Love on the Vine

by Roxanne Smith

  Kay bounded up the front steps, not feeling much in awe of anything today. She stopped short when she reached her front door, one hand jammed into her purse, fingers searching for the hard metal of her house keys. A note, square and pink, stood out like a pimple on the ancient wood. An inch of tape secured the paper.

  Noon tomorrow. Walk to the café where you had lunch with Oliver. Take a cab to Riverside Park. We’ll find you.

  So very cloak-and-dagger. Would they recognize her? She supposed if they knew her private details, they likely had a photograph. Maybe even her horrifying picture taken courtesy of the DMV.

  Kay glanced around as if she’d catch the note sticker hiding in the azalea bushes that stood sentinel on either side of the broken concrete path leading up from the sidewalk. She shook her head, her mind escaping to familiar concerns as her gaze roamed over her property. How much would it cost to rip up the cement and remove the tree roots that had pushed up and cracked the old path? Would it kill the oaks? Could she do the work herself? With everything else suddenly piled on her plate, she didn’t know when she’d have time to look into expensive landscaping repairs, let alone get her hands dirty.

  She wrenched the note from the door and threw herself inside the long, wide foyer. Her feet made loud work of the plastic sheeting underfoot. Beneath the film of plastic, the narrow planks of the original hardwood floors, scuffed and marked by age, gleamed with polish and protective coating.

  The long hallway was devoid of any furniture, and nearly half the wallpaper had been painstakingly removed. What remained stuck to the walls was jagged, ugly, and stubborn. The bare spots revealed old crumbling plaster. The whole area required brand-new drywall before Kay could put up new wallpaper, or paint, or decide if the crown molding was reusable.

  She and her old house had a thing or two in common. She could see a reflection of herself in the work being done. The original shiny part covered for the sake of protecting what precious little could be salvaged, the rest in the messy process of being stripped and remade. Maybe, like this house, holding onto everything in its original form was impossible. Maybe Kay could never go back to being the girl she’d once been. But she could still make herself into something wonderful.

  She glanced down at the sticky note in her hand. Was forcing her way into an ongoing investigation new Kay or old Kay? A small smile forced its way onto her lips. It felt lovely if a little foreign. Definitely old, uncompromising Kay, shining through.

  * * * *

  Oliver had the horrible and utterly certain feeling he was making a huge mistake. But the phone was already ringing. If he hung up now, Molly would just see his number and call back. Better to man up and get the awkward conversation over with.

  She answered on the fourth ring, seconds before the call would’ve gone to voicemail. “What do you want, Oliver?”

  He stroked his chin. “No nickname? You must really be ticked.”

  “Not mad. Hurt. And you know what? It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. You didn’t have to call me up to rub my overreaction in my face. I took us more seriously than you, and it’s a roundhouse kick to my pride, nothing more. I’ll get over it.”

  “Um...I was, uh, actually calling to talk about something else,” Oliver admitted slowly.

  Molly had nailed it, but the last thing he wanted to do was rehash old issues, or discuss conclusions he’d come to long ago. He’d considered their hookups a fling; she’d labeled them something far more important. Feelings got hurt. He’d moved on, content to call the whole thing an unfortunate misunderstanding, because that’s what it was, while Molly clung to the injustice like her life revolved around losing Oliver. Sometimes, it struck him that Molly must’ve had feelings for him long before they got together—some damn strong ones.

  He didn’t want to go there. “Have you set a meeting time with Kay yet?”

  “Oh.” Molly went from vulnerable to sarcastic in an instant. “Why aren’t I surprised your twelve-year-old obsession is once again the cake topper of the conversation?”

  Oliver cleared his throat and carefully kept his voice in neutral territory. “She’s not twelve. Don’t be an asshole. I’m just calling to ask if Cap is taking point, or if you’re the go-between. Because if you are, I have a favor to ask.”

  “You’re unbelievable, Oli.”

