“I’m teaching him valuable survival skills,” Brady said with dignity.
“Is that what you call it?” Michael watched Brady hoist the kayak onto the roof rack. “Speaking of learning experiences, how’s everything going? You need any help?” he asked, his voice elaborately casual.
“With what? The kayak?”
“With work.”
Brady fastened the clamps on the kayak and pressed the stopwatch button on his sports watch. He checked the display. “A minute five,” he said approvingly. “Pretty good.”
“A minute five for what?”
“A minute five between when you got here and when you started grilling me. That’s not bad, considering you made a special trip for it.”
Michael’s brows lowered. “I would have done it at one of the pubs but you weren’t around. I should have realized it was because you had kayaking to do.”
“It’s because I was up brewing and pitching yeast until about two in the morning.”
Michael shook his head. “Who was the guy who was talking to me about delegating again?”
“You’re the one who’s supposed to be delegating, here, remember?”
“Cut me some slack, will you? It’s a new job for you, this is a new job for me, too.”
“What is?”
“Watching. But if you’ve got time to go paddling on a weekday morning, you’ve probably got everything all set.”
“Yep.” Brady checked the kayak for stability and stepped away.
“Because, I figure you know we’re on a tight schedule and if you needed help, you’d—”
“Say the words.” Brady’s lips twitched.
Michael stopped. “What?”
“Come on, Michael. Say the words.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You want to know, you’ve got to say the words.”
“Just an update. Just give me that much.”
“An update on what?”
“The theater.”
“Oh, the theater,” Brady singsonged. “You mean the theater project that you passed off to me because you were supposed to be home taking care of the family? That project?” He tossed the paddles in the Jeep.
“Are you done listening to yourself talk?” Michael grumbled. “You want to tell me something worthwhile?”
Brady grinned. “Relax. Everything’s fine.”
“Now I’m worried.”
“Look, you already had a budget and a schedule set. The architect and I put together a detailed work order yesterday—”
“You’ve already met with the architect?” Michael yelped.
“Two days ago.”
“But—”
“Release, Michael.” Brady caught him by the upper arms and began walking him toward his minivan. “Go to that happy place.”
“I’m mainlining SpongeBob SquarePants. There is no happy place. At least tell me your theme,” Michael pleaded.
“I already did. Tango.”
“Be serious.”
“I am. You know how big the dance community is here in this town? And look at all the ballroom dance stuff on TV. It’s big business.”
“It’s a fad and it’ll be gone in a year.”
“Ballroom dance, square dance, folk dance.” Brady opened the van door. “Before ballroom it was swing, before that it was line dances, before that it was disco. People love to dance. That’s what we’re tapping into. If they get tired of tango, we’ll go to something else. Trust me. You didn’t think a jail would work, either.”
Michael gave Brady a suspicious look before getting in. “You’re not doing it just to get next to the tango babe, are you?”
“I can get next to the tango babe on my own.” At least he thought so. “Relax, Michael. I’ll keep you up to date but this gig’s mine.”
“We’re partners,” Michael reminded him.
“And right now, partner, you need to focus on your family. Look, I’ve got a site meeting with the contractor Monday morning and one with the decorator on Wednesday. I’ll keep you posted—full report. Oh, and we’re going to go ahead and finish a couple of apartments and lofts on the upper floors,” he added as Michael started the engine.
Michael turned it back off. “You know we can’t afford that.”
“They’re not hotel rooms, just general living space. All we have to do is paint some walls and install new floors.”
“And rewire and plumb.”
“Code’s going to require us to rewire the whole building anyway. This way, if we do one on each floor, we can use ’em like model homes to lease the rest. Living downtown is hip, especially if you’re in a historic building. We get one of those fancy plaques and we’re golden. The McMillans on the cutting edge, yet again.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
Brady grinned. “I’ve always dreamed of being a slumlord. Now get out of my hair and go watch SpongeBob.”
Michael started the engine. “Okay, but keep me posted on everything.”
“From my lips to your ears,” Brady promised.
THERE WAS SOMETHING reassuring about airports, Thea thought as she watched Robyn check in for her flight to Australia. Everything was always reassuringly nice and tidy. Arrivals. Departures. You knew whether you were coming or going. It was either one or the other, none of these pesky gray areas.
Like the way she felt about Brady McMillan.
There, she definitely didn’t know whether she was coming or going. Sure, she wanted him. Whether it was smart was a whole different topic. And she was supposed to be smart this time around. What she wasn’t supposed to do was fall right back into her classic pattern of ignoring all the warning signs and letting chemistry carry the day. That was the perfect recipe for barging into another involvement—however short—that was likely to end badly.
She was hoping that she’d finally learned her lesson.
“There you are, ma’am.” The ticket agent handed the folder to Robyn, who slung her backpack over her shoulder. “Have a wonderful trip.”
Thea looked at her friend. “All set?”
Most people going on a long-planned vacation looked excited. Robyn looked panicked. “I’ve forgotten something, I know it.”
The corners of Thea’s mouth twitched. “You packed three times.”
“I still forgot something.”
