Playing House

by Willsin Rowe

  “Hmmph… hello?”

  “You’re in big trouble!”

  “Good morning, Lucy. How are you on this most wondrous—”

  “Shut up! What have you done?”

  She yawned, taking her sweet damn time over it. “Why, what seems to be the trouble, Lucy-poo?”

  “Don’t Lucy-poo me! What were you thinking, pushing this big oaf on me?”

  “Oaf?”

  “That… that boy!”

  “Why, I know many, many boys, Luce. I wonder which one of them you could possibly be talking about?”

  “Toni!”

  “Oh, dear. What’s he done? Or not done?”

  I waved my hand in a random way as I tried to find the words. “He… he’s just wrong. He’s big, and loud, and messy, and… and a complete boy!”

  “Complete, huh? In every department?”

  “Toni…”

  “Because, you know, even the boy dolls usually just have a soft plastic—”

  “Toni!”

  She sighed, but I could hear the bubble of barely-withheld laughter beneath it. “You know, you’re the one who said he could move in, Luce.”

  I gritted my teeth for a moment. “I’d slap you down if you weren’t so right.”

  “Seriously though. What’s the problem?”

  Toni’s calm nature and sleepy voice had a soothing effect on me. I put my phone in its caddy and pulled out onto my street. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess I just got so used to living with you.”

  “He’s only been there one night.”

  “I really miss you.”

  “And I was barely there as it was, silly.”

  “But it’s so final now. I’m still here, and you’ve moved on. Soon you’ll be married and popping out kid after kid. And I’ll still be here. Covered in mould and cobwebs.”

  “Like you’d let a cobweb within a mile of your house.”

  “Twerp.”

  Her smoky laughter worked some kind of beautiful magic on me. Just having her listen to my gripes was probably all I needed. Mark’s sudden appearance in my life had the impact of a battering ram. His size, his scent, his pure masculinity… it was such a wild contrast to what I’d grown used to.

  “Luce? You gonna be okay?”

  “Yes. Of course I will. Thanks for listening.”

  “No problem. Hey, thanks for waking us up, by the way.”

  “Oh! Sorry.”

  “No, it’s cool. Rob looks like he might be up for a quickie.”

  “Ooo-kay. TMI.”

  5

  Even after a couple of years, every time I pulled up to The Lost Books’ Home I still felt a thrill run through me. Growing up as a redheaded only child in a sunny climate had made for a childhood spent indoors. Books had been my sanctuary, my circle of friends, my lifeline… almost my food. Not to mention how solid and dependable they were. No matter how many times you read a book, everything stays in order. Exactly where you left it.

  And now, as a grown woman, I got to work with them. And for them. I could heal them when they were hurt, and I could find them their perfect human match. It’s where the store’s name came from. It was an animal shelter for books.

  A scuffed up cardboard box sat outside the door of my shop when I arrived. Second-hand bookshops aren’t exactly a license to print money, but thankfully the local residents and shopkeepers were always willing to donate to me. On the bad weeks, it was the only thing that kept my head above water.

  Before opening up, I indulged my daily ritual, dropping into Mario’s café right next door. Even after living over here for four decades and change, he still hadn’t lost his Italian accent.

  “Lucy!” Despite his advanced years, Mario always came bounding up to hug me. I suspected it was because I was the only customer he could count on. Or maybe because I was about the same age as his granddaughter.

  “Good morning, Mario.”

  “Is today the day? You will try a coffee, no?”

  “No, thank you. Just an Earl Grey to go, please.”

  He flashed me his toothy smile and waggled his finger in my face like I was a naughty girl. “Some day. I will tempt you, and you will see what it is you are missing.”

  I glanced out the front window as he busied himself with my tea.

  “You think it’s going to be a better day today, Mario?”

  I heard him take a deep breath, then sigh. “I am breathing, I am working, and I have a most beautiful fire-haired girl here with me. It is already a fabulous day.”

  “You’re just too smooth, buddy.” I turned to him and smiled. “No wonder you were married so long.”

