Long Slow Burn

by Isabel Sharpe

  Kim folded her arms on the kitchen table and buried her head in them. What had she been thinking? How had she allowed something as stupid as a fantasy to creep into the reality of who Nathan had always been?

  She couldn’t even think about having a relationship with a man she couldn’t trust.

  14

  MARIE STEPPED BACK from the wall of Kim and nodded in satisfaction. “I think it’s perfect.”

  “Yes!” Candy stood next to her, wiping a smudge of glue from her nose. “It is perfect. I’m so glad we did it ourselves.”

  Marie stepped back to get the full effect. With the guys’ help, they’d taken pictures and hangings down from one wall in Candy’s living room, moved chairs and a table down to the basement and hung up poster-board panels. But when Kent and Justin had started randomly throwing on the memorabilia that Kent and Nathan had collected—from Kim’s apartment, a jumbled mess in a box Kent retrieved from his place, and a frighteningly organized assortment from Kim and Kent’s mother—Candy and Marie put their feminine feet down.

  After sending the boys away with assurances they couldn’t have done it without manly assistance, Candy and Marie had gone to work constructing a timeline. Pictures of Kim as a baby, as a little girl next to a fantastic dollhouse, as a young girl and teenager; letters she’d written from camp, from college; dried flowers from her high school graduation, prom, the opening day of Charlotte’s Web; funny emails Kent had saved and printed out; her first baby shoes, her first toe shoes, a high-heeled black sandal they’d badgered her into buying on their recent outing.

  Marie stopped by the last item, sent over by Nathan and prominently displayed: architectural plans for Kim’s lost childhood dollhouse. The guy had to be in love with her to do something that sweet. Marie understood Kim’s fears over falling for a player, boy did she ever, but she hoped Kim would give him a chance.

  A long sigh preceded her millionth time check of the afternoon. Marie was a nervous mess over her regular Roots Cellar date with Quinn that night. She was going not as a friend, but as a woman.

  After her lightbulb moment on the banks of the Milwaukee River, she’d gone home and done some listening to her instinct, which told her loud and clear that Quinn was what she wanted. Romantically. Sexually. The whole enchilada.

  She couldn’t in good conscience encourage Kim to go for it with Nathan and not take that risk herself. She’d chosen tonight for no particular reason except she’d decided there was no point waiting. Tonight she’d start showing Quinn she could be more than a friend. Tonight she’d start trying to interpret various signs that he could be interested as encouragement, instead of trying to find every possible reason she might have misunderstood his signals.

  And if the effort was a complete disaster, so be it. Life would go on. The very next night, she’d be back here, surrounded by friends celebrating Kim’s thirtieth birthday. Maybe she’d even try dating. Maybe she was more ready than she thought.

  “Okay. Let’s see.” Candy fished a worn piece of paper out of her apron pocket and consulted it. “Computer cake’s baked. I’ll frost it tomorrow. Custard in the freezer, sandwich fillings ready, her favorites, egg salad and salami with cream cheese. We’ll put those together tomorrow, too. Chips, soda, beer, wine, all those are coming with guests. So on, so on, yadda yadda, I think we’re good!”

  “You’ve done great as usual, Candy. Thanks for your hard work.” Marie glanced at her watch yet again, though she knew exactly what time it was. She had one hour to go home, change into a brand-new outfit bought for the occasion, and show up slightly late to be sure he’d already be there. Maybe she could manage five minutes of deep breathing so she didn’t hyperventilate. “I should get home.”

  “Going out tonight?”

  “To a neighborhood bar. A regular Friday night…gathering.”

  “Sounds great.” Candy put the list in her pocket, then dug it out again. “Oh, I need to wrap Kim’s underwear. Leopard print for our wild jungle beast. She is going to die.”

  Especially with Nathan right there imagining her wearing it.

  “She’ll love it. Have fun.” Marie hugged Candy and grabbed her bag, saw herself out into the chilly afternoon and drove home, seriously risking a speeding ticket.

  One hour. Less now.

