Today’s hug had felt different, and she couldn’t understand why.
Charlie spun the dial, fascinated. Angie thought about the moment when Michael’s arms had come around her and she’d found herself pressed against the firm, warm wall of his chest. She’d been surprised at first. But then something inside her had relaxed as she’d understood that she was in a safe place and she’d allowed herself to take comfort from him.
Then he’d shifted slightly or she had and their knees had bumped and she’d become very aware of how well-matched their bodies were—knee to knee, hip to hip, breast to chest.
The realization had been enough to make her step away then, and it made her feel uneasy now, even though he’d been gone for more than ten minutes.
Because that moment had been about sexual awareness. The woman in her noticing the man in him.
But Michael wasn’t a man. At least, he wasn’t an ordinary man. He was Billie’s husband. He might as well be Angie’s brother.
And yet there’d been that funny little moment when he’d opened the door wearing his running gear yesterday and she’d seen him with fresh eyes and registered that he was a very attractive man….
There was a loud rumbling in the corridor and Michael appeared in the doorway, a large wheelie bin in tow. She forced herself to meet his eyes, almost as though she was testing herself, and was relieved to feel nothing. He was simply Michael.
Exactly, drama queen.
“Looks like you hit pay dirt,” she said.
“Yeah.” There was a flatness to the single word.
“What’s wrong?”
“I went to the bathroom.”
She grimaced. “Yeah. I should have warned you about that. The plumbing’s not great. Might want to wash your shoes when you get home if there was any ‘water’ on the floor.”
“I checked out the ladies’, too.”
He was so stern, so disapproving, that Angie had to suppress a smile.
“Not up to the Michael Robinson standard?” It was a rhetorical question, because she knew they weren’t. Many was the time she’d simply crossed her legs and waited until she went out for lunch to avoid having to set foot in the space.
“This building is a complete shit hole, Angie.” He glanced at Charlie to see if he’d registered the four-letter word, but his son was inspecting the wheels on the bin. “Half the lights are out, the roof leaks and I bet most of the windows are rusted shut. The bathrooms are possibly the worst I’ve ever seen. I’m including the developing world in that assessment, too, by the way.”
“It’s true, the old girl ain’t what she used to be, but that’s why the rent’s so reasonable. Beggars, by which I mean artists, can’t afford to be choosers.” She shrugged philosophically.
“Even if that means being exposed to deteriorating asbestos, lead paint and electrical wiring that can’t possibly be up to code?”
“Asbestos? What asbestos?” she asked, alarmed.
Michael pointed at the ceiling. “What do you think that is?”
She tilted her head to look at the textured stucco ceiling. “Plaster?”
He shook his head slowly. Grimly.
“I don’t like the idea of you working in this building, Angie.”
She sighed heavily. “Well, that makes two of us, but I’m afraid there aren’t a lot of options in the city. I looked around a couple of years ago, but it was a dead loss.”
“Then move farther out.”
“Right, and make my clients travel to find me.”
“They’ll make the trip. You’re worth it.”
She shook her head. “I need to be central. All my suppliers are in here—my valuer, my metallurgist, my gemsetter, the jewelers’ toolmakers…”
Michael’s frown deepened. She didn’t know whether to be amused or touched by his obvious concern.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve survived eight years in this place.”
He glanced pointedly at the debris in the corner and the four-letter word sprayed on her wall. “Just.”
She knew what he was saying made sense, but she had formed an attachment to the Stradbroke over the years, decrepit bathrooms and all.
“If it makes you happy, I’ll take a look around, see what’s out there.”
“Good.”
Charlie punctuated Michael’s words with a thump on the side of the bin.
“I think he’s seconding the motion,” Angie said.
“Good.” Michael moved to her workbench to inspect her tools. “I’ve never seen where you work before.”
“Really?” Billie had been a constant visitor, but there had never been a reason for Michael to come here. “No, I guess you haven’t.”
He walked over to where her crucibles and welding gear were located. “Is this where you make your alloys?”
“Yep.”
He turned and laid a hand on the scarred wood of her stump, a four-foot-high section of tree trunk that had served her well over the years. “And this is where you shape your rings?”
“Sometimes. But I’ve got a couple of different types of ring benders, too. It depends on what I’m working on.” She moved closer, picking up one of the many hammers that sat in the leather loops circling the stump.
“No wonder you have Obama arms,” he said.
“Don’t forget the calluses.”
He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. She displayed her work-toughened palms to him.
“I’ve never noticed,” he said.
“I should hope not. A lady likes to have a few secrets.”
He smiled, glanced at his watch, then at Charlie. She checked her own watch and saw it was past twelve.
“Someone’s going to want lunch soon,” she said.
“Tell me about it. Probably needs his diaper changed, too, and I didn’t bring any with me.” He crossed the room and hoisted Charlie into his arms. “Time for us to go, Charlie-boy.”
