Long Slow Burn (3 page)

Kim nodded, experiencing a jumble of mixed reactions: fear, excitement, pride and an overriding desire to run home and hide in bed. But if she always gave in to fear she'd still
be miserable at Soka. Still be dating Sam. Still the same old pimply, dowdy Kim.

Marie tapped a few more keys; Dale's face disappeared from the monitor but lingered in Kim's brain for a few pleasant seconds before Troy's dark eyes and lean features supplanted his.

Kim had come a long way. What hadn't killed her had made her stronger, and there was no reason she couldn't continue to change and grow, as Marie said, even if, God forbid, Charlotte's Web failed. She wanted a relationship, and she'd lose nothing by meeting with these two. Call it practice, if that made the hours easier to cope with. And if she babbled and stuttered and spilled, so be it. No animals or small children would be harmed in the having of these dates.

“I'll do it.” She spoke impulsively, started to take the words back, and found she couldn't, because she didn't want to take anything back; from now on she wanted to take everything forward.

“Both of them?”

Kim nodded firmly, her face flushed. “Both of them. I'm ready.”

“H
EY,
N
ATHAN.”

“Mmph?” Nathan opened one eye. Kim. What was she doing in his bedroom? Undoubtedly not what he wanted her to be doing in his bedroom.

Wait. He wasn't in bed. He was on the couch in her—their—living room. What the—

“Did you remember to get wine on your way home?” Hands on her hips, lips pursed. “For my book club meeting tonight?”

Wine? Oh, no. He must have fallen asleep. She'd asked him this morning to get some; his fog-brain did remember that much. “I don't think so.”

Kim's face set. “No problem. I'll get it.”

“No. No.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and shook his head, trying to clear it. Wine. She'd wanted him to get some on his way home from…where? “I'll get it. I said I would. Wait, what time is it?”

She looked at her watch. “Almost four-thirty.”

His memory came back. He'd gone out after his bartending job at the Hi Hat Lounge last night, stayed out until four, gotten to work at Alterra Coffee at six, then stumbled home and slept through his four o'clock appointment with his faculty advisor, during which he was to have reported
on progress he hadn't made. He was supposed to buy Kim's wine on the way back.

Nathan bounced off the couch, got an instant brownout and had to bend over until his vision cleared.

He was never, ever drinking tequila again.

“How long have you been asleep? Didn't you have an appointment with Dr. Stephanopolous?”

“Um. Maybe.”

“Oh, no.” She used that tone he hated most. That what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you tone that meant all she saw was her little brother's loser friend. He couldn't tell her about the panic that gripped him when he tried to work, the compulsion to jump up and run, the inability to focus, the instinct that putting more work into what he'd planned was shoving bad after worse.

Sometimes he thought he was going nuts.

“I'll call and straighten it out. Then I'll get the wine.” He staggered forward into the pizza he'd bought after work and half finished before nodding off.
Squish.
A tepid slice stuck to the bottom of his bare foot. When he shook free, the sauce-slathered crust dropped back to the plate but the mozzarella clung. He hopped a few times, lost his balance and fell back on the couch, his cheesy foot sticking into the air.

Why always in front of this woman? If she laughed, he'd join her.

She didn't laugh. She sighed.

He hated those sighs. “Help, cheese is trying to eat my foot.”

“Nathan.” Amusement in her voice this time. Good. He could usually get her to laugh. Someday soon he hoped to earn respect along with that laughter. Maybe affection. Maybe more.

She disappeared and came back with a paper towel, her hair in an endearingly sloppy ponytail, her slender, toned body hidden under baggy gray sweats and a shapeless sweater. “You are truly something.”

“Aren't I?” He grinned up at her, the oh-so-charming, cocky boy-man she expected, and took the towel to wipe his foot clean. “Thanks for the rescue. I have to call Dr. S., then I'll get your wine, I promise.”

Dreading the next installment of his advisor's disappointment, he strode over the crooked, scarred hardwood floors of the narrow hallway to his bedroom, painted a vibrant blue by Kim before he'd moved in early in the month. She'd done amazing things with blasts of color here and there, but the apartment had definitely seen better days. As far as Nathan was concerned, however, any place Kim lived was paradise. He still couldn't believe fate—or rather his previous landlord selling the building—had made this miracle possible.