  “I’m serious. Molly, come on. I know you’re pissed and hurt and—” He stopped shy of accusing her of jealousy. It seemed like the wrong thing to say. “And you have every right to be. But try to remember what’s between you and me has nothing to do with her. She hasn’t done anything wrong. Just promise you won’t take your anger out on her.”

  “Are you questioning my professionalism?”

  Oliver recalled the memory of Molly hacking his phone to get information on the girl he’d slept with. “Definitely.”

  A long pause. “Fuck you, Oli.” The phone beeped in his ear as the call ended.

  He groaned and stared at the screen. He’d probably made things worse. Molly had that special ability to sound spitefully gleeful, and she’d employ it to its fullest degree if she were the one in charge of delivering Kay to the undisclosed meeting place. He could hear Molly’s contemptuous voice comparing Kay to a child, making her feel small.

  Kay didn’t deserve to be stripped down. She wasn’t the enemy. She was on their side. Hell, she was probably going to be the thing that cracked the whole operation wide open for them. But Molly had a cruel streak, and something about Kay brought it out of her.

  Oliver launched himself out of his recliner and was in the back of a cab before a minute had passed. If Kay was going to run the gauntlet, Oliver would make sure she went in armed.

  Chapter 9

  It took the cabbie ten minutes through traffic to reach Kay’s house in the Governor’s Mansion district. Oliver paid the driver and climbed out, his neck bending to take in each of the three stories of the massive house.

  House? Not even. It was a veritable mansion in its own right. What in the hell did someone as small as Kay need with a home so big? She had a huge family, or a lot more friends than their background check had dug up.

  The sun was setting behind the Victorian as Oliver approached, casting the white clapboard in sharp relief against an orange sky. A string of pale white lights followed the porch as it wrapped around the exterior. The image was so deliciously Southern, he had a sudden hankering for lemonade and pecan pie. He had a single thought as he climbed the stairs and approached the front door.

  Home.

  Not his, no. But this was the sort of home the South was known for. He felt welcome, taken in by the sweet scent of honeysuckles and blooming azaleas. The sun was almost down, and lightning bugs glittered like stars across the yard and in the boughs of two ancient oaks. He decided the only thing missing were a few rocking chairs on the porch. In fact, the porch could stand a little TLC. He noticed a few holes in the old wood, spots where planks had warped from humidity and poor maintenance. He used the big brass knocker to announce his presence.

  Kay opened the door in a rush, concern etched onto her face beneath a thin sheen of sweat. She had a red headband pushing back the hair from her face. It stuck up and fanned out like a jagged blond halo. She blinked four times before finding words. “How in the hell do know where I...”

  Oliver smiled as she caught on. “Your address was probably one of the first things I learned about you.”

  “Right.” Kay nodded. “You know my ex-fiancé by name. You probably have my driving record and college transcripts memorized. Among other things.”

  Yes, he had them memorized, but only because he remembered anything he read in great detail. “If it helps, I think that speeding ticket was a bum rap. Everyone goes eighty on the freeway.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s totally creepy.”

  Oliver glanced at his feet, wishing he could take back the bad joke. “Yeah. Sorry. I told you why we looked into your background, but I guess it�
�s weird no matter what.”

  “It is. It really is.” She didn’t make any move to invite him inside. “What can I do for you, Oliver?”

  “Let me come inside. Offer me sweet tea and homemade lemon bars.” He shrugged. “Let me give you the scoop on what to expect when you meet Cappy Don.”

  “I’ve already got my instructions.”

  Oliver frowned. “I figured. But there’s more to the process, and it’s only fair that after everything we know about you, you should know a little something, too, going in. I’ll skip the tea and snacks. Just give me five minutes, and I’ll let you get back to your treadmill.” He pointed at his own forehead, indicating the sweat on hers. “Or whatever you do for fun after work.”

  She smiled humorlessly and rolled her eyes but opened the door for him to enter. He curiously scanned the plastic covering on the floor.

