It wasn’t like she had a ton of other work, but she didn’t tell him that. Instead she simply smiled and nodded. “I’ll send you the link.”
“Great. I can send you a check first thing tomorrow.”
It was all she could do not to say, “For you, I’d work for free.” But she managed to stay professional. “Let’s wait to make sure you like it first,” she suggested.
“Okay then. Here’s to the new Web site,” he said, touching his cup of cider to hers.
“To the site,” she echoed.
“And to getting to spend more time together,” he added. The look in his eyes now had nothing to do with business, and it sent heat rushing through her. “You know, since we’re both runners we should run together sometime.”
“I’d like that,” she said, and felt her heart already taking off at a gallop.
“How about Saturday? No rain or snow predicted. It should be perfect.”
“Your store,” she protested.
“Doesn’t open till ten. I’ve got time for a run. Eight?”
“Perfect.” On so many levels.
They wandered back toward the fire and mingled with the others. Another ten minutes and people began cheering.
“Here they come,” Craig said, pointing toward the water. A parade of boats, gaily lit, came into sight. “It doesn’t get any better than this,” he said, and put an arm around her.
“It sure doesn’t,” Kiley agreed. But then, later, when he pulled her to him and kissed her, she added, Oh, yes it does.
The Web site was finished, approved, and up and running on Friday. It involved few changes, but several conversations. With each one, Kiley fell further and further in love. Craig was enthusiastic and encouraging. And Saturday, after their run, he had a final check for her.
She looked at it. “This is more than we agreed.”
“You did more than I ever imagined,” he replied. “Hey, we should celebrate.”
“Yes, we should,” she agreed, smiling. “And I know how.”
That evening she made him dinner, serving meat loaf and her mother’s fabulous macaroni and cheese because he said he loved comfort food. She also made pie from the blackberries she’d swiped from her mother’s freezer.
“This must be a special dinner,” her mother had probed.
Kiley had smiled and kissed Mom on the cheek. “I think it is. And when I’m sure, I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Just take your time,” Mom had cautioned.
Kiley had assured her mother that she would, but as she sat across from Craig, watching him tuck into his second helping of pie and ice cream, listening to him talk about his life growing up and his dreams for the future, it was hard to come up with any reason for dragging her feet. He wasn’t merely perfect; he was perfect for her.
She fingered the kaleidoscope he’d brought her as a hostess gift and found herself blurting, “Do you want to have kids?” Oh, geez, way to scare the man off.
He set down his fork and looked at her seriously. “Of course. Family is important.” He grinned. “Besides, what’s the point of having a toy store if you don’t have kids to play with? How about you?”
She could feel her cheeks suddenly warming. “Oh, yes,” she said with a nod. “But I’m not in any hurry,” she added, remembering her mother’s cautionary words. “I’m not in a hurry for anything.”
He cocked his head to the side and studied her. “What does that mean exactly?”
Then it came out, all the details of her whirlwind romance with Jeremy and his betrayal. “So, I’m taking my time this time around.”
Craig nodded slowly. “I can see why. Been there, almost done that. You ever been to Amsterdam?”
She shook her head. She hadn’t traveled much. She’d been too busy building a career that had toppled, falling in love with the wrong man, important things like that.
“It’s a cool city,” said Craig. “Lots of museums, diamond cutters,” he added, waggling his eyebrows. “The canals at night are something else. The houses are interesting, too. Not much really, and all close together, but they have these great façades that make ’em look cool.” He paused a minute to see if Kiley was following. “A lot of people do that. They build a façade, hoping the other person won’t see there isn’t much there.”
Kiley ran her finger along the rim of her coffee cup. “So you think that’s what Jeremy did?”
“Well, it sure doesn’t sound like there was much there. Except a lot of bullshit.” Craig leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. “But hey, I’m all for taking the long way home. I’m gonna tell you right now, though, Kiley. I’m hooked on you and I can see what we’ve started going somewhere good.”
She smiled. “Me, too.”
