“But you agree?”
“I think it’s why he was willing to walk away from that start-up. He knows he’s unhappy. But he’s been single for so long, he thinks that’s his natural state. Other people get married. Sylvester Minguez doesn’t.”
“How about you?”
“Hey, leave me out of this.” Cleo softened the words with a grin.
Trixie smiled back. “You’re younger, aren’t you? Not even thirty?”
“In a few months.” Cleo had no intention of telling her that, in spite of her young age, she already had a failed marriage in her past. It had been over four years since the divorce.
She’d dated since, but nothing serious. Whenever she liked a guy enough to see him two or three times, she panicked and ended it. Maybe if she’d had more experience before Dylan, her ex, she might have more confidence now managing a relationship. But she and Dylan had married right out of college. And the way it had ended…
No wonder she was pessimistic about her romantic future.
Trixie set the dog on the floor. He danced around Cleo’s legs, panting up at her with love in his lopsided eyes. “You’re not as desperate as he is,” Trixie said.
“Desperate enough to be interested in me, is that what you were hoping?”
“Do you have such a poor opinion of yourself?”
This was entirely too personal coming from a woman she’d just met. Turning, she pulled out her phone. “It’s been nice talking to you, Trixie, but I’ve got another lesson—”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean Sly would be desperate to love you. I mean he’s desperate enough to love anybody.” She smiled, happy with this explanation. “Finally.”
It would take more than a vacation to wipe away Sly’s fear of following his parents’ bad example. Although they still ran their accounting business together, his parents hadn’t been happy for decades, only avoiding divorce by avoiding each other. When his dad was at their house near San Diego, his mom would go to their condo in Hawaii and vice versa. Family gatherings were strained and chilly.
Sly blamed his father for most of the trouble, pointing to his long hours at the office and inability to take a vacation longer than three hours. Even before cell phones, his father had always found a way to make business calls from anywhere, anytime.
And Sly knew he was a lot like his father.
“Well, no matter how desperate he is,” Cleo said, “I’m not the one.”
“If you say so,” Trixie said. “Can you think of anyone who might be?”
She laughed. “Afraid not. He and I run in entirely different circles. The women he usually dates are high-powered, fashionable Stanford types who run marathons with perfect hair and then go out and set up water filtration in a developing country, all before their gluten-free paleo breakfast.”
“He dropped out of Stanford himself, you know.”
“I know. What a slacker.”
Trixie picked up the dog in the cone, Luna, and cradled her in her arms. “I wish I knew more young women. The ones I know are all married. I’d thought April might be the apple in Sly’s eye, but she met Zack, so of course Sly was out of the question. I wonder if he’d be interested in an older woman?”
“Great idea,” Cleo said. “You’re single, right? When’s the last time you had a date?”
Trixie’s face turned a deep rosy red. “That’s just what Sly’s uncle said when I asked for his help. I wish people would focus. It’s Sly who’s never been married, Sly who needs a companion and a home and children.”
“You talk to Uncle Hugo about Sly?”
She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “I’ve known Hugo for a long time. Quite a fortune he’s made off me over the years. I used to foster a lot of dogs for the Chihuahua societies in the area.”
“Uncle Hugo’s looking pretty lonely himself,” Cleo said. “Sly has tried setting him up a few times, but it never works out.”
Trixie’s eyes lit up. “There’s an idea.”
“I don’t think I like your idea. Whatever it is.”
“I feel like we’re old friends, you and me, don’t you?” Trixie asked, squeezing her upper arm. “We both want Sly to be happy. So does Hugo. There’s a solution in there somewhere. We just have to work together.”
“I don’t meddle, I really don’t. It never ends well.”
Trixie’s eyes widened in amazement. “Really? That hasn’t been my experience at all.”
4
On Sunday morning, for the first time Sly could remember, picking up his phone to call Cleo made him nervous. There had been that strange moment the other night. Just stress, booze, and exhaustion, and he was sure she hadn’t noticed anything, but it made it a little more difficult to ask for the favor he needed.
