“Where’s Joanne now?” I asked, trying to imagine what a dog named “Joanne” might look like. I kept picturing a standard poodle with curly blond tufts of hair.
“Right outside.” Lily nodded toward the door. “In my car.” Her face brightened, and she turned to Dax. “Hey, maybe Mom and Dad can take her. Or Mur—”
“No,” he said sharply, cutting her off. “She’s my dog, Lil. I’ve had her for six years. I’m not just going to leave her in Wisconsin with Mom and Dad or hand her off to someone who’s not going to take care of her the way I would.”
“I’ll take her,” I said, not even thinking about it.
Dax and Lily looked at me as if I’d grown a second head.
“Annie, what are you talking about?” He picked up my water glass and smelled it.
I snatched the glass back. “I mean it. I have a huge, empty house,” I said, “and I love dogs.” At least I thought I did. I’d actually never had one of my own. My parents always refused to let us get one, no matter how much my brother and I begged. And then I was in med school, and interning, and doing my residency. The time never felt right, but now, with Kelly moving out, maybe having a dog could actually work. Why not try it out with someone else’s pet? Joanne could be my training pooch. “I’d be happy to have Joanne.”
“Maybe this is a good temporary solution,” Lily said. “Joanne can stay with Annie for a little while, until you find your own place.”
Dax glared at his sister for a moment before fixing his eyes on me. “You’re busy,” Dax said. “You’re a doctor with a very demanding job. Weren’t you the one telling me that you’re on call all the time?”
He had a point. My day-to-day schedule was mostly pretty fixed, but sometimes I did have to rush in, if someone needed me in the hospital. I hadn’t thought this whole Joanne thing through, probably because I’d been grasping at any straw that would prevent me from being alone right now.
“Besides,” Dax said, “this isn’t any different than shipping her off to live with Mom and Dad. I still wouldn’t get to be with her.”
A ludicrous, half-baked idea popped into my head. I brushed it off. But it persisted. Maybe it wasn’t so half-baked. Maybe it was an amazing, perfect idea. “Dax, you can move in, too.”
Now the siblings looked at me as if I’d added a third head to my previous two.
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but your timing’s actually good. My friend Kelly—you’ve met her—”
“The one who got engaged.”
My stomach soured. “Yes. She’s moving out to Galena to start her new life with Mark, and her room is empty.” Or it would be, after I chucked all her things into the guest room on the top floor. “It’s not even a room, really. It’s a whole apartment. You and Joanne could have the entire garden-level floor to yourself.” I snapped my fingers. “And it’s really perfect because you and I work totally different hours. You can watch Joanne during the day, and I’ll be around in the evenings and at night. She’ll be the happiest, most spoiled dog in the world.” I paused for a breath. “What do you say?”
Dax gawked at me. “What do you get out of this?” he asked. “I can pay you rent, obviously.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want the money.”
“Then what do you want?”
I raised my eyebrows. “I want a Tuesday night trivia partner.”
Chapter Fifteen
Paw Posse
“This place is really nice.” Rob jogged down the steps from the second floor. “Who was your contractor?”
I set the chips and salsa Rob had brought over on the kitchen island. He’d shown up bearing food. I awarded him major points for that. “I used a Lincoln Square guy,” I said. “Greg Tillman?” My cheeks flushed. He’d been on the text and had responded that he was married but that his wife wouldn’t mind if he and I hooked up once in a while. “I won’t be using him again.”
“Well, you won’t have to. You’ll have me.” Grinning, Rob ran a finger along the counter. “He did do a good job.” He glanced around. “Though I’d change a few things.”
“Oh, yeah?” I sat down at the counter with a glass of white wine, which Rob had also brought with him. Mrs. Casey had taught him well. “Like what?”
I cringed as he opened one of my kitchen cabinets—okay, maybe Mrs. Casey still had some work to do. “I can’t believe you’re looking in there.” I covered my face with my hands. The cabinet in question was right above the fridge and was chock-full of mismatched storage bowls and lids.
