl, one that began as soon as she put her key in the lock. The complaints became louder when she opened the door and bent to pet Fitzwilliam, her roommate.
Fitzwilliam was an opinionated Maine Coon of indeterminate age and considerable weight. His fur was long and striped in sooty grey, though he had a white bib and white socks. His thick tail was the most accurate measure of his mood. His tail had a black tip and there were long black hairs on his ears that made him look a bit like a lynx. His eyes were clear green—and as she bent down to rub his belly, Shannyn realized they were the same color as those of another handsome male of her acquaintance.
Fitzwilliam complained even as he twined around her legs, then followed her down the corridor on silent feet. He’d always been talkative. His tail was upright, like a banner, the tip flicking, as he delivered a lecture on the lateness of the hour and the emptiness of his dish. The rain was slashing against the kitchen windows and Shannyn could hear it dripping on the back porch.
She wondered if the buckets were full in the attic, but knew she had to feed Fitzwilliam before she checked. She could hear the murmur of the television in the apartment above and, in a way, it was a reassuring sound. Mrs. Petrovsky kept it on all the time, so it wasn’t a disruptive noise. Shannyn heard some conversation, just the echo of voices, not the actual words, and knew that Lisa was home. By the tone, there wasn’t a crisis, which was good. She could smell roast chicken, which might be part of the reason Fitzwilliam was so hungry.
Then a door opened overhead and a voice echoed down the stairs. “Shannyn? Is that you?” It was Lisa’s voice.
Shannyn returned to the shared foyer. She could see her tenant at the top of the stairs.
“Say it isn’t so,” she said, guessing that Lisa would.
Lisa folded her arms across her chest and leaned on the bannister. “Drip, drip, drippity drip drip.”
“Where?”
“In the living room. Mom was able to move things around and get a bucket under it in time, but it’s not slowing down.”
Shannyn winced. “I’ll just feed his majesty then be right up.”
She hurried back to her own kitchen. Fitzwilliam jumped onto the counter when she got out the can opener, wrapping his tail neatly around himself as he watched her with obvious anticipation.
“I was working,” she explained, even though that was only partly true. “Making cat food money.”
He yawned with leisure, apparently skeptical of her claim. He was trying to appear aloof and failing completely. His eyes glittered as he watched her open the tin. Shannyn wondered if her own hunger had been this obvious when Tyler had offered her dinner. Fitzwilliam’s nose twitched with interest as she put the food in his dish, and his tail was waving when he jumped down to follow her to the mat where she put his dish. As always, he sat down fastidiously and coiled his tail around himself, then bent to investigate the contents of the dish. He began to eat right away, a sure sign of his hunger.
Maybe Shannyn had a secret fondness for confident males. Or handsome ones who had expectations of the world and anticipated those desires would automatically be fulfilled.
She checked the meal portions in the freezer. She tried to have a cooking day once a week, making a huge batch of something then freezing it in individual portions to eat later. Choices were becoming limited, which meant it was time for another cooking day. Maybe Sunday. Tonight, it would be the last container of chili. She popped the frozen portion into a pan and put it on the stove on a low setting, then went into her bedroom to change.
Moments later, she left Fitzwilliam with his meal and went upstairs.
Lisa was about the same age as Shannyn and had grown up in the neighborhood. She always paid the rent on time, and helped out when there was a crisis. It wasn’t all bad that Mrs. P was home most of the time. She was their neighborhood watch and knew all the gossip. Mother and daughter were philosophical about the leak, probably because Mrs. P. had ensured there was no damage to the floor or carpet.
Lisa went up to the attic with Shannyn. The sound of the rain was louder up there, because the attic was unfinished. Sure enough, the bucket right over the leak had filled during the day. They emptied it out together along with the others and Shannyn
added a few more.
“Running out of time,” Lisa said.
“The guy I talked to wanted to do it in late June,” Shannyn said, which was true. She omitted the detail that she hadn’t booked him yet, because she couldn’t afford his price. “Maybe the rain will stop during the night.”
