by Thea Dawson
“You’re amazing!” Beth whispered a few minutes later. “Could I ... could I have that? I’d be happy to pay you,” she added quickly.
Celia looked up at her in surprise. “You can have it. You don’t need to pay me or anything.”
“Oh no, I want to. You’re a real artist.” Beth lifted a designer handbag off the floor and extracted an elegant leather wallet. “I’ve only got $25 on me at the moment, but I could write you a check ...”
Celia carefully tore the page out of her sketchbook. “Really, that’s okay—” she tried to insist, even as she recalled Paul’s most recent lecture about not selling themselves short.
“Seriously, take it.” Beth held out a twenty and a five. “And don’t forget to sign it in case you’re famous someday,” she added with a smile.
Celia pocketed the money with thanks and quickly signed and dated the picture. Beth stood up with the paper in her hands, her face bright with delight. “I love this! I’m going to go show it to one of my friends.”
Celia smiled, flattered by Beth’s enthusiasm. She glanced back at Rowan, who was still being kept entertained by the novelty of new toys. Rosie, on the other hand, had moved to the window and now had her eyes glued on the dancers.
Uh oh, Celia thought. It was now only a matter of time before Rosie begged for dance lessons. There went the $25 in her pocket, plus, no doubt, quite a bit more.
“Excuse me.” An older woman slipped into the seat that Beth had left vacant. “Beth just showed me those lovely drawings you did of her daughter. Would you be willing to do something like that for my granddaughter? She’s the short girl in the middle row with the pale blond hair.”
Celia scanned the classroom for the little girl, finding her quickly. She had a bright, cheeky smile and Celia smiled in response. “She looks like she’d be fun to draw. Yeah, I’d be happy to.”
“And could I give you a check? Is it $25?”
Celia glanced at her, her brow furrowing slightly. She felt odd taking money for these quick sketches, but having taken money from Beth, it wouldn’t have been fair to give the next one away ... and an extra $25 was certainly welcome. “Sure. A check would be fine.”
She focused her next series on the little blond girl who, despite her delicate looks, was a bit of a clown. Celia did her best to imbue her sketches with some of the girl’s cheerful energy.
When she was done, the woman beside her laughed. “That one of her with her hands on her hips—that attitude! You nailed it. Thank you so much. I’m going to get this framed and give this to her mom on her birthday.” She extracted a checkbook from her bag. “Who should I make this out to?”
No sooner had Celia taken the check when another woman approached. “I know class is almost over, but will you be back again next week? I’d just love to have you do some sketches of my daughter.”
“Oh—I don’t know ... Maybe.” Before she could think it all the way through, another woman approached her.
“Hi, I’m Charlene Ross. I’m the director of the studio. Could I talk to you a moment?” Though several years older than Celia, Charlene showed off her trim figure in a black leotard and tights. She looked taller than she really was thanks to her elegant posture and the tight bun perched at the top of her head. She was attractive but intimidating in a classic dance-teacher kind of way.
Celia wondered if she’d broken some rule by charging for her sketches on studio property. Glancing hastily at Rowan and Rosie to make sure they were both still occupied, she followed Charlene a few steps away from the gaggle of other parents.
“Beth and Maisie showed me your sketches. You’re very talented, but I’m not sure this is the best way to sell your pictures.”
Celia blushed. “Sorry, I wasn’t planning on it—”
“No, no, it’s fine. I just think it might get a bit hectic with parents trying to grab you. Some of our moms can be quite, er, assertive. But here’s what I was thinking—if you wanted to arrange ahead of time with parents to come in and do sketches of their children, that would be fine. You could work out whatever arrangement you like with them. In return, I wonder if you could do a few sketches for the studio?” She indicated the empty walls beside the classrooms. “I’d love to have some of your work on display, and I’ll be happy to refer you to parents.”
Celia pondered the offer. “Thank you, that’s a really interesting offer. It’s really a matter of if I have time. Why don’t I mat some of the pictures I did tonight for you, and we can take it from there?”
“Wonderful,” Charlene agreed. “Bring them in when you’re ready, and bring some business cards as well. But don’t wait too long. Mother’s Day will be here before we know it, and these would be wonderful presents.”
Celia nodded appreciatively. “Thank you. I’ll see what I can do.”
Once the students had filtered out of the classroom and she’d bundled her group back into the car, they made a quick stop at her house to pick up some extra clothes then went back to Peyton’s house for dinner.
“It’s too bad my dad’s not here,” Peyton said as they ate. “He likes meatloaf.”
“We’ll save some for him, then,” Celia promised.
“Why did he have to go to San Francisco in the first place?” asked Lily.
“He’s visiting his friend Susan,” Peyton replied around a mouthful of meatloaf.
Celia’s ears pricked up. “I thought he was going to a conference.”
Peyton shrugged. “I don’t think so. I think he was just visiting Susan.”
“Maybe she’s an engineer too, and they were both at the same conference?” Celia speculated, half to herself.
“Maybe.” Peyton shrugged again. “I think she’s an engineer. They went to college together or something, and now she lives in San Francisco. She’s very pretty. He showed me her picture online.”
