“Okay.” Marie shifted position, frowning slightly. “Your profile. You’ve described yourself well here.…”
“But?”
“But.” Marie put the papers down and met her eyes. “You make yourself sound a little dull.”
“I am a little dull.” She held up her hand when Marie started protesting. “I don’t wear makeup, I don’t own sexy clothes, I rarely go out. Men who want that whole hot party-girl thing aren’t going to want to waste time on a date with me.”
“Most men only want that kind of woman in fantasy.” Marie leaned forward earnestly. “Here they ask for honest women, loyal women, women with brains and with a sense of humor. You’ve got all that, but you make it sound as if you have nothing to offer. ‘I stay home most of the time. I don’t like crowds or noise.’”
Kim shrugged. “I want to be honest about who I am.”
“Understood.” Marie held up the page and shook it vigorously. “But this is maybe half of who you are.”
Kim tried to keep from bristling, without much luck. “How would you change it? With some dating euphemism? Like when Realtors say ‘cozy and quaint’ and mean ‘cramped and dingy,’ instead of ‘shy’ I should say I’m ‘serene’ or I have ‘hidden passion’?”
Marie dimpled a too-innocent smile. “Why, that’s exactly what I was going to suggest. ‘Hi, I’m Kim. Serene with hidden passion.’”
Kim’s cranky outrage wilted into laughter. “Ew.”
“We’ll move on for now. Tell me about your past relationships. The main ones. What the men were like, what happened, etc.”
Ugh. Kim wiggled farther back into the chair. “Well, let’s see. First boyfriend, Sam, in high school. Geek like me, quiet, we both had horrible skin and a love for all things computer. That lasted three years. We broke up when we went to college.”
“Because…”
“Our relationship had gotten too predictable and we both wanted to grow.”
“Understandable. Were you sexually involved?”
“Yeah.” Kim blushed. “Or something like it. High school, you know.”
“I do. Who came next?”
“Josh, in college. We dated for a year, then he ended it. He was a physics and philosophy double major and didn’t have time for a girlfriend.”
“Ouch.” Marie grimaced sympathetically. “Nice when you come first, huh?”
“Yeah, it didn’t feel great.” Kim adjusted the hem of her sweater, wanting to change the subject, but knowing Marie wouldn’t let her off the hook. “I survived.”
“After that?”
“Oh, well…” She took a sip of coffee that suddenly tasted bitter.
“Hmm.” Marie narrowed her eyes. “Something not so great.”
“Tony.” Kim let her head drop back against the chair. “Big, handsome jock, the kind of guy I’d get a crush on but never thought would be into me.”
Marie lifted her eyebrows. “I’m not surprised he was.”
“Yeah, well, I was suspicious, but he kept coming around.” She put her mug on Marie’s desk. “He was charming, persistent and surprisingly interesting to talk to. I got sucked in, started dressing better and wearing makeup. I went on meds to clear up my face. I looked good and felt great, and thought, Oh boy, the birth of New Kim! I loved the attention, not only from him, but from his friends. Seemed like wherever we went, they were watching me. I thought I was hot stuff.”
“You are.” Marie held up Kim’s profile again. “You’re selling yourself way short here. You should be—”
“Wait.” Kim shook her head, throat tightening. “Let me finish. I finally trusted him enough to let him in, to care about him. One night after he’d taken me to some horrible, loud party where I drank too much to be able to stand it, we went back to his place. He lived off campus, and his roommate wasn’t there. We had sex all over the apartment all night long. Incredible sex, I-didn’t-know-it-could-be-like-that sex.”
Marie’s frown crept back. She obviously couldn’t figure Tony out any better than Kim had been able to. “And this was bad how?”
“Turned out he had a bet with his friends that I’d be better in bed than I looked. Apparently he considered himself an expert at being able to tell which geeky girls were hot in the sack.”
“Ah.” Marie’s lips tightened. “I can see why you’re not keen on the phrase ‘hidden passion.’”
“Then it got worse.”
“Oh, Kim.”