  In her room, she shed her jeans, sweater and comfortable walking shoes and marched determinedly to her closet where the dress of seduction awaited. Not that she’d ever look like the kind of woman Quinn regularly, er, associated with, but compared to her usual, Marie would be hot tonight. The outfit had taken two exhausting days to find. Marie was adamant the dress be sexy without looking as if it were trying to be, and sophisticated without being fancy.

  Finally, in a small downtown boutique she almost passed by, she’d struck gold. No, not on the clearance rack, but some things were worth paying for, and this was one of them. The dress had a white cotton knit bodice that crisscrossed over her chest, exposing more cleavage than she was used to, but not more than plenty of woman out there showed on a regular basis. A band of solid blue hugged under her breasts; from there a blue-green floral skirt flowed to just below her knees, camouflaging and concealing in all the right ways. She’d even found a pair of blue high heels, which added important inches to her height, and which she could actually walk in instead of teetering.

  Maybe she was being silly putting so much emphasis on one night and one dress, but too bad. This was how she wanted to try. If Quinn had decided to pursue a girlfriend, it was time she let him know she considered herself in the running. And if he rejected her, okay, she’d show him in word and action that she accepted his decision, and wouldn’t let it ruin their friendship.

  After she died a little.

  The dress wouldn’t be wasted. There would be other men to wear it for, other occasions. She’d rebuilt so much of her life after the divorce, making all her own decisions. This time she’d be making her own relationship decisions, too.

  The dress went on smoothly; she zipped it up and smiled happily at her reflection. She hadn’t imagined how flattering the style was for her coloring and her figure. This was a dress she could wear confidently, and which might even turn a few heads. Including Quinn’s.

  Makeup went on lightly; no need for overkill. Panty hose, shoes, very simple jewelry so as not to look overdressed, including the ring she’d finally called Grant to tell him he wasn’t getting back. Another victory. More porgress. She wanted to wear the ring and enjoy it without being haunted by pain or memories.

  A critical last once-over, and she tugged up the neckline, worried about overexposure. In the next second, she let it go back down. What the hell? Might as well give him an eyeful. She’d never met a man who objected.

  There. She was ready.

  She was beautiful.

  She was sexy.

  She was terrified.

  No, none of that. Marie picked up her new purse—yes, a blue one—and strode to the front door. She called goodbye to Jezebel, who meowed to wish her luck, grabbed up a light jacket—blue!—and headed outside, wondering if this was how Cinderella felt before going to the ball. And how Marie Antoinette felt on the way to her beheading.

  Marie marched out into the evening, thinking confidence, thinking success, visualizing Quinn’s face lighting up at the sight of her, visualizing his eyes darkening, visualizing him taking every opportunity to touch her while they chatted, visualizing herself receptive, not overeager and not at all nervous.

  Oh, God. Could she do this?

  Of course she could! She’d been doing nearly the exact same thing every Friday for weeks now, without the cleavage and flirting. Cleavage did its own work. Flirting wasn’t hard, especially with someone as charming as Quinn.

  She reached the restaurant, took a moment to steady her breathing, to stand straighter, hold herself taller. She’d go inside the main restaurant, down the stairs to the Cellar Bar, greet Quinn, casually take off her jacket and perch gracefully next to him as if this were the
same as any other Friday night they’d spent together.

  Or wait, maybe she should take her jacket off sooner, and float downstairs with it draped over her arm, in case he was watching for her. A movie-star entrance.

  Okay. Here goes.

  She opened the front door and sauntered in, head held high. At the top of the stairs, she took off the jacket, slung it over her arm and poised her hand elegantly on the railing.

  The first step. Second. She wasn’t tripping, wasn’t shaking too badly. This was fine. Another step. Another. Now the hem of her dress could be seen. Step. Step. Now the waist…the cleavage, step, step, and the full picture.

  Marie kept an unconcerned look on her face, staring straight ahead, when she was dying to turn and peek. Was he watching? He’d certainly be there by now. She’d been careful to calculate that much.

  At the bottom of the stairs she turned to face the bar.

  Yes.

  He was there.

  With a woman.

  His arms were around her, and he was whispering into her ear. She was dark, slender, beautiful.