Charlie immediately began fussing. Michael gave her an exasperated look over his son’s head.
“Sorry.”
“Hey, I’d cry, too, if I had to leave this palace.”
She walked them down the stairs and out the side entrance, kissing Charlie goodbye in the cobblestone laneway.
“Thanks for all your help, little man.”
He stared at her, bottom lip trembling, eyes awash with tears.
“I think that’s the saddest face in the whole wide world,” she said, unable to resist stroking his cheek with her finger.
“And yet nothing is actually wrong,” Michael said drily.
They exchanged smiles.
“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
“I will. Thanks.”
She watched as they walked away, Michael’s long stride easy despite the fact that Charlie was no lightweight. She was still smiling when she returned to her studio. Having them visit had somehow taken away the worst of her angst over the break-in. What had happened was shitty, but not insurmountable.
As for that awkward flash of sexual awareness… It had been nothing. A blip. An aberration. Thinking about it now, she felt a little stupid for having been so rattled. With the benefit of hindsight, the moment settled into its rightful place in the big scheme of things: unimportant and insignificant.
The way it should be.
* * *
THREE WEEKS LATER, MICHAEL rubbed the back of his neck as he waited at the lights. Life had been crazy lately, filled with interviews with prospective nannies—none of whom had been very impressive—as well as preparations for his first week at work. Today marked his third full day back in the saddle and he was feeling more than a little weary after two complicated client briefings and a series of phone calls that had prevented him from accomplishing anythin
g substantial all afternoon. Just as well he’d arranged with his partners to work from home on Thursdays and Fridays—he was nowhere near match fit after so many months downtime. The lack of distraction in his home office would give him a chance to make up lost ground. Hopefully.
Despite his weariness and even though a part of him felt guilty for cutting short the year he’d intended to spend with the kids, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that returning to work was the best decision he’d made in a long time. It might have only been three days, but it was enough for him to know that Angie had been right—picking up the threads of his career had given him something to hold on to. It forced him to interact with the outside world, and it gave him things to occupy himself with that had nothing to do with Billie.
It gave him a chance to be a person again, and not simply a father and a grieving husband.
He hadn’t understood how much he’d needed that until today when he’d finished a phone call with a supplier and noticed that he’d gone a whole four hours without thinking of Billie once. Guilt had come hard on the heels of the realization, of course—but there had been relief, too.
It was exhausting living with the constant weight of grief on his shoulders.
The lights changed and he accelerated through the intersection, very aware of the need to relieve Mrs. Linton. He’d been fortunate enough to get Charlie into day care three days a week, but Mrs. Linton had saved his bacon, agreeing to pick up Eva from school and look after her until he could make a more permanent arrangement. Still, he didn’t want to abuse her generosity.
He swung by day care to collect Charlie, then headed home. A familiar green SUV was parked in front of his house when he pulled into the driveway. He smiled as he hit the button for the garage door. Angie had been busy putting her studio back together and they hadn’t seen much of her lately. It would be good to catch up with her. Good to assure himself that she was recovering okay from the break-in.
It would also give him a chance to hassle her about the rental listings he’d sent to her, too. He’d touched base with a handful of his real estate contacts and put the feelers out for a suitable studio space for her, determined to get her out of that death trap of a building. So far, her only response had been silence. If she thought that stonewalling him would make him give up, she didn’t know him very well.
He released Charlie from his car seat and locked the car. Michael could hear voices and laughter as they entered the house. He walk into the kitchen and found Angie and Eva putting toppings on three pizza bases.
“Hello,” he said.
They looked up with identical surprised expressions, obviously so involved in their conversation they hadn’t heard his arrival.
“Perfect timing. Dinner is almost ready,” Angie said.
Charlie immediately went to Angie, gazing up her worshipfully.
“Why, hello there, Charlie Bear,” she said, tapping his nose lightly.
She looked different. For a moment Michael was puzzled, then he realized it was because her hair was tucked high on her head in a ballet dancer’s bun. She was wearing her yoga gear, too—tight black leggings and a soft-looking pale pink top with sleeves that stopped at her elbows.
“Mrs. Linton left a note for you before she left. Something about having a doctor’s appointment next week,” Angie said.
“Right. Thanks.”
“Guess what we’re having for dinner, Daddy?” Eva asked.
“Could it possibly be pizza?”
“Yes! With the lot. I mean everything.”
“She’s not kidding on that one.” Angie cast a significant glance toward the pizza Eva was working on.
It was piled high with salami, cheese, tomato and mushrooms to the point where it looked more like a pie than a pizza.
“Check that out. Sure you don’t want to throw a chair or table on top of that thing, too?” he asked Eva, dropping a hand onto the back of her neck and squeezing lightly.
She tilted her head backward so she could look at him upside-down. “Which pizza do you think is the best?”