She didn’t pick up until the fifth ring. “What’s up?” Her voice was as cheerfully, comfortably teasing as always.
Taking a sip of his coffee, he said, “What are you up to today?”
“Funny you should ask. It just so happens I could use some company,” she said. “A friend of mine just canceled our date to walk over the Golden Gate Bridge. Given the great weather—the fog’s already burned off—I can’t stay home. It’s going to be a perfect day.”
With some uneasiness, he wondered whom the “date” had been with. A new boyfriend might interfere with his own plans. “Fall is a great time to walk over the bridge.” And a great place to put a woman in the mood for travel.
“Exactly,” she said.
“When should I pick you up?” he asked.
“No way. I’m taking the bus.”
He groaned. “Come on, it’ll take forever.”
“Driving takes forever. And it’s bad for the world. And there’s nowhere to park.”
“There’s always parking if you’re willing to pay for it. Which I am.”
“I’m taking BART to the city and then catching the bus. That’s what I’m doing. Are you going to join me or are you going to be a high-maintenance, spoiled weenie?”
“Can’t I do both?
The sound of her laughter always made him smile. Everything was going to be fine. Nothing had changed. He’d put up with her fetish for public transportation to make her happy, plus it would give him more time to work up to asking his favor.
“I’ll meet you at Rockridge BART,” he said.
“Think you can figure out how to operate the ticket machines by yourself?”
“I’ll text you if I get confused.”
An hour later he found her on the open-air, raised train platform in Rockridge, the North Oakland city streets beneath them, wearing a duplicate SF State sweatshirt of the one he’d borrowed two weeks earlier and a lime-green daypack. Her pale blond hair was pulled into its usual ponytail and stuffed under an aggressively pink, sequined baseball cap that he’d given to her for her last birthday as a joke. Her baggy jeans were probably from the men’s side of the Gap store, and he suspected that if she were to take off her sweatshirt, an equally voluminous T-shirt would be unearthed, probably advertising a sports team she didn’t follow or a school she’d never attended.
Squinting at the sun, he handed her a bag holding a peach scone from her favorite café. “Nice hat.”
“I love this hat. It lets me wear whatever I want and still be just a little bit girly-girl.”
“Just a little bit.”
“Oh! You’re awesome. It’s still warm.” She reached in and withdrew a morsel of the pastry. “How apropos. A peach from a peach.” She winked at him.
Tension that had clung to his deepest thoughts finally faded away. He looked around the platform with distaste. “What’s that smell?”
“Humanity,” she said, her mouth full.
“We’re outside. It’s windy. It shouldn’t smell so bad.”
“Urine odor really clings.”
“I’m so glad I left the A4 at home.”
“God, you’re such a princess.” She took off her hat and put it on him, dragging pink sequins across his
forehead just as the train honked its arrival into the station from the east. “There. That’s better.”
Because he liked seeing her without the hat, he left it on his own head. He followed her into the car, wrinkling his nose at the stale, sour smell of its carpeted interior. But he didn’t mind that as much as the lack of any empty seats. Pink hat on head, he shimmied between the Sunday morning crush of bodies to a small open space near a pole they could cling to when the car lurched forward.
She watched him with narrowed eyes. Even under low-wattage lighting, they were a stunning blue. “Don’t say anything,” she said.
“What’s that smell?” he asked loudly. People around them turned their heads slightly, frowning, and he grinned at the pink spots that bloomed on her cheeks. For all her jokes and sarcasm, she was ridiculously easy to embarrass.
She turned away from him, casting him into the ranks of other crazy, unwanted subway creeps, and didn’t talk to him until they were under the streets of downtown Oakland. “Where were you Thursday anyway?” she asked.
The horde now pressed them closer together. He lowered his head closer to hers so he didn’t have to shout over the rumble of the train. “Later.”