“It’s okay. I’m a professional.” He smiled back at me. “And, believe me, I’ve seen worse than a disorganized Tupperware cupboard.”
“How would you fix it?” I asked in a flirty, lilting voice. I kind of wished he’d worn his tool belt tonight. It would’ve completed the picture.
“First of all,” he said, “I’d add some dividers to one of the deep drawers down below for all your bowls and lids, and then I’d put vertical dividers in this cabinet for things like baking sheets and cooling racks.”
I sipped my wine. “It’s cute that you think I have and use those things.”
“And then over this way—” He beckoned for me to follow him.
“I can see you from here,” I said, raising my wineglass.
I watched him in his well-fitting jeans travel to the far corner of the kitchen/family room where I spent most of my time in the house. “In this corner, I’d put in a huge, state-of-the-art pantry with a place to store root vegetables, a dedicated coffee bar, a refrigerator drawer just for keeping drinks cold—”
“You know I don’t cook, right? I order out, like, six times a week.”
He smiled at me. “I’m just saying what I would do. A big pantry is my dream. I keep trying to get my mom to knock out the wall between the kitchen and her bedroom.”
I gasped. “You want to take away your mother’s bedroom?”
He came over and sat next to me at the counter. “There’s another bedroom on the first floor. You know that.” He winked at me. Yes, I did. I’d been in the Caseys’ house a million times. “And three upstairs—not that she’d be up for going up and down steps right now.” His tone turned somber.
My mom had told me that Mrs. Casey was having a rough time with the chemo. She’d been quite sick. I squeezed Rob’s hand.
“So, you like to cook?” I asked, veering the topic away from cancer.
“Love it,” he said. “Cooking, baking, grilling, canning, you name it.”
“Canning,” I said. “Impressive.”
“Well, I have to do something with all the tomatoes and cucumbers my mom and I grow.” He glanced over at me. “What about the other guy? Does he like to cook?”
“Honestly? Don’t know yet.” I had been up-front with Rob and told him about Darius. He said he understood that I needed to consider my options, and I think he saw it as a challenge, which I respected. I loved a person with a competitive spirit.
The doorbell rang, and I jumped up to get the pizza. “Go on into the TV room, and we’ll eat there.”
After I retrieved the pizza and closed the door, a tantalizing aroma from the Pequod’s box filled the room, no doubt making its way down to the basement. Suddenly I heard a jingling noise and the sound of heavy footsteps padding up the stairs. Before I even knew what was happening, Joanne, Dax’s massive brindle-colored mutt, emerged from the basement and plopped herself right on the couch next to Rob. Dax must have brought her in through the basement after a walk. She hadn’t been home when Rob got here.
“What the…?” Rob asked as Joanne’s stumpy snout tried to lick his face. “Who is this?”
“Uh…this is my new roommate.” It had been a few days now since Joanne and Dax had moved in, and I was still getting used to them being around. “Joanne,” I said, “get off the couch.”
She flopped where she was, restin
g her large head on Rob’s lap. Her obedience skills left a lot to be desired.
“It’s okay. I love dogs.” He scratched her ears. “Your mom never said you had one.”
“She…doesn’t know.” I set the pizza on the coffee table and squeezed onto the couch between Joanne’s butt and the arm.
“I won’t tell her,” Rob said. “If your mom’s anything like mine, she’ll have a lot of opinions.”
I laughed. “You know it.” I placed a hand on Rob’s as he petted Joanne and kept an ear cocked, listening for sounds of Dax in the basement. He probably had work tonight and wouldn’t come up to see what was going on, or at least I hoped that was the case.
Joanne was one thing, but no one needed to know that I had invited a strange man to live in Kelly’s room. If my mom had opinions on me housing a dog, she’d no doubt have thoughts about a single woman shacking up with a mysterious young bartender.
And I suspected Rob would, too.
