Clear as Glass

by Lynn Kellan

  “Something happened the week before the wedding,” Veronica chimed in. “I overheard him talking on the phone. He wanted to know why she’d gone out to dinner with another man.”

  “I fold, too.” Abigail scratched her head. “Who in their right mind would cheat on Mitch?”

  “We’re very biased, girls. None of us have lived with Mitch. Who knows what he’s like behind closed doors?” Veronica slid a glance at Jaye. “What is he like at home, anyway?”

  Pretending she wasn’t living with him would be foolish. These women probably knew she would be occupying Mitch’s extra bedroom long before Jaye found out.

  “I haven’t spent much time alone with him, but I can tell he’s devoted to Blake Glassware,” Jaye acknowledged. “When he’s not working at the factory, he’s fixing up his house. I can tell he renovated the hall bathroom a little while ago. It’s beautiful, with new fixtures and a big shower. Oh, he’s also addicted to coffee and can’t cook a thing.”

  “We know all that.” Veronica elbowed Jaye. “What is he like?”

  “Well, he’s bullheaded, opinionated, and has to do things his way. He’s ferociously protective of Blake Glassware, especially if he thinks an outsider might interfere. On the flip side, he’s loyal and smart.” When she recalled his smirking threat to feed her to a fire-breathing dragon, she laughed. “I’ve never had so much fun arguing with a man. He’s very funny, even when he’s mad.”

  “We haven’t seen much of the funny side lately.” Veronica tossed four chips into the center of the kitchen table and smirked at Jaye. “Okay, slick. I want to buy a new lamp for my desk at the office. You ready to lose?”

  “No way. I’m taking your money so I can buy some decent boots. I had no idea this part of Pennsylvania was so cold. My toes are ready to fall off.” Jaye matched Veronica’s bet.

  “Show me what you got, city girl.”

  Jaye laid down her pair of threes.

  “Sorry, kid, but I’ve got a couple of brides.” Veronica threw down two queens and swept the chips into her enormous pile.

  “Goodbye, boots.” Jaye sighed. “Hello, frostbite.”

  Abigail twirled one of her gray curls around her finger, studying Jaye. “Mitch watched you walk out of the factory today. It’s not the first time I’ve caught him staring. I think he likes you.”

  “I doubt it. He was probably watching to make sure I didn’t steal any glassware.” Jaye swept the long fringe of her bangs out of her face. “He distrusts consultants so much, there’s no way he can like me.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right.” Veronica shuffled the cards. “Every consultant has caused chaos at the factory. Mitch would never date one.”

  “Can you imagine?” Sarah grinned. “He can’t be civil to a consultant, much less kiss one.”

  “You’re not taking into account one important thing, ladies.” Abigail wagged a slender forefinger in the air. “None of our consultants ever looked like Jaye.”

  Chapter Seven

  “It’s past five.” A slow grin broke across Mitch’s lips as he strode across the lobby toward her. “Shouldn’t you be cooking my dinner?”

  Jaye fired a warning squint his way, but didn’t put much vinegar in the look. The way his faded jeans clung to his lean hips made her insides whir like a computer stuck in an infinite loop. She pointed to a shiny balloon wedged near a duct in the vaulted ceiling. “I have a problem.”

  Mitch looked up at the rainbow of ribbons dangling from the inflated unicorn’s tail. “I didn’t peg you for the type who liked balloons.”

  “I’d go back to the store to get another one, but this was the last one in stock.” Jaye winced as a ceiling fan threatened to lop the unicorn in half. “Do you think you can get down the balloon?”

  “Not without help.” Mitch tipped back his baseball cap and scratched his forehead. “No one is around. I just sent my crew home for the day.”

  Jaye caught sight of Nick striding down the corridor, briefcase in hand. “Maybe someone else can lend a hand.”

  Nick stopped in front of the glass shelving featuring their stemware. “What’s wrong?”

  She repeated her tale of woe, all too aware of Mitch’s narrowed gaze. His father seemed to buy her story, but Mitch yanked the brim of his cap low on his forehead.

