Some Like It Perfect (A Temporary Engagement)

by Bryce, Megan

  Her face warmed; her face said that lesson hadn’t gone according to plan.

  Jack put his hand on the small of her back as they exited the elevator. “Liar. Such a bad liar. I wouldn’t believe you even if I hadn’t seen what you’d painted on my ceiling.”

  “It’s not you. It’s not me. How many times do I have to say that?”

  “You can say it as many times as you like. I’m not going to believe it.”

  Delia let out her breath in frustration, flinging open the office door. Jack closed it carefully behind them, watching her pull on her booties, watching her think about fleeing up the ladder and away from him.

  He followed her onto the painter’s cloth, crowding her but not touching her.

  She whirled around, holding a paintbrush between them. “Your desk is over there.”

  But she kept telling him with her eyes and her mouth, I want you. I don’t want to want you.

  He wanted her. He wasn’t conflicted about it.

  She jabbed him lightly. “I’m not going to clean your paintbrush.”

  “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “You know what it means. And I’m not going to do it.”

  He bent his head until his lips brushed her ear and whispered, “I know what it means. And you’d do it if I cleaned yours first.”

  She sucked in a breath and said huskily, “I wouldn’t clean it with a ten-foot pole.”

  “What about a ten-foot tail?”

  “Come back when you have one and we’ll talk.”

  He sniffed her, right below her ear where it was warm and musky, sweet and spicy, and murmured, “I’m back.”

  She dropped the paintbrush, her fingers curled into his side, and she said, “That’s not a tail.”

  “Alas, it’s not ten feet, either.”

  He slid his hand around her waist, pulling her into him, her body fitting into his. Just right.

  She put her other hand on his chest and said, “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  “You want to, you don’t want to. You haven’t decided what you’re going to do yet.”

  He breathed in her ear, hot and moist. He didn’t say anything more, just let his breath surround her, warm her from the inside out, curl down her neck.

  When her belly quivered against his, he said, “And we weren’t talking about sleeping together, were we?”

  He put his lips on her cheek, still cool from outside, and trailed his way to her mouth.

  She closed her eyes and whispered, “Don’t kiss me, Jack.”

  He stopped at the corner of her mouth. “Why?”

  “Because one of us has to think about the future.”

  “I am. I’m thinking thirty minutes into the future when I have you naked and soaped up in my shower.”

  Her eyes blinked open. “Wait. You have a shower in your bathroom? This bathroom that I’m not allowed to use?”

  He nodded, sliding his hands up her back, pulling her even closer, and she managed, “Why do you have a shower in your bathroom?”

  “Long nights, early mornings. I can’t always get home to clean up before a function.”

  “So it’s not for getting naked with stupid women who can’t remember their plan when you smile at them?”

  “Not yet.”

  She fisted her hands between them. “The future I was talking about was more distant than thirty minutes. Like tomorrow, when I’ll still be painting your ceiling.”

  He chuckled. “I’m getting confused.”

  “And the next day, and the next, for the next few weeks.”

  “Still confused about what you’re talking about.”

  She pushed at him. “Lizard brain wants what the lizard brain wants. I can’t help it that lizard brain wants you.”

  He sighed, at the unfamiliar phrase, at her hands pushing insistently at him, and she said, “But I know you’d be the worst mistake of my life.”

  He pulled away. “Would I?”

  He was fairly certain he’d never been anyone’s mistake, let alone the worst. He couldn’t imagine he’d be Delia’s worst mistake.

  “Worse than your tattoo?”

  “Yes.” No hesitation.

  He let her go, stepping back.

  She watched him a long moment, then nodded and turned away. She scurried up the ladder, crawled onto the scaffolding.

  When he couldn’t see any part of her, Jack said, “Delia, my lizard brain wants you, too. And I know you wouldn’t be any kind of mistake.”

  Delia did not go to lunch. Jack couldn’t make her, Gus hadn’t been able to coax her down.