After a while they moved from the table to the couch, and then from conversation to a kiss. And another and another. She had thought Jeremy was a good kisser, but he was a rank amateur compared to this man. Her lips were buzzing when Craig finally pulled away and looked at her as though she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He picked up a length of unruly curls and twisted them around his finger. “Man, I love your hair.”
That was when she decided it was time for show-and-tell. She fetched the snow globe from her bedroom.
“Whoa,” he said, sitting up straighter. “That is awesome. Where’d you get it? I’ve never seen one like it.”
“I got it in an antique store.” She handed it to him and sat back down on the couch.
He shook it, watching as the snowflakes flew. When they settled, his easy smile changed to an expression of amazement. “That’s my shop!”
“You see it?” Was it possible?
“And there’s…me?” He looked up at her as if to ask if he was crazy. “And you. What the hell?” He began examining the globe. “Is this like those digital photo frames? Did you program it somehow?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t do anything.”
He frowned. “Okay, I don’t get it.”
But he’d seen what the snow globe could do. So she told him its story.
When she was finished he simply sat, staring at it. “That’s amazing.” He looked up at her, his eyes full of wonder.
“If it hadn’t been for the snow globe I never would have found you.”
“Well, then God bless it,” he said heartily. He continued to gaze at it. “What a story to tell our kids.” As if realizing what he’d just said, he looked up, his cheeks russet. “Someday,” he added. “We don’t want to rush into anything.”
“No,” she said, staring at his lips. “No rushing.” But would Valentine’s Day be too soon to get engaged?
Nine
Suzanne scowled as she dashed through the freezing rain from the day care to her car, cell phone pressed to her ear. “You just met this man,” she scolded Kiley. “You can’t know he’s the one.”
“But I do. I know it sounds crazy,” Kiley continued, “but he’s perfect. He really, truly is.”
She sounded so happy Suzanne wanted to smack her. Kiley lived in la-la land. Did she really think she was going to find Mr. Perfect just like that? As if there was such a thing. Guy came close, but even he had his faults. Like always messing up her house on fight nights, when he and his buddies used watching boxing matches as an excuse to spill beer and pretzel crumbs everywhere. Thank God she could relegate them to the bonus room.
“I’m not saying we’re rushing into anything,” Kiley continued, “but I know we’ll be together for the rest of our lives. I can tell.”
“So now you’re psychic,” Suzanne said with a sneer.
“No. And neither is he, but he saw us in the snow globe, too.”
Suzanne rolled her eyes. “He probably just said that to get in your pants. You haven’t slept with him, have you?” Sleeping with some man she barely knew was the last thing Kiles needed. She was way too vulnerable.
“Of course not,” Kiley said, sounding insulted. “I told you we’re taking things slow.”
&nbs
p; “Just remember you said that,” Suzanne cautioned. She plopped her soggy self inside her Lexus and started the engine. She had less than ten minutes to get to the office, where she was meeting a couple looking to find a house on Upper Queen Anne. “I want to meet this guy.”
“I didn’t say we wanted to take it that slow. I have to make an appointment six months in advance to do anything with you.”
“That’s not true,” said Suzanne, wheeling out onto the street. Oh, great. There was a garbage truck right ahead. Why did these guys have to hog so much of the road? “I’ve gotta go. Keep me posted on what’s going on, okay?”
She hardly gave Kiley time to say goodbye before ending the call and tossing the phone on the front passenger seat. Then she pulled out around the truck and passed him, barely squeaking past a man in a compact tin can heading in the other direction. He commented on her reckless driving with an angry honk.
“Sorry,” she muttered. But he’d have done the same. Anyway, she’d had plenty of room to pass, really. The clock on her car dash told her to hurry, hurry, hurry, and she pressed down just a little harder on the gas. Oh, except there was a patrol car farther up the street. She lifted her foot and ground her teeth. Why was she always running late?
