by Lee McKenzie
“Good. I’ll grab a couple of tools and be right back.”
All sorts of tempting aromas rose from the take-out containers lined up on the counter. She felt a little light-headed, she was so hungry. “We could leave it till after we eat.”
“How much did those earrings cost?”
She shrugged. “A lot?”
“We’ll get it now.” He went out the back door and disappeared into a small shed. A few minutes later he was back with a red plastic bucket and a handful of tools.
She followed him to the bathroom. “Is there something I can do to help?”
He gave her two tools. “Sure. You can hand these to me when I need them.”
She took the tools and stood back while he opened the vanity and emptied it. Then he set the bucket under the sink.
“Pass me that small wrench.”
She knelt on the floor and gave him the smaller of the two tools she was holding, which turned out to be the right one because he used it to unscrew something from the underside of the pipe. Some gray-colored sludge drained into the bucket.
Max squeezed into the tiny bathroom, nearly knocking her over. She grabbed Brent’s shoulder to steady herself.
He glanced back at her and the oversized dog. “I should have put him outside.”
“I can do that,” Leslie offered. But before she had a chance to move, Max jumped into the bathtub.
“He’s fine in there,” Brent said. “At least he’s out of the way.” He swirled the crud that had drained into the bucket. “It must still be caught in the trap,” he said. He got down on the floor on his back, wedged his shoulders between the open doors of the vanity and angled his head under the sink.
She had no idea what kind of trap he was talking about.
With one hand he groped for a tool and grabbed her knee instead. “Sorry. I need the other wrench.”
She handed him the only other tool she had. “That doesn’t look like a wrench.”
“Basin wrench.” It clanged against the pipe and his biceps flexed as he wedged it into position. He heaved on it a couple of times and his T-shirt strained against his chest, then finally rode up, exposing hard, tanned abs. Very hard. Very nice. She tried to look away, but her eyes seemed to have a different idea.
Max leaned out of the tub and nudged her shoulder. Good dog, she thought. I needed a distraction.
Brent loosened some rings on the pipes and the curvy piece came away. He shoved himself out of the vanity, sat up and squinted as he looked into one end of the pipe. Then he tipped it her way so she could have a look. “There it is.”
As he scrambled to his feet, she jumped up and took a step backward. Max got to his feet, too, but he stayed in the bathtub. Brent set the bucket in the tub under the faucet and turned on a trickle of water, letting it run into the pipe.
The dog stuck his nose under the stream.
“Come on, Max. Out of the way.”
The dog stepped back but kept an eye on the water running from the tap.
Leslie watched as the grungy water flowed slowly out the end of the pipe. When the earring appeared, Brent caught it in his fingers and held it up for her to see, then he rinsed it under the tap and handed it to her. “Good thing we found it. It’d be a shame to lose all those diamonds.”
The sudden sharpness in his voice surprised her. “They were a gift from Gerald,” she said, holding it in her palm, still a little reluctant to touch it after seeing where it had been. “I’m going to give them back.”
“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t lose it.”
That was true. “Nothing is going right today. I’m usually not this much trouble.”
His eyes seemed to soften. “Leslie, you’re no trouble. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to clean out the trap once in a while.”
“Is it called that because it traps things that fall down the drain?”
“Afraid not. Every time you turn on the tap, most of the water runs through the system but some of it always stays behind in this bend. That water closes off the pipe so gas from the sewer doesn’t come up into the house.”
“That is really disgusting.”
He laughed. “Not as disgusting as a house full of sewer gas.”
That was true. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation like this.”
“And I’ve never had to fish diamonds out of a drainpipe. I guess that makes us even.”
“Actually, I owe you for this. For everything.”
“Next time I need something, I’ll know who to ask.”
For the first time that day he sounded like the guy she’d known in high school, always quick with a comeback and a double meaning. It had bugged her in those days, but right now she didn’t mind playing along. “You can ask, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get what you want.”
“I’m well aware of that, but sometimes persistence pays off.”
His gaze held hers like a magnet. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried, and the walls of the tiny bathroom seemed to close in on them. She might have been tempted to continue the game if he hadn’t just let on that her being here had something to do with his persistence. She had assumed his driving by the church had been a coincidence, but what if it wasn’t? If that was the case, it definitely wouldn’t be right to lead him on, and she always did the right thing.
Brent lightly touched her shoulder and urged her toward the door, then bent to pick up the tools. “Dinner’s getting cold,” he said softly. “I’ll put the plumbing back together while you serve it. Plates are in the cupboard next to the fridge.”
It was as if he’d sensed her confusion and was giving her an easy way out. She took it.
Chapter Four
Leslie set out two plates, the take-out boxes and the chopsticks. She was putting away the groceries when Brent came into the kitchen. He set the bucket and tools on the porch and closed the French doors. When he turned around and looked at her, the kitchen suddenly felt as small as the bathroom.
“Um, I guess we’re ready to eat,” she said.
