Unlikely

by Fox, Sylvie

  They were getting nowhere and the meeting broke up at two in the morning, the union vowing to go on strike Monday or Tuesday. Ryan looked at his watch. Too late to call her, but he’d be at her house first thing Sunday morning. No need to give up the rest of the weekend even though they were back in Los Angeles.

  Ryan showed up unannounced at nine in the morning, greeting a woman too groggy to toss him out on his ear. She was a mess, red-gold hair askew, raccoon eyes, and rumpled pajamas, but Ryan saw the most beautiful woman in the world. She had become just a little more beautiful overnight. And here he thought he’d shown up at a decent hour. Sophie had seemed like such a morning person only yesterday when they’d made love in the glow of early dawn light. The memory had him grinning like a fool. He knew right then, with a certainty that made him quake, that this woman had snuck her way into his heart and he wasn’t going to let her go.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” Sophie’s tone was flat.

  To say that Ryan was taken aback would be an understatement. How could she think that he wanted to call it quits after the most romantic half a weekend he’d ever had? “You can’t shake me that quickly, Sunflower,” he said softly, trying to ease her confusion.

  “Did you work out your emergency?” She might as well as used air quotes. Sarcasm, anger, and hurt underlied the question.

  Ryan opened his hands in supplication. “I guess I can tell you this much. Local seven-oh-six is on the verge of a strike. At the meeting last night the two sides weren’t able to even come close to any kind of deal.”

  “Why couldn’t you tell me that yesterday?” she asked, a little less wary than a few minutes ago. “I haven’t turned a deaf ear to everything. I’ve heard talk about a possible strike. It happens almost every year in this town. One union or another gets down to the wire, there’s strike talk, then a deal gets worked out and I go to work the next day. It’s no big deal, Ryan.”

  He felt like a heel. He wanted her trust, and she’d given it time and again over the weekend, but he hadn’t given his. He’d wanted to protect her, but she was an adult and deserved to know the truth.

  Ryan leaned in for a hug. Not wanting to let go of the sleepy body in his arms, he set her back before he got distracted. “Can I ask you for a big favor?”

  “It’s kind of early. What’s up?” Sophie asked warily. She surely thought him demented, standing there like a grinning fool.

  Ryan looked at his watch. His Sunday morning brunch with his mother and brother was at eleven. He certainly had time to go home and go it alone. But after that disastrous brunch weeks ago where he’d had to reveal to his brother that he didn’t know Sophie’s name, he wanted to take her there. He wanted her to meet his family and know the truth about his blue-collar roots.

  He’d already been burned, many years ago, when he had proposed to Jocelyn and she’d accepted. He had thought his future was secure—a high-class wife and the perfect job. He’d been sorely disappointed however when Josie had met his family. She’d looked down her straight patrician nose at his mother’s work roughened hands and his brother’s beat cop uniform. Josie had acted like she’d smelled something bad, or she would somehow get dirty if she stayed too long in his Reseda home. It had sickened him that he’d almost made a huge mistake. It was unfair, he knew, but he wanted to see if Sophie could pass the test.

  “Do you want to go to brunch?” he asked. “I go with some people I know almost every Sunday.”

  She looked at him a little quizzically. “Sure, I guess.” She turned and looked in the house as if making up her mind. Then, as if she’d decided something important, she said, “Why the hell not? I never turn down a free meal.” She backed into the living room and he followed her in. She looked down at her rumpled clothes. “But I’ll need to get ready.”

  “It’s not for another couple of hours…” he added suggestively.

  “Ryan, if I’m going to meet your friends, I’m going to need time to prepare.” He didn’t correct her misunderstanding.

  “Can we shower together?” he asked, making a last ditch effort to get in a quickie before they faced his mother’s scrutiny. “It’ll be more efficient that way.” Sex relaxed him more than a stiff drink ever could.

  “The guest shower works perfectly well,” she said, pointing away from her bedroom. “Though you look as clean as a whistle anyway.” He shrugged. He had showered before he came over, but a little water never killed anyone.

