by Lake, C. J.
Tray was a great guy, but the gamer in him didn’t allow for much compassion when it came to someone holding up the game, no matter what the reason. Unless it was Andy, of course. Then suddenly Tray transformed into the most patient, easygoing guy in the world.
“I’m here, I’m here,” Pellican said, jogging into the kitchen from the left-hand entrance. He shuffled his stocky frame over to the table, scrubbed a hand over his bristly auburn hair, and thudded hard into his chair. At the same time, Bardo ambled over to the table with the open bag of chips in his hand.
“Cool, let’s play,” Tragan said and started dealing.
Bardo’s loud crunching seemed to prompt Pellican to reach for a handful of chips himself. Quickly, Bardo pulled back, as though protecting the bag. “Wait--did you wash your hands?
“Of course--asshole,” Pellican snapped, clearly offended, and Matt chuckled.
“Well, okay, then,” Bardo said agreeably and passed him the bag.
“By the way,” Tragan said, turning his face toward Matt. “How did it go with Emma? You gonna do the job?”
Emma. Even if Tray hadn’t brought her up, she was still drifting in and out of Matt’s mind. “Definitely,” he answered. “Piece of cake.”
“Who’s Emma?” Pellican asked through a mouthful of chips.
“Andy’s sister,” Tragan said.
As each man picked up his cards and assessed his hand, something possessed Matt to add, “Hey, Tray, you never told me she was good-looking.”
“Yeah? She’s cute?” Pellican said.
Keeping his tone nonchalant, Matt said, “She’s a pretty girl.”
At that, Bardo slapped his hand on the table. “Tray, what the hell, bro? You mean Andy has a cute, single sister and you’ve been holding out on us? You know we need help!”
Defensively, Pellican countered, “Speak for yourself Bardo. My cousin’s wedding is this weekend. It’s gonna be a chick fest. I’ll have more than I can handle.”
Nodding, Bardo humored him. “Okay, sure. If delusion is your cocktail of choice. Seriously, though, Tray--”
Tragan cut him off. “Forget it, Bardo. Emma has two kids. Not sure if she’s looking for three.”
Matt had to laugh at that. Meanwhile, Bardo freely admitted his immaturity. “Fair point. I withdraw my interest in advance.”
“What’s her story anyway?” Matt asked curiously. There didn’t seem to be a man around, yet she had kids and was obviously attractive as hell.
Tragan gave a careless shrug as he shuffled the cards. “She was married, but her husband was in the army. He died a few years ago.”
“Wait, she’s a widow?” Bardo said, looking intrigued. “How old are we talking here? Because I might jump back into the ring for a cougar.”
Rolling his eyes, Matt said, “She’s not a cougar. She’s only in her twenties.”
“Good, now that that’s settled,” Tragan interrupted, “how many cards do you want?”
After Pellican and Matt each took one, and Bardo requested four, Matt felt compelled to add, “And Bardo, I don’t have to know what Emma’s looking for to know that you’re not it.”
“Damn!” Pellican barked with a hearty laugh.
When Bardo’s eyes widened behind his glasses, Matt realized he’d come off too possessive on the subject of Emma. “Sorry, man. Touchy, touchy,” Bardo said, cracking up, too. “She’s all yours, Matt.”
Immediately Matt tried to retract. “No, I mean, I wasn’t saying all that,” he corrected. “I just said she’s pretty.”
Quietly Bardo murmured, “And that’s how it starts…”
Chapter Nine
“Knock, knock.”
Startled, Matt glanced over his shoulder and found a little boy looking up at him. About three feet tall, he was blinking with big dark eyes and strongly resembled Emma. “Oh--you startled me, little man,” Matt said, letting his tape measure retract.
Just then another boy entered Emma’s kitchen. He was taller than the first, with light blonde hair, carrying a small Spiderman backpack that looked like it could barely fit a notebook.
“Hi,” the blonde one said. “I’m Jake.” He tapped his little brother on the shoulder. “And this is Ben.”
“Hey, guys,” Matt said.
“Knock, knock,” Ben repeated, clearly not to be deterred from his initial purpose.
Matt said, “Okay, who’s there?”
“Water!”