  And while he might have frightened her off, he thought it really was she just hated sushi. He didn’t believe, even in his heart of hearts, that Delia could be frightened off.

  Gus said, “Who hates sushi? You don’t have to get the raw stuff.”

  She ordered her own raw stuff and Jack said, “Next time, think of that before you blackmail us into believing we agreed to something we didn’t.”

  Gus smiled at him, and it made him think more went on in those few minutes he and Delia had been in their own little world than just sushi.

  Jack wouldn’t ask.

  Gus said, “I can’t believe you couldn’t talk her into it.”

  “I can’t talk her into a number of things.” And yes, he could hear the frustration in his voice. “She says I’d be the worst mistake of her life.”

  Gus said, “And you believe her?”

  He’d seen Delia’s face when she’d said it. She believed it.

  She was wrong, but that didn’t mean she didn’t believe it.

  He nodded and Gus said faithfully, “She’s totally wrong. Out of this world wrong. Couldn’t be more wrong.”

  “I get the point, Gus, thank you.”

  “No, you don’t, Jack. She threw all caution to the winds once, loved with everything she had, and he hadn’t been worthy. You would be.”

  He remembered the look in Delia’s eyes in the coffee shop. The need, the want. How he just knew that them together would be more than, better than, anything he’d had before. It would be a raging fire, burning them up.

  He could understand Delia’s reluctance to let that happen to her again. Could understand that it might be as painful as it was wonderful.

  He said, “I don’t think it would be a matter of worthy. I think it depends on whether the fire turns the two of you into ash or into steel. And maybe there is just no way of knowing beforehand which way it will go.”

  He sipped his bitter tea, thinking Delia wouldn’t have liked that either, and said, “Tomorrow, let’s go Thai. She’ll like that better. And you might want to think about what the fire would turn you and Nate into. You might want to think about if there is any fire.”

  He didn’t want to think about it. He prayed there wasn’t any fire.

  Lizard brain wants what lizard brain wants, and Jack sighed. It wasn’t Gus’s heart that wanted Nate, thank God. It was her lizard brain. Jack could accept that. As long as she didn’t end up pregnant.

  Gus slammed her hands onto the table. “She told you, didn’t she?”

  Jack debated what to tell Gus while their food was served. On one hand, he could probably trick whatever it was out of her by saying Delia had told him. On the other hand, his sister needed someone to believe in. Someone to trust completely.

  He said, “Of course not. She hasn’t told me anything. I couldn’t get it out of her if I threatened her with raw fish,” and Gus laughed.

  Jack continued. “I begged. I pleaded. She laughed in my face.”

  Confidence filled Gus and she bounced in her seat. “She might not know how to fight dirty but she wouldn’t go back on her word.” Gus poured a gallon of sugar into her tea. “She’s tricky, Jack. You’ve got to be careful with your wording around her.”

  “I really wish I knew what you were talking about.”

  Gus shook her head. “You already don’t like him. But I’ll tell you what I told Delia so sh
e’d promise not to tell you. I’m not pregnant, we don’t do animal sacrifice, and no drugs.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows and Gus said, “Hard drugs. Come on, getting baked doesn’t count.”

  Jack closed his eyes, sighing and shaking his head. “Well. . .thank you for that. I think.”

  Gus nodded magnanimously. “You’re welcome. But I’m still not going to tell you anything about him. I’ve heard enough from Delia and I know you would be even worse.”

  “She doesn’t like him?”

  “She’s never met him. She doesn’t like what I’ve told her about him.”

  Jack ate, kept his mouth full so he wouldn’t point out the obvious. That if Delia didn’t like what Gus had told her about Nate, Gus probably didn’t like it either.

  Gus said, “She thinks I should raise my standards.”

  “Maybe you should listen to her.”

  “But her standards are impossible! You don’t even pass muster.”

  Jack cocked his head. His sister had a point. “I really wonder what it is she objects to about me.”

  “She says you’re sadistic.”