“Since he won the bet, he had to beat his chest all over campus.” Kim screwed her eyes shut. “I had guys lining up to ask me out for weeks after, thinking they’d get what he got. I’m sure it never occurred to them I’d actually started to like the pig and that’s why I slept with him.”
“I’m sorry.”
Kim opened her eyes, hating the quaver in her voice the story could still bring on. “I got over it. Mostly. But now I avoid any guy who seems more concerned with what a woman represents than who she is. That whole ‘score at any cost’ mentality.”
“Your brother and new roommate.”
“Bingo.” She pointed emphatically at Marie. “Kent probably inherited his roving dick from Dad, who constantly cheated on Mom until he left her. I know there are better men out there. I just want to make sure I get the right kind. So if I sound boring on my profile, and my picture is plain, tough. I don’t want to attract another shallow jerk. I want someone to love me for me—no makeup, happy in a quiet life at home, geeking out with my computer.”
She finished, a little out of breath, and waited for a reaction. Marie sat quietly, watching her as if she was trying to make up her mind about something.
“Okay.” Marie got up with her usual grace and went around behind her desk. “I get what you’re saying. I had two men picked out for you before this meeting. I still want to show them to you, and I want you to look with an open mind. If you’re not interested, you can go online and choose whatever profiles you want. Just bear in mind that sometimes when we feel fear or aversion, it’s not necessarily good instinct talking. It can be habit or baggage instead. Very hard to tell the two apart. Deal?”
Kim reached for her mug, fingered the textured porcelain and then took a sip. She’d only have to look. Nothing more unless it felt right. “Okay. I’ll check them out.”
“Good.” Marie tapped a few letters on the keyboard. “Here.”
Kim got up stiffly; she must have been tensing her body ridiculously tight. Not many people had heard the story of Kim and Tony, at least not from her. Since college she’d told only Kent, trying to make him understand why she hated the way he and his friends talked about and treated women, but he’d just insisted she didn’t understand.
Yeah, no kidding.
“This is Troy.”
Kim found herself looking into a pair of the deepest, darkest eyes she’d ever seen, jumping off the screen under a strong forehead and tousled dark curls. Handsome. Very. Wearing a Green Day T-shirt over broad, developed shoulders.
Immediate panic kicked in. She didn’t want to go out with him. “He’s nice looking. Sexy.”
“He was adorable when we met. Gentle and very sweet. Smart, too. Works in IT, so you have computers in common. He owns a house in Whitefish Bay not far from the lake and lives there with his dog, Dylan. Solid career, and he’s writing a book with Candy’s fiancé, Justin, so they can vouch for him, too. I think he’s worth giving a try.”
Kim tilted her head noncommittally, sick with nerves.
“Take your time, Kim. This is not a speed test. You can stare at him to your heart’s content in the privacy of your own home or ignore him completely. It’s up to you. You have all the power in this situation.” Marie tapped a few more keys and Troy’s midnight brooding eyes disappeared. Kim felt immediate relief. “Here’s the other man I thought might interest you. His name is Dale.”
“Dale.” She stared at the ordinary face filling the screen, and the pang of relief turned into a buzz of excitement. Light brown hair in a basic short c
ut, brown eyes behind chic frameless glasses that made him look professor-smart. He wore a dark suit that sat well on his shoulders—all she could see of him. His expression was serious, but not grim. His eyes looked kind, and his lips quirked as if he was about to smile.
“He works for Johnson Controls as a consultant. Does a lot of traveling, all over the world. He’s charming, educated, well-read, into yoga, skiing, sailing. Very interesting to talk to. I liked him.”
“Skiing? Sailing?” She snorted. “Not really my speed.”
“Honey, you’re twenty-nine. You can’t possibly have figured out everything about how you fit into the world. Maybe when you’re ninety, but even then I’d have my doubts.”
Marie had a point. Kim gazed into the warm brown eyes on the monitor. Something about this guy…
“Think about it. I can set up dates with both of them if you want, and if they want.”
Kim imagined herself sitting across the table from Troy even for an hour. She wasn’t sure she could do it. That handsome face would completely disconcert her. She’d babble, stutter and spill drinks.
