by Nancy Warren
“That’s absolutely incredible,” Daniel said, slipping an arm around her waist.
Sylvia moved closer to the window and studied it carefully. She didn’t praise or gush; she inspected. “How do you find your windows hold up?” she asked. She didn’t sound like she was being bitchy, more like she genuinely wanted to know.
“Structurally, a well-made window should last hundreds of years, maybe thousands. Look at Chartres or Notre Dame. I’ve been doing windows for about five years now and haven’t had any problems. You definitely need to know what you’re doing, though.”
Sylvia nodded. She took a step back and studied the window from other angles. Was she going to point out a flaw? Everyone watched her in silence. Then she turned to Lauren. “Do you take commissions?”
Lauren was so stunned to find that Sylvia wasn’t about to offer criticism that she didn’t say anything for a second.
“Of course she does,” Amy said, launching into sales mode again. “You should see the window she made for Leonato winery. It’s a real showpiece.”
“Do you have a card?” Sylvia asked.
“Yes.” She cast a grateful look to Amy, who was the one who had insisted she needed to get business cards and brochures made up to promote her work.
“I’ve got some of her brochures,” Amy said. “I’ll give you one. And you have to check out her website. Lauren repairs old windows, too. She’s really, really good.”
“Oh, stop,” Lauren protested. “It’s a craft anyone can learn.”
“But you turn it into art,” her loyal friend insisted.
Jackson hadn’t said a word the whole time and they were all so bunched up together in the landing that they had to take turns stepping forward. As the group started to move away, he took a step toward the window. Studied it intensely. She braced herself, waiting for him to make a snide comment, but he didn’t say anything.
Amy was telling Sylvia about the wine coolers now. Daniel walked with them. Only she and Jackson were left in the landing. In the gray-blue light that shone through the window, he looked pensive, more serious than she’d ever seen him.
At last he turned.
“Well?” she challenged. “Aren’t you going to tell me I do nothing but make useless kitsch?”
“No.” He paused as though he wasn’t going to say more, then changed his mind. “You create something real and beautiful and lasting. What do I do? Create internet technology that’s invisible and expendable. Your windows will be around for decades, maybe centuries. In five years, technology will be someplace completely different and the hours and months and years I’ve put into any given project will be meaningless. You should be proud of what you do.”
Oddly, she felt more complimented than when Amy had gushed about her. “Thanks,” she said. She turned and they headed back down the short hallway together. “It’s not as lucrative as what you all do, but it works for me.”
When they got back to the living area, Amy was handing out her brochures to both Sylvia and Daniel. “This is starting to feel like the home show,” she said, shooting Amy a glance that meant, Stop.
Sylvia laughed. A soft, well-trained laugh suitable for all occasions. “I’m glad you brought that up. Can I see the rest of the house?”
“Oh, my gosh, of course. I’ll give you the grand tour.” Amy loved showing people around her new house, and who could blame her?
Daniel tagged along, but Lauren had already seen the house and knew it well, so she headed toward the kitchen, thinking she might give Seth a hand.
Jackson had obviously had the tour also, for he followed her.
“Can I help, Seth?” she asked, peeking into the kitchen. Seth was unwrapping charcuterie from the market. He turned the packaging upside down and dumped the meat on a huge antipasto plate so it landed in a meat-colored brick. The poor man really needed help. The slices needed to be arranged, coordinated with the roasted peppers and slices of eggplant she could see on a tray on top of the stove. There were various tubs from the market waiting to be opened and added to the artful arrangement Amy had no doubt envisioned.
“No, thanks, I got it,” he said. “Too many cooks and all that.” He reached for another package.
What could she do but go and sit down? She took a sip of her prosecco.
While everyone else was otherwise occupied, she and Jackson were left alone together in the living room.
She sat awkwardly on the couch, nursing her wine. He appeared equally awkward, taking a seat on a chair that was as far away from where she was sitting as the small room would allow.
When she felt his gaze on her she picked up a magazine from the coffee table. She knew it was rude, but she didn’t care.
In her peripheral vision she saw Jackson pull out his smartphone.
A minute later, when she had no idea whether she was reading Time or Cosmo, her cell phone chirped, signaling a text message. Anything was preferable to the pained silence in the room, so she dug into her bag for her phone.
She didn’t recognize the number. The text read, This is weird.
She glanced up and saw that Jackson had his phone in his hand. Not looking at her but with a tiny, almost smile on his too-sexy mouth.
She texted back rapidly. How did you get this number?
His answer was immediate: Borrowed your phone when you were sleeping.
Why did he have to bring that up? The words conjured an image of the two of them tangled together in bed, so exhausted that she’d fallen asleep. Her waking to find his mouth on her nipple, pulling gently until she moaned and turned to him.
Before she knew how to respond, he texted again. My place tonight?
She glanced at him, and found him looking straight at her, those deep sleepy eyes offering her everything you could pack into one night. But his place? That was a big step up from an anonymous hotel. His place was where he lived, where his things were, where he slept every night, where he kept his books and his music. She’d find out whether he was a neatnik or a slob, what kind of food he kept in the fridge, whether he had pets or tropical fish or house plants.
