Perfectly Reasonable

by O'Connor, Linda

  Ottie laughed and slapped the table. “Don’t you worry, he only gets the hat during dinner. It’s going home with me.”

  “I don’t know. It’s a heckava lot warmer than I realized,” Trace said. “I kind of like it.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. Shields are on a winning streak.”

  Trace and Ottie laughed, and Margo left them arguing about who was the better team.

  Margo finished washing the last of the bowls when Trace strolled in. He handed her the dirty cutlery he carried.

  Margo looked at him. “How’s the shoulder?”

  “Not bad. Occasionally hurts at night when I roll on it, but during the day, it’s pretty good. I’ve been doing physio, and it feels more stable. Should be able to get the sling off in a week.”

  Margo raised her eyebrows. “That’s fast. Excellent.”

  He nodded. “Everyone tells me how lucky I was to get it reduced right away. Made the difference they say.”

  Margo dried her hands and picked up a bowl from the rack. She nodded. “That’s good. It was lucky.”

  “Lucky I was hanging out with a smart doctor.”

  Margo bit her lip. Lucky she didn’t cause a bigger problem by reducing a dislocation that was actually a fracture.

  With his good hand, Trace picked up the clean bowls as she dried them and stacked them neatly in the cabinet. “You got home okay on Saturday?” he asked.

  “Oh yeah. It was quick. Did you hear how the rest of the weekend went?”

  He nodded. “They said it was good. Conditions got a bit icy on Sunday, but no mishaps. Jess dropped your stuff off with mine. I need to get it back to you.”

  “I can swing by and pick it up. We started a new job this week, and I have to work late tomorrow night. Thursday I’ll be back here. Maybe Friday?” Margo offered.

  “Perfect,” Trace agreed. “Come for dinner. We can reheat some of Mrs. Crombie’s leftovers.”

  Margo’s heart tattooed in her chest. She walked into that one. She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. “Ahh …” She turned away and racked her brain for a reasonable excuse.

  Trace came up behind her. With his good hand, he brushed the hair away from the back of her neck and kissed the exposed skin. “Please.”

  Margo shivered from her head to her toes.

  “Come see my new painting.” He kissed her again.

  Margo sighed. “I’d love to.”

  Chapter 22

  Was it wrong to have sex with someone when you had no hope of having a long-term relationship? Margo rolled the pale gray paint onto the wall. She could understand going into sex, thinking he was the one, only to find out it was a disappointing mismatch. Socks on, ugly-colored bed sheets, intolerable wall color, clashing pheromones, those were all understandable deal breakers. You thought it would work, you tested the waters, but lo and behold, it wasn’t meant to be. So you walk away. Fair enough.

  But what if you knew right from the start that the long haul was only a dream?

  There was no way she could ever meet Trace’s family. She was too ashamed to admit what she’d done. And now, he had this trumped up image of her as a doctor that was completely false. She was up there on a pedestal all alone. It was never going to work.

  She knew it. She could accept it. Eventually, she would accept it. She’d have to.

  In the meantime, though, could she play out the dream?

  Chloe walked into the room, carrying a takeout bag. “Time for a dinner break. I’ve got chocolate shakes and Thai turkey burgers with goat cheese.”

  “Bless you,” Margo said as she set down the roller in the tray.

  They sat on the floor with their backs against the wall, looking out over the city.

  “This room has a spectacular view,” Chloe said between bites. Lights below twinkled and the faint glow of the moon on the frozen lake reflected in the distance. “It’ll be interesting to see what furniture they decide to put in here with this wall color. It’s shaping up to be a swank hotel.”

  “Rivermede needed this. The water is drawing a lot more visitors. Winterfest is growing bigger, and the sailing regatta last summer pulled in a lot of people.” Margo picked up her shake and waved it toward Chloe. “I personally like the idea of more B and Bs. Smaller, more intimate.” Margo smiled. “But I won’t complain about the pay check.”

  “Especially with the overtime,” Chloe added.

  “Exactly.” Margo bit into the burger and groaned. “Delicious.”