  Quinn finished whatever he’d said and she laughed, gazing up at him with clear adoration while he gazed back with equal tenderness.

  Marie froze. She couldn’t move. Not forward. Not back. He took the woman’s hand in both of his and leaned forward, speaking earnestly.

  Slowly, Marie backed up. Slowly, she turned. Moved back up the stairs slowly, not wanting to call any attention to herself, though it didn’t look as if Quinn was aware of anything but the woman with him.

  As soon as her head was out of sight, Marie sprinted up the rest of the flight, executed a few moves worthy of a running back to avoid waitstaff and patrons in the restaurant, and burst out into the cold, damp, unpleasant April evening. Alone.

  She reached home and kicked off the damn shoes, in which she’d twisted her ankle twice hurrying on the uneven pavement. Up the stairs, into her room, purse tossed onto her bed. The jacket came off, the dress came off, Grant’s ring came off. She washed off the makeup, came up from the bowl of the sink with her face streaming water, got an eyeful of her sorry, sodden state, and burst into tears.

  Half an hour later, her sobs had quieted and she’d already started working on her self pep talk. Disappointment was natural. But she’d built this fantasy all by herself out of nothing, and someday it would go back to being nothing. Quinn wasn’t the last man in the world, he was the first. The first to get her out of her lethargy, out of her relationship coma, to awaken in her the desire to share herself and her life with someone again. That was important, that was a good thing. She was grateful to him for that.

  The rest of her plan would go forward. Tomorrow she’d be at Kim’s party. Sunday she was visiting a college friend in Madison. Monday she’d think about signing up for a dating site—sadly not Milwaukeedates.com, that would be unethical, but one of the big ones. There were men out there who would appreciate her smarts and independence, who didn’t have Quinn’s relentless need for perfect faces and bodies. Who’d have fewer commitment issues, less baggage and plenty of other good traits.

  Feeling a swelling of strength, she splashed water on her face again and dried it, picked up Grant’s ring—no, her ring—from her dresser and shoved it back on her finger, admiring its glitter. This wasn’t the end. This was the beginning. The beginning of the second phase of Marie’s love life. And she was ready.

  From her phone in the next room, she heard the beep of an incoming text message. Candy, most likely, with more party needs.

  She went into her bedroom, dug her iPhone out of her purse, peered at the screen and held it, staring. From Quinn.

  Hey, where are you? Get over here, I want you to meet my sister.

  NATHAN RAISED A BEER he didn’t need to his lips. His sixth? Seventh? He didn’t know. Too many, though he’d been at it since… He peered at his watch. Whenever. Was it really that late? He wanted to know if Kim was back from her date. He wanted to know that she’d had a terrible time. But she might not be back. She and Dale might have had a fabulous, romantic evening, and she might have decided to end it naked and sweaty in his bedroom.

  Pain stabbed Nathan so hard he nearly moaned.

  There was no way he could have sat home tonight in their living room alone, waiting for her to come home. Or not come home.

  So he was sitting on the floor in Troy’s living room in his ritzy house in a ritzy neighborhood, watching some stupid made-for-TV movie with Steve, Kent and Justin, Troy’s friend and coauthor and fiancé of Kim’s friend Candy. Nice guy. Oh, and Dylan. Dylan was lying by Nathan’s side. Dylan was a dog. A very cool dog.

  “Nathan.”

  “Huh?” He blinked blearily around the room. Someone talking to him?

  “Nathan, man, you have been a complete lame-ass all night.” Steve stuffed a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “What is up?”

  Nathan turned to Steve, who’d had two beers to every one of his. Maybe that’s why he looked sort of blurry. “Not much. I’m in love.”

  The words spilled out of his mouth. He had definitely not been planning to say them. But there they were. A relief, actually.

  “Man, you are pathetic!” Steve jiggled more popcorn in his palm. “The same one from that day at Wolski’s? Angelina?”

  “Not Angelina.” Nathan imitated his derisive tone. “She’s a fantasy. I’m in love with a woman. I want to marry her.”

  Those words had definitely not been planned. What the hell was this beer made of? He’d barely slept the night before; that had to be compounding his, uh, condition.