  “God rest Sofia’s soul.”

  He handed over the cardboard cup and I sniffed long and hard at it. “Perfection, sir.” I turned to leave, but halted. “But seriously, you think today’s going to be better for us?”

  “Ah, you are worried about customers. You worry too much, Lucy.”

  “I have bills to pay.”

  Mario sat heavily on the stool near the counter. “We all do, bella. But you can not let it eat your life away. Tell me… you love what you do, sì?”

  “I absolutely do.”

  Mario raised his hand, like a preacher invoking God. “There you are. Then you are rich.”

  Sometimes I thought I caught a glimpse of what Mario meant. He was in his eighties, and really was too old to be working, but with all that life experience he must know what he was talking about. He’d had the lasting marriage, the kids, grandkids and even a couple of great-grandkids. I understood in theory what he meant about the beauty of doing what you love, but in practise I just couldn’t see it from here.

  I took a sip of the tea Mario had made me, and hummed with delight. He was the only man I’d ever trusted to make it for me. At least until recently. Mark had shown more than a little skill with the beverage-making.

  “Thanks, Mario.” I raised the cup to him. “For the tea, and for the inspiration.”

  “Your heart is very beautiful, Lucy. You will find your success, I know it.” He lifted my free hand and kissed my fingers. “It just might not be where you think it is.”

  “If you weren’t still so in love with your Sofia, God rest her soul, I might think you were coming on to me, you suave old fox.”

  “Ah. A man would be a fool not to fall in love with a rare beauty like you, bella.”

  At the front of my bookstore again, I nudged at the box left there, using only my toes. No sounds came from it, which was always welcome. No squeaking, no scuttling. No serpentine hissing.

  I popped the lid open to make sure it was only books. Many’s the time I’ve had unwelcome visitors in a donated box. The four-legged furry ones were bad enough. But often there were other, less savory creatures. And the higher the leg count, the bigger the bonfire I wanted to light. Satisfied everything dead in the box was vegetable, not animal, I unlocked my store.

  The box was heavier than it looked, so I pushed the front door open, setting the little bell tingling, and dragged the box in. One by one I took the books out and arranged them on the front counter. Stacks for fiction and non-fiction to start with, then sub-groups for the various genres. All too soon the organizing was done and I wrinkled my nose with disappointment.

  When I’d seen the advertisement in the newspaper for this place I’d been instantly tempted to quit my admin job and dive in head first. Logic intervened, of course, and I quickly dismissed it as a childish fantasy, not daring to believe I had the knowledge or confidence to run a bookstore all by myself. But the nagging seed of desire grew inside me, and I couldn’t resist coming to check it out.

  That was when I experienced the vibrancy of the surrounding area, and became totally smitten. There was not a franchise or department store within a half-mile. Only small businesses and services. Run by local p
eople for local people. Coffee shops, scrapbooking, and even a yoga studio. It was that eclectic nature that drew me to it, as if it was somehow the romantic opposite of my own thirst for order and neatness.

  At nine, the street came alive and I stood at the window watching the locals go about their business. Marjorie, the florist across the road, watered her display. Andrew opened and closed the front door of his bakery a few times, pushing that tempting smell out and drawing in customers.

  As usual, my morning trade was non-existent, so I grabbed my broom and scanned around for some dust to sweep. There looked to be some under the middle shelves, so I dropped to my hands and knees to check the floor.

  The tinkle of the bell over the front door made me jump. And I suddenly became hyper-aware of how high my skirt must have ridden up my thighs.

  “Ooh, good morning, Lucy. Don’t get up on my account.”

  Oh, no. Patrick. My wanna-be boyfriend. Couldn’t he just deliver the mail and scram? I could feel his gaze casting over every inch of my bottom. Despite how harmless he always seemed, the crush he’d formed on me was getting harder and harder to ignore. He was nice enough in his awkward and clumsy way, and he had a steady job, but he didn’t push any of my buttons.