  They sat eating their meal, watching traffic crawl along on the city street below. The odd person walked briskly down the street, huddled against the cold wind.

  Margo’s cell phone buzzed with a text message. She reached over and grabbed it from the pocket of her tote bag. Trace.

  “Who is this one putting a sparkle in your eye?” Chloe asked.

  Margo looked up to see Chloe eyeing her curiously. “Trace Bennett,” she said slowly.

  “Bennett? Of Bennett fame and fortune?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Unfortunately? Sounds like the perfect marriage. Construction and painting. Couldn’t get any more convenient.”

  Margo winced. “I don’t think Trace is into the family business.”

  “No?”

  “No. He’s finishing a master’s degree in math. He’s applying to medicine.”

  Chloe whistled. “A smart dude. Right up your alley.”

  Margo smiled weakly.

  “Is he cute?”

  “Very.”

  “Is he good in bed?”

  “Chloe,” Margo said, “that’s personal.”

  Chloe nodded with a grin. “You haven’t done the deed.”

  Margo tried to ignore her and took a sip of her milkshake.

  “But you want to.” Chloe nodded and finished up her burger. “What’s he want?”

  “I don’t know if he wants to,” Margo said. He did. She was pretty sure he did.

  Chloe snorted. “All guys want to. I meant, why did he text you?”

  “Oh.” Margo looked at the text. “I have to drop by his condo tomorrow, and he invited me to dinner. He’s confirming the time.”

  Chloe wiggled her eyebrows at Margo. “He’s got it bad.”

  “What?”

  “He’s thinking about you. He’s making sure you’re thinking about him. He’s got it bad.”

  “He’s arranging the time. Maybe he has a lot of stuff he’s juggling, and he’s making sure he can fit me in.”

  “Oh, no. If he was fitting you in, he would have texted tomorrow. The day-before-text means he’s anticipating. He’s planning. You’ve found yourself a planner, girl. Their foreplay is extensive. You all waxed and ready?”

  “Chloe.” Margo winced. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Suit yourself.” Chloe shrugged. “But I’d stack up on extra large condoms. Planners usually need ’em.”

  Chapter 23

  Margo knocked on the door of Trace’s condo and unbuttoned her coat. The longer dark brown wool coat was great for keeping her warm, especially when she wore a long sweater over leggings, but inside it quickly became too hot. She adjusted her purse, shifted the six-pack of beer to her other hand, and waited. A shadow flit across the peephole, and the door opened.

  “You always use your peephole? Very commendable. You can never be too cautious,” Margo teased.

  Trace hid a smile. “Everyone has a dark side,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling.

  Margo’s smile faded and she looked away. True. Too true.

  She handed him the beer. “For you. I wasn’t sure how hard it would be to carry beer home with your arm in a sling. So in case your supply is getting low.”

  “Thank you. Luckily my drinking arm is fine, and beer is always welcome.”

  Her snowboard, overnight case, and sleeping bag were sitting inside the door. “Oh, great. They didn’t forget the sleeping bag,” Margo said with a wry grin. She set her purse down and removed her coat
.

  Trace took it and threw it over the back of a chair. “I’d hang it up, but …” He pointed to his arm in the sling.

  Margo laughed. “Good gig to get out of housework. She stopped and looked at the living room. “This looks really good.” She turned three hundred and sixty degrees, her hands on her hips. A dark gray sofa in a soft chenille fabric faced the window, and a black reclining chair beside a metal floor lamp filled the corner. A modern piece of artwork, a stylized horse in full speed, almost flying, hung above the sofa. “Love what you’ve done with the place,” she said with a fake British accent.

  Trace grinned. “Good feng shui.”

  The walls looked good. The paint was smooth and the finish homogenous. The color was perfect with the black and gray furniture. It had a good vibe going.

  She followed Trace into the kitchen. A thin black sweater strained across his chest. She wanted to run her hands down it. His jeans molded his thighs and butt. She just wanted.

  She needed a drink.

  “Would you like a beer or a glass of wine?” Trace asked.

  Margo tried not to blush. He couldn’t read her mind, could he? “Whatever you’re having.”