With an indulgent sigh, Thea began ticking things off. “Sunglasses?”
“Check.”
“Hotel vouchers?”
“Check.”
“Itinerary?”
“Check.”
“Moolah?”
Robyn patted her waist.
“Going away present?” Thea produced a brightly wrapped box out of her shoulder bag.
“Go—” Robyn blinked. “You didn’t.”
“I couldn’t resist.” Thea handed it to her.
“Aw.” Robyn gave her a hug. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Open it.”
Robyn dropped to a seat in a row of chairs and concentrated on the package. “You’re the best, you know. I love you to death, and not because you buy me presents. I love you because you…” She stared at the box in her hand. “Condoms? You got me condoms as a going away present?” She threw back her head and laughed so loudly a passing group of tourists stared.
“Economy size. A good Girl Scout is always prepared.”
“You must think I’m going to need to be prepared a lot.” Robyn unzipped her pack and muscled the box inside. “What is that, anyway, the hundred pack?”
“Australia’s a big country,” Thea said serenely.
“Big men, too. I hope you got extra large.”
“I believe there’s a variety.”
Laughing, they rose to walk toward security. “So come on. I’m there to see the country, and with my cousin, for heaven’s sakes. You think I’m going to cut a swath through the men Down Under?”
“I think the men Down Under won’t know what hit them. I’m thinking about c
ontacting the Australian embassy.”
“Too late.” Robyn’s voice was triumphant. “It’s Friday. By the time they find out, I’ll already be in the country. And then, watch out, Bruce.” She stopped in the entry area for the security checkpoint and sobered. “Have I told you lately how much I appreciate you coming up?”
“About a million times. Just don’t go offering me your firstborn child again. I’m not even sure I want my firstborn child.”
“Living with Darlene for three weeks will be good training for you,” Robyn advised. “Take care of her, will you?”
“Absolutely. I’ll walk her every day, watch soaps with her. We can sit around and do our nails.”
Robyn relaxed. “Seriously, though, there’s no way I could have gone on this trip if you hadn’t shown up. You bailed me out big-time.”
“So? You bailed me out last time. It’s my turn.” And nothing she could do would ever be enough to pay Robyn back. “Everything’s going to be fine, so go on your vacation and don’t worry. Whatever you forget, you can buy.”
Robyn checked her ticket and passport again. “Now you have the notes and everything, right?”
“I’ve got the notes and the class lists and everyone’s contact info,” Thea said crisply, because she could hear the panic returning. “The computer calendar will prompt me on the newsletters.”
“And I showed you where to find them?”
“Incessantly. And I know how to send and you’ve printed out all the details in case the computer goes south. I’ve got the Moonlight and Tango information and all the information for the tango society. Everything’s set. Go.” She pushed her toward the TSA officer. “Go on your trip and have fun.”
“And the McMillan project.” Robyn hopped a few steps and finally gave up and walked. “It’s huge. I can’t afford to miss on this one. We’ve got to give them whatever they need.”
Thea knew exactly what Brady would decide he needed, and she had no intention of giving it to him. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“I know you don’t want to deal with him.”
“I’m a big girl.”
“But you’ve got to admit, he’s cute.”
“I’m also a smart girl.”
“But he seems like a good guy, Thea.”
“So did Derek.” And like Derek, Brady had a hard time taking no for an answer. Been there, done that, she thought. “All right, enough. Go on your vacation,” she ordered. “I’ll look after things.”
“Promise you’ll be nice to him?”
“I’ll be nice to him,” Thea muttered.
“I mean it, Thea. Swear?”
She relented. “I swear. Trust me, I’ll make the McMillan brothers happy.”
“Well, there’s happy and there’s happy. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Robyn handed her ticket and passport to the security person. “And if you do—” Robyn reached out her hand to Thea, who caught it and discovered she was holding one of the condoms. “Be prepared,” Robyn finished with a wicked grin.
Thea gave her a dirty look. “I hope you get savaged by a koala bear.”
7
EVERY CITY HAD ITS CLAIM to fame. L.A. had Hollywood, New Orleans had jazz and Portland had rain. Not that Thea had seen much of it so far, with the string of sunny June days. She was seeing the fruits of it now, though—or fruit and vegetables, to be more precise. They were stacked in crates, piled in baskets, arrayed on tables or even heaped in wheelbarrows. They were everywhere she looked in the cornucopia that was the Portland Farmers’ Market.
Color leapt out at her: the almost unnatural green of fresh pea tendrils, the luminescent orange of peppers, the inviting blush of peaches. Her mouth watered and she found herself hit by her usual impulse to buy everything in sight.
What was it, anyway, about vegetables that made her feel healthier just by the mere act of buying them? That particular delusion had led her down the garden path—literally—more than once. The result? A crisper full of rotting vegetables. Some, she would eat. Five meals a day, eight days a week? Probably not.
So she cruised the rows instead, feasting with her eyes and enjoying the noise and confusion. So different than L.A. There was something about L.A. that isolated a person, her included. Oh, she had friends, sure, but no real community.
