Romance in Color

by Synithia Williams

  “Where are your gloves?” he asked, frowning as they got outside.

  “Bag,” she said.

  With her tacit permission, he began to rummage. He examined her lip balm and smoothed out some wadded-up tissues. He eyed the large first-aid kit she kept handy. He took out the gloves, and then he reached for another small pouch.

  “You’ve got a bra and underpants in your purse,” he said.

  He raised a brow.

  “You should always have clean underwear in case you have to go to the hospital,” she said.

  Or in case your boy shorts get soaked because a man who has been kissing you dangles your intimates from his index finger.

  This was ridiculous. She’d been having generous amounts of sex with the man for a month. They weren’t strangers anymore. She loved him.

  But he was eying her carefully now, and Petra remembered that Helen had been alone with him. Had Helen said anything? And if so, what?

  “How are you going to put it on if you’re in an accident?” he asked, grasping her arm firmly as they walked. He had her and it should have been the best feeling in the world but she mistrusted it.

  “It’s for when you’ve recovered, then,” she said, sounding just like her mother.

  “Prepared for everything, aren’t you?” he murmured.

  She made a strangled sound. “No, I’m really not. I’m really, really not.”

  He considered that. He straightened. “You know that you’re amazing, right? You have all this energy—that’s the first thing I noticed about you. It was like you were incandescent. And, it’s not just that. It’s about how much of that light in you is goodness, how much you care about people, how good you are at taking care of people. I really, really respect you.”

  He looked deep into her eyes.

  Petra cleared her throat. “Uh, you’re still holding my underwear.”

  “Oh, right.”

  He stuffed it in her purse and kissed her quickly as they arrived at her office door. “I’ll see you tonight. Now get inside that door, it’s cold.”

  With that, he walked rapidly away, and Petra gazed after him, even more confused. What the hell had Helen said to him?

  When she got upstairs, she saw that she’d received a text message.

  That man is losing his shit over you, Helen had written.

  Well, he wasn’t the only one losing it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Field was lucky enough to book a private party at the end of the February doldrums. Ian stood at the bar, polishing glasses and staring straight ahead. The corporate crowd liked their drinks. Fake laughter clanked like chains around the room.

  Ian hated everyone.

  For the first time in his life, Ian resented work. Now his staff just expected him to be around to solve all their problems.

  He had planned to woo her with picnics and silky underwear. He planned to have sex with her until their hipbones gave out. But after Helen had torn him a new one, he was through with assumptions. He was annoyed that he hadn’t seen it before. Clearly, Petra still felt wary about some things. If what Helen said was true, then just dumping all of his feelings on her wouldn’t be enough.

  Although maybe he could still take her away somewhere. He hadn’t had a vacation in—well, ever. He was ready.

  He stacked the polished glasses and began to cut up some limes while the bartenders continued to serve drinks to the rowdy crowd.

  The truth was that Ian also shied away from talking too much about Petra’s work because he noticed that she was a little sensitive about her work. With him.

  He didn’t want her to be secretly worried and unhappy. He couldn’t be the kind of man who ignored it—not after what his father had put his mother through. Ian liked to be in some semblance of control of his feelings, and he preferred things to be easier and more harmonious. It was part of the reason he worked so hard and depended on so few: when the only variable was him, things ran more smoothly. But not everything about this relationship depended on him and he was going to have to get used to it.

  He had gone for a run in the middle of this afternoon and returned to his apartment to do pushups until his arms felt like they would fall off. He still felt like punching something. Preferably the bartender who’d left them high and dry tonight.

  “That glare isn’t going to scare these Silicon Valley types from the open bar,” Gerry half-shouted above the din. He wiped his hands on his chef’s jacket, leaned against the counter, and ordered a club soda.

  “Don’t you have tiny, tiny bites of food to send out of the kitchen?” Ian growled.

  “That’s the glory of tonight, my friend. It’s all advance work. If any lovely ladies want a show, I can sear a couple of lamb lollipops and help the gals lick ’em clean, but otherwise, it’s all mostly done. What’s the matter with you, you big lunk, do you miss Dr. Tinkerbell already?”

  “Yes,” Ian growled.

  It was hard to carry on a conversation over all of this noise. And about this particular subject.

  He started stacking clinking glasses angrily.

  Gerry took them away.

  “So it’s serious with the little pixie doc.”

  “You’re dating a doctor?” asked a voice behind them both.

  Danielle.

  “Ugh,” said Gerry, summing it up nicely.

  “Is that any way to thank the woman who got you this gig?” Danielle asked, gesturing to the room. She looked well. She’d let her hair down this night, so that it flowed in silky waves down her back, and she was smoothly encased in a V-necked dress.

  “He’s in love,” said Gerry. “He’s even taken time off from work to be with her. Not enough time, clearly.”

  “I always thought it was kind of small-time of him to always try to fix problems by himself. Subbing for the wait staff, tending bar, playing handyman.”

  “He’s a bit of a control freak,” Gerry agreed.

  “Why are you here, Danielle?” Ian asked.