  “Rarely.”

  “It really pisses her off that you won’t let her use your bathroom.”

  He couldn’t help his smile and Gus raised her eyebrows. “Maybe she does see a different side of you than I do.”

  Jack would hope so. “It would be so much less fun if she didn’t react to it.”

  He smiled again. He’d have to point out to Delia that he would have let her use his bathroom this morning.

  Gus stopped eating, putting her chopstick down. “Jack, torturing the girl you like is so third grade. Stop it.”

  He laughed. “You assume that’s what she doesn’t like about me. I don’t think that’s it.”

  “What else could it be?”

  He said slowly, hearing the truth as it left his lips, “I don’t think there is anything. I think that’s what she doesn’t like.”

  He looked into his cup, at the pale green liquid, and he smiled yet again. He said, “I think that is exactly what she doesn’t like.”

  Eleven

  Delia came to Sunday dinner at his mother’s. All it had taken was Jack saying on Friday, “She has a ceiling, Delia. She has walls crying for good art. Don’t you want enough?”

  He’d heard her muttering and cursing the entire afternoon. She’d glared, she’d banged lids and stomped up and down the ladder. She’d ripped her booties off and thrown them at the end of the day.

  She’d turned to him and he’d said, “I’ll pick you and Gus up.”

  “Fine,” and she’d slammed the door on her way out.

  Sunday evening, she and Gus were waiting outside their apartment when he drove up. Gus was wearing jeans and a bulky sweater, but Delia looked like she had dressed up from her normal, paint-covered casual to business casual.

  Her hair was smooth, the red sleek and shiny, the curls gone, and her makeup made her green eyes sparkle.

  Gus jumped in the back, waving Delia to the front and saying, “Glad you didn’t bring the convertible.”

  Jack stared at Delia’s hair.

  Gus poked her head between the seats. “She looks good, huh?”

  Jack said, “Your hair.”

  Delia smoothed her hand down it. “I thought if I was going to try and bilk your mother out of a chunk of change, I should dress up.”

  Gus said, “You’re not bilking her. She’ll love having her ceiling painted. So old world. Everyone will want one.”

  “I don’t want to paint her ceiling. I want her to buy a painting.”

  Jack thought there was no reason they couldn’t do both.

  Delia unzipped her coat in the warm car and he closed his eyes in pain. “You’re wearing a cardigan.”

  She patted his leg. “It’s okay, Jack. Tomorrow morning I’ll be back to my jeans and sweatshirt.”

  “And your hair?”

  She laughed. “If this lasts through dinner, it will be a miracle.”

  When they arrived at his mother’s and he could see the whole ensemble– emerald green cardigan, black slacks and flats– he could see how polished she looked. How normal.

  His mother would love it. His mother had complained long and loud about bringing an artist to dinner, of all things.

  Jack hated it.

  His only consolation was he could see her hair beginning to curl at the base of her neck. He wanted to twirl his fingers around in it and help it along.

  He pecked his mother’s cheek and she stared at Delia.

  Delia stared back.

  Catherine nodded at her daughter and said, “Diane came for a visit today.”

  Gus clenched her fists and raised her chin. “Did she tell you the happy news?”

  “She told me some news. She didn’t think it all that happy.”

  Gus smiled meanly. “She wouldn’t.”

  “I told her she must be mistaken. My son wouldn’t get engaged without telling me.” Her tone said she had no such faith in her daughter and this must be one of her jokes.

  Jack jumped in before mother and daughter could say anything more. “An engagement announcement was perhaps a bit premature. Although Diane may want to expand her horizons.”

  Catherine looked again at Delia. “You don’t marry the help, son.”

  Delia opened her mouth and Jack pinched her.

  He said, “She’s not the help, Mother. She’s an artist.”

  Catherine didn’t say it, didn’t need to, that an artist was worse.

  Delia said, “I haven’t said yes.”

  All three of them turned to her.