  “The balloon will lose helium and sink. Then you can re-inflate the thing. Problem solved.” With a negligent flick of his big hand, he headed for the studio.

  “I can’t wait too long.” Jaye crossed her arms over her navy blazer and shot a worried glance upward. “I wanted to drop the balloon off at Veronica’s house for her granddaughter’s birthday.”

  “It’s for Lydia?” Looking over his shoulder, Mitch frowned at the balloon. “I’ll get the ladder.”

  The balloon collided into a rafter, prompting Nick to stride toward a set of switches on the wall. “I’ll shut off the ceiling fans.”

  Looked like these two men could work together, after all. Jaye stuffed her hands into the deep pockets of her blazer and stared at the balloon. The darn thing looked forlorn, skittering around like it was looking for a way out. She could relate to the feeling. “I’ll start making dinner.”

  Mitch tied the balloon to the back of a kitchen chair. “We got the unicorn.”

  “You did?” Jaye set the lasagna on the stove and turned. Light from the brass pendant fixture glinted off the balloon’s metallic surface. Happiness skipped through her. She couldn’t resist giving the balloon’s ribbons a wistful touch. “How did you get it down?”

  He squeezed past her to wash his hands at the sink. “Dad held the ladder while I made the climb. Had to swing a broom to get the tail within reach.”

  She thought about how high Mitch must’ve climbed to reach the vaulted ceiling, and nervous perspiration bloomed in her palms. Wiping her hands on her jeans, Jaye put a huge slice of aromatic lasagna on a plate and handed him the serving. “Thanks for rescuing the unicorn.”

  He gazed at the broad square of steamy wide noodles, cheese, and sauce. “Seems too coincidental that you needed help after most everyone left the factory. If you’re dreaming up ways to get my father and me to collaborate, don’t bother. Nothing will work.”

  “You two got the balloon, right? I’d call that a roaring success.” She struggled to lift her serving from the pan, but the cheesy strands were as strong as rubber bands.

  Mitch placed his plate on the counter, his upper arm brushing against the sleeve of her Tufts University T-shirt. “So this was a scheme.”

  She dropped the slice of lasagna back into the pan and pointed the spatula at him. “I let go of the balloon by accident, not on purpose. I had no idea it would fly up to the ceiling so fast.”

  “Oh, come on. Are you telling me you’ve never held onto a balloon before?”

  The spatula slipped out of her hand and slapped onto the floor. Red sauce splattered across the faded beige linoleum. She snatched a paper towel to wipe up the mess, glad for the excuse not to meet his gaze. Truth was, she’d never touched a helium balloon until today. Balloons, birthday parties, and stuffed animals weren’t part of her childhood—but admitting such a thing sounded too crazy to be true.

  And too pathetic.

  Placing the dirty spatula into the sink, Jaye caught Mitch frowning at her. She broke eye contact and tossed the paper towel into the garbage. “When was the last time you and Nick talked about something that had nothing to do with the factory?”

  “Dunno.” Mitch reached into a cabinet to pull out two glasses. “Dad walks out on most of our conversations.”

  “I know.” A rush of compassion softened her voice. “I’ve seen Nick walk out on you three times since I arrived. On Monday, he scrammed when you asked if he read your report. Tuesday, he left when you requested an updated copy of the budget. Today, he pretended not to hear when you suggested stacking the inventory differently.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “I sit across from your father’s office.�
� She shuffled through a drawer for a clean spatula. “I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but your Dad never closes his door.”

  Mitch filled one glass with water and turned off the faucet with a quick wrench of his wrist. “He just walks out on me, right? No one else, I hope.”

  “Just you.”

  “Good.” Mitch took a long drink.

  Jaye paused, watching his throat work with every swallow. Gold whiskers sprouted on his skin, making him look a bit prickly. Beneath that layer of gruff, though, he seemed willing to take the brunt of his father’s surliness if everyone else was treated right. Amazement at his selflessness grew.

  The more she got to know Mitchell Blake, the more she liked him. His aversion to consultants seemed to be his only flaw. What rotten luck.