  “I’m the one who told our clients about this fabulous place. Insisted we do this here. They’re not very adventurous, so I thought this might do. I’ve got a rep for knowing all about the great places to eat, you know.”

  “You mean Ian was your ticket to launching yourself as a food groupie,” Gerry said, ignoring Danielle’s barb to attack on another front. Classic Gerry.

  “I appreciate men who can cook,” Danielle said, batting her eyelashes. Classic Danielle.

  Gerry smiled cynically. “I hear you’ve appreciated a lot of men in the biz lately. After Ian, there was Ron from Bel Canto, then Juan from Carioca—”

  “I introduced you to him,” Ian said.

  “And he’s lovely, thank you. But I want to hear all about the woman who can make the unflappable Ian Zamora completely miserable—so miserable that he doesn’t even want to spend time at his precious restaurant. She must be so very special.”

  He didn’t like the way she breathed, “so very special,” and he certainly didn’t want to give her any ammunition against Petra. Not that Danielle was the kind of person to use it. Or was she? He had certainly misjudged her more than once before. He tensed at the glint in Danielle’s eye.

  Gerry, however, felt no such compunction. “She was his allergist,” he said.

  This raised Danielle’s eyebrows. “You mean, she was the one who gave you the cat shots? You began seeing her while you were seeing me? And she was your doctor?”

  “No,” said Ian. He made an effort to be calm and precise. “That’s definitely out of order. She was my allergist for, like, a tiny moment. But then, when you and I broke up, I quit going to her. And then a few months later, we met up again. Simple.”

  It was the truth and he hadn’t done anything wrong, but stated that way—well, it didn’t sound great. Maybe this kind of ambiguity was what bothered Petra about their relationship.

  Danielle kept her eyes on him. He wanted to squirm, but he let himself go very still before he quirked his lips up in an attem
pt to look benign and happy.

  She gave a quick smile of her own. “But you liked her from the start,” she said, again, very sweetly. “She must be gorgeous.”

  “She’s a fierce little wood sprite,” Gerry said cheerily.

  “Stop calling her tiny. She hates that.”

  Ian darted his friend an angry glance. Why was Gerry fanning the flames? There was definitely fire in Danielle’s eyes. She certainly still seemed a little too interested, a little too malicious. How could he have ever thought she was a lovely person?

  “Doesn’t sound like your usual type, Ian. I thought you liked women who were mild and serene, the kind who would smooth your brow and say yes all the time.”

  She had pointy incisors, he noticed, perfect for tearing apart flesh. He should have shown her more respect. She was a smart woman and he had treated her like a show pony. And now he got the feeling he was going to regret it.

  “Is that how you think of yourself?”

  “I think you underestimated me,” Danielle trilled. “That, and you spent so little actual time with me that you had no idea what I was really like.”

  Well, that was true enough.

  “It’s such a lovely story, really,” Danielle continued. “Attraction over the examining table.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Ian said. “First of all, as I said earlier, she did nothing wrong. We started this well after I broke up with you and stopped being her patient.”

  “Did you try anything on her while you were still her patient?”

  “No. Jesus, Danielle.”

  “I’m just saying, I always found you a little distant, as you’ll recall. Just trying to determine if there was a reason for your aloofness. I guess it wasn’t because there was another woman. It’s just how you are.”

  The problem with having his ex confirm his assessment of himself was that there was really nothing that he could say to counter it. And it was always infinitely horrifying to have one’s worst fears underlined by someone he assumed had not known him well enough.

  “It sounds like you have nothing to add to that, Ian.” She raised her glass. There was a small glint in her eye that indicated she knew that she had wrested a victory from him.

  • • •

  “Don’t hang up,” Lisa said.

  The phone number was unfamiliar. Petra was good and trapped. Lisa had left a few messages since Sunday, but Petra hadn’t wanted to listen to them.

  “Listen, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about how serious it was with Jim. I’m sorry that I sold the house without telling you. But you have to understand, it has been very difficult for me.”

  “Everything is difficult for you, Mom.”

  Petra held her phone to her ear and put on her coat. She’d stayed late at the office, investigating the possibility of adding cosmetic Botox to her list of services. It was a moneymaker, that was true. But she was pretty sure that she was probably not the best person to be doing it.

  This morning seemed so far away, she thought as she went through her purse. She tucked away the underwear that Ian had stuffed carelessly back in, found her gloves and her scarf, and walked down into the cold night, her phone still pressed to her ear.

  “I suppose it’s fair for you to criticize me for not telling you about the house,” her mother was saying. “I suppose I deserve that.”

  “Is this Jim Morrison’s phone that you’re calling from?” Petra asked.

  “Yes. It’s his landline.”

  “Is he there?”

  “No. He didn’t think I should call. He thinks I lend your opinions too much credence and that you take advantage of it in order to act out. I’ve stopped being the parent, but you are still acting the child.”

  “Wow, that’s a direct quote, isn’t it?”

  “He doesn’t dislike you, Petra.”