Chapter Sixteen
Cindaf***in’rellas
At around six thirty Monday evening, I stood in my front bay window, watching a white stretch limousine pull up in front of the house and attempt to park next to the curb.
Darius had arrived in style, and I added that mental note to his pro list.
I grabbed my purse and a light sweater and made my way downstairs and out to the car. I had never been picked up like this before, in a limo—not when Rob and I went to his prom; not when I went to my own prom. That year, I’d picked up my date in my parents’ Dodge Caravan.
I waved to Darius as I approached the car, and the limo driver opened the door for me. “Thank you,” I said, sliding into the backseat.
Darius shimmied back down into the limo and took the spot next to me. He handed me the bouquet of sterling roses. “Sorry I’m a little late. An interview ran long. Sometimes my time is not my own.”
“Well, that’s certainly something I understand.” I sniffed the flowers—sweet and strong—and set the bouquet gingerly on the seat across from me. “The roses are beautiful, and this is quite the car.”
“Only the best for Annie Kyle.” He squeezed my hand. “We have an exciting dinner ahead of us.”
“Good!” I grinned nervously as the car started moving. “I’m starved.”
While I’d invited Rob over for simple pizza delivery last night—we spent the entire evening on the couch, watching the new Matthew McConaughey action movie while separated from each other by a big mutt, though we did hold hands across her back there for a little while, and it was definitely nice—Darius had proposed taking me out to one of the hottest new restaurants in Chicago.
“So, what is this place?” I asked. He wouldn’t tell me the name of it on the phone.
Even now, he zipped his lip. “Trust me. The less you know, the better. Go into it with your mind wide open to the possibilities.”
“Okay.” Grinning, I leaned back in my seat. I was so used to always being in control in every facet of my life; I was the boss, the decision maker. It was nice to be with someone else who was willing to take charge. With Darius, I could relax and go with the flow.
He grabbed a bottle of champagne from the limo’s mini fridge. “Want some?”
“Sure.”
Darius expertly popped the cork, as if he’d practiced this maneuver hundreds of times in front of the mirror to achieve maximum coolness.
It worked.
He poured me a glass.
“Thank you.” We clinked flutes, and I felt myself relaxing even further. It was summertime in Chicago, and my date and I were being driven around from place to place. We had champagne. Life was good.
After a few minutes of chatting about the weather and complaining about traffic, I said, “How’s your story coming?”
He looked at me, confused. “Which story?”
I giggled. “The one about me!”
“Oh!” He laughed. “Good. I’m retooling it a little bit, trying to figure out the exact right angle.” He pressed his lips together for a moment, and his eyes grew serious. “I think we can win an Emmy.”
“Really?”
“Well, a local one, obviously, but yes.” He smiled, puffing out his chest. “Of course, I approach all my stories with the same vim and vigor—each subject is award-worthy, and each segment must be up to my impeccable standards. Oh!” He snatched the champagne glass from my hand. “Here we are.”
I peered out the window at a nondescript, beige building—a warehouse. I checked the other side of the street. Similar view. I spied no other cars in our vicinity. Nerves churned in my belly. This was why I usually was the one who took charge, because when I didn’t, I could end up being taken to a murder den or sex dungeon. I was about to become a skin suit.
“Where are we?” I asked, hoping Siri would catch the name of this place, praying I hadn’t turned off the location services on my phone.
Darius’s eyes lit up. “We’re at Jam.”
“Jam?” Definite sex dungeon.
He flashed me his pearly whites. “The hottest new restaurant in Chicago.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“You wouldn’t have. It’s that new and that hot.”
The limo driver opened the door, and Darius slid out. I followed, and he offered me a hand. Gravel crunched under my only pair of high heels—gunmetal Michael Kors pumps from a few years ago. We were in an alley. “This is where the hottest new restaurant in Chicago is located?”
“Yes.” He grinned excitedly.
He had to be lying. There wasn’t even a fast-food restaurant here, let alone a trendy new bistro.