“A girl can hope.” Lisa was philosophical in a way that Shannyn couldn’t be.
She had to find a way to fix this before there was more damage. She said goodnight and headed back downstairs, then doodled sums on a notepad in her kitchen while the chili heated. She pulled out the estimate from the junk drawer, the one with a total that still made her heart skip a beat. This unexpected job from the magazine would definitely help, but she was still short. Her expenses were already cut to the bone and she couldn’t raise the rent. And she couldn’t ask her mom for a loan. She didn’t want to sell the house. Shannyn tallied until her dinner was hot, then put it all back in the drawer, frustrated because the answer kept coming out the same.
There had to be a solution.
She just had to find it.
She turned on her computers and started the images downloading from her camera to her computer as she ate. The big screen was better for seeing the detail and she wanted the shots for the Met to be perfect. If there were any that she didn’t love, she still had time to redo them.
Her old laptop was open on one end of the desk, even though the hard drive had been removed. Fitzwilliam, predictably, was ready for company after being alone all day, and for some reason, he’d always loved that keyboard.
It couldn’t possibly be comfortable, but it was his favorite place to sleep, unless there was a cardboard box around. He jumped up on the desk and turned circles in place, making the keys click with every footfall. He then laid down in a tight ball, leaning against the dark screen as he yawned with satisfaction.
“Good meal?” Shannyn asked and he replied at length, maybe giving his opinion of the brand. She guessed that it was a winner: not only was his bowl clean, but it had prompted a dissertation. Naturally, it was the more expensive one. She gave his ears a scratch, knowing just how he liked it, and in five minutes, Fitzwilliam was asleep. The sound of his purring mingled with the drum of the rain against the windows as Shannyn got to work.
Just another day in paradise, but she wouldn’t have traded it for the world.
Five
It was after two when Shannyn finished the images for the museum. She stretched, then glanced at the ones of the club, even though there were only a couple. The last and best image was one she’d taken of Tyler when he wasn’t looking. He was standing in the lobby of the club, looking up at the rock climbing wall. He was silhouetted against the night but his profile was easily identifiable and his white shirt caught some of the ambient light. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his trousers and he was watching the climbers intently.
His posture spoke of confidence, and it was clear, even in his suit, that he was perfectly fit. His face was partly shadowed, but Shannyn could discern some of the intensity in his expression that she associated with him.
He had that dangerous little half-smile, the one that made her heart skip a beat.
There was definitely something about smug assholes, especially the handsome and well-dressed ones. Shannyn treated herself to a good long look and heard herself sigh.
“Fan-girl,” she muttered but didn’t stop looking.
It was a great shot, one that didn’t need any cropping, filtering or adjusting. She’d bet on the alumni magazine choosing it. Eventually, she put it in a new folder on her computer desktop for the alumni magazine.
Just as she got off her stool and stretched, her phone chimed. She checked it immediately, her thoughts always leaping to her mom who now lived alone in Harte’s Harbor.
It was a text message from Tyler.
As if he’d known she was thinking of him.
Shannyn’s thoughts followed a predictable and unwelcome path. Giselle must have left by now. Was he bored? How tedious to be king of the world and left at loose ends. Maybe Giselle was asleep in his bed. Shannyn could envision that view more easily than she wanted to.
She knew she should ignore the message until morning, but she had to look. She wasn’t really surprised that the message was short and not very sweet.
Tyler had sent her the date and time of the wedding and the location, with a link to a map.
A Saturday night wedding in Connecticut. Interesting.
Complicated. Shannyn wondered how she’d get there, never mind how she’d get home afterward. She might have to rent a car. Were there hotel arrangements to negotiate? Did Tyler have expectations? Shannyn decided to ignore the implications for the moment and work out her travel details later.
A black tie reception. Hmm. The bar was high, then. She’d ask her mom for suggestions when they had their weekly talk on Sunday night.
She thought about not replying, just because she knew it would annoy him, then figured it wasn’t worth needling him when she couldn’t see the effect of her efforts.