  But marry her? He wanted to marry Kim?

  Yeah. He did.

  The room had gone quiet. Kent turned off the TV.

  “What did you just say?” Steve’s hand was frozen halfway to the popcorn bowl.

  “I’m in love.” He got unsteadily to his feet. Dylan did the same, but he got to wag his awesome tail. “Crazy effing in love with her.”

  “Aw, man.” Steve threw his hands up to his forehead in despair, as if something truly nightmarish had happened, like the Packers’ quarterback had been sacked. “You idiot. I told you, keep the balls to yourself.”

  Justin gave Steve a withering look before turning to Nathan. “What makes you think you’ve been hit?”

  “Other women were like…” He frowned, trying to get his brain to cooperate. “What’s that stuff magicians use that flares up, then disappears?”

  “Flash paper.” Kent had done props for musicals in high school. “Burst of fire and it’s gone.”

  “Right. That’s what women have always been for me. This is more like…” He paused, hand moving up and down like a chopping ax, trying to come up with the image he wanted. “It’s like a long, slow burn.”

  Justin was nodding. “That’s exactly what it feels like. A long, slow burn that never goes out.”

  “Gimme a break.” Steve waved them away like a bad smell. “That’s fairy-tale bullshit.”

  “Then you’ve never felt it,” Justin said, with considerable acid in his tone.

  Silence. It occurred to Nathan that none of them had ever taken Steve on like that, no matter how much they disagreed with him.

  “Who is it?” Kent asked. “Do we know her?”

  “Yeah. We do. Especially you.” He gave a harsh laugh. “It’s Kim. Your sister.”

  Kent stood up. He’d look threatening except he’d fallen asleep earlier and still had ink from a magazine picture decorating his cheek. “What the f—”

  “Kim?” Troy lifted his beer. “Kim is awesome. Nice, funny, hot…”

  “Then why didn’t you go out with her again?” Justin asked. “I thought you were going to.”

  “I was.” Troy flashed a glance at Nathan. “She, uh…I didn’t want—It was complicated.”

  Nathan peered at him curiously. Something weird about that excuse.

  “Oh, no.” Justin pointed his bottle accusingly at Troy. “Don’t tell me it’s still Debby.”

/>   “Not Debby.” Troy shook his head emphatically. “She called me again and I blew her off. Marie Hewitt from Milwaukeedates.com has been talking to me about new matches. I’m over her, really this time, and looking around.”

  “Good man.” Steve crunched another handful of popcorn, pieces of which fell from his lips to the carpet. Dylan moved in for cleanup duty. “You gotta keep those balls where they belong. Unlike some of us.”

  Justin rolled his eyes. “Steve, my guess is that you were either hurt badly and haven’t stopped pouting yet, or you’re gay.”

  The guys hooted with laughter. Nathan decided Justin was a great guy. He loved him. He loved everyone, but mostly Kim. And not Steve, who’d turned an unbecoming shade of purple and had risen to his feet.

  “You want to say that outside?”

  “Jesus, Steve.” Kent sounded as disgusted as he looked. “You need to get over yourself.”

  “He called me gay.”

  “You’ve called people worse.”

  “Time to go home, Steve.” Troy stood and opened his front door. “That crap gets you thrown out of this house.”

  Steve walked threateningly toward him, but as he approached and had to tip his head back farther and farther to keep looking Troy in the eye, he apparently changed his mind, turned around, grabbed his jacket and left, muttering obscenities.

  “Nice guy,” Justin said. “I can see why you hang around him.”

  “Yeah, maybe that needs to change.” Troy shut the door with a flourish and aimed a kick after it.

  “Nathan.” Kent turned to him. “What the hell are you doing with my sister?”

  “Everything.”

  Kent’s eyes narrowed. “You better—”

  “Making dinner. Helping her with her work. Taking her kayaking. Trying to become a better man for her.”

  “Oh.” He deflated a little. “That’s it?”

  “That’s all that’s your business.”

  “If you hurt her…”

  “Ha! If anyone is going to do any hurting here, it’s her. I’m gone. I’m history. This is it.”