I would not yet rule out my skin suit theory.
Chapter Seventeen
The Where’s the Beef Ladies
Darius led me toward one of the back-alley buildings, and I glanced at the limo driver, who was now back in the car, fiddling with his phone, no longer paying attention to us. Darius pulled open the heavy, windowless door. The sound of forks hitting plates cut through the tinkling of adult contemporary Muzak, and people bustled about inside, filling up trays and calling for more food.
“This is a…cafeteria?” I said, taking in the scene, feeling a sense of confusion and relief.
“It is,” Darius said proudly. “A few years ago, diner chic was the thing. Now the hot trend is college cafeteria gourmet.”
“Cool…” It really did have all the trappings of a dormitory mess. We even had to check in at the front desk with an ID card, which Darius happened to have.
“This is the golden ticket.” After the hostess checked us in, Darius fanned the card in the air, blowing on it as if it were on fire. “Hardly anyone has their hands on one of these babies.”
I glanced at the round tables of eight. “Is this… Do we have to do communal dining?” I’d come here to get to know Darius, not have to make small talk with six strangers.
Darius smiled at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Nope. I told you I can get us in to all the VIP spots in Chicago. Jam is no exception. Follow me.”
Excited and hungry butterflies danced in my stomach as Darius led me toward a room filled with a huge buffet. I grabbed a tray off the end of a conveyor belt and showed it to Darius. “I think the owners took these straight out of one of Northwestern’s cafeterias, around the turn of the century.”
Darius chuckled. “Entirely possible.”
Inside the buffet room, I found a veritable circus of food and drink and novelty. All of the cafeteria workers wore stylized uniforms from the 1950s, but each station was stocked with gourmet vittles and fancy confections. There was a seafood station with artfully designed sushi in every color of the rainbow, plus caviar, lobster, smoked salmon, and king crab legs. I passed by a salad bar filled with daikon radishes, heirloom tomatoes, Spanish olives, and Stilton.
“Oh my gosh.” I paused in front of t
he cereal wall.
The chef had made his own versions of everything from Life to Lucky Charms. A milk dispenser offered whole cow’s milk, sheep’s milk, oat milk, or almond milk.
“This is…amazing.” I felt like one of those kids in Willy Wonka’s factory. My eyes were too big for my stomach.
“Grab whatever you want,” Darius told me as he passed by. “Normally they ring you up à la carte, but our entire meal has been comped.”
Comped. Damn. I really could get used to this.
I scanned the room, my tummy rumbling for food. Back in college, I would’ve gone for something like a small side salad, a turkey sandwich, and a banana. Those things were all on the table tonight, but the sliced turkey came from a free-range bird, the gluten-free bread had been baked lovingly on-site, and the cheddar had been aged for ten years at a small monastery in Wisconsin.
Finally, because comped, I picked out lobster tail, some roasted Jersey Giant asparagus covered in aged balsamic, a massive chocolate chip cookie dusted with pink Himalayan sea salt, and some white wine. Rung up, my plate would have been almost one hundred and fifty dollars. “Well, I guess that’s how they stay in business.”
Darius passed his magic ID card to the checkout clerk, who let us pass through without paying. “People don’t mind shelling out for a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
“I suppose not,” I said. “My mom and dad paid for me to have this experience seven days a week back in college.”
Darius laughed and motioned for me to follow him to a set of stairs toward the back of the room. “Our table awaits.”
The steps led up to a room with big glass windows that looked down on the diners below. There were only four tables in this VIP section, and only one other table was occupied. I paused at the window and gazed down at the crowd for a moment. “I’m not sure if we’re in the fishbowl or if they are.”
“Oh, them,” Darius said. “Definitely.”
At our table, I set down my tray. “I want to make some comment about class wars and the haves viewing the have-nots from a distance, but I’m just too happy not to have to share a table with a bunch of strangers.”
It's Raining Men Page 9