“Why, was it illegal?”
“You’ll give me a hard time.”
Her mouth dropped. “You were working.”
He’d expected her to see right through him, and she had. He hung his head in only partially mock shame. “I was.”
She didn’t make a joke, just stared at him with those bright blue eyes of hers. “I can’t believe you.”
“I’m too young to retire,” he said.
“But to go back to work after only two weeks? Not even two weeks!”
“I was going crazy,” he said.
“You were already crazy.” She rolled her eyes. “I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but I thought it might last the month at least.”
Shooting an eavesdropping lumbersexual a dirty look, he pulled her a few cramped inches away. “I’m not working yet. Just setting something up for later.”
“Right. Like Monday morning, I bet.”
“Not at all. You were right. I do need a vacation.”
“Tuesday?”
He smiled and gave up for now. He’d ask for his favor when they were out in the sun, breathing fresh air, and had more than three inches of space around them.
The train lumbered through the Transbay tunnel between Oakland and San Francisco. He tried not to think about the cold, shark-infested waters swirling over their heads and was glad when they reached downtown San Francisco. They got off the train at the Montgomery station and went up to the street.
“Ah, how beautiful,” he said, looking around at the tumbleweeds of garbage bouncing along the financial-district sidewalks. “No wonder this Golden Gate Bridge thing is so famous.”
“Very funny. Follow me. The bus stop isn’t far.” She already had her phone out and was scrolling through the screens. “My excellent and free transit app tells me it’ll be here in six minutes.”
“We could just walk down to the Ferry Building,” he said. “Grab some lunch. Walk through the farmer’s market and relax.”
“No way. It’s pushing seventy degrees, and it’s sunny, and it’s not even noon yet. We’re going to the Golden Gate Bridge, buster.”
“Watch your language.”
“Watch your step. There’s some humanity clinging to the sidewalk down there.”
He dodged the dark puddle she was pointing at, biting his lip to restrain his reasonable complaints about the six-minute wait that turned into twenty. And then, when the bus finally did arrive, they were forced to stand again with several people between them during the slow journey up Sutter and Van Ness Avenue. Eventually they were able to grab seats together, watching the cobalt-blue water of the bay to their right dotted with sailboats, ships, and ferries, and the blood-orange span of the bridge that had inspired the color of Cleo’s new car.
And then they were there. As she stepped off the bus, the ocean breeze whipped her ponytail into her face. Smiling into the wind, she reached back, retrieved her pink hat—he was still wearing it, though he’d turned the brim around—and replaced it on her head.
“Do you realize what time it is?” He tucked a loose strand under the cap behind her ear. Her eyes were a brighter, lighter blue than the sea behind her, more like the cloudless sky above. “That took almost two hours. We could be in LA by now.”
“Why would we want to be?” She stretched her arms wide to take in the cliffs of the Marin Headlands, the famous bridge, and the sparkling sea. “I never get tired of this.” With a deep breath, she spun around and headed for the walking side of the bridge.
Even in October, the area was overrun with people, tourists and locals alike. He considered putting off asking her for the favor until they were done, but they’d already wasted hours getting here, and the hike over and back would take at least an hour more, and then the snail-mail return pace home…
No, he’d just have to talk to her here.
“So, I’ve got a favor to ask,” he said. Had to shout it, actually, because a family with thirteen million children and a dog, all on scooters (including the corgi), cut between them.
Cleo waved at him over her shoulder, not looking as if she’d heard him. If she had, she’d probably be rolling her eyes and walking faster.
“Did you see the dog on wheels?” she asked him when they were finally reunited.
“This is the walking side. Wheels should be over there.”
“Yeah, because Lassie is totally about to win the Tour de France.”
“Lassie was a collie, not a corgi.”
She elbowed him. “Come on, Sly. Try to enjoy the moment. Real life. No screens, no Internet, just reality.”