“Water who?”
“Water’s to get the door,” Ben finished, at first smiling, but then his expression faltered. Matt didn’t get a chance to fake laughter before Jake leaned over, cupped a hand over his mouth and whispered in his brother’s ear. “Oh, yeah!” Ben whispered back, then looked at Matt again. “I mean, water way to get the door!”
Matt forced a chuckle. “That’s a good one,” he told Ben, who beamed with pride. “Where did you learn that joke?”
“I taught him it,” Jake said. “I know a lot of jokes that I learned when I was a little kid.”
“Ah,” Matt said with a nod. “Makes sense.”
“Boys--there you are,” Emma said, coming into the kitchen. She looked adorably harried with her dark hair pulled up in a knot that was being secured by a pencil. Instantly, Matt’s eyes flitted down over her figure. Today she wore blue jeans over her curvy hips and a soft-looking white sweater that molded over her breasts. Even though her clothes weren’t the least bit revealing, he wasn’t blind--and clearly she could drive a guy crazy with that body if he let himself focus on it. “I told you not to bother Matt while he’s working. I’ll bring you your snack in the living room today, okay? Did you wash your hands yet?” Contritely, both boys shook their heads. “Go to the bathroom, wash your hands, and meet me in the living room,” Emma told them, her tone even but firm.
Matt was impressed by the way Emma’s sons complied and didn’t give her an argument. He’d worked at plenty of houses full of brats running wild and hapless parents bribing them for a shred of obedience. When Matt’s eyes met Emma’s, she gave him a brief smile. “Sorry about that.”
“No, don’t be sorry,” Matt said, waving off her concern. “They weren’t bothering me; I like kids.”
On her way to the pantry, Emma said, “How’s everything going so far, anyway?”
“Good.” Matt couldn’t resist glancing at her again as she walked past him, swaying her hips in a sexy, feminine way that she was probably unaware of; a fleeting image entered his mind involving pulling her against him and running his hands under her sweater. “The faucets are done,” he said, getting back to reality. “I’m just measuring the floor.”
Eagerly, Emma looked over her shoulder. “Great! So how soon can you get the new flooring installed?” she asked hopefully.
As his tape measure snapped, Matt said, “Well, I’m waiting on you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you want to paint in here. I definitely don’t recommend painting after you’ve put new floors down.”
“Duh, right,” Emma replied, walking toward him again, now with two snack packs in her hand. “I need to do that first; I wasn’t thinking.” With a weak-sounding laugh, she shook her head and said, “Sorry, I’ve been so scattered lately.” Just as she said it, the pencil in her hair slipped out and fell to the floor. “Oh--no…” she began, bending over to get it as it rolled across the tile and her hair spilled loose across her shoulders.
“Here, let me get it,” Matt said, reaching down for the pencil. When he straightened up to hand it to her, he noticed how close her face was to his. Their eyes locked for a second, before Emma cleared her throat and backed up a few steps.
“Thanks,” she managed, taking the pencil and sticking it behind her ear. “How’s that? Does that look editor-y enough?” she asked breezily.
“Oh, so you’re an editor?” Matt said.
She nodded. “For Alien Notion. It’s a science-fiction magazine. Ever hear of it?”
“No.”
“Yeah, y
ou don’t look like a sci-fi buff.”
Half-grinning, he asked, “What does one look like?”
“Um…stereotypically speaking? Not you,” was all she said, but grinned at him. Hopefully he knew it was a compliment.
“I see.”
“Anyway, my job is the reason we’re moving. The owner of the magazine, Derek, used to live in Ithaca and wants to move back. So he’s relocating the whole operation over there. He’s offered me a senior editor position if I go, too.”
“Wow,” Matt said, impressed--but admittedly disappointed. He hadn’t known why Emma was thinking of moving, but he supposed he hadn’t taken it that seriously. After all, plenty of people got revved up and put their houses on the market--only to get discouraged pretty quickly and decide to stay where they were. Now Matt realized that wasn’t going to be Emma’s situation. This was more than a whim or a passing idea. “So, editor, huh?” he said conversationally, stretching his tape again to take one more measurement. “I guess you read and write all day long.”
“Pretty much.”