  He pulled out two beers, popped the caps off, and handed her one. She took a gulp and coughed when she choked.

  Trace rubbed her back. “You okay?”

  No. No she wasn’t. He was very close. He smelled like fresh laundry. His blue eyes were gorgeous. His hand was gentle, his smile genuine. Thankfully, his arm was in a sling.

  “Fine,” she managed. She stepped back.

  “I’m heating up lasagna,” Trace said. “Mrs. Crombie said to give it half an hour. She heard you were coming and brought over some homemade bread and her famous chocolate chunk cookies.”

  “She’s the best.”

  “Let’s sit in the living room. She told me to tell you that she loves helping out at Breaking Bread. I see her there every Monday and Wednesday.”

  “Hattie’s thrilled with her, too.” She sipped her beer. “Hattie also likes having you around.”

  “I caught on quick. Help Hattie with the dishes, and you’re a friend for life.”

  Margo laughed. “Yes. That’s absolutely true. But I think she also has a soft spot for Ottie. She likes that you sit with him, make him laugh, talk hockey with him. He really enjoys your company.”

  “Yeah, it’s easy. He roots for the wrong team, but other than that, he’s cool.”

  Margo laughed. “You’re a bad influence with your gambling.”

  “He’s worse,” Trace said immediately. “He started it. Somebody should’ve warned me about him.”

  “And spoil all Ottie’s fun? I don’t think so. Plus everyone benefits with the butterscotch ripple.”

  Trace threw his head back and laughed. “I’m glad you suggested it. I enjoy it as much as Ottie does.” He sipped his beer. “My application is almost done. We’ll have to celebrate when I send it off.”

  She nodded. “It’s a big job. Congrats.” She looked out the window at the frozen lake below. It was a clear night and the moon was a bright crescent among the shimmering stars. “Have you thought about what you’ll do if, you know, you don’t get in?”

  “Trying to break it to me gently that I don’t have what it takes?”

  Margo sat straighter. “No, not at all. I think you’ll make an excellent doctor. You’re outgoing, friendly, smart. You enjoy people. You treat everyone at Breaking Bread with respect. I really admire that. No. I’m not worried that you won’t get in, but they always ask that question at the interviews.”

  Trace looked at her and didn’t say anything. He leaned over and kissed her. “That means a lot. Thank you. As soon as this sling’s off, I’ll thank you properly.” He sat back.

  He started talking. Margo let out a breath slowly and tried to pay attention.

  “… PhD position or teacher’s college. There are a few things I could do.”

  Margo nodded and sipped her beer. He was going to thank her properly. Just as soon as the sling was off. He was going to thank her properly. Frosty blues focused on her. His hands on her. His mouth, his tongue …

  She took another sip of beer and set the bottle down with shaking hands. His words were more potent than the alcohol.

  Chapter 24

  Margo managed to get through the meal. She paid attention to what Trace said. Mostly. If she was distracted by his pale blue eyes, it was his own fault. Same for the broad chest and muscular thighs. They begged attention. She thought she’d done a pretty good job balancing all the distractions.

  They made ice cream sandwiches with Mrs. Crombie’s delicious chocolate chunk cookies, and Margo’s heart melted with the ice cream.

  She needed to come clean. Enough. She was tired of hiding the fact that she knew his grandfather, that she had been part of the medical team taking care of him when he died, that she was so very sorry about the care she provided. He needed to know. She took a deep breath and when the conversation slowed, decided it was right. She would lay it on the table and deal with the fallout.

  Then his friends dropped by and invited them out for a drink.

  And the moment was lost.

  She was such a chicken.

  Margo rolled paint on the wall and ruminated. She had worked late every night that week, trying to do the work of two people. Chloe had asked for the week off back in October, and since the end of January was traditionally a slow time for painting, she had agreed.

  The job at the hotel was an unexpected bonus. It filled the gap until the job for Bennett homes started. Plus, outstanding student loans. The bank was always happy when she took on extra work.

  Not having Chloe around made her appreciate her help that much more. The 6 a.m. starts and 10 p.m. finishes kept the schedule on track but were wearing thin. She arrived in the dark and left in the dark. She missed her shifts at Breaking Bread. She hadn’t seen Trace.