After searching through piles of laundry and stacks of paper, his phone appeared on the floor next to his drafting table. He made the call quickly to get it over with, then found Kim in their old-fashioned kitchen, whose drab colors she'd ambushed with bright red canisters, colorful bowls of fruit and intricately patterned decorative tiles.

“What's that smile for?” She'd picked up his pizza plate and glass and carried them to the sink. Why hadn't he taken the time to do that? Fifteen seconds wouldn't have made his screwup with his advisor worse, and it would have kept Kim from having to treat him like a little boy again.

“You won't believe me.” He nudged her out of the way at the sink and took over washing. “Dr. S. forgot our meeting. He couldn't apologize enough.”

“Are you serious?” She stopped drying her hands on a red towel. “You're not kidding?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“I don't know.”

“I wouldn't.” He gave a final rinse to the pot he'd used to heat stomach-soothing oatmeal for breakfast, and set it upside down in the drying rack. “I told him not to worry, that I'd waited outside his office only fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.”

Kim shook her head in exasperation. “I swear, you are
the luckiest person on the planet. Totally self-indulgent and it never catches up to you.”

“Self-indulgent? Me?” He pretended comic outrage, though the barb hurt. Comments like that from Kim only bolstered his determination that while they were living together she would come around to seeing him differently. Yes, he'd always been disorganized. Ask his mom how often he'd left homework materials at home in the morning and at school in the afternoon. But he was plenty smart, and had been a good student all his life until the previous semester, when the panic and mental blocking started. “I was exhausted and fell asleep. That's human nature, not self-indulgence.”

“Exhausted from being out until four in the morning. That's self-indulgence.”

“I was at a friend's bachelor party.” He tossed down the sponge he'd used to wipe the sink, and leaned against the counter so he could watch her. “You can't leave those early. It is written.”

Kim scrunched up her face. “Where?”

“In
The Man's Guide to Being Manly.
”

“Aha.” She spooned flour into a metal measuring cup. “I knew that book existed somewhere. Did you write it?”

He puffed out his chest, flexed his biceps. “You need to ask?”

“Oh, um, of course not.” She put away the flour, consulted her recipe, dumped a stick of butter into the mixer bowl with some sugar and turned on the battered yellow machine. She seemed tense, had been for the past few days. He hoped she hadn't had another setback on the Carter bid. He didn't understand her thirtieth-birthday deadline for giving up on Charlotte's Web Design. Seemed an artificial stopping point to him. But then he hadn't been struggling for five years, day in and out, to keep his dream alive the way she had.

“Can I help?”

“Wine.”

“Yes. Wine. I'm on my way. I have your list.” He patted his pockets frantically. “Somewhere.”

She picked up the paper from the counter, where it lay in plain view, and smacked it into his hand, leaving flour smudged on his palm.

“Oh, there.” He waved cheerfully, groaning inside, took the elevator down and jogged through the chilly March wind to the liquor store, a couple blocks east on Oakland. If he ever managed to do something macho and smooth around Kim she'd probably have a heart attack from the shock. Luck didn't ever seem to be on his side where she was concerned.

Wine bought, he strode briskly back toward home, carrying the four bottles. His cell rang; he fumbled in his pocket, shifting the wine to his hip. It was Kent, who'd probably punch him if he knew the thoughts Nathan had regularly about his sister.

“Hey, Kent.”

“How'd it go this morning? Did you make it out of bed?”

“Barely. You?”

“Barely. I was nearly late to a meeting.” Kent chuckled. “John will remember that party for the rest of his life. Those women were incredible.”

“They were.” If you were sexually attracted to Barbie.

“Any of them would make me very happy for at least an hour. Maybe two. Poor John's given up that chance forever.” Kent laughed harshly. “Same woman, day after day, for the rest of his life. He's had it.”

Nathan chuckled dutifully. He was used to Kent's bluster, not unlike the talk Nathan's four older brothers and father indulged in. Lately, though, he wondered how much of it was really Kent and how much was sour grapes after his New York girlfriend dumped him.

“Oof, I need more coffee.” Kent yawned loudly. “Anyway, here's the deal. Kim's friend Marie called. She's throwing Kim a thirtieth-birthday surprise party and wants us to help.”

He liked that idea. Kim needed more fun in her life. “How?”

“You'll have to ask her. From me she wants childhood memories and all that.” His voice shifted into a caricature of a fussy female. “Let's put together a
super fun-filled scrapbook!
”

“No way.”

“I got her number and told her you'd call her. Ready?”