  She shuffled away, slamming the bedroom door hard. He got the message. He wouldn’t bother her for the next couple of hours unless he wanted to take his life into his own hands.

  When it became clear she was going to use up every last minute before they departed, he wandered around the house looking at the books on her narrow bookshelf and the various paintings she had hung. None of the oils or signatures were familiar, but the bright colors and chaotic abstract art suited her décor and her personality. Sasha whined at his feet and he went with her to the backyard. While the dog relieved herself and sniffed her way along the edge of the fence, he wandered the grassy area. He cocked his head seeing a door that jutted from an addition to the back of the garage he hadn’t noticed on his other visits to the house. He twisted the doorknob. It was unlocked.

  He entered a small room, painted a cool periwinkle blue. There was one tiny window overlooking the backyard, but the room was awash with diffused light. Ryan looked up. White sailcloth shades partially covered three large skylights. A few canvases leaned in a colorful array against the walls. The canvas on the easel drew his attention. It was an unfinished oil painting of a woman glancing coyly at the viewer. From the bright red hair flowing down the woman’s back, Ryan guessed it might be a self-portrait, though it didn’t look so much like Sophie, but reflected a universal woman who could represent anyone or everyone.

  When he drew closer, though, he saw that the flaming red hair wasn’t in fact hair, but dozens of different faces with different expressions—some sad, some happy, a few melancholy, many gleeful. The naked display of emotion on the faces was so raw that he turned away knowing he had somehow breached the protective shell Sophie worked hard to maintain.

  He backed from the room as if a specter dogged his every step. Closing the door gently, he corralled the dog and both went into the house. He pulled the television remote control from the basket and flipped through five hundred satellite channels not seeing the various moving images that flickered on the screen.

  Everyone in the industry knew there was a certain artistry to makeup. When one saw Hollywood stars up close, they looked nothing like their beautiful on-screen counterparts. But it was a secondary job in an industry where actors and directors were considered the creative giants. He shook his head, awed by Sophie’s talent. She had the soul of an artist. How her family could have ever thought she could squeeze her larger than life gifts into the narrow worlds of law or business, he would never know.

  The woman that emerged from the bedroom over an hour later was an eclectic blend of the old Sophie and the new Sophie he’d uncovered this weekend. She was Audrey Hepburn meets the Clash.

  Touché.

  She was doing a little test of her own.

  Today she’d paired hot pink hair with a somewhat conservative outfit, for her. The bright floral halter-top festooned with red, yellow, and blue roses hugged her small breasts in all the right places, without revealing too much. But her cute peach of a butt was squeezed into some very short white shorts. The slim legs that extended from the bottom of her short shorts to the tops of her gold strappy sandals were a major distraction. It took all he had to control his desire to pull her back to the bedroom and skip brunch.

  Since his mother could get dry toast anywhere, he and Cameron rotated between about four or five of their favorite restaurants for brunch. This week he’d picked an upscale French restaurant on Ventura and Hazeltine that offered a champagne brunch. Leaving his car with the valet, he escorted Sophie in the door. He spotted his mother with her u
sual glass of plain tap water, and his brother with a mimosa at a window table. Cameron stood at their approach.

  “Mom, Cam, I want you to meet Sophie,” he said by way of introduction.

  She was going to kill him—literally wrap her hands around his attractive throat and throttle him as soon as she had the chance. Some people had turned out to be his mother and brother. Her first thought was that Cameron was the more conservative of the two brothers, if it was possible to be more conservative than Ryan. His blond hair and blue eyes mirrored Ryan’s, but where Ryan’s too-long hair curled at the ends, Cameron’s was a severe buzz cut against his head. Though he looked just a little older, Cameron had a few wrinkles around his knowing eyes. An inch or two shorter than Ryan, he was stockier, built like he did pushups for a living.

  Unlike her own mother, their mother Bridget was no shrinking violet. Though she looked like she’d worked hard in her life, her faded blue eyes were kind and radiated intelligence. She didn’t wear clothes that advertised her widow status. She dressed very hip for her age in a crisp white oxford, black jeans and sequined flats that sparkled in the chandelier’s light.