Of course, the answer to that was easy. She had way too much on her plate. Today was no exception. Between showing four houses, following up on a listing lead, picking up the signs for the holiday open house, and checking on two deals that were in escrow, her workday was full. Then Bryn had her ballet lesson at five. After that it would be time to go home and make dinner. Or maybe she’d pick up a pizza on the way, even though she’d done that three days ago.
But that couldn’t be helped. She’d planned to make a nice meal until a couple called dying to see a condo that had just come on the market. They both worked during the day and had wanted to see it that evening. She’d barely had time to grab a slice before running back out the door.
Tonight the calendar was clear after ballet, but the thought of slaving away in the kitchen made her shudder. Guy usually cooked on Friday nights. Maybe he’d trade.
She parked in front of the office and put in a quick call to suggest it.
“Wait a minute,” he protested. “You pulled that one on me last week and then on Friday you were too tired to cook.” He politely refrained from mentioning that she had also been too tired for sex.
“I promise I won’t back out this Friday,” she said. “I’ll make Indian,” she added to sweeten the pot.
He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “All right. Deal. But it’s going to be spaghetti. You’re not the only one who comes home pooped, you know.”
“But I’m the only one who comes home pooped and has to take Bryn to ballet.” Oh, yeah, he’d done that for her last week, too. Bad argument.
“Yeah?”
“Okay, never mind. I forgot about last week. Come on, Guy, don’t give me a hard time here.”
“All right, all right.”
“I love you,” she cooed. It always helped to remind him why he so often went the extra mile.
“I love you, too,” he said, “even though you’re working both of us into an early grave.”
She let the comment go but she hung up with a frown. What did he expect? They had a big home improvement loan to pay off.
Loan or no loan, though, they’d probably work just as hard. Guy loved his job as a systems analyst and would have worked at his company for free. And she felt the same about what she did. Beautiful houses—she breathed, ate, and dreamed them. She always felt like she’d done something good when she helped a family find their dream home, the place where they could build happy lives in a lovely setting. A nice house was the most important gift a person could give herself, and the nicest gift she could give her family. Sometimes Suzanne suspected Guy didn’t get that.
She climbed out of the car just as Melanie and James Cox pulled up behind her.
“Hi,” she called, hurrying up to them. “I think I’ve found the perfect place for you.” It came with a view and a high price tag, but it was worth every penny.
Melanie and James loved the house and agreed. So did another couple who were looking with her archrival Sasha Hearst over at Windermere, which meant Suzanne had a bidding war on her hands. She hated bidding wars. Except when her people won.
Melanie and James didn’t win. They dropped out after offering a measly thousand dollars over asking price, even though Suzanne tried her best to convince them that they could well afford to go up yet another five. But James was conservative and Melanie was a wimp. Suzanne pasted a smile on her face and assured them that she’d find something else for them that would be equally wonderful, even though she knew she wouldn’t. That had been the perfect house and they’d let it get away.
To top off her day she learned that one of her deals wasn’t going to make it through escrow. Ugh.
But that was the real estate business, she reminded herself as she left the office. Tomorrow would be better.
Still, she felt grumpy as she sat on a cold metal chair at the Happy Feet dance studio, watching her daughter and a dozen other five-and six-year-old ballerinas do their battement tendus. The dance recital was right around the corner and the person Suzanne had paid to make Bryn’s costume hadn’t even started it yet. Frustrating as she found this, Suzanne understood. Everyone was overextended, especially with the holidays looming. Holidays. Shopping. She hadn’t even begun.
Simply thinking about all she had to do started a headache blooming. She reached into her purse, pulled out her little bottle of Excedrin, and popped one. She used to need water to wash them down. Now she swallowed them dry.
The girls began to work on their dance number for the recital. They were all going to be sugar plum fairies and Bryn was so excited it was almost all she talked about. The only subject that took precedence over fairyhood was the hope that Santa would bring her a puppy for Christmas.