“Kim.” Marie’s hand was comforting on her arm. “I know this is pushing you out of your comfort zone. Putting yourself out there is very hard. For you and for every single person that comes through that door, and if it’s not, there’s something wrong. Troy and Dale may not be the guys you pictured when you thought about signing up, but you don’t have to marry either one of them. You don’t even have to do more than look, exchange an email or have a quick cup of coffee.”
“True.” She wished that made her feel safer.
“It’s a place to start. When you left your full-time job at Soka Associates five years ago to start Charlotte’s Web Design, you took an enormous leap of faith, much bigger than going on an experimental date.” She gave Kim’s arm a squeeze. “This will be easy in comparison.”
Kim nodded, experiencing a jumble of mixed reactions: fear, excitement, pride and an overriding desire to run home and hide in bed. But if she always gave in to fear she’d still be miserable at Soka. Still be dating Sam. Still the same old pimply, dowdy Kim.
Marie tapped a few more keys; Dale’s face disappeared from the monitor but lingered in Kim’s brain for a few pleasant seconds before Troy’s dark eyes and lean features supplanted his.
Kim had come a long way. What hadn’t killed her had made her stronger, and there was no reason she couldn’t continue to change and grow, as Marie said, even if, God forbid, Charlotte’s Web failed. She wanted a relationship, and she’d lose nothing by meeting with these two. Call it practice, if that made the hours easier to cope with. And if she babbled and stuttered and spilled, so be it. No animals or small children would be harmed in the having of these dates.
“I’ll do it.” She spoke impulsively, started to take the words back, and found she couldn’t, because she didn’t want to take anything back; from now on she wanted to take everything forward.
“Both of them?”
Kim nodded firmly, her face flushed. “Both of them. I’m ready.”
2
“HEY, NATHAN.”
“Mmph?” Nathan opened one eye. Kim. What was she doing in his bedroom? Undoubtedly not what he wanted her to be doing in his bedroom.
Wait. He wasn’t in bed. He was on the couch in her—their—living room. What the—
“Did you remember to get wine on your way home?” Hands on her hips, lips pursed. “For my book club meeting tonight?”
Wine? Oh, no. He must have fallen asleep. She’d asked him this morning to get some; his fog-brain did remember that much. “I don’t think so.”
Kim’s face set. “No problem. I’ll get it.”
“No. No.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and shook his head, trying to clear it. Wine. She’d wanted him to get some on his way home from…where? “I’ll get it. I said I would. Wait, what time is it?”
She looked at her watch. “Almost four-thirty.”
His memory came back. He’d gone out after his bartending job at the Hi Hat Lounge last night, stayed out until four, gotten to work at Alterra Coffee at six, then stumbled home and slept through his four o’clock appointment with his faculty advisor, during which he was to have reported on progress he hadn’t made. He was supposed to buy Kim’s wine on the way back.
Nathan bounced off the couch, got an instant brownout and had to bend over until his vision cleared.
He was never, ever drinking tequila again.
“How long have you been asleep? Didn’t you have an appointment with Dr. Stephanopolous?”
“Um. Maybe.”
“Oh, no.” She used that tone he hated most. That what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you tone that meant all she saw was her little brother’s loser friend. He couldn’t tell her about the panic that gripped him when he tried to work, the compulsion to jump up and run, the inability to focus, the instinct that putting more work into what he’d planned was shoving bad after worse.
Sometimes he thought he was going nuts.
“I’ll call and straighten it out. Then I’ll get the wine.” He staggered forward into the pizza he’d bought after work and half finished before nodding off. Squish. A tepid slice stuck to the bottom of his bare foot. When he shook free, the sauce-slathered crust dropped back to the plate but the mozzarella clung. He hopped a few times, lost his balance and fell back on the couch, his cheesy foot sticking into the air.
Why always in front of this woman? If she laughed, he’d join her.
She didn’t laugh. She sighed.
He hated those sighs. “Help, cheese is trying to eat my foot.”
“Nathan.” Amusement in her voice this time. Good. He could usually get her to laugh. Someday soon he hoped to earn respect along with that laughter. Maybe affection. Maybe more.