  Sophie pulled her hand from Ryan’s and shook their hands firmly, then sat down at the table. She debated between taking him out back and throttling him now or waiting until brunch was over. Involuntarily, she shook her head. No, she’d do it slowly, starting now. Honesty was always the best policy.

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” she started. “Ryan neglected to mention that I would be meeting his family today. He mentioned a get together with some friends,” she said, emphasizing the last word.

  Their mom patted her hand, casting a scathing glance at her son. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry about that. You should know I raised my boys to behave better than that. But I promise, we won’t bite.”

  “Thanks.” Sophie put on her most endearing smile. “So, have you guys been here before? What’s good, Mrs. Becker?”

  His mother opened the menu and looked at Sophie. “Call me Bridget, dear,” she said. “I’ve heard that the best dish is the strawberry and cream stuffed French toast.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” Sophie said, snapping her menu shut. The waiter came over with a bottle of champagne and offered a glass to everyone at the table. Ryan’s mother accepted a glass and Sophie, eyeing Cameron’s drink, asked for a mimosa. Ryan had plain tap water.

  When the waiter came back this time, they ordered. Sophie and Bridget had the French toast, Cameron eggs Benedict, and Ryan had a Cobb salad, hold the dressing.

  When they were all alone again, Cameron spoke. “I hear that you’re a makeup artist. How did you end up doing that?”

  So, it was going to be that kind of breakfast. Her father, the consummate interrogator, would have been proud. She was grateful when Ryan pulled her hand in his. It gave her the strength and confidence to face anything. “Back when I thought the entertainment industry was exciting, I dropped my major and switched over to that.”

  Cameron caught the implication in her words.

  “Are you that jaded already? You seem kind of young for that kind of cynicism,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Sophie paused a moment, carefully weighing her response. “Sometimes I imagine doing something else, that’s all.” She hoped he didn’t ask what else she considered doing. Her painting was something she kept very close to her heart.

  “Did you grow up in Los Angeles like these boys?” Bridget asked, cutting Cameron off before he could ask more probing questions.

  Sophie nodded. “In the San Gabriel Valley,” she said, non-committally.

  “Pasadena? I occasionally worked over there.”

  Sophie didn’t beat around the bush for once. Evading questions about her background took more energy than telling the truth, and after the weekend she’d had with Ryan, she didn’t have the energy for evasion. “No. San Marino, actually.”

  Bridget paused, nodding knowingly. “What did your father do?”

  “Mom, that’s enough,” Ryan said. “This is not the Inquisition.”

  “We’re fine,” Sophie and Bridget said almost simultaneously. Sophie shot Ryan a look that said, You got me into this. She turned back to his mom.

  “My dad is Harry Reid. He’s a federal judge in Pasadena,” she answered.

  “You’ll fit in here perfectly, then. We’re a law and order family now. My Cameron’s a police officer for the LAPD, and you already know Ryan’s a lawyer.”

  Sophie and Bridget got along like a house on fire. Once she passed Bridget’s test, the conversation flowed more smoothly. Sophie had worked on some of Bridget’s favorite shows, and was able to give her lots of harmless behind the scenes gossip that would set her cronies’ chins wagging. It was the kind of thing she used to impress out of town visitors, but now she knew it worked for the boyfriend’s mother as well. Sophie didn’t pause to think about the implication of boyfriend. It spelled commitment, and she wasn’t about commitment.

  They talked for a good hour or so. The obvious tension finally eased from Ryan’s shoulders and he looked like he was able to relax and join the conversation. She didn’t know why he was so tense if he’d been the one to bring her to brunch, but maybe it was more important to him than she’d realized at first. Throughout brunch, Ryan stayed connected to her even when he wasn’t looking her way or talking to her. He rubbed her back briefly, relieving the tension gathered between her shoulder blades. He held her hand when it lay idle. He smoothed his fingers along her bare leg, ostensibly calming her, but doing more to make her think of what they would do to each other later.

