Long Slow Burn (5 page)

“Kim is terrific.” Marie glanced at her watch. “As a matter of fact, she's out with Troy right now.”

“Troy…”

“Cahill. Friend of Justin.”

“Justin…”

“Candy's fiancé.”

“Got it.” His face cleared. “Candy and Justin, last month's meddling.”

“
Matching,
not meddling.” Marie rolled her eyes. “They're deliriously happy.”

“Weren't we all.”

“Oh, you cynic.” She smacked him with her menu, surprised by this dark side of him tonight, and wishing she could help with whatever had caused it—short of going back in time and preventing him from marrying The CheaterBeast. “We had to go through what we went through for some reason. The trick is to figure it out and then work up the courage to move on.”

“Here's to getting there.” He lifted his glass.

“However long it takes.” She hoisted hers; they both drank.

“You think Kim and Troy are a good match?”

Marie frowned. “I'm not sure. Kim is beautiful and very talented, but shy and a little down on herself. Troy is a very good-looking, well-put-together, wealthy man, and I think she's a little intimidated. I'm hoping she gives herself a chance to shine. She has no idea how sexy she is.”

“Hmm.” Quinn smirked at his drink. “That reminds me of someone.”

“Yeah? Who?”

He twisted to look at her, then for some reason started laughing.

“
What
is so funny?”

“Never mind, you wouldn't get it. Just tell me, Marie. What advice would you give Kim about this problem?”

“Why?”

“I want to pass on your wisdom.” He dug out his BlackBerry and pulled up a blank email. “I'll write it down and send it to her.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.” Marie looked up into the decorative hanging of tangled metal roots over the bar, trying to clear her head, muddled by bourbon and by Quinn's mood tonight. “Let's see. I'd tell her to go back though her life looking for messages she received about her sexuality and her self-esteem, and see if there's a pattern she can identify that could be informing how she feels about herself now.”

“…feels…about herself…now.” He put in the period with a flourish. “And?”

“Undoubtedly the message that she isn't worthy is coming from some judge figure in her life, probably a parent. She needs to tell that judge that she'll be deciding her own feelings from now on.”

“…from now…on.”

“And then she should dress to kill, look in a mirror and promise to give herself positive feedback every day on how she looks and who she is and what she deserves.”

“…what…she deserves. That it?”

“She should probably go to therapy and talk the whole thing out, but this will help if she's honest with herself, yes.”

“Excellent.” He selected a recipient and punched the send button. “She'll be very surprised to hear from me.”

“And pleased, I hope?”

“Me, too.” He shrugged, putting the BlackBerry back in his pocket. “Want to order dinner?”

“I do.” She tossed back the rest of her drink and picked up a menu, hunger signals finally able to be heard through the decreasing clamor of her emotions. Helping people feel better about themselves always made her feel better about herself, too.

She and Quinn chatted easily for the rest of the evening, all the bizarre tension completely dissipated. As usual after their Friday night meeting, she felt refreshed and revital-
ized on her walk home to her beloved Victorian in the same quirky Brewer's Hill neighborhood as the restaurant.

Inside her front door, she flicked on the light and said hello to her gray tabby, Jezebel, who'd come to greet her by weaving around her legs, making walking as difficult as possible. On the way up to her bedroom on the second floor, Marie sorted through the day's mail, ditched most in the recycling box near her desk, and powered up her laptop. After changing into her beloved sloppy, nonbinding and infinitely comfortable sweats, she sat at her desk and waited for Jezebel's predictable jump into her lap for the evening's kitty-worship.

She opened her email program while she scratched soft ears and brought Jezebel's rumbling purr to life. New emails: five. One from a college roommate, one from Mom and Dad…

Marie's eyes jumped down the list. One from Quinn? How did he get home so much faster than she had?

Her phone rang and she did a comical back and forth, phone to email to phone, before grabbing the receiver and checking caller ID. Candy. She'd take it.

“Hey, woman, what's up?”

“Ugh.” Candy's melodramatic exasperation made Marie smile. “I just came back from the cocktail party from hell. The caterer was late, someone stole half the booze, one guest drank the other half and threw up, you name it.”

“That does not sound fun.” She touched her mouse, staring at Quinn's email, then snatched her hand back.

“Anyway, I'm looking ahead and life is going to be a little calmer for a week or two, so we should get serious about planning Kim's party.”

“Right. We should.” She swiveled her chair away from the monitor so Quinn's note wouldn't tempt her while talking to her friend, but it was as if it was sending out rays that burned her back. “I've already enlisted her brother, Kent, and that Nathan guy to help.”

“Perfect. We'll need pictures of her at various ages, maybe
a few personal items, like, I don't know, some favorite stuffed animal or toy, old favorite outfits, diplomas, awards, anything like that. Her mom might have some stuff to contribute. We should also find out her favorite foods, beverages, all that, too. And figure out where we want to have it.”

“We can do it at my office or we can—”

“Ooh, I forgot to ask, how did her meeting with you go? Did she like Troy?”