Did she really want to know any of those things? The more anonymous she could keep sex with Jackson, the better off they were.
But the drumbeat of desire was already getting louder.
And yet, she wasn’t interested in being available every time they ended up near each other. She didn’t think she wanted to be a convenience.
She texted back. Maybe.
She thought his lips quirked when he read her response, but she stuck her nose back into her magazine so it was hard to be certain.
When her text signal sounded again, she found nothing but an address.
Which was as much of a challenge and a dare as when he’d visited her winery that day and walked out, leaving behind a key card.
He might be an egotistical twit, but the man could definitely throw out a sexy dare that was as good as foreplay.
When the tour group returned to the main room, still complimenting Amy on the beautiful home and her decorating style, Seth plopped the antipasto plate in the middle of the dining table. “Antipasto’s up,” he announced.
The table was laid to perfection. Lauren recognized most of the items from the wedding gift registry list. Everything sparkled with expensive newness from the crystal glasses to the plates and linens.
“Come, sit at the table,” Seth said before they sat down in the living room again.
Amy glanced at the table and her face pinched. “Darling, I said I’d do the antipasto,” she said, sounding teeth-grindingly brittle. “Just a moment.” She whisked the large platter off the table and disappeared into the kitchen, Seth stomping after her.
“What the hell?” Seth yelled. “What’s wrong with my antipasto?”
“You have to arrange everything properly. You can’t just dump piles of artichoke hearts and olives and chuck huge lumps of charcuterie around. There’s an art to it.”
“It’s food. People will eat it and mess
it up again.”
“Please keep your voice down,” Amy whispered, but her whisper was almost as loud as his complaints. “Go and pour the wine.”
“You sure you can trust that I won’t screw it up?”
“Just try not to spill any on the new tablecloth.” She sounded so mad her voice was vibrating.
Lauren, realizing that all the guests were struck dumb with embarrassment or too busy eavesdropping to converse, threw herself into the breach. “I would love to go back to Italy. The food there is so good.”
“Oh, God, yes,” Sylvia said, helping her out. “I’d go for the shoes and the clothes alone.”
“For me, it’s the glass. Venice changed my life.”
“Is that when you decided you wanted to work with stained glass?” Sylvia asked.
“Yes. It was like I’d look at the glass and my fingers would practically itch to create something similar. I started with blown glass, but moved on to stained glass not too long after.”
Seth strode out of the kitchen. His cheeks were ruddy with anger and he held two bottles of wine like clubs. He used them to wave the hovering group of guests toward the table. “Sit down. The antipasto will be out in a minute. When my wife finishes decorating it.”
As Jackson brushed past Lauren to take his seat where his place card, handwritten in calligraphy, directed him, he muttered, “Never getting married.”
She shot back, “Who’d have you?”
10
WHEN THE GUESTS were settled around the table, Amy brought out the much-better-arranged antipasto. “I love the way they present food in Italy. Food isn’t just nourishment—it’s art, as well. Seth and I were so taken by the array of colors and textures, weren’t we, honey?” And Lauren knew that it was Amy’s way of apologizing to Seth. She hoped he understood.
Thankfully, the food was excellent and the wine plentiful. Daniel was amusing and clearly out to be charming. Sylvia and Jackson discovered some friends in common and soon the conversation and laughter drowned out the music playing in the background, always the sign of a good dinner party.
As Seth and Amy brought out the dinner they’d cooked together with all their new gadgets, she felt not only the thrill they were getting out of playing house, but something else.
Something that worried her. They seemed to be so careful with each other. It was almost as if they weren’t only playing at house, they were playing at marriage.
Only it wasn’t a game.
“So, Lauren, do you live here in the city?” Daniel asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“No. I live in Napa. Wine country.”
“I hear it’s beautiful there. Maybe I’ll come up and taste some wine at your winery one of these days.”
Without her meaning it to, her gaze flew to Jackson’s. How could she not remember the last time a man had driven up to Leonato especially to see her? And how could she ever forget the way it had ended, with a lot more than wine being tasted and savored.
She saw Jackson shift and cross his legs and knew that he’d had a momentary flashback, too.
“There are some fantastic wineries in Napa,” she said as neutrally as she could.
“We should all go up sometime,” Seth said, sounding relaxed now the meal was finished. Not having to drive anywhere, he hadn’t held back on the wine at dinner. He turned to Amy. “We definitely need to fill up the new wine fridge, right, honey? And then we can all go for dinner after. Take Lauren. What do you think?”
“Sure. I’m always happy for an excuse to go to Napa,” Amy agreed. She turned to Daniel. “They have such great wineries and some good restaurants. Great hotels, too, if you need to stay over.”
Lauren refused to so much as glance Jackson’s way since they both knew one of those hotels pretty intimately.
The evening wound down, and Lauren was surprised to find that she’d had a good time. It was nice to get away from work, to dress up and socialize. The food had been good, the company pleasant, and she was glad she’d come.
She even had a sex date for later.
Daniel claimed he still had jet lag so he was the first to break up the party. He took her aside before he left and asked for her number. She hesitated and he leaned in. “I’m all alone in a new city. Take pity on me. I need all the friends I can get.”