She sent a short message back to confirm receipt, then shut down the big computer, planning to get some sleep. She probably shouldn’t have been surprised that her phone rang immediately, but she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Of course, it was Tyler.
“Why didn’t you call the first time?” she asked when she answered.
“I wasn’t sure you’d still be awake.” That voice. Silky, low, like black velvet against her bare skin. Shannyn closed her eyes and gave her full attention to Tyler’s voice, even as she knew she had to somehow hide her reaction from him.
He couldn’t see her but he could hear her. She could close her eyes, but not sigh. After he was off the phone, she could fantasize about him murmuring in her ear in the middle of the night in real life, running his hands over her, flicking his tongue...
“Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked.
“Because I was working.”
“On?”
“Cropping and filtering pictures from the shoot today.”
“I didn’t think you took that many.”
“Different job.”
“Where?” He sounded genuinely curious and Shannyn didn’t want to lose the sound of his voice just yet.
“They’re for a show catalogue, for the Metropolitan Museum. Illuminated medieval books of days.”
“What does that mean?”
“They’re like medieval daily planners for prayer,” she explained. “There are illustrations of saints and prayers listed for each day. They were made for rich patrons and are quite beautiful. The detail is amazing. I was at the Cloisters today, photographing the books from their collection that will be in the show. It’s kind of slow going because I have to choose one or two images from each book, and the curators always want to show me all the glories.” She realized she was starting to chatter and shut up.
“Do you often work on more than one job at a time?”
“Whenever I can.”
Tyler chuckled and Shannyn’s toes curled in a predictable way, reminding her to stop telling him so much. “I thought I was the one who worked all the time.”
“I don’t work all the time, just when I can. Thanks for letting me know the details.” She spoke quickly, intending to end the call.
Tyler seemed disinclined to do so. “Maybe we could talk a bit.” She could imagine him stretching out his legs, leaning back in that chair in his bedroom, looking a lot like a content Fitzwilliam.
Maybe that contentment was Giselle’s influence.
“Maybe I’m too busy right now to talk,” she said.
“Maybe you’re not that busy since you answered on the first ring.”
“Point to you.”
Again, Tyler laughed lightly, a sexy sound right against her ear. She could imagine how his chest would vibrate and how it would feel beneath her fingers, how warm his skin would be, how hard his muscles were, how gentle his touch...
“How was di
nner?” she asked, trying to sound as if she didn’t care.
“Not bad. I got a sandwich at the bodega down the block. They make them fresh every day. Not much choice by nine, but it was okay.”
Shannyn couldn’t leave it alone. “Giselle didn’t look like a Friday night sandwich date kind of girl.”
“She’s not.” There was that bit of steel in Tyler’s voice, one that hinted Giselle hadn’t come upstairs at all.
There was no reason for Shannyn to be glad of that.
Not one.
There certainly was no reason for her to want to know more.
“Well, if you wanted a different result, you should have thought about the menu,” she said before she could stop herself.
“Maybe I didn’t want a different result,” he said softly and Shannyn shook her head.
“Oh, come on.”
“She left right after you,” he insisted. “I had a sandwich in the office while I worked on the financials, then went for a swim.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.” And she didn’t need to fantasize about how he would look swimming. Long powerful strokes, his muscles flexing...
“No, I don’t, but it’s not a secret. You asked so you’re curious. You can’t blame me for wanting to work with that.”
Shannyn didn’t know what to say to that.
“I could tell you the story of Giselle,” he offered, “but it wouldn’t help my case much.”
Shannyn was intrigued. What case did he mean? “How so?”
“Because you’d just conclude it was more proof that I’m an asshole, which seems to be the inevitable result whenever I take advice from Kyle.”
He sounded so rueful that Shannyn couldn’t help smiling. “Okay, tell me the story about Giselle and the dastardly influence of Kyle Stuyvesant.”
“It’s long.”
“It’ll be longer if you don’t ever start. But then, if it’s a story of true love gone wrong, I’m not sure I need to know.”
Just One Fake Date: A Contemporary Romance (Flatiron Five Fitness Book 1) Page 8