ThisTimeNextDoor (5 page)

“I just moved back from Milwaukee, you see,” he said. “I haven’t had time to get my own place.”

“Sure,” she said.

Who was he kidding? He liked living at home. And Rose probably saw right through him anyway. “I lived by myself in Wisconsin and barely survived.” He smiled at her over his coffee. “I live with my mother because she adores me and feeds me fantastic meals and tells me I’m awesome.”

“I completely understand.” Her face broke into a grin. “I’ve got one of those myself. If she hadn’t married Slug I might still be at home myself.”

“Not his real name, I gather?”

“It is to me.” She lifted her shoulders in a mock shudder, drawing his gaze down to her chest again. “It’s just you and your mom at the house?”

That was one hell of a robe. She didn’t seem uncomfortable with him seeing her in it, which amazed him. Even if she didn’t like men, an assumption he was beginning to question, she was awfully relaxed about letting a near-stranger see her hard nipples poking through thin, shimmery bedroom material.

“Mark?”

Pretending to cough on his eggs, he lifted a napkin to his mouth and stared at his plate.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t pry,” Rose said. “Would you like another piece of toast?”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Just went down the wrong pipe. What was the question?”

“Nothing, really. I was being nosy.”

Enough of him had been paying attention to rewind what she’d said in his mind. “Ah, yes, we do live alone. Yes, though my brother and baby sister are nearby. Liam has a condo in San Francisco and, until recently, April was crashing at his place. Now he’s engaged and April’s finally got her own apartment.” He poured himself more of the excellent coffee from the carafe on the table. “She’ll probably move back home when she feels like being an adult is too much work.”

“Ouch.”

He grinned. “Liam’s the only ambitious one in the family, I’m afraid.”

“But you’re an engineer. That’s a great career.”

“I could do better,” he said softly, and felt the truth of it to his bones. Ages ago, he’d been a prodigy. The kind of kid that taught himself calculus in junior high. Won chess tournaments. Went to MIT before his seventeenth birthday.

“Couldn’t we all,” Rose replied, a lopsided smile on her face. She held up her mug. “Here’s to untapped potential.”

Her gown gaped open. A rounded curve of pale, soft breast appeared, and his breath caught. Making a show of lifting his own mug to hers, he gritted his teeth, smiled tightly, and willed his lungs to draw air.

I need to get out more.

“Did I gather from what you said that you’re having job troubles?” he asked.

“Can you call it that even if you don’t have one?”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“What would you like to do?” he asked.

“That’s the problem.” She stood up and yanked her belt tightly around her waist. He gazed at her, stricken again by the view. Now he could see part of her upper thigh, right above the knee, peeking out from under the fabric.
 

Her skin looked impossibly soft. He’d had acne as a teenager and was in awe of anyone with a perfect complexion like hers. Smooth as white chocolate. Unreal, not found in nature. Supernatural.

He forced his gaze upwards. “Is what you want to do illegal?”

“There’s an idea.” She put her hands on her hips. Curves, curves, everywhere. “Maybe I need to think bigger.”

I know what you mean.
Nodding, he gulped down a last mouthful of coffee and wiped his lips with a napkin. Time to get out of here. He was feeling light-headed. “I’ll see what I can do with your furnace.” He pushed away from the table.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said with a sigh. “We need to learn how to deal with Ellen. She’s not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I until I find that furnace,” he said. “I need to earn my breakfast.”

“Cold eggs?”

He shrugged. “The burden will haunt me.”

She laughed again. “Okay, okay.” She pointed at a door in the hallway. “I’ll be sure to tell Blair who came to our rescue.”

That made him glance up at her as he walked past, but she didn’t look annoyed. Not entirely sincere, though. That mocking blond eyebrow was raised.

“I like fixing things,” he muttered, and strode into the hallway.

“Me too,” she said behind him. “That’s why I invited you to dinner.”

He stopped and turned around. “You felt sorry for me?”

“Don’t look like that. I’m not a social worker. I was just being nice.”

“I don’t need you to be nice.”

“Says the guy who wants to fix our furnace for no reason,” she said.

“I don’t think it’s good for a pregnant woman to be freezing to death.”