  “Taking down wallpaper,” she explained, closing the door behind him and guiding him down the hall. “Come on. The kitchen’s nicer. You can do your little song and dance routine in there. No sweet tea or lemon bars, but I’ve got ginger ale and maybe some leftover Girl Scout cookies.”

  He wouldn’t complain about Girl Scout cookies but couldn’t resist teasing her. He’d known her address was in the Governor’s Mansion district, sure, but he had imagined a small cottage, maybe an old carriage house, nestled in between monster Victorians, updated and ultra-stylish. “You’d better step up your game. If you’re going to live in a place like this, you’ve got to meet the Southern hype. Homemade peach cobbler, fresh squeezed orange juice, pies cooling on a windowsill, and tea steeping in the sun on the back porch.”

  “Yeah? Guess I should round up a few slaves while I’m at it.” She rounded the corner before he could cry foul.

  “Oh, hey, come on. I’m teasing.” He reached the end of the long hallway and followed her around the corner. “I just expected—” He stopped dead in his tracks, and his mouth popped open.

  Kay stood against the white speckled granite bar with her arms crossed and a smug smile.

  “I expected this,” he confessed, walking slowly into the huge kitchen. “Exactly this.”

  “The first room I renovated. Took me nearly all of the past three years. Not just because I did the repairs myself, but also the insane cost. Daddy helped me get started, but even with a boost, this kitchen almost broke me. It’s one of the only rooms I intend to fully modernize. The rest of the house I’ll at least try to keep close to the original. Kitchens are a bit different. No one actually wants the novelty of a kitchen built in the 1800s.”

  “You did this?” Oliver turned in a circle, taking in the entire kitchen, the bar, and the small breakfast nook nestled beneath a huge window overlooking the side yard, with green hydrangeas growing up against the glass. “All by yourself?”

  It didn’t seem possible. The floor was the only thing that made sense, because he recognized the same hardwood from the foyer. The rest was catalog perfect. Silver knobs and handles shined against stark white cabinets. A mosaic of tiles in every shade of pale blue, from sky blue to periwinkle, ran beneath the cabinets, a lovely complement to the countertops, which were the same speckled white and gray as the bar. Overhead, baby blue pendant light fixtures cast a pale glow over the surfaces. The refrigerator and stove were gleaming stainless steel. It was like a chunk of the sky and clouds had fallen and disguised itself as a kitchen.

  Kay ran her finger along the bar, then walked around it to a narrow door on the far wall. She opened it to reveal a nearly bare pantry. Apparently, eating wasn’t high on her list of priorities. She pulled out the promised cookies. Thin Mints. His favorite.

  “Mostly on my own. One piece at a time. Appliances were purchased on credit, but one more year and they’re paid for.” She shrugged, pulled open a cabinet on the other side of the refrigerator, and brought down a glazed pearlescent plate. Even the dishes were in sync with the design. She arranged the cookies like he was a guest worthy of the consideration.

  He studied her, taking in every angle of her face like her appearance alone held her secrets. This was a new side of Kay’s personality. A view of what went on behind the curtains.

  With her hair back in a headband and dirty jeans, she didn’t fit the scenery. But that was okay, because she wasn’t meant to. She was the architect, not one of the fixtures. The painter, not the medium. He had no idea she was this talented. Or dedicated. And the sheer patience, to spend years painstakingly devoted to her passion, revealed facets Oliver had only been able to guess at. His respect for her rose several degrees.

  Enough to make the hot room seem a little warmer. “It’s gorgeous. Like Heaven.”

  Kay smiled, obviously pleased, then pressed her lips together like she wished she hadn’t and looked everywhere but at Oliver. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t like light blue. Any pastel color, really. It’s too cute for someone who looks the way I do. Makes me think of baby dolls and children’s clothing. But that’s the magic of design. Sometimes, the best ideas aren’t personal. Can you imagine if I went around making everything my favorite color?” She gave a little snort that was absurdly cute. “You have to open yourself up to different styles, and the emotions they can evoke. You’re right. It is a little heavenly in here.”