“Man, I could never do that,” Matt remarked offhandedly. “It would give me such a headache.” He wasn’t sure why he’d blurted that, even though it was the truth. Still, he probably shouldn’t say more than that--so he didn’t. “You’re sure about doing the painting yourself?” he double-checked.
“Yes,” she insisted, though he sensed a fraction of hesitation.
Just then one of her sons called out: “Mommy, can we come in the kitchen now?”
“No!” Emma called back and Matt grinned. “I’m really a nice person, I swear,” she added glibly. Suddenly the phone rang. As Emma walked toward the phone on the wall, Matt reached for his tablet to record the measurements he’d taken. And the blonde one, Jake, strolled into the kitchen despite Emma’s warning tone of voice.
As soon as Emma saw him, she stopped and put her hand on her hip. Keeping her voice calm but displeased, she said, “Jake, what did I say? Living room. Now.”
Despite the mini-rebellion of entering in the first place, Jake accepted what she said; without protesting, he turned to go. Emma almost got to the phone before the machine picked up and the caller’s message played loudly: “Hi, Emma, it’s Stacy Creston. I wanted to check in!”
“Oh, it’s just as well,” Emma muttered, turning away from the phone. “It’s my realtor. I don’t feel like talking to her at the moment.” She walked to the coffee maker as Stacy’s voice continued to fill the room.
“I hope your upgrades are coming along and listen, there’s something else I forgot to mention. Are you ready? Tuscan Pizza Oven,” she said, emphasizing each word like it was sacred. When Matt looked at Emma, he saw her making a skeptical face toward the answering machine, and he had to chuckle. Stacy Creston continued: “It’s a very popular upgrade. Buyers love it! Now if you’re interested, I know someone who can do the work. His name’s Tony and he worked on my summer house last year. He’s great--and on the plus side, he’s also a total hottie who works with his shirt off!”
While Stacy trilled a laugh into the machine, Emma cringed with embarrassment.
She braved a glance at Matt and found him focused on his tablet--but she could’ve sworn there was a vague smirk on his face. She supposed it was too much to hope that he’d been so “in the zone” with floor measurements he’d somehow missed Stacy’s animated message.
“Anyway, if you’re interested, I’ll make the call or give you Tony’s number. Take care!” Stacy chirped before disconnecting.
“Um…” Emma began, looking at Matt again. “Just ignore that.” It was silly, but Emma somehow felt the need to distance herself from her realtor’s agenda. To establish that she didn’t share all of Stacy’s sensibilities, not just about pizza ovens but also the desire to ogle shirtless workmen.
Seeming amused, Matt remarked, “You know, I always wondered what women said about us when we weren’t around.”
By “us” did he mean workmen--or hotties?
With a short laugh, Emma said, “Forget everything you just heard. My realtor has, uh, big dreams for this place. Actually, I’m discovering that real estate is more about smoke and mirrors than houses.”
“Still…” Matt said, closing his tablet and stepping toward her. “I wouldn’t want you to miss out on Tony.” With a teasing glance, he added, “If that’s what you’re into.”
Her heart sped up a little as Matt neared. It was purely instinctual. Acting casual, Emma simply smirked at him and replied, “That’s okay. I’m good. Really, I don’t need a shirtless guy parading around my house.”
“Message received,” Matt said. “I’ll keep my clothes on.”
“Thank you. So will I,” she said without thinking. Then realized the subject of her, Matt, and nakedness was not a good one to engage in, even jokingly. Briskly, she shifted gears. “No issues with the faucets?”
“No, but let me show you exactly how they work. They’re newer models so they run on rechargeable batteries. Here, I’ll show you what you need to know.”
Emma followed Matt out of the kitchen, tossed cracker packs to her sons, who were waiting on the couch, and continued to the half-bath behind the stairs.
As Matt stood by the tiny sink and talked about battery packs, Emma didn’t want to be distracted by the close quarters. By Matt’s cleanly masculine scent, by the deep thrum of his voice…
Up this close, Matt seemed almost overpowering. He stood nine or ten inches taller than her, putting Emma at eye-level with his strong chest and muscular arms. If she looked up into his face, it made her a little nervous, but if she looked down, she’d be noticing his flat stomach.