  She looked at Jack and said again, “I haven’t said yes to anything.”

  He smiled. “Yet.”

  She looked at Catherine. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be worrying about it.”

  Catherine watched Jack push her into dinner and murmured, “I think I will.”

  They sat down to dinner in the dining room and Delia kept sneaking glances up at the ceiling.

  Jack leaned in to her. “What would you do to it?”

  She jutted her chin and looked back down at her plate. “Nothing.”

  He turned to his mother. “When Delia is done with the office, I thought she could do something in here.”

  Catherine looked up at the ceiling, interested. “Do you? I’m not sure I would enjoy eating with chubby angels watching overhead.”

  Jack wished she’d thought of that before she’d commissioned them to stare down at him all day long.

  Delia said, “I can’t do the same ceiling twice.”

  Jack silently thanked a kind and benevolent God. “What were you thinking, then.”

  She sighed and looked back up, measuring the area with her eyes. “Parchment. Mottled parchment.”

  Jack wondered what she would paint into the parchment.

  Catherine said, “You don’t seem too enthusiastic about the idea.”

  “Painting a ceiling is exhausting. And painful. I don’t really want to think about doing it again when I still haven’t finished Jack’s office.”

  Jack said, “Perhaps after a short break, you’ll be ready to do it again.”

  Delia looked at Catherine and Catherine looked at Delia. They didn’t say anything, just sized the other one up. Jack thought they were probably both thinking the same thing. Maybe.

  Gus said, “Jack’s office does look amazing. You should come look at it, Mother.”

  Catherine dropped Delia’s gaze to look at the ceiling. “I think I will. I was going to wait until it was finished but now. . . Parchment, you say?”

  Delia drew in the air with her finger. “Mottled parchment with ribbons of gold sewn through it, like really old, really expensive paper.”

  Catherine relaxed into her seat. “That would be apropos in a house that paper built.”

  Jack smiled into his glass. Delia said she hated ceilings, and he had no doubt that it was exhausting and painful laying on your back all day
long with your arms in the air. But she loved it, too. She got lost when she was painting. And when did an artist ever have a big enough canvas to work with?

  Delia said, “If I do another ceiling I’m going to need an assistant. I’m tired of carrying things up and down the ladder.”

  Gus said, “I can help you at work. There’s this guy on my floor who would be happy to carry things up and down a ladder if I was watching.”

  A slow smile spread across Delia’s face. “Oh, yeah? Did you make him forget his name?”

  Gus blushed. “Yeah.”

  Jack’s pulse raced and he realized he’d have to get used to this feeling now. He was happy for Gus, happy that she was gaining confidence in herself. He could only hope she would drop Nate soon, when she realized she could have her pick of the litter.

  But he was going to have to take up yoga or meditation to help with his anxiety. Maybe Delia would have some tips for him.

  He shook his head at Gus. “You don’t need any more excuses to stop working.” He looked at Delia and muttered into his glass, “And I don’t want my little sister seeing what you’ve been painting on my ceiling.”

  “She’s eighteen.”

  Gus leaned forward. “Now I have to see what is on the ceiling.”

  His mother said, “I hope it is cherubic angels peeking out from behind clouds.”

  Delia said with a voice full of conviction, “It is. Jack thinks he can see things in the shadows.”

  Gus said, “And that’s so like him.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows at Delia and she mouthed silently, “It’s not you.”

  Her face said, Oh, it’s you.

  He smiled at her, slow and long. He knew it was him, he knew it was her, and one day she would admit it. And then. . .

  And then heat rushed into Delia’s face and she looked away from him.

  Gus rolled her eyes and smiled, all at the same time. “Googly eyes.”

  Catherine silently studied Jack and the woman sitting beside him.

  She said, “Hmm.”

  She turned away from them, dismissing something she didn’t want to think about. She said to her daughter, “Tell me about this man you’ve made forget his name. He doesn’t sound like he’s firing on all cylinders but at least he’s gainfully employed.”