  He had sent her regular texts all week with a few more questions to finish off his application.

  Today, she thought with surprise. It was due today. He’d be sending the whole package into cyberspace.

  It was a scary feeling hitting that send button. No more revisions possible, and your future handed over for someone else to decide. She remembered that day. Probably because it came on the heels of a wild argument with her mother. Wild was probably exaggerating. It was more of a tense, clipped tone, unsmiling face, interaction. Her mother had made it pretty clear she wouldn’t support her. Fine. She’d make it on her own. And she did. Financially, anyway. Emotionally, she could have used a hand.

  She finished the last stroke on the wall and set the roller brush down. Done. Finally. She arched her back and brushed the hair away from her face.

  The designer was hoping to move furniture in on the weekend, and the following week it was already booked. They didn’t fool around. On Monday, they’d start the whole process again on the next floor.

  She hammered the lid back on the paint can and gathered up the brushes to wash at home. Luckily the clean up was mindless, because she didn’t have the energy to think.

  Drop cloths folded, shoved in the tote bags. Tools packed in the pockets. Trays, rollers, and tape in the trash. Hot bath. Sleep. Can’t wait.

  The knock on the door startled her.

  She walked over and opened it.

  “You didn’t check the peephole,” Trace said with a shake of his finger.

  Margo looked at him. She missed him. She wanted to take a step closer, wrap her arms around him, and lean her head on his shoulder. She wanted to feel his strong arms around her and inhale the fresh scent of his skin.

  But she didn’t move. “I’m a risk taker.”

  Trace grinned. “Good.” He looked around the room. “Looks like I timed this perfectly. All done?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Just about. I have to carry this stuff up to the eighth floor so it’s ready for Monday.”

  Trace picked up the totes and
the can of paint. “Lead the way.”

  Margo picked up the rest of her stuff and headed out the door. “You just thought you’d drop by and help clean up?” She gave him a quizzical look.

  “More or less,” he said with a smile as they waited for the elevator.

  “Can you carry that stuff? Where’s your sling?”

  “All better,” he said with a smile. “Thanks to the quick action of a young, and beautiful, I might add, doctor. No sports for a few more weeks, but it’s much better.”

  Margo smiled. “That’s great.” She fished out the key to the storage room and gestured for Trace to put the totes along the wall with the cans of paint, brushes, and rollers.

  “Lot of stuff,” Trace said.

  Margo nodded. “It’s a big job.”

  Trace looked at her. “You look tired.”

  “It’s been a long week. TGIF.” She locked the storage and stood awkwardly in the hallway. She wasn’t sure how many streaks of paint were on her face or in her hair. She hadn’t eaten since an early lunch, and the shower she’d had that morning seemed a long way off. “Thanks for the help,” she said, still a little puzzled.

  “You’re welcome,” Trace said. He kissed her lips softly. “Will you come with me?”

  Margo’s eyes fluttered open. She tilted her head at him and then nodded.

  Trace smiled and grabbed her hand. He led her back to the elevator and they rode to the top floor. They walked down a short hallway, past a narrow table with fresh flowers, their feet sinking into the plush carpet. At the last door, Trace pulled out a key card and swiped the keypad. The door unlocked.

  Margo looked at him, but he held the door open and waved her inside.

  Soft music filled the air and flames flickered in a gas fireplace. A table was set for two with fine white linens and sparkling silver. Across the room, the lights from the city splashed a colorful background against the night sky. She took a trembling breath and inhaled the sweet scent of roses. The bed, in a private alcove, piled high with cushions, its fluffy duvet pulled back invitingly, was covered in rose petals.

  Margo stood, taking it all in, her heart pounding.

  Trace turned her to face him. He wrapped his arms around her and placed his forehead against hers. “I want to give you a special evening. I know you brush it off, but I couldn’t have done what I did in the past four weeks without you. I sent the application off today, and I want to celebrate. With you.” He pressed his lips to hers and teased her lips apart. His tongue danced inside and swept across her lips.