“Hang on.” Nathan put the bottles down on the sidewalk, found a pen in his jacket but no paper so he scrawled Marie's number on the liquor store bag. “Got it, thanks.”

“Basketball Sunday?”

“I'm there.” He hung up, tore the edge off the bag and dialed Marie. “Hey, this is Kim's roommate, Nathan. Kent called me.…”

“Wow, that was fast.” The voice was rich and friendly. “What did he tell you?”

“That you need my help with Kim's party.”

“We do, we do. I haven't yet met with my partner in crime, Candy, but we've talked a little. We'll need information about Kim so we can come up with the party's theme.”

Nathan winced.
Theme?
All you needed for a party was people, a room and a keg. “Okay.”

“We'll pick Kent's brain for her friends and stories, but there might be one or two personal items you can find or steal, since you'll have the most access to her. Maybe stories you can coax out of her. Are you willing to do that?”

Scrapbooking couldn't be far behind. But Nathan would be happy for any excuse to interact with Kim. As long as nothing involved him using glitter. “Sure.”

“Terrific. Is this the best number to reach you at?”

“This is my cell, yeah.”

“Excellent. Thanks for getting back to me so fast, Nathan. This will be great to do for Kim. She's such a sweetheart.”

He agreed with that and hung up, not sure how he felt about stealing personal items—like what?—but hearing
about Kim's life and memories was part of his plan for getting to know her better, anyway. He turned—nearly forgetting the wine—and started back toward home. Parties meant presents. This would be a great opportunity to do something really special for her. Something she'd notice and appreciate, and be touched by. Something to make her think of him in a new light.

What that could be he had no idea, but he had time.

Five minutes later he'd carried the bottles safely into the house and unloaded the reds, put the whites in the refrigerator. Kim was sitting at the Shaker-style natural-finish table, scooping balls of dough onto a baking sheet.

“Can I help with anything?”

“No, thanks, Nathan.” She smiled tightly. “I've got it.”

“C'mon, there must be something.” He lifted his hands to show them empty and willing, anxious to make up for his earlier bungling. “I'm no chef, but I'm not inept, either.”

She considered him. “How are you at putting snacks into bowls?”

“Expert.”

“Without eating them all?”

“Oh.” He made himself look pained. “I can try.”

“Good enough.” She smiled, pointing to a can of nuts, bags of chips and pretzels, and bowls, all on a tray on the counter.

Nathan pulled up a chair opposite and started his task, glancing at Kim once in a while. She was definitely on edge, her expression inward and thoughtful. She was too serious, too reserved. He loved goosing her into life, making her laugh. She needed someone like him around.

He poured pretzels into the last bowl. “I'm done here. What else can I help with? And don't say you have it all covered. I've got time and there's more to do.”

“Okay.” She pushed a third baking sheet toward him. “You can help make the cookies.”

“Sure.” He imitated her motions, scooping up dough with a teaspoon and pushing the blob onto a cookie sheet lined
with a silicone mat. Homemade cookies in his childhood had meant store-bought slice-and-bake dough from the supermarket, so this was new to him. “You do realize what I'm sacrificing here, Kim.”

“I can guess. Making cookies isn't manly, either?” She shot him a look. “Is anything manly that doesn't involve drunken oblivion or getting laid?”

“Of course.” Nathan paused his cookie spooning. “Yelling obscenities at referees and umpires counts, too.”

Kim let go with a good giggle that time, the one he loved best, the one that turned her cheeks pink and softened her features. “What else?”

“Let's see. Crushing beer cans on your head. Belches that wake the dead. More intimacy with the TV than with your girlfriend…”

She rolled her eyes. “It's a miracle marriage ever happens.”

“No, no, there are other, serious parts to the
Man's Guide
that females can appreciate.”

“Like?”

“Like…” Nathan leaned toward her across the table, taking his first chance. “A Manly Man always swears to love, support and protect his woman for his whole life.”

“Huh?” Kim did not look impressed. “Support? Protect? Your woman? That sounds more like
cavemanly.”

Hmm. That did not go the way Nathan had envisioned. Her eyes hadn't gotten misty, nor had infatuation lit them up. She hadn't sighed and said,
Oh, Nathan, that is so romantic.

The seduction of Kim Charlotte Horton would take trial and error. Growing up with four older brothers and a chauvinist father hadn't prepared Nathan for approaching a smart, independent woman like her. He wouldn't give up, though. Hell, he'd just started trying.