“Emma?”
“What? Oh, yes, okay, thanks, I got it,” she lied.
“All right, well, I’m going to take off then. I’ll start the flooring as soon as the paint’s dry.”
“Right, the paint,” Emma echoed, already filled with dread about starting.
“Just call me, okay?” He passed by her in the narrow bathroom, causing her to inch back, even though she really didn’t want to--and then paused in the doorway, his eyes cast directly on hers. “Call whenever you’re ready for me.”
Swallowing hard, she managed a nod. He’d only meant when she was done painting. Yet…there was something about the way he’d said that.
Chapter Ten
Two nights later, Emma followed Andy into her apartment. “Sorry,” she said when she was done listening to her voicemail, and dropped her phone into her bag. “That was Stacy.”
“What did she say?” Andy asked, as she shucked off her coat and hung it on the rack.
“Skylights are making a comeback.”
“Oh, brother,” Andy muttered with a laugh, then took Emma’s jacket and hung it next to hers.
“Don’t worry, I’ve learned to filter out these helpful suggestions,” Emma told her calmly. “My strategy is: I let voicemail pick up, Stacy urges me to do more stuff to my house, and then, when I happen to talk to her, I never mention or acknowledge it.” Taking a seat on the couch, Emma sighed peacefully. “It’s been working well.”
“So your strategy is avoidance.”
“Pretty much.”
Earlier they had gone to a Thai restaurant for dinner while their mother was watching Jake and Ben at her house. It was her weekly grandma time with them--though Kathryn Delphin practically refused to answer to “grandma,” opting instead for “Mimi.”
Over dinner, when Andy mentioned a box of paperbacks that she had for the Goodwill, Emma had offered to drop them off for her since she’d inevitably be making several trips there as she got deeper into packing and clearing out the house.
Now Andy flopped down on the cushion beside her. “Speaking of Stacy Creston’s impact on our lives…how are things going with the house? Do you need help with the painting?”
“No, don’t even worry about it. Also, I haven’t started yet.”
“I thought you were in a rush.”
“I am, but firs
t I had to finish my notes on Marta Vincent’s rodent robots. Then came Parents’ Night at Jake’s school--where, incidentally, I learned there’s a bake sale coming up next week that I was supposed to know about already. They said they sent a notice home in the mail, but I never got it. Besides all that, I’ve been trying to cram in my Christmas shopping.”
Andy gave her a sympathetic look. “Emma, just ask Matt to do it then.”
“I can’t,” Emma said, even though she desperately wanted to do just that. “Not after I made a big deal about doing it myself.”
Andy shrugged. “What’s the difference?”
“So what’s he going to think?”
“I’m sure he won’t think anything. Besides…why do you care what he thinks?”
“I don’t,” Emma said right away.
Sitting more upright, Andy’s blue eyes narrowed. “Hey, did you change your mind about being interested in him?”
“No,” Emma said, shaking her head, “absolutely not.”
“Okay, but he’s a great guy,” Andy reminded her.
Dismissively, Emma said, “Look, I’m sure he is. But I’m moving. And, as you know, I’m not interested in dating--plus the fact, he’s way too young for me.”
“I guess you’re right,” Andy agreed, slumping back against the couch cushion, then amended, “Well not the part about him being too young for you.”
“He’s twenty-three.”
“So? So is Tragan.”
“So are you,” Emma pointed out. “Are you seeing the common theme here, Andy? Twenty-three-year-old guys don’t belong with twenty-seven-year-old women.”
Andy rolled her eyes at that. “Whatever. And by the way, I’m twenty-four now.”
“Sorry. I guess in my old age I forgot.”
Laughing, Andy shoved her with a throw pillow. “You’re so ridiculous.”
“Besides…” Emma said, tossing the pillow to the side and reaching for her bag. “Is Matt even single anyway?” she asked, trying to keep her tone and posture casual as she rifled through her bag to dig out her cell phone again.
“Yes. He’s single. I confirmed it with Tragan. Actually, Tragan mentioned that Matt was pretty involved with someone a year or two ago, but it ended badly. Not sure what happened. I can find out if you want.”