Celia frowned at her plate, curiosity vying with an unpleasant emotion that she couldn’t quite identify.
Wait. Yes, she could. She was jealous. Which was ridiculous, of course, given that Richard had never given her any reason to think that he saw her as anything more than a nanny or, at best, a fellow parent. But now that pretty Susan, who’d known Richard for years and shared a career in common with him, was part of the picture, Celia felt an uncomfortable sense of possessiveness toward her boss.
But she stuffed the unwelcome emotion down, cleared the plates, and offered everyone dessert.
11
Even the long delay getting home couldn’t put a damper on Richard’s spirits. He’d spent yesterday afternoon and part of this morning with Susan and her team and the results had been everything he could have hoped for. Relief mingled with excitement coursed through him. Under other circumstances, he might have been furious at the airlines and resented the flight to SeaTac, but now he rather enjoyed the extra time and used it to catch up on some reading.
His only real concern had been making sure Peyton was taken care of, and Celia, God bless her, had it under control. He sincerely hoped that it hadn’t inconvenience her—she was so nice that she probably wouldn’t tell him if it did—but hopefully she’d see that this was actually good news for her as well, and wouldn’t mind too much once she had the whole story.
The 90-minute drive home from Portland International flew by. As Richard pulled into the driveway, he noticed that there were still a few lights on downstairs. With any luck, that meant Celia was still up. He wanted to talk to her about his new situation. And even more, he wanted to share his good news with someone.
He left the car in the driveway, inhaling the soft spring air as he got out of the car and stretched. He grabbed his bag from the trunk and went in through the front door.
Celia was sitting in the living room, her laptop on her lap, and a sketchbook by her side. She looked up as he entered.
“Welcome home,” she said, smiling a little shyly. “How was your trip?”
He grinned. “It went very well. Very, very well. I can’t thank you enough for h
elping me out here. This trip was really important, and knowing I didn’t have to worry about Peyton was just ...” he groped for words for a moment, “You’ve just been amazing. Thank you so much.”
Her face lit up at his praise. “You’re welcome. We all had a nice time. I think Peyton was a bit disappointed that she didn’t get to see you, though.”
He nodded, his smile fading slightly. “I’m just going to run upstairs and give her a kiss. You going to be up for a bit longer? I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“Yeah, you want me to heat up some dinner for you?”
“My God, you’re an angel. That would be great!”
He went upstairs, dropping his suitcase off in his room before tiptoeing into Peyton’s room. She was sound asleep on the bottom bunk. He kissed her gently on the cheek and smiled at her before tiptoeing out again and back down to the kitchen where Celia was taking a plate of meatloaf out of the microwave.
“Fantastic!” he said after a mouthful. He groaned with pleasure. “I can’t even tell you what a treat it is to come home to a warm dinner. I grabbed a sandwich at SFO, but that was ages ago. This is delicious.”
She laughed a little at his enthusiasm. “Maybe you’re just extra hungry,” she suggested.
“Either way, it’s a treat. Hey, will you join me for a glass of wine? I’ve got something to celebrate, and I’m still kind of wired from the trip.”
“Gosh, sure, I’d love to.” She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but didn’t. He could tell she was curious, though.
He was already at the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne. He winked at her, and made for the cupboard where the wine glasses were kept. “This really is worth celebrating. Might be good for both of us. If you’re available, I may need you to work more hours starting in a few weeks.”
“Oh. That would be ... great,” she said. He was too busy pushing the cork out of the champagne bottle to fully register the hesitation in her voice. The cork popped audibly and foam bubbled out the slender bottle neck. Richard caught the liquid deftly with a kitchen towel and quickly poured the champagne into two waiting glasses. Humming slightly, he handed her a glass and clinked it with his own.
She stared at him, her face a cross of amusement and apprehension, and took a careful sip. “So ... what exactly are we celebrating?”
He laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry. You must think I’m crazy.” He took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing: for several months, I’ve been talking to a friend of mine I went to graduate school with about doing some consulting work for a company she’s starting. I finally went out there, made a presentation, met the rest of the team, and I’m in! I’ll be working on their project close to full time over the summer, then when the fall semester starts again, I’ll be telecommuting.”
Celia looked at him expectantly as if I waiting for him to say more. “So ... are you looking for another job?” she finally asked.
He shook his head. “No, I busted my ass to get tenure here, and the university’s got great benefits. And I want to stay in town. Peyton’s had enough upheaval in her life; I want to keep things stable for her.” He took another sip of champagne. “The thing is, I can’t keep this house just on what I make as a professor. We bought it at the height of the market, thinking we’d have Melanie’s salary as well as mine to pay it off, and then the bottom dropped out—” he waved a hand, “you know the story. It’s worth about half what we paid for it now, so even if I sold it, I’d still be in debt.” He gave a resigned shrug. “So now I’m stuck with it. I’ve been talking to my lawyer about doing a short sale, but that’s going to wreck my credit. So we’ve been living sort of hand-to-mouth here for a while.”
Celia choked slightly on her champagne. He gave her an absent-minded pat on the back. “Sorry,” she coughed. “I didn’t realize you were having problems.”