He was so cute, and what was the harm? He was a nice guy and he didn’t know anyone in town. Assuming she was the first woman he’d asked, she didn’t want to ruin his initial impression of American women. She gave him her number and he punched it into his smartphone with flattering speed.
“Thanks,” he said as he was leaving, “I really enjoyed meeting you.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek.
Soon after, Sylvia rose to leave. “I’ve got an early appointment with my personal trainer,” she said. And it showed in her great body.
“I should leave, as well,” Jackson said, rising. So, they said their goodbyes and left together, which meant she’d never know whether Jackson had asked for Sylvia’s number and if he had whether she’d given it to him. Damn.
When they were gone, Amy wouldn’t let her go right away. “You can’t rush off. Have some more coffee. We want to hear what you thought of Daniel.”
She settled back into her seat. “I thought he was very nice.”
“And what about the dreamy British accent?”
“Dreamy,” she agreed.
“He was totally into you,” Seth offered.
“He said so?” She didn’t want to think that the two men had somehow found time to discuss her when she’d been right there.
“No. But I could tell.”
“I thought he was, too.” Amy curled her legs under her. “What do you think? A possibility?”
“Maybe.” It was difficult to be completely honest with Seth sitting right there listening to every word. He’d said he’d do dishes, but Amy had protested, saying she’d do them later. Lauren suspected she didn’t trust Seth not to break her new dishes. She had a sneaking suspicion Seth thought that, too. He dropped heavily into one of the new chairs and she felt Amy wince.
“On a scale of one to ten?”
Seth leaned forward and stared from one woman to the other. “You two don’t seriously rate men, do you?”
“No, darling. Of course not.” Amy winked at him. “We rate them. But it’s never serious.” Then she turned back. “Well?”
She hadn’t thought too much about Daniel’s hotness so she struggled to pick a number now. After a moment she said, “Seven.”
“Seven?” Seth spluttered. “That’s all?”
“I liked his manners, and his accent, of course. He’s nice looking, obviously intelligent, had a lot to say, some of it pretty witty.”
“And that gets him a seven?” Seth looked stunned. “What’s Prince William? A five?”
“It’s a personal thing. For all his positives, I thought Daniel was maybe a bit too satisfied with himself.”
“Women! Impossible to please.” Then his eyes narrowed and he turned on Amy. “What was I?”
She reached over and patted his cheek. “To me, darling, you’re always a ten.” There was an edge of sarcasm to her words but the truth was that from the second she met him, she’d always claimed Seth was a ten. Since Lauren had always considered a ten to be perfect and that no man could ever be perfect, the highest she’d ever gone on her scale was a nine. She’d always been a little amused that Amy thought Seth was a ten. She’d have given him a five on a good day.
“She’s telling the truth, Seth. From the first time she met you, Amy said you were a ten.” She smiled at her friend with fondness. “Only guy who ever rated a ten on Amy’s scale.” Though there had been a few nines.
He stood, leaned over and planted a kiss on his wife’s mouth. “Good to know.”
When he sat back down, he said, “What about Jackson?”
“Jackson?”
“Yeah. On your hotness scale, how does he score?”
“Don’t ask Lauren,”
Amy said, laughing. “She’ll give him a negative number.”
In fact, the number that had popped into her head was nine. If you discounted all the things she didn’t like about him and stuck only to hotness, he was solidly a nine, damn it. But she laughed along with Amy. Seth seemed in the mood to press the issue. He turned to his wife. “What about you? Where would you rate Jackson on the scale?”
She made a face. “I don’t know. I never really thought about it. I know he’s hot and all, but he’s not my type. I guess a seven or eight.”
Seth was clearly pleased to have rated higher on the scale than his best friend. Luckily, neither of them pressed her for an answer.
“What about Sylvia?” Amy asked Seth. “How would you rate her hotness?”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing her all hot and sweaty in a singlet, bent over the oars.”
“Seth!”
“What? She’s a rower.”
“You’re supposed to give a number, not a sex fantasy.”
“Okay. I’m new to this.” He sipped the last of his wine. “Well, you two are both tens, obviously, and she’s an eight.”
Amy seemed satisfied with that. “I totally think Sylvia’s going to call you,” she said to Lauren. “She really seemed interested in your work.”
“The way you were pimping me out, what choice did she have but to pretend she was interested?”
“No. When we went on the tour, she asked me a lot about what other work you’ve done and your training and stuff. She’d be an excellent contact. Imagine all the jobs she gets. A lot of their work is renovating old houses, and you know how many of them either have old windows that need fixing or some idiot took out the old stained-glass windows in a previous reno and now the new owner wants to stay true to the original design and put them back in. That’s where you come in.”
“I agree. It would be great to get on with another architect.” She already worked with a few and she was perfectly certain that Amy had passed on that fact to Sylvia, probably also given her any names she could remember so that Sylvia could check with them before hiring Lauren. Sylvia seemed very careful. She wouldn’t hire Lauren if she wasn’t sure she’d produce a good project and deliver on time.