“Would you like a glass of wine with dinner?” he asked. “I bought white. I hope that’s okay.”
“Thanks. I’d love some. Do you mind if I use your phone to check my messages?”
“You can use the phone anytime you like.” He opened and closed one drawer, then another, and finally produced a corkscrew. “I knew I had one of these somewhere. You expecting an important call?”
“Not really. I just wondered if people are still looking for me.”
“I think it’s safe to say they are. Do you plan to return the calls?”
She shook her head.
“Then why don’t you leave the messages till you’re ready to deal with them?”
Good question. “In case you’re wondering, I’m not checking to see if Gerald called.”
“You think he would?” Brent uncorked the bottle and took a wineglass out of a cupboard.
She shrugged. “Someone called earlier, twice, and hung up.”
He glanced up at her.
“I checked my messages while you were out. I’m sure it wasn’t him, though.”
“Right.” He gestured toward the phone. “Be my guest.”
“Thanks.” But as soon as she heard the eight new messages and deleted them, she wished she hadn’t checked. For one thing, she knew Brent could probably hear them, too. Four were from Allison, who said she’d sent her husband to Leslie’s place three times to see if she was there. She might never go home if it meant having to deal with people calling incessantly and showing up at her door.
As she deleted the last message, she watched Brent pour wine into the glass. After she hung up, he handed it to her.
“Aren’t you having any?” she asked.
“Not a big fan.” He grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, twisted off the cap and touched the rim to her wineglass. He opened a drawer and took out a fork and then, almost as an afterthought, grabbed a beer glass from the same cupboard the wineglass had bee
n in.
“Speaking of messages, you had another call while you were out,” she said, catching herself before telling him it was the same person who’d called earlier.
He glanced at the phone and back at her. “Probably nothing important. I’ll listen to the messages later.” If he had already checked to see who called, he wasn’t letting on. “Let’s eat.”
Leslie hadn’t eaten all day and she was famished. After they’d both filled their plates, she picked up a piece of chicken and popped it into her mouth. “This is delicious.”
Brent nodded in agreement as he chewed the forkful of chow mein he had just shoveled into his mouth.
“You don’t use chopsticks?” she asked.
“Never did get the hang of them,” he said as he loaded his fork again. “Besides, it takes too long to eat with those things.”
She peeled the paper wrapper off the second set of chopsticks. “Would you like me to show you?”
He looked uncertain.
She handed them to him. “Just give it a try.”
“You’re really going to make me use these things?”
“It’s up to you.” She picked up her chopsticks, pretending not to notice that he watched her position them between her fingers and then tried to copy her. She twirled some of the curried noodles onto the end of hers and casually raised them to her mouth. “Delicious.”
His silent struggle with the implements made her smile. “They’re not wrenches,” she said.
He was not amused.
“If you hold them lightly, they’ll work much better for you.” She set hers on the edge of her plate. “Let me show you.” She placed his chopsticks into his hand and curled his fingers into position. “You only need to move one of them. Let the other one rest in your hand like this.” His skin was tanned and warm and a little rough in places.
She looked up and was startled by the dark intensity in his eyes. She quickly let go and took up her chopsticks again.
“Don’t try to eat anything yet. Just move them…like this.”
He shifted his gaze to the implements in his hand and made a few awkward movements with them. “My food is getting cold.”
She laughed. “You never know when a skill like this will come in handy.”
“Like when there’s a global fork shortage?”
“Very funny. You might be invited to dinner sometime and chopsticks will be the only things provided.”
He stared at her. “In Collingwood Station? Who would invite people to dinner and only give them chopsticks?”
She smiled at him. “I would, if I was serving Japanese or Thai food.”
“You would do that to people?”
“It’s good food.”
“I’m talking about the chopsticks.”
“It’s more authentic, and you get to eat slowly and savor every mouthful.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He moved the chopsticks a few more times. “Am I ready to graduate to actually eating with these things, or do I need more practice?”
“I’d say you still need a lot of practice,” she said, surprising herself by the flirtatious tone in her voice. “But the more you eat, the better you’ll get at it.”
“Now there’s something I don’t hear often enough.”
She laughed and handed his fork to him. “If you’re really starving, why don’t you use this?”
“You think I’m a quitter?”
“No. I think you’re one of the most persistent people I’ve ever met.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, picked up a piece of chicken and dropped it. On the second try he got it almost to his lips before the chopsticks twisted out of control. “Damn,” he said as the meat fell back onto his plate.
She laughed. “You almost had it.”
He gave her a bland look. “I’m also starving, and there’s no almost about it.” But he gave it one more try and that time he held on long enough to get the chicken into his mouth.
“See how easy that was?”
He raised one eyebrow at her while he made a production of chewing and swallowing, as though it might be the last thing he ever ate.
“If you’re in a hurry, you can always use your fork.”
“No hurry at all. Would you like more wine?”
Why not? “I’d love some.”