Michael pretended to consider the options. “I like the simplicity of this cheese-and-tomato one, which I’m guessing is for Charlie. And Angie’s is nice and colorful…”
Eva gave him a look, clearly knowing when she was being strung along. “Just admit it. Mine is the best,” she said with the unashamed egotism of a six-year-old.
“It does look pretty special.”
“Let’s put it on the top shelf so all the many, many layers will get a chance to cook through.” Angie slid the pizza onto a baking tray and turned toward the oven.
He followed her movements idly, not really paying attention, but when she bent to put the pizza in the oven his gaze slid down her slim spine to her backside, perfectly showcased in black Lycra.
He quickly looked away, but not before he’d noticed that Angie had a very nice ass.
He cleared his throat. “I might go change while those cook.”
“Sure,” Angie said.
He could feel heat in his face as he headed for the bedroom and he hoped like hell that she hadn’t noticed. He kicked his work shoes off with more force than was strictly necessary once he was in his room. He had no business noticing her ass. She was Billie’s best friend. Better yet, she was his friend. The shape and size of her ass was utterly irrelevant. Certainly it was of no interest to him.
No interest whatsoever.
Even if it was a very fine, very firm-looking ass.
Giving himself a firm mental shake, he concentrated on pulling on his jeans.
* * *
ANGIE CHECKED ON THE pizzas, then poured herself a glass of wine. She was glad she’d given in to the impulse to surprise Michael with dinner. Even though she hadn’t seen him much recently, she’d been very aware that this first week at work might be hard for him. He’d been on her mind a lot, and she’d wanted to let him know he wasn’t alone. Dinner wasn’t much, but it was something.
She glanced up when Michael returned wearing a pair of old jeans and a stretched-out T-shirt. He’d put on a bit of weight and it suited him. Made him look more like his old self.
She poured him a glass of wine. “So, how’s your first week as a born-again architect been?”
“Not too bad. If I can find a child-care solution that doesn’t involve me shamelessly exploiting Mrs. Linton, I think it’s doable.”
“Still no luck with finding a nanny?”
“Nope. I’ve got more interviews lined up on Friday, though.”
“Well, if you need someone to help relieve Mrs. Linton in the meantime, let me know. I could easily pick up Eva after school a few days if I plan my schedule right.”
Michael was already shaking his head. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you do enough for us already.”
“No one’s keeping a score card, Michael. Besides, I love spending time with the kids.”
He shook his head again and she knew from his stubborn expression that there was no point pursuing the subject.
“Fine. Then tell me about work.”
“How about we talk about why you haven’t responded to my email about those rentals?”
Angie busied herself wiping the counter again. She’d been hoping he wouldn’t bring up the matter of her finding a new studio. For a number of reasons.
“Didn’t I? Sorry. I’ve been so busy, getting things on track…” When she risked a glance at him, his gaze was knowing.
“Did you follow up on any of those leads?”
“I checked a couple of them out on the internet.”
“And?”
She shuffled her feet, feeling for all the world like a kid who’d been called to the principal’s office. “One of them was too big. The o
ther one was too far from the city.”
“Did you speak to any of the agents, tell them what you’re looking for?”
“I’m on it. Relax.”
“I’m going to take that as a ‘no.’”
She took a big gulp of wine, not liking the disapproving way he was eyeing her. It was a little disconcerting to realize how much his good opinion meant to her.
“Good studios are hard to find. I need the right size, the right price…” She could hear how lame she sounded. She put her wineglass down. “The thing is, I’ve been at the Stradbroke for eight years.” She spread her hands to indicate how entrenched she felt, how much inertia she had to overcome before she could pack up her workspace and rebuild it again somewhere else. “It’s my second home.”
“I get that, but that place is a disaster waiting to happen, Angie. God knows what you’re breathing in every day. As for those bathrooms… And don’t even get me started on the lack of security.”
“Yeah. I know. I need to move.” The knowledge had been crystalizing inside her as she’d scrambled to restore her workspace, stripping paint off her tools and replacing locks and furniture.
“Can I at least keep looking for you?”
“You’ve got enough on your plate.”
“Not so much that I can’t look out for a friend.” His gaze was warm with affection. Something equally warm unfolded in her chest.
“Let me talk to those agents first,” she said. “I’ll let you know if I need to call in the cavalry.”
He picked up his glass and tilted it toward her. “Deal.”
Her mouth twisted wryly as she lifted hers and clinked the rim against his, aware that he’d effectively gotten her to commit to moving.
“You’re a hard man to resist.”
“The word you’re looking for is persuasive.”
“If you were a woman, it would be nag, you know.”
He sipped, content to take her jibe on the chin now that he’d won the main point.
“Auntie Angie, I almost forgot to tell you.”
They both turned as Eva raced into the room, skidding across the floor in her socks.
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