Suzanne had already informed her daughter that Santa didn’t carry puppies in his sleigh. They might fall out and get hurt. Bryn had assured her mother that Santa’s sleigh came equipped with seat belts. Who had told her that? Probably Guy. He was the moving force behind this, sure that every kid needed a dog. Well, every mom didn’t need a dog, and this mom needed one like she needed to take up mud wrestling. Bryn would get a pretty stuffed puppy to put on her bed. That kind of dog never peed in the house.
The dance lesson was over and Bryn hopped up to her. “Did you see me, Mommy?”
“Yes,” Suzanne lied. Actually, she’d gotten so preoccupied that she hadn’t seen a thing. But she knew she was safe in adding, “You were great.”
Bryn beamed and jumped up and down. “Can we get ice cream?”
On the days when Guy took their daughter to ballet they always stopped on the way home for ice cream, thus succeeding in spoiling Bryn’s appetite for dinner.
“Not tonight, sweetie. We have to get home. Daddy’s making dinner.”
By the time they got home the aroma of Italian spices filled the house.
“Daddy, we’re home!” Bryn called. She started to race across the entryway.
“Ah-ah! Shoes,” Suzanne reminded her.
Bryn fell down and quickly pulled off her shoes, tossing them in the general direction of the wicker shoe basket Suzanne kept by the door, then raced off down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Suzanne followed at a slower pace. She was suddenly so tired she barely had enough energy to admire the antique table in the entryway or the shine of her highly polished hardwood floors and how well they set off the new rug as she walked past her living room. It looked exactly like something out of Better Homes and Gardens. In fact, the whole house looked that way and good looks didn’t just happen. She had worked hard making the house into something beautiful, a real step up from her childhood home.
Step? This wasn’t a mere step up; it was an entire staircase. The rickety mess of a house Suzanne had grown up in had been nothing to bring friends home t
o. Not so here. Suzanne could entertain Martha Stewart herself.
“Hi, babe,” Guy greeted her. He had shed his suit and was standing at the stove in jeans and his old University of Washington sweatshirt, stirring his favorite brand of bottled spaghetti sauce. He’d rumpled his dark hair in the process of changing and hadn’t bothered to unrumple it. Because he was so darned handsome, the look fit him well. Two glasses of red wine sat next to him on the counter and he held one out to her. “You look pooped. Not a good day in the real estate biz?”
He leaned down and kissed her and she took the wine. “You could say that. I found the perfect house for the Coxes and they wimped out.” She shook her head sadly at the memory of the couple’s foolishness.
“Bidding war, huh?”
“It’s hard to have a war when one side surrenders after the first shot’s been fired.”
“Well, maybe they’re on a budget.”
“They could afford it,” Suzanne scoffed.
“Maybe they don’t want to sink everything they own into a house. Maybe they have other priorities.”
Was that some kind of hidden message? She studied her husband, but he didn’t give her much to study.
She watched as he shoved a handful of angel hair pasta into a pot of boiling water. “What could be more important than having a nice home for your family?”
He shrugged. “Everyone has a different definition of nice, babe.”
“I guess,” she conceded. “But they were fools. That was the ideal house for them and they let it get away. The Turner deal is going south on me, too.” She started pulling plates out of the cupboard. “What a day.”
“I know all my steps, Daddy,” piped Bryn, and demonstrated.
Guy smiled fondly at her. “Good for you, princess.” He ruffled her hair and then set to work draining pasta.
“Grammy is going to be so proud when she comes up to visit,” added Suzanne. Now, why had she mentioned her mother’s upcoming Christmas visit? Just the thought of the mess that would come with her was enough to destroy all the good work of the Excedrin: Popsicle sticks and glue everywhere, chaos in the kitchen 24-7, tacky popcorn strings—ugh. Her mother was like Martha Stewart’s trashy cousin and, of course, she’d want to spread the love. Well, she wasn’t touching the tree. Suzanne would make that clear. Hopefully, since she wasn’t coming up until the day before Christmas she couldn’t cause too much of a problem. Please, God, let that be true.
The Snow Globe Page 7