  “No, I don’t imagine that he dislikes anyone.”

  Petra paused to look in the window of one of the galleries that dotted the street. She’d learn to administer Botox and then she could buy art. She could invest in a few pieces, then they would accrue value and she would not have to worry about paying back her medical school debt, or paying the rent on her office, or supporting her mother when Lisa’s latest fiancé deserted her and left her with nowhere to live. She could smooth the wrinkles of worry from her mother’s forehead. She could buy that antelope head over there, or maybe that painting of a woman who appeared to be giving birth to a rabbit.

  Probably not the sort of thing she should hang in her office. Maybe Sarah would like it.

  “Jim felt that I should leave you alone for a few more days, let you get used to the idea. But I just wanted—I wanted…”

  Petra waited.

  “It has been difficult for me to admit that I’ve fallen in love. Again. After all this time, and after some disastrous relationships. I didn’t want to go to my daughter and have to explain to her that this time it was different. I felt … ashamed of myself for not having better judgment in the past. And to go to you and have you pick it apart this time, as an adult. It was almost too much to think of. So I put it off and I put it off. Jim’s the one who convinced me that I had to do this, that I had to tell you the truth.”

  “At least there seems to be one grown-up in this relationship.”

  “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Petra. I wanted—selfishly maybe—to protect myself.”

  Petra started walking again. She could understand the urge to try and shelter herself. After all, wasn’t that what she was doing with Ian? She was scared about what dating him meant about her personal and professional judgment. She was afraid of the future. She was terrified of being in love with him.

  “The money from the sale of the house is going to a separate account, Petra. Jim won’t be able to touch it.”

  “It’s not about the cash, Mom.”

  “But I just want to show you that I’ve put thought into this. This isn’t some spur-of-the-moment thing. We knew, almost right away, that there was something there, even though I questioned it and even though I worried that my instincts were terrible. Jim tried to make me comfortable. He made me see that we could be practical about the whole thing. It may seem hasty to you—”

  “Because you only told me a few weeks ago this was serious, and Ellie has known for months.”

  “Again, I’m sorry.”

  Petra walked into the grocery store and took a basket.

  “But what I’m saying is that I took steps. I am trying to protect myself. I know I don’t have a great track record, and I hate it, but I am trying and I need you to just…”

  Petra put broccoli in her basket. She snagged a box of lettuce and some lemons. She’d had enough of frozen vegetables. She needed something new. She needed to feel springtime coming.

  “You want me to just what? Tell me what it is now, instead of waiting six months.”

  “I want you to just accept that I’m getting married, to just accept me,” her mother said.

  Petra stood looking blankly at the vegetables she had put in her basket. What had she been about to do?

  “I need some time,” she said. “That’s the best I can do, Mom. I need some time.”

  She hung up.

  In reality, she had probably forgiven her mother. But talking with her was like running on a well-worn track. Her feet just fit right into the grooves. They went along without thought. So much had been said already, so many arguments well-established and continuing. So difficult not to keep old battles going. She supposed it was this way with parents. Ian’s mother and father were dead, but she doubted he felt much relief.

  Ian hadn’t phoned or messaged her all day. Her fingers itched to call him or text him.

  The way his face had looked today, the awkward speech he’d given her about how much he respected her—it was the least romantic thing he could have said, but for some reason it made her blush from deep inside until her whole body felt red and warm.

  He was dopamine. He was a surge of norepinephrine
. Then there was the fact that clearly, she made him as crazy as he did her.

  When they were in bed, it was easy to believe that there was no one else for her. She had never experienced that with anyone and when she looked into Ian’s eyes, she was sure that it felt that way for him, too. The feeling left its honeyed residue. Even when they simply talked on the telephone, it was like he was there, stroking her like a cat. But she was a woman of science. She knew about the deceptiveness of endorphins.

  She walked home with her bag of groceries. The sky had darkened and it felt several degrees colder than before.

  And she found Kevin shivering outside her building.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “I wanted to talk to you, but your office was closed,” Kevin said.

  He looked small and skinny and his face seemed very white. “You said I could talk to you any time,” he added.

  He couldn’t come up to her apartment, inner Hippocrates told her sternly. But clearly, she couldn’t stand out here with him in this wind. She glanced down longingly at her grocery bag and wondered if she could just stash her soon-to-be wilting lettuces upstairs. The best place to go would probably be back to her office, but the idea of returning depressed her. Inner Hippocrates be damned, she thought.

  “C’mon, you’re freezing to death,” she said. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Have you eaten dinner? Does your dad know where you are? Why is he letting you wander around?”

  “He’s working late,” Kevin said. “He’s got a big case coming up. He gave me some money. I can take you out. I told him I’d hang out with Penny Poole, but I don’t want to go there right now.”

  “I’m surprised that you even know where I live,” Petra mused. Then she thought about it more and wasn’t surprised at all.

  They went to the vegetarian diner around the corner and settled into a warm booth. Kevin kept his jacket on. “I’ll have the fries,” Kevin said, without checking the menu.