  “Hi, Patrick.” Even the way he stared at my hands as I pulled my skirt back down gave me a slight uneasy feeling.

  “You look nice, Lucy.”

  “I am nice.”

  His laugh was more of a schoolboy snigger than a grown man’s guffaw, and no matter what I said, he made my words feel dirty. Even with lame jokes like the one I just made. Every time he did it I felt a strong desire to wash my ears with anti-bacterial soap.

  “So, what can I do for you, Patrick?”

  “I have this.” He held out a parcel which probably contained the text books I’d ordered online. I reached for it but he pulled it away and let that dirty laugh bubble out again. He was just fooling with me the best way he knew how, but still it made me feel silly and uneasy. I was a good ten inches shorter than him, and though we might have weighed about the same, mine was all soft femininity and his was lean but solid man.

  “May I have it please?”

  He let that snigger bubble out again before he handed the package over. “Hey, Lucy, I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner?”

  “I often do like that. Sometimes even with another person. Usually it depends who asks me.”

  Patrick sniggered again. “I’m asking, idiot.”

  Again, I knew he was joking, but his apparently juvenile sense of humor, such as it was, set my girly-senses on edge. It was totally unfair to make any assumptions but he radiated instability. Like he was a pistol with only a couple of bullets randomly loaded. Pull the trigger and maybe there would be a real click. Or maybe somebody gets killed.

  “Oh, Patrick, I’m sorry. I’m just so busy at the moment. I don’t have time for any kind of...” I swallowed heavily, hating myself for using this word, “romance in my life right now.”

  His smile drooped a little, and he looked at his watch. Hopefully I’d let him down easy enough. Even stable guys were so brittle. All balls and pride, all yes or no, and never the twain shall meet. Dammit, I had enough trouble dealing with the gorgeous hunk of man sharing my house. The last thing I needed was to try and nurse the ego of every guy who took a shine to me. Not that there’d been too many of those in recent times.

  My cell phone rang, interrupting the moment. I silently vowed that whoever it was, I’d bear their children. Even if it was Toni. I’d work out the how later.

  “Lucy Featherstone.”

  “Hi, Lucy.”

  “Mark?”

  “That’s me.”

  The mention of my housemate’s name seemed to add weight to Patrick’s shoulders. He nodded as if I’d answered a question and started poking randomly at the shelf of dark graphic novels.

  “What’s going on, Mark?”

  “Just checking when you’ll be home. I, uh… forgot my key.”

  “You said you weren’t coming home tonight.” From the corner of my eye I saw Patrick’s spine straighten.

  “No, I wasn’t planning to, but you never know. And I’ll need to get back in at some point, of course.”

  “Of course. Well, if traffic behaves as it should, I expect to be home at 6:35.”

  “Cool. I’ll see you then. Bye.”

  Damn. That call was over far too quickly.

  “No time for romance, huh?”

  There was a stiffness in his movements that had me wanting to turn and flee. “Uh. Patrick. Um, no, that’s just Mark. He’s the, uh, the guy I live with.” And damn this man for making me so nervous that I couldn’t even tell the truth without it sounding like I’d made it up on the spot.

  He folded his arms, adding a disturbing amount of width to his upper body. Maybe it was just his Post Office jacket. Maybe it wasn’t. “Okay. I get it. Why didn’t you just say you had a boyfriend? Why you gotta play stupid games, dance around it like I’m an idiot?”

  I wanted to correct him, but in the end this seemed a whole lot better. If he believed I was taken, maybe he’d leave me be. “Um, I’m sorry Patrick. I’m sure you’re a nice guy. This thing with Mark is really quite new. I d-didn’t want to jinx it by putting a label on it.”

  “Oh, okay. I get it. I see what’s happening here.”

  “You do?”

  “You’re keeping me on the hook in case he doesn’t work out, huh?”

  The only hook I wanted him on was the receiving end of a boxer’s left one. “No, that’s not it at all.” Why did men always need to find a walled-in rationalization for things that didn’t suit them?