  After the room emptied and they’d had a number of refills on water and coffee, Cameron looked at his watch meaningfully. “Mom, I have a late shift today, so we’ve got to get going if I’m going to get to the station on time.”

  “That’s too bad. I was so much enjoying Sophie.” She turned to Sophie, grasping her hands. “You’ve been such a breath of fresh air. Brunch hasn’t been this interesting in a long time.” Bridget gathered a surprisingly fashionable white denim jacket around her shoulders. Its rhinestones glittered like diamonds. “You’ll have to come over for dinner sometime. I’ll make one of Ryan’s favorites.”

  “I’d like that very much,” Sophie said with sincerity. She had enjoyed spending time with Ryan’s mother. Bridget was as different as could be from her parents’ contemporaries—who were constantly one upping each other with more expensive cars, ever bigger houses, and more extravagant vacations.

  Ryan was quiet for the short ride back to her house. Sophie skirted the house, walking to the small backyard, and opened the back door to greet the excited puppy. Ryan sat under the patio umbrella, extending his long legs casually, crossing them at the ankle. When she finally sat, he turned to her, his eyes serious.

  “Thanks.”

  “For what? Your mom was great and your brother was nice, though he scares me a little,” she admitted.

  “Cameron can be a bear sometimes. I think he takes his ‘cop’ persona too far, but he’s fiercely loyal to Mom. He does everything he can to make her more comfortable.”

  “Is she still working?” Sophie asked hesitantly.

  “Nah.” He shook his head. “Not that it wasn’t a fight getting her to retire. But between Social Security and the two of us, we’ve got her covered. We can’t get her to leave the old neighborhood, though.” He curled his fist. “We tried to get her into a new condo years ago, but she’s got everything she could want out there, I think.”

  Sophie patted his arm. His bicep tensed reflexively. “It’s good to see a parent-child relationship that works.” She looked off into the distance, staring at nothing in particular. She tried not to be jealous when she met people whose parents so obviously cared for them. She knew deep in her heart that her parents loved her. But she would never have the easy camaraderie of Ryan and his mom—the nitpicking and constant criticism got in the way of that.

  Ryan grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers. “Come
here,” he said gruffly, hauling her onto his lap. “I’m sorry we had to end the weekend early.”

  “It’s okay. You had to work.”

  “It was work, Sophie,” he said with finality, dismissing any thoughts of rejection from her head. “It had nothing to do with us.”

  She put her hands flat on his broad chest, ready to push herself off his muscular thighs. Why did he have to make it all so complicated? She was fine with just hot, mind-blowing sex.

  He stilled her movements. “Don’t run.”

  She settled more comfortably in his lap, though her heart beat a mile a minute. Of its own volition, her hand reached around him, stroking the vulnerable area at the nape of his neck. At his deep intake of breath, she started to pull back.

  He sensed her hesitancy. “It’s okay. I love it when you touch me.”

  She continued to stroke him, running her hand through the silky curls at his nape. “It’s not…I’m not coming on to you…I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay to want to touch me. I like the way you feel.” He weaved their fingers, her small pale hand in stark contrast to his larger, tanned one. “I like holding your hand, knowing that you’re close by my side.” He laid their joined hands near his heart. She could feel each beat pulse beneath their fingers. Tentatively, she laid her head on his shoulder. She felt overwhelmed. The sense she had now was indescribable—it wasn’t lust or passion, but something else she didn’t have the right to feel in a “no strings” relationship. Her emotions right now made her think of a future with this lawyer, and that wasn’t in the cards.

  “I think I’m falling in love with you,” he whispered into her hair, his breath moving the strands, tickling her scalp.

  Sophie pulled herself up abruptly. She darted her gaze everywhere but in his direction. If she looked into his eyes, she would see a reflection of his feelings. She didn’t want this from him. She didn’t want this from anyone. She shook her head, more vigorously every second. When she pulled away this time, he let her go. She stalked across the yard, leaning against the side of the garage. After a long moment, he joined her, leaning his shoulder against the wood siding.