Nodding, he fell silent, walking with her in the stream of people, breathing in the cold, salty air, trying to be patient. But when she stopped to tie her shoe, he seized the moment. “Cleo, I need to ask you a favor. It’s making me kind of tense.”
“You? Tense? That’s not like you.”
“I know you’re going to mock.”
“As if I would ever mock,” she said mockingly.
“But I’m going to press on.”
“Of course you are. I bet I’m on your to-do list and you want to check it off.” A blast of wind hit her from behind, blowing the ponytail into her face again. She hugged her arms around herself. “I wish I’d brought my jacket. You’d think I’d know better by now.”
He reached for the zipper at his throat. “You can borrow mine.”
“It wouldn’t fit. But thanks.”
“Sure it would. It’s at least a large.”
“Please, Sly. I’m fine.” She put her hands over his and tugged the zipper back up to his throat. “I just like to complain.”
“I’m going to ask my favor now, all right? Brace yourself.”
She lowered her hands, eyeing him warily. “You’re making me nervous.”
“First of all—your date today,” he began. “Was it a date date or just a friend thing?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
She continued to stare for a moment. “Just a friend thing.”
“Great, then you can help me,” he said.
“Don’t get carried away. I’ve already got a bad feeling about this.”
He smiled in an attempt to soften her up. “So, there’s this charity auction. In Carmel next weekend.”
“Oh God, they’re auctioning you off again,” she said, clapping her hands together.
He’d once participated in a win-a-date function for charity, and she loved to tease him about it. “No, nothing like that. This will have trips to the Riviera, rare tech prototypes, butt lifts—”
“The really classy stuff for rich people.”
“Exactly.” Here we go. “I want you to go with me.”
Her eyes widened. “Me? Why?”
“Please, Cleo. I can’t go to this one alone.�
�
“So don’t. Ask one of your girlfriends.”
“You make it sound like I have a harem,” he said.
“You know what I mean. One of the women you’ve dated in the past.”
“I don’t want to start…” Resting his elbows on the railing, he looked over at Alcatraz on its famous rock out in the middle of the bay. “I wouldn’t want her, whoever, to get the wrong idea. The auction is on a Saturday. We’d drive down Friday night, spend the weekend there. It’s… a nice place. Expensive and…” He trailed off.
“Yes?”
“Romantic. There’s a woman there I want to meet—”
“Oh, I get it.” She threw her head back and laughed. “You know I won’t get in your way.”
“It’s nothing like that. She’s a business contact. Or I’d like her to be.”
“Ah. Work again.”
“It’s not for me. It’s for Mark. I think he might like to hire her in my place.” He rubbed his eyes. “I left him in the lurch when I quit his start-up. It was his idea, you know? And I know the guys I left behind can’t do it without help. This is the best way I can think to meet her.”
“But you said the idea wasn’t going to fly. What can a new person do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe something I couldn’t. I want to walk away, but this bad feeling is keeping me up at night. I owe Mark. Don’t let him hear me say that, but I do.”
“Why can’t you go to the auction by yourself?”
This was the part he’d rather not get into. “I’d rather not get into it,” he said.
“Which is why I probably don’t want to go.”
“Yeah, probably. But I hope you will anyway.” He gave her his most toothy, charming smile, which made her roll her eyes. “Teresa’s going to be there,” he said.
“Teresa Teresa?”
He nodded grimly.
“You can’t show up alone if Teresa’s going to be there,” she said.
“Exactly.” His ex-girlfriend periodically attempted to reignite their former relationship.
“But you can’t show up without a serious girlfriend if Teresa’s going to be there,” she continued. “Maybe even a wife. And full-body armor.”
“Since I don’t have any of those things, I thought of you.” He gestured at the crowded path, and they resumed walking. “It’s a really nice place. A resort overlooking the ocean. Some of the best views on the entire coast. I’d pay for everything, of course. Two nights, two days. Spa treatments. Food. Whatever you want.”
This Changes Everything (Oakland Hills Book 4) Page 3