  After shoving a clean spatula under her slice of lasagna, she placed her serving on a plate and popped a gooey wad of mozzarella into her mouth. The cheese sizzled against her tongue like a glob of hot lava. She spit out the fiery mouthful. The steamy white blob flew past Mitch’s plate and landed in the sink with a sloppy thwack. “Oh, gosh.” She pressed her fingertips against her mouth with a relieved shudder.

  Mitch did a double take at the gob of cheese stuck to the sink’s wall. “Do you city girls spit when you’re putting extra cheese on someone’s lasagna?”

  “No, it’s just—the cheese is h-hot.” A spasm of embarrassment forced a laugh out of her throat. “I’m really sorry.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “You don’t sound sorry.”

  “No, I am. I-I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to spit so close to your dinner.” She covered her mouth to stop a giggle, but trying not to laugh made the whole situation funnier. A weird noise came out of her nose.

  “Whoa. Did I just hear a snort?”

  She nodded and walked away, trying to pull herself together. Geez, she hadn’t laughed like this in ages. Close to hysterics, she struggled to take a deep breath.

  Mitch moved his plate to the table and arched one brow. “You can’t spit this far, can you?”

  “Stop.” Jaye put her hands on her knees and laughed harder. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Hang on, I’ll get you something to drink.” A moment later, he nudged her shoulder. “Maybe something cold will help.”

  A chunk of mozzarella sat in the glass, fueling her hilarity. She pushed away his thick forearm and wheezed, “No, thanks.”

  “Would you prefer Cheddar?” he inquired, polite as a maître d’. “Or maybe a slice of Provolone?”

  “Water,” she pleaded, wiping her eyes.

  He filled her glass. “It’s damned difficult to be angry at you when you’re giggling.”

  She straightened and let out a soft hiccup. “I really did get the balloon for Lydia.”

  “I already figured that out.” He extended the glass in her direction. “Try not to spit water at me.”

  “Okay.” She took a small sip.

  “I’m not much for sitting at the kitchen table.” He jabbed his thumb toward the living room. “Mind if we watch TV during dinner?”

  “Sounds good.” She snickered.

  He shook his head and picked up both plates. “If we wait until you stop laughing, we’ll never eat. Let’s plow forward. I’ve got to get to the gym tonight. Grab my water.”

  “Okay. Where do you want to sit?” She followed him into the living room and realized there was only one place to sit—the couch. Laughter bubbled up again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything strikes me funny tonight.”

  He sat on one side of the couch and slid her plate onto the scarred coffee table near his. “Come here, giggles. I’ll find something that’ll put an end to your mirth.”

  Jaye sat beside him. “Put on something depressing, like the stock index. Or maybe the news.”

  He flipped to the NFL channel. “How ‘bout a rerun of the Buffalo Bills game? If this doesn’t demoralize you, I don’t know what will.”

  She snorted. “Are you a Bills’ fan? You poor man.”

  The frown reappeared on his forehead. “Do you like football?”

  “My father named me Jayson, remember? I’m the son he never had. He took me to a ton of Patriots’ games when I was a kid. That’s his idea of fun.” Jaye cut off a tiny piece of lasagna and chewed with tiny bites, babying the burnt spot on her tongue. “Geez, what a rotten pass. Your quarterback didn’t pay any attention to the coverage.”

  Mitch stopped chewing and swallowed. “I might as well ask. What’s his name?”

  “Huh? Who?”

  “The guy you’re dating.” He pointed his fork at her. “A woman who likes football is difficult to find. So, who found you?”

  Jaye kept her gaze on the television screen. “I’m single. Not many guys think the way I react to hot cheese is attractive.”

  Mitch jammed his fork into the lasagna. “That’s their loss.”

  Chapter Eight

  A sharp chirp jolted Jaye out of a deep sleep. She fumbled for her cell phone and squinted at the brightly lit screen. Six-thirty on Saturday morning. With another blink, the text came into focus.

  “I’m slipping back into my addiction, Jaye. I need your help. You’re the only one who makes me want to be a better man. Don’t turn your back on me. I love you…David.”

  At the word addiction, Jaye wondered how many women he boinked this week. Setting her cell phone back on the nightstand, she rolled onto her stomach and fisted both hands under the pillow. How far would she have to run to get out of his reach? How much time would pass before she felt whole again?