“There’s your reason—you feel sorry for Blair. How do you think that would make her feel?”

Did he feel sorry for the pretty brunette? “It’s not pity. It’s concern.”

“Which is more than I feel for you, and yet you feel oppressed with the burden of my invitation.”

“Fine, I’ll eat your stupid dinner,” he said. “Satisfied?”

“As long as you fix our stupid furnace,” she said, walking past him. She was grinning again. “I’m getting dressed. I’ll meet you down there.”

He watched her retreating form swish and bounce away with a sinking feeling. He’d come over to wiggle out of the dinner invitation but instead he’d eaten her breakfast, was about to work on their furnace, and was more stuck than ever on the dinner.

Well, what did he expect? His social muscles had atrophied from years of disuse. He didn’t want to get too involved with these women, given the complexities of their problems, but he could be casually social in a neighborly way. He would just come over, eat, chat, go. No big deal.

He pulled open the door down to the basement. The stairs, very steep and narrow, reeked of mold and decay, and the light didn’t respond to the switch. He made his way down carefully in the dark, his hand gripping the banister.

He was surprised, since Mr. Roche had been a very rich man, that the house wasn’t better maintained. But the old grouch had been a widower, and a workaholic, and never spent much time at home. Since he died earlier that year, the house had bounced between his two adult daughters and their offspring, but nobody had made a home of it.

“Careful,” Rose said from the landing above him. “The light doesn’t work.”

“I noticed.”

“Hold on, I’ve got a flashlight.”

He heard her come down the stairs, felt her hand on his shoulder, and took the heavy metal cylinder she handed him.

And now it was Mark, the neighbor, and Rose, a complete stranger from the other side of the country, who were stumbling through the dark depths of the house to fix its furnace.

As his foot hit flat concrete, he reached out for the wall for balance, flicking on the flashlight. It was bright and cast a wide beam. “Nice flashlight, anyway.”

“I brought it from home,” she said.

He wondered about that. “So, I kind of understand why Blair is here. But… you…” He trailed off.

She didn’t answer right away, and when she did it was with a light, dismissive laugh. “Are you kidding? Free rent. I only need to find a job to cover food and nail polish.”

“What if you don’t find one?”

“I’ll find something.”

He pointed the flashlight at the floor, scanning the wide, empty space. Emboldened by the darkness, he asked, “And if that something is back in New York?”

“I’m staying. Blair loaded up her car and drove thousands of miles, alone, trusting John to change his mind and follow her, and he didn’t.” She stepped past him into the shadows. “No matter what, she’ll have somebody to lean on, somebody who loves her. Nobody should go through this by herself.”

Mark appreciated her loyalty. “You’d think John would feel that way.”

She turned to him, nodding, her eyes reflecting the light. “How can he sleep at night?”

He pressed the knuckles of his free hand into his temple. “I’ve only met Blair once, and I’m already having trouble.”

“She’s so nice, too. Totally doesn’t deserve this.” She lowered her voice. “Or him.”

“I’ve never liked the guy,” he said, though he barely remembered him.

“If he ever visits, I’m going to beat the shit out of him.”

“I’ll hold him down while you swing.”

She laughed. “Thanks.” Then, “Hey. It’s hot down here.”

“You’re right.” He swung the flashlight around the low-ceilinged space, found the furnace, which was humming, then followed the ducts out of it up to the ceiling. “Well, looks like this won’t be too hard. Look at that.”

One of the ducts affixed to the ceiling was cracked wide open at a sharp bend in the corner. “Huh. No wonder.”

He turned toward her and accidentally blinded her in the face. She flung up her hands and he lowered the flashlight, at first grateful she’d changed out of the distracting gown, then freshly struck by her new getup.

Every time he saw her she looked like a different person. Now she was wearing a form-fitting jogging suit, sporty but heavily embroidered with sequins that reflected the light in abstract geometric patterns. As she lowered her hands, he saw the zipper was only halfway up, showcasing her cleavage and a shining necklace that disappeared into it depths of her warm, lush body.

“Mark?”

“It’s hot down here,” he said.

“Hey, you’re good at this. If that computer thing doesn’t work out, you can pursue heating and cooling repair.”