  “Whatever.” He nodded again, and turned to leave, stopping just before closing the door. “He’s a very lucky man.” I thought there might have been a steely sharpness to his tone, but it was obscured slightly by the ding of the bell above the door as he closed it.

  I thought it had all gone reasonably well. Until he slammed the heel of his hand into it as he walked away.

  6

  One thing I could say for sure about Mark was that he was an object lesson in extremes. When he was home it felt like he was everywhere. Like I could open any cupboard in the kitchen and he’d fall out of it. Like he was wearing my house as a suit. And then, sometimes without any warning, he’d get “the call” from Gabrielle and simply evaporate, leaving me to channel surf and carb load. Even after a week living together, we barely knew each other.

  Last night had been one of those nights. He’d been most of the way through making us some ravioli—from scratch—when the call came through, and he left it for me to finish. Me. He must have known before he even moved in about my deadly cooking. Toni had blabbed about everything else, so why not my killer-nary skills, as she liked to call them. I’d certainly made no secret of my black thumb, either. Even so, he asked me to take over and get the food finished. As if all the evidence of burned toast and translucent eggs had meant nothing.

  What was even worse than him asking, though, was that like an idiot I said yes. He was heading off to have a good time with his girlfriend, while I’d be sitting on the sofa, growing roots out of my ass. As stupid as it was, I wanted him to want to stay home. To have a man choose me above all others, even if it was just for dinner and watching a damn game show. That was what I missed more than anything. Almost anything, at least.

  Lost in my daydream, it took the beeping of the smoke alarm to bring me back to the here and now. As I stared into the black mess that had once been a wonderful red sauce, I screwed up my face and muttered, “I have the best-fed garbage can in the city.”

  At least I always had cereal. My savior, my champion. Even I couldn’t burn corn flakes. I’d grabbed a bad movie and a bottle of wine on my way home, thinking Mark would be home with me. Instead, I ended up watching the drivel alone, drinking his share a
s well as mine, and falling into a deep and almost certainly ungainly sleep on the sofa.

  I vaguely recalled Mark arriving home in the wee hours and waking me gently. Or maybe I’d dreamed it. It wouldn’t be the first dream I’d had starring him, though this time he had a lot more clothing on. In any case, I woke up still in the lounge room with a pillow under my head and a blanket on my body. A cheesy celebrity magazine I couldn’t recall ever seeing before sat on the coffee table. Still, that early on a Saturday morning it was probably all I could handle reading, so I scooped it up on my way to the kitchen.

  With my body protesting from my misspent night of high adventure, I dropped into my chair and stared at the sink. A moment later Mark tottered into the kitchen wearing nothing but track pants. He was clearly all scuffed up after another session with Gabrielle—or Gabs, as he insisted I call her. Sheesh. I had no plans to even meet that woman. If I did, though, my bitchy inner child had a few names of her own to call the cow.

  God, how did men do it? He was tired, scruffy, half-dressed and unshaven, yet he was so damn sexy I could just swallow him whole. It was impossible to ignore him as he stretched that taut body of his toward the sky, his back curling, his abs rippling. All of which accentuated the hard ridges of muscle that seemed to ooze from his hips down to his groin. And that deep growling moan he made sent achingly sharp fingers of lust deep into my belly.

  “Mornin’, Lucy.”

  “Mmph. Why are you so cheery? Shouldn’t you be hung over?” Or drained completely dry? Thankfully I kept that as an unspoken thought.

  “Don’t get hangovers.”

  “Mmph.”

  I laid out the glossy—and vapid—magazine, wondering exactly where it had come from. If Toni had left it behind when she moved out, there’s no doubt I would have found it before now. The thought of leaving the house untidy for even a day, let alone a whole week, made my lips numb.

  Mark came down from his stretch and clapped his hands together.

  “Dammit, mister. Nearly made me pee myself again.” I’d seen him moving, but had been so caught up with the glory of his body I hadn’t been prepared for the loud noise.