He refilled her glass and got another beer for himself.
An hour later, Leslie glanced at the clock and couldn’t believe the time had slipped by so quickly. She felt relaxed, and she was actually having fun. Or maybe that was the wine? Whatever was responsible for her current mood, it came as surprise. As did Brent’s newfound proficiency with the chopsticks.
“The next time I serve Thai food at a dinner party, I’ll invite you.” That definitely had to be the wine talking.
“Who else do you usually invite?” he asked.
Interesting question. Gerald and his friends were definitely off any future guest list, as was Candice. “Maybe I’ll invite Nick and his friend Maggie. Did you know she was his date for the wedding?”
Brent nodded.
“I think she’s good for him. My brother deserves to have a wonderful person in his life.” Leslie finished her wine. Was that the second glass? The third?
“Everybody does.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“Do you have someone wonderful in your life?” She immediately regretted the question. Definitely too much wine. “I’m sorry. Your personal life is none of my business.”
“No problem. And no, there’s no one wonderful right now. But I’d like to hear more about this dinner party. So far there’s you, me, Nick and Maggie. That sounds more like a double date.”
She felt her face heat up. “Or friends having dinner together. Or you could bring a date.”
He lounged back in his chair, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “I just told you I’m not seeing anyone.”
Which meant he wasn’t seeing Cathy Girling. “You said there was no one wonderful.”
“I wouldn’t see anyone who wasn’t.”
“What about Cappuccino Girl? Was she someone special?”
Oh my God, Leslie thought, wishing she could grab the words and stuff them back inside her mouth. How could you ask him something like that? She glanced at the half-empty wine bottle and tried to cover her flaming-hot cheeks with her hands. “I’m sorry. I think I’ve had too much to drink.”
“Who is Cappuccino Girl?” He sounded confused.
And why wouldn’t he be. “She’s nobody.”
Brent’s eyebrows went up a notch.
“Okay, she’s someone I saw you with at the deli when I first moved back to town. She was…drinking cappuccino.”
“Right.” His mouth curved into a slow, lazy smile. “I remember that day. I don’t think you stopped to say hello, did you?”
No, she had grabbed her bag and run. “You looked…busy.”
“Did I?” His amusement was really starting to bug her. “To answer your question, she was no one special. And I’m not still seeing her. In case you were wondering.”
Leslie looked down at her empty plate and fidgeted with her chopsticks. “I wasn’t,” she said. The only thing she was wondering was how an innocent invitation to a dinner party could have landed her in such dangerous territory.
“You know, Nick’s never mentioned that he was a regular at your dinner parties.”
“It’s too bad that he and I went our separate ways after I went away to college. I wish I’d never let that happen.”
Brent was watching her like a detective.
“We seem to have reconnected in the past few weeks, with the wedding plans and everything, so I think a dinner party is in order.”
“And you promise there’ll be chopsticks?” He took hers out of her hand and even in her wine-induced daze, she sensed that his hands lingered a little longer than necessary.
And then, although she was sure neither of them had
moved, his mouth seemed closer than it had a moment ago. Was he going to kiss her? Or…had she almost kissed him?
This was crazy.
“More wine?” he asked.
She put a hand over her glass. “No! Thanks, but no.”
“You should go sit in the living room,” he said quietly. “I’ll tidy up in here and join you in a few minutes.”
She nodded mutely. Normally she would offer to help, but she needed a few minutes to herself.
AFTER Leslie left the kitchen, Brent put the leftovers in the refrigerator. He should be feeling guilty for pouring that last glass of wine for her, but then she might never have said anything about the woman at the deli. For the life of him he couldn’t remember who was with him, but he remembered Leslie. He hadn’t seen her in a few years, and she had looked more beautiful and sure of herself than ever. She’d always been fiercely independent, and he’d always loved that about her. While the other girls had flirted and dressed to get the attention of every guy in school, Leslie had been her own person.
Trying to recall the identity of Cappuccino Girl had him smiling again. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Leslie had been jealous.
He scraped the plates and dumped them into the sink, but he hesitated before letting go of the chopsticks. He set Leslie’s on the counter and his next to them. Keeping them seemed ridiculously sentimental but tossing them wasn’t an option. Not yet. Something had happened a few minutes ago—electrifying moments filled with promise and uncertainty—and he liked the prospect of more chopsticks in their future.
When he went in the living room, Leslie was curled up at one end of the sofa, legs tucked beneath her and her head resting against the back, eyes closed. Max sprawled beside her, his head on her lap.
Lucky dog.
She was stroking the top of his head with one hand, so she wasn’t asleep.
It was getting hard to remember that she didn’t belong here, and she wasn’t staying. He sat at the other end of the sofa. “Leslie?”
She opened her eyes and gave him a sleepy look. “I hope it’s okay for Max to be up here. I didn’t have the heart to make him get down.”
“He does whatever he wants when I’m not here so I’ve given up trying to make him stay off the furniture.”