He took another sip of his champagne and smiled again. “I didn’t want to burden Peyton with any of this, so I’ve kept it pretty close. But this consulting job should last at least a year, and it pays very well, enough that I should be able to hang on to the house for the foreseeable future. And with any luck, this job will lead to others. And here–” he clinked her glass again and they both took another sip—“is where you come in. I’m going to have to be out of town on and off over the summer, and I’ll need you to look after Peyton.”
He suddenly heard the tone of presumption in his voice and hastily backtracked. “I really hope you’ll consider it,” he said humbly. “Peyton adores you and your kids, and I can’t even tell you how much easier you’ve made my life.”
She stared past him, her forehead crinkled slightly, and took another sip of her drink as she absorbed this information. “Oh, good … I’m glad to help.”
Concerned what sounded like misgiving in her voice, he went on quickly. “I shouldn’t ever be gone more than two nights,” he added quickly. “And we can discuss your wages. I know I’m asking a lot, especially over the summer, but I was planning on sending Peyton to a full-day camp so she’d be out of your hair most of the day—”
“No, no, that’s fine,” Celia interrupted quickly. “She’s not in my hair at all. We all love being with her. And absolutely, I’d love to keep working over the summer. Um ... let’s work out the details later.”
“Good idea. Your glass is almost empty. Would you like some more?” He grinned boyishly at her.
“Sure, I’d love some.”
He took her glass and stood up. Celia was still looking at him as if she was expecting him to say more.
“Peyton was talking about someone named Susan.” She paused. Richard was focused on filling their glasses and didn’t reply so she went on. “I thought … maybe you were getting engaged or something.”
Richard looked up at her in surprise then burst out laughing, a deep, rich laugh she’d never heard before.
“Oh, God, no! Susan and I went to Stanford together. She’s a brilliant engineer, and we’ve been friends for years, but she’s very happily partnered up—” he gave her a significant glance, “--with another woman. No, we are celebrating the fact that a good deal of my money troubles are over, at least for the moment, which means I can provide a stable home for my daughter and continue to keep you employed for the foreseeable future.”
He winked at her and clinked her glass again.
“Do you want to go out on the patio?” he asked. “It’s a beautiful night.”
“All right,” she said.
He pulled the glass door open for her and put his hand on her shoulder as he ushered her out ahead of him.
Glasses in hand, they looked up at the stars together. “It is a gorgeous night,” he said. “You know, I know I’m really lucky. Beautiful house, healthy kid. I’ve just been so stressed out about things over the past year or so that I haven’t had the chance to just sit back and appreciate what I have. You know, I didn’t go swimming a single time last summer when we had the pool open. Total waste. I hope you and your kids will make good use of it this summer.”
She murmured something affirmative and he went on, “I’ll be gone quite a bit this summer, but I’m going to make sure I make this most of this damned house. This summer, I’m going to go swimming every day that I’m here. Maybe we should have some parties, too. Melanie used to organize great parties for us, she was always a lot more social than I am. But you’ll help me out, won’t you?”
“That sounds like fun,” she said quietly. She shivered slightly as she looked up at him with that sweet smile.
“Are you cold? Do you want to go back inside?”
“No, no. I’m fine, really,” she murmured, taking another sip of champagne. “It’s nice to see you so happy.”
“Hold this.” He handed her his glass, which she took wordlessly. He slipped out of his blazer and threw it around her shoulders, tucking the lapels around her collarbone before taking back his glass and raising it to her again. She stared up at him, an expression of mute surp
rise in her deep, clear eyes.
He looked down at her, really looked at her. Perhaps it was the good news he’d just shared or perhaps it was the champagne, but he was happier than he had been in ages, since long before Melanie had left, and it seemed natural to reach out with his free hand to push a stray strand of hair away from her face and cupped her cheek in his hand. They each stepped closer and then his arm was around her waist and his lips were on hers.
He was so tall that she had to stand slightly on tiptoe to reach him. The scent of expensive aftershave enveloped her. His tongue ran over her mouth, lightly at first, then more insistently. She parted her lips to let him in and met his tongue with hers. She reached up to stroke his face with her hand, delighting in the feel of his skin against hers.
A small voice in the back of her mind seemed to be whispering that the relief she felt that he was still single was too much, too soon, nowhere near appropriate for the circumstances, but she brushed it aside.
A weight had lifted from her and she felt as if the champagne bubbles were coursing cheerfully through her veins. He wasn’t engaged, Susan was just a friend, and her gruff, taciturn boss had somehow been transformed into a boyishly happy man who was holding her in his arms the way she’d dreamed of for weeks.
The kiss seemed endless, but eventually he broke away, though he continued to hold her closely. “You want to go make out on the couch like a couple of crazy teenagers?” he whispered mischievously into her ear.
She giggled. Somewhere in the back of her head, the nagging voice suggested that making out with her employer was a really, really stupid idea, but she could hardly hear it over the rush of hormones and the sound of her rapidly beating heart. He was just as handsome as ever, and his good mood and enthusiasm had made him even more attractive. And it had been so long since she’d been kissed, let alone this passionately ...
“Yes,” she whispered back.