She disappeared and came back with a paper towel, her hair in an endearingly sloppy ponytail, her slender, toned body hidden under baggy gray sweats and a shapeless sweater. “You are truly something.”
“Aren’t I?” He grinned up at her, the oh-so-charming, cocky boy-man she expected, and took the towel to wipe his foot clean. “Thanks for the rescue. I have to call Dr. S., then I’ll get your wine, I promise.”
Dreading the next installment of his advisor’s disappointment, he strode over the crooked, scarred hardwood floors of the narrow hallway to his bedroom, painted a vibrant blue by Kim before he’d moved in early in the month. She’d done amazing things with blasts of color here and there, but the apartment had definitely seen better days. As far as Nathan was concerned, however, any place Kim lived was paradise. He still couldn’t believe fate—or rather his previous landlord selling the building—had made this miracle possible.
After searching through piles of laundry and stacks of paper, his phone appeared on the floor next to his drafting table. He made the call quickly to get it over with, then found Kim in their old-fashioned kitchen, whose drab colors she’d ambushed with bright red canisters, colorful bowls of fruit and intricately patterned decorative tiles.
“What’s that smile for?” She’d picked up his pizza plate and glass and carried them to the sink. Why hadn’t he taken the time to do that? Fifteen seconds wouldn’t have made his screwup with his advisor worse, and it would have kept Kim from having to treat him like a little boy again.
“You won’t believe me.” He nudged her out of the way at the sink and took over washing. “Dr. S. forgot our meeting. He couldn’t apologize enough.”
“Are you serious?” She stopped drying her hands on a red towel. “You’re not kidding?”
“Would I lie to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“I wouldn’t.” He gave a final rinse to the pot he’d used to heat stomach-soothing oatmeal for breakfast, and set it upside down in the drying rack. “I told him not to worry, that I’d waited outside his office only fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.”
Kim shook her head in exasperation. “I swear, you are the luckiest person on the planet. Totally self-indul
gent and it never catches up to you.”
“Self-indulgent? Me?” He pretended comic outrage, though the barb hurt. Comments like that from Kim only bolstered his determination that while they were living together she would come around to seeing him differently. Yes, he’d always been disorganized. Ask his mom how often he’d left homework materials at home in the morning and at school in the afternoon. But he was plenty smart, and had been a good student all his life until the previous semester, when the panic and mental blocking started. “I was exhausted and fell asleep. That’s human nature, not self-indulgence.”
“Exhausted from being out until four in the morning. That’s self-indulgence.”
“I was at a friend’s bachelor party.” He tossed down the sponge he’d used to wipe the sink, and leaned against the counter so he could watch her. “You can’t leave those early. It is written.”
Kim scrunched up her face. “Where?”
“In The Man’s Guide to Being Manly.”
“Aha.” She spooned flour into a metal measuring cup. “I knew that book existed somewhere. Did you write it?”
He puffed out his chest, flexed his biceps. “You need to ask?”
“Oh, um, of course not.” She put away the flour, consulted her recipe, dumped a stick of butter into the mixer bowl with some sugar and turned on the battered yellow machine. She seemed tense, had been for the past few days. He hoped she hadn’t had another setback on the Carter bid. He didn’t understand her thirtieth-birthday deadline for giving up on Charlotte’s Web Design. Seemed an artificial stopping point to him. But then he hadn’t been struggling for five years, day in and out, to keep his dream alive the way she had.
“Can I help?”
“Wine.”
“Yes. Wine. I’m on my way. I have your list.” He patted his pockets frantically. “Somewhere.”
She picked up the paper from the counter, where it lay in plain view, and smacked it into his hand, leaving flour smudged on his palm.
“Oh, there.” He waved cheerfully, groaning inside, took the elevator down and jogged through the chilly March wind to the liquor store, a couple blocks east on Oakland. If he ever managed to do something macho and smooth around Kim she’d probably have a heart attack from the shock. Luck didn’t ever seem to be on his side where she was concerned.
Long Slow Burn Page 2