There was something about Portland that brought people together, in the markets, in the coffeehouses, in the parks. And particularly now, she felt a giddiness in the air. In L.A., a sunny day didn’t mean much of anything. In Portland, summer was cause for celebration.
Beside her, on the leash, Darlene snuffled, staring around with furrowed brow. “Yeah, I know, you’d be happier if it was a meat market but I can’t do anything about that. It’s your choice to be a carnivore,” Thea told her.
Darlene just made an impatient noise.
Thea stopped at a booth selling strawberries. “Two dollars,” said the woman behind the table. “Twenty-two for the flat. They’re Chandlers, picked this morning.”
They didn’t have the bizarre, distorted shape of grocery store strawberries. These were like centerfold strawberries, full, succulent, gleaming red and perfectly shaped. The aroma alone was enough to make her almost dizzy. They looked almost too perfect to be true, she thought, picking up a berry to study the glossy ruby skin, the even dips, the careful speckle of seeds. She could already taste the burst of sweetness as she bit down into it.
“Go ahead,” a voice said in her ear. “You know you want to.”
Thea jumped, dropped the berry back into the basket.
And turned to find Brady McMillan, directly behind her. He grinned, his teeth very white in the morning sun. “The tango lady, right?”
Thea took a breath, waiting for her system to level out from the fright. Of course, this was Brady, so expecting it to level might be entirely too much. She gave him a narrow-eyed look. “That was an evil thing to do.”
“Sorry,” he said unrepentantly. “I didn’t realize you were such a strawberry fan.”
Why was it every time she turned around, he was there? It would all be so much easier if he didn’t set butterflies loose in her stomach, Thea thought, staring up into those amused green eyes. He wore khaki shorts and a navy T-shirt that read If You Tap It, They Will Come. His hair looked as though he hadn’t bothered to do much more than run his fingers through it; the shadow on his chin suggested that he hadn’t bothered shaving, either. She doubted that he’d thought more than two minutes about how he looked when he’d left the house.
How was it he still looked sexy as hell?
Down, girl.
It was that coming-and-going thing again—half of her wanted nothing more than the coming part, preferably literally. The other half knew the intelligent thing to do would be to get away from him as fast as she could.
If only.
Promise me you’ll be nice. Robyn’s business, she reminded herself. She owed Robyn, and if that meant making nice with Brady McMillan for a few minutes, she would.
“So who’s this?” he asked, crouching down to rub Darlene’s neck as she wriggled deliriously.
“It’s Darlene, Robyn’s pug.”
“Darlene?” He chuckled.
Darlene swiveled her head as though it were on a pivot, staring at him with her pop-eyes. Thea swore her jaw jutted out even farther. “I wouldn’t make fun of her name, if I were you,” she said mildly. “She might look small, but I bet she could take you.”
Brady studied Darlene’s furrowed brow. “I bet she could, too.” He rubbed her ears some more. “I’ll watch my step.”
Darlene looked mollified and leaned hard against his hand.
“So why don’t you have a dog? You seem like a dog guy.”
He shrugged. “I am. I did. Spike, a border collie. He died a couple months back.”
He kept his voice light, but she saw the flicker in his eyes as he rose. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s funny the habits you get into,” he said. “I keep going o
ut to the Jeep and finding myself looking around, thinking he’ll be jumping into the back.”
“Maybe you should get another one.”
He studied her. “I will. I wanted to let a few months go by first.”
His eyes were that deep green, like looking into the reflection of a forest in a mountain pool. And then she felt like she was falling into it, tipping somehow deeper than she’d ever imagined, until it filled up her world.
Thea shook her head abruptly, resurfacing with a blink. Suddenly awkward, she moved on down the aisle. Brady began to walk with her.
He drifted to a stop at a stand selling raspberries and blueberries. “So what are the chances of us running into each other here?”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
He smiled. “Relax. I’m not stalking you. Portland can be a small town sometimes.” He inspected the berries in one flat, then the next.
Thea eyed him. “Really? I wouldn’t have picked you to be a big veggie guy.”
“I’m a big fan of food in general,” he said easily, handing some bills to the vendor. “But right now, I’m working on a project.” He winked and hoisted a flat of raspberries. “Raw materials.”
He didn’t look like much of a chef and curiosity got the best of her. “Planning to cook?”
“Not cook, brew.”
“With raspberries.” She moved out of the way for a couple with their stroller.
He gave her a sunny smile. “Yep.”
“Raspberry beer?”
“Raspberry ale. It’s that pushing-the-envelope thing.”
“Anybody ever tell you that your envelope might not be quite squared off?”
His mouth curved. “Now you’re giving me compliments.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.” She stopped to pick out some wax beans and he stopped with her.
“Sure it was. Regular is boring. I’d rather do something different.”
“Like raspberry beer.”
“Ale,” he corrected. “I have to follow my muse.”
She glanced at him, well over six feet tall, tanned and built, his bicep swelling slightly as he held the berries up on his shoulder. “Your muse?”
“I do what the beer needs.” He watched her pick through some patty pan squash. “What are those?”
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