  Oliver watched her. She was scanning the kitchen as if seeing the room for the first time, her eyes big and a smile playing on her lips. Proud but trying to hide it. “What is it?”

  Her gaze jumped to his. “What?”

  “Your favorite color.”

  “Purple. Not soft or pale. Lavender is awful. But real, deep purple, like the sky right before it turns to total dark.”

  He grinned. Such a complex answer to such a standard question. It would never be as simple as just a color with Kay, any more than she was as simple as a single shade. It was fine details, the twists and the turns that kept him guessing, and she still surprised him, even when he thought he had her all figured out. She walked around with a loaded Glock in her purse. Singlehandedly did the work of a whole crew of men. He couldn’t lie to himself and deny the physical attraction, either.

  Unfortunately, it all quickly added up to a very serious problem. Molly was right.

  He liked Kay. Liked liked her. The stupid kind of like that made him want to write her a silly note. Will you go out with me? Circle Yes or No.

  He rubbed a hand over his face and stopped himself from saying something stupid by shoving a cookie in his mouth. She hated him. He’d snooped into her personal life, turned her new job into a nightmare, and almost gotten her in trouble with a badly timed kiss. He didn’t have a single good thing going for him. He didn’t expect the realization to weigh so heavy, but it was like a sack of grain dumped on his shoulders. The unforeseen train of his thoughts sobered him like nothing else but a bucket of ice water over his head could have.

  He waved a cookie at Kay and spoke though a mouthful. “Thanks.”

  She smirked, probably at his bad manners, and poured ginger ale over a glass full of ice cubes and set it in front of him with a plunk. “Just trying to live up to that Southern hype.”

  He chewed and swallowed, gulped enough ginger ale to be able to speak clearly, and brought up the one thing he knew was guaranteed to make shit uncomfortable. If he didn’t break up the cozy feeling in his chest every time he looked at Kay, he’d have to get the hell out of here, and forget the warning he’d come to offer. “Did Finn help with any of this?” He waved his finger in a circle around the kitchen.

  Kay’s reaction was about what he expected. Her gaze darted away, and the soft smile she’d been wearing since they started talking about her amazing accomplishment fled like it’d been chased away by ghosts. “Weird question, but no.”

  “He’s a carpenter. I just thought.”

  “I told you I did it myself. Took me about ten times longer than it would have with some help. But he never offered, and I never asked.”

  “Oh.” Oliver slipped anoth
er cookie into his mouth and forgot the reason he’d brought up Finn Welk in the first place. What kind of carpenter doesn’t offer to help out on his girlfriend’s huge renovation project? “I’m not surprised you didn’t ask for help, but I’m kind of miffed he didn’t offer. You ever need someone to slap on some paint for a six-pack, I’m your man.”

  Her grin made a triumphant return. Oliver felt like an ass for making it disappear in the first place. “Thanks, I guess. I’ll try to remember that.”

  “It’s cool what you’re doing here. You’re not hanging out on your phone or staring stupidly at the TV, you know? But seriously, if this is how you relax, I hate to ask what you do for fun.”

  She tilted her head. “Then don’t ask. Instead, why don’t you get started on that very important thing you came to tell me?” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got another hour of wallpaper yanking to do. It’s a loose schedule as far as renos go, but I do try to keep up a certain level of production.”

  Oliver dusted his hands together. “I’ll help.”

  Her eyes went round. “What?”

  “I said I’ll help. I’m your assistant, after all. I can flap my gums and use my hands at the same time. Just don’t offer me a piece of gum.”

  That earned him a small laugh. “Fine, but I don’t want to hear a single complaint about sore shoulders on Monday.”

  From another room, she produced a second stepladder and set it up on the other side of the hallway. They’d work back to back, but Oliver figured it might be easier to talk if he didn’t have to face her. Coward. He shook his head. He didn’t wait for a prompt or permission. He stood on his ladder, began peeling ninety-year-old wallpaper, and started talking.