He’d ignore that. “Do you have any duct tape?”

“Funny—the one time I’d actually be using it for its intended purpose,” she said. “But no, I don’t think so. Not unless it was left behind, but they cleaned the place out pretty well. Even down here.”

He swung the flashlight around the bare floors. “You’re right. The family seemed happy to bury the guy and move on.”

“Blair says Ellen talks about him like some great fashion business mastermind, and yet, I don’t know, we both get the impression it wasn’t a happy relationship.”

He shrugged. “They weren’t here much, which was fine with me. My brother Liam was close to him after our father died, which is how he started working at Fite.” He moved closer to the gaping duct and wiped away the beads of sweat building on his forehead. “Liam was an Olympic swimmer.”

“I heard about that. I’m an only child, so I wouldn’t know, but is it hard to have such a successful sibling?”

“Not the way you’d think.” He aimed the flashlight at the stairs. “Let’s go up and turn it off. I’m melting down here.”

She followed him silently upstairs. Sucking in the cool air with relief, he strode over to the thermostat to switch it off.

“Well, thanks,” she said. “Guess I’ll be making a trip to the hardware store.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ve got loads of duct tape at our house.” He wiggled his foot. “How else would I repair my favorite footwear?”

She looked down and her mouth dropped open. Pointing a red fingernail at the silver tape wrapped around the beige suede strap of his Birkenstock Arizonas, she said,
 
“Right there, on your foot—that’s a crime against civilization.”

He laughed, only just then noticing the girly pink and purple polka-dotted slippers she had on her own feet. “You’re one to talk. What the hell are those?”

Not smiling, she squatted down and grabbed his ankle. “My God, they’re even worse close up. How many layers of this crap are on there? Why wear shoes at all? Just put plastic bags on your feet and be done with it.”

“Tried that,” he said, looking down her shirt from above. “No arch support.”

Her fingers wrapped around the heel and tugged. “Take them off. I’m doing an intervention.”

He tried to hop away but she held on too tightly. If he didn’t stop struggling, he’d end up kicking her in the face or falling down. “Stop. Really, stop. Leave me alone.”

“How can your mother let you wear these? How can she even let them in the house?”

Annoyed, he pulled his leg free, but the shoe didn’t come with it. In fact, his mother made him leave them on the porch but he wasn’t going to tell Nosy Rosie that. He put his bare foot on the floor and bent over to retrieve his shoe from her snobby, pointy-fingered clutches.

Shaking her head, she stared him in the eye as she chucked it behind her, then scrambled up to her feet to reach it before he did.

Her round bottom, jiggling as it scurried away, distracted him for a moment. “I saved you a visit with Ellen and this is how you repay me?”

She swung around, shoe in hand again, cheeks pink, eyes shining. “Yes! Exactly. I am
so
doing you a favor by taking these away from you.” She pointed at his other foot. “Give me that one too.”

“Are you crazy? Give me the one you stole,” he said. “Yes,
stole
.”

“It’s not stealing if I burn it.”

“No, that would be arson.”

She stared at him in amazement. “You’re really upset. I took away this nasty, stinking piece of garbage that was clinging to your foot and you’re
upset
.”

“They’re comfortable.” He took a long step towards her. “They have sentimental value.” Another step. “And they’re
mine
.” He backed her up into the corner of the front doorway, looming down at her, glaring, before he forcibly retrieved the offending item.

She stayed there with her back against the door while he strode away and shoved it back onto his foot.

After a moment she said to his back, “Give me the shoes and I won’t make you come to dinner.”

“You can’t make me do anything.”

“Sure I can. For instance, I can ask Blair to invite you. Somehow I don’t think you’d be able to disappoint her if she batted those big brown eyes at you.”

So they
were
brown. “She’s at work.”

“I’ll send her over right when she gets home. I’ll tell her that I’ve made way too much pasta and how you fixed our furnace today, et cetera.” She flashed an evil grin. “Imagine how grateful she’ll be. She won’t take no for an answer.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You play dirty.”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

“What’s it to you, anyway? Maybe you’re projecting your own feelings for her onto me.”

Her eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”