  Her pulse banged a loud thud, thud, thud in her ears. She flipped the pillow and shifted, but couldn’t escape the rhythmic drum of her broken heart. Wide awake, she threw back the faded navy blue comforter and sat on the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor felt like a sheet of ice beneath her bare feet. With an absent-minded tug on her white camisole, she tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack. The hallway was dark, save for the violet light of dawn filling the distant living room. The house sounded empty.

  Mitch’s bedroom was in the opposite wing of the house, so there was little chance he’d catch sight of her prancing around in her camisole. She grabbed some clothes and walked across the hall to the bathroom.

  The full bath had the rustic elegance of those she’d encountered during a trip to the Tetons. Textured sandstone tile covered the floor and a walnut vanity contained two sinks. She turned on the shower and undressed. When ribbons of steam filled the air, she stepped under the spout. Water streamed down her face like hot tears. Her eyes ached with the effort to hold her own at bay. Crying about David wouldn’t solve anything, so Jaye opened her eyes and frowned at the two plastic dinosaurs standing beside a bottle of shampoo, their teeth bared. How had a Stegosaurus and a Triceratops ended up in Mitch’s extra bathroom?

  Did he have some weird dinosaur fetish?

  She finished showering and got dressed, careful not to make noise as she walked into the living room. Past the empty couch and darkened flat-screen TV, she padded past the brick fireplace. Gray ashes lay beneath the black grate, evidence a fire had filled the hearth not so long ago. She slowed her gait near the hallway leading to the master suite. Mitch’s bedroom door was wide open. Jaye stared like a moon-eyed teen at the unimpeded view of his room.

  An attractive dark bureau sat along one wall, facing a massive king-sized bed. Thick, white covers were yanked over the mattress.

  “Geez, Mitch. Do you work on Saturday mornings, too?” She scratched her head. “You Buffalo Bills’ fans are gluttons for punishment.”

  She strode into the kitchen and placed her phone on the counter in case her father called. There was no time to dawdle. A three-hour drive was needed to get to Davis Software’s headquarters in Syracuse. Her father had scheduled an “informal” meeting so she could begin working with the administrative team.

  Perhaps starting a new project would help her forget David’s text.

  The kitchen’s back do
or swung open. Mitch strode in, wearing a dusky brown camouflage jacket and pants. “If you’re cooking breakfast, count me in. I doubt you can top those pork chops you made Thursday night, but I’m willing to let you try.”

  “Sorry, I’m just having cereal.” She poured some granola into a bowl. The icy air from outside crept under the hem of her slacks and between the buttons lining the front of her blouse.

  He closed the door with a soft thump. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She frowned at him. “Why?”

  “Your eyes look red.” He pulled a bright orange knit cap off his head, crushing the hat in his hand. “Have you been crying?”

  The cereal box thunked on the counter, throwing a grain of oatmeal against Jaye’s neck. The crumb slid into the neckline of her blouse and stopped between her breasts—as unexpected as his question. She felt her face go bright red, but forced herself to meet Mitch’s forthright gaze. “I received an upsetting text from someone this morning, but I’ll be okay.”

  “Fair enough.” He tossed the hat onto the kitchen table.

  She swept the bangs out of her eyes. “Were you at the factory?”

  “I was hunting.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he headed for the sink.

  With a sharp glance out the window, Jaye spotted a brown lump lying in the bed of his rusty blue pickup. “What did you catch?”

  “An eight-point buck.” Water ran. The liquid soap dispenser squirted.

  She’d seen dead deer on the roads before, but never one someone intentionally killed. The tip of her nose touched the cold windowpane. “Wait a minute. I think I saw the deer move.”

  “Not likely.” He ripped off a paper towel. “You didn’t grow up around hunters, did you?”

  A self-deprecating grin lifted the corner of her mouth. She turned to face him. “Ever try getting a hot dog at a Patriots’ game during half-time? If that’s not hunting, I don’t know what is.”

  “Point taken,” Mitch conceded, filling a glass of water.