Marie tsk-tsked. “Client confidentiality, Candy. You can ask her.”

“Aw c'mon. You can't even—” A deep voice sounded in the background, then Candy sighed. “Justin says I shouldn't snoop.”

“You shouldn't.”

“I hope she finds someone. She's so sweet.”

Marie scratched under Jezebel's chin. “Ah, but I'm betting there's a vixen in there somewhere.”

“A
vixen!
” Candy whistled. “Has anyone used that term in the past twenty years?”

“So I'm old.” She rolled her eyes. “Go jump on Justin and leave me alone.”

“Mmm, good idea.” Candy sighed blissfully. “So I'll plan and you set our spies in motion. Oh, and I had a great idea for an early birthday present from the three of us, you, me and Darcy. Next Saturday I want to try out a salon where I might get my wedding hair done. I think we should make it a spa day, invite everyone and then pay for Kim.”

“I love it! I was thinking along the lines of sexy underwear to inspire her on the dating quest.”

“Ha!” Candy giggled. “That is too perfect. Let's do both.”

“Done.” Marie gave in, twisted around and peeked. She hadn't dreamed it; the email was still there.

Candy chatted a minute more, then Marie made her escape and shamelessly spun the chair back to her computer, Jezebel giving a brief
mrrf
of protest. Marie clicked open
the email from Quinn, scanned the words, caught her breath and read them again, her brain whirling in confusion.

 

Go back though your life looking for messages you received about your sexuality…

 

Why had he sent the email to
her?
A blind copy? A carbon? A mistake? She peered at the header. He'd sent it to her directly. And she'd been sitting right there at Roots; he hadn't sent it twice. What the hell?

That reminds me of someone I know.
He'd been talking about another woman who didn't realize how sexy she was.

He couldn't be talking about Marie.

She hit Reply, typed quickly.

 

Did you send this to me by mistake? Or is this a blind copy?

 

Then she hit Send and got up from the desk, pushing a very annoyed Jezebel off her lap because there was no way she'd survive sitting there waiting for him to respond. She'd go completely mental.

Her email chimed. She whirled around in the middle of the room.
Already?

Of course, it could be from anyone.

She rushed to peer at the screen. It was from Quinn. A simple response, straight to the point.

 

Answering both questions: Absolutely not.

B
LIND DATES WERE THE
devil's work. There was no other explanation. Torture of this magnitude should be prohibited by the Geneva Convention. Kim checked her watch for the fourth time, standing just inside the entrance to Coast, an elegant bar and restaurant on the shore of Lake Michigan. To her left, the dramatic, white “wings” of the Milwaukee Art Museum expansion rose into the blue sky, appearing to pierce a pair of clouds hanging overhead.

So far Troy was two minutes late. Which wouldn't be bad except that she'd gotten here five minutes early. Seven minutes standing here imagining how horribly the evening could go. How awkward it could be. How disappointed he might be in her.

Kim let out a sound of disgust. What was wrong with her? She wasn't usually glass-half-empty like this. But if Troy was half as gorgeous and successful and wonderful and kind as everyone said, she was afraid he'd show up having walked across the lake. Kim wanted someone as flawed and shy and regular as herself. Like Dale, who wasn't classically handsome, but had such warm eyes on screen. They'd been emailing back and forth since she first got up the nerve to write to him a couple days after she'd seen his picture in Marie's office. For someone on vacation he sure spent a lot
of time online. Whenever she wrote, she heard back within an hour, morning, afternoon or night.

She loved writing to him. Shyness didn't matter when you had all the time you wanted to compose sentences, to find interesting and witty ways to express yourself. Kim could take all night if she felt like it, get up and pace and think until every thought, every word was just the way she wanted. In short order she and Dale had gone from where-did-you-grow-up and what's-your-favorite-movie to how-are-you-feeling and what-do-you-believe-in?

His answer still sang in her head.
I believe in God, in country, in dancing until dawn and in loving a woman until the last breath leaves my body.

Kim had nearly melted onto her keyboard.

She moved aside for another couple entering the restaurant, and checked her watch again. Four minutes late.
Come on, Troy.
She wanted this first-meeting misery over with. His emails had been shorter than Dale's, and businesslike. He'd wanted to meet her right away, not waste time chatting online, where so much could be imagined or misunderstood. He was smart. But it meant their initial face-to-face would be so much more awkward. When she finally met Dale she'd feel she already knew him.

“Kim?”

Kim spun around. Oh, my Lord. Troy. As gorgeous as he was online. No, more so, because his dark eyes were alive and therefore twice as vivid. He was tall. She knew that, but six foot four didn't register as dramatically on screen as it did in the flesh.

“Troy. Hi.”

“Hey, nice to meet you.” He held out his hand, warm, dry and strong. Hers was cold, damp and trembling. “I was waiting inside at a table, then realized we hadn't mentioned where we'd meet so I came looking for you.”

“Oh.” She laughed stupidly, too rattled to do more than glance at his face and away. His presence was overpowering. “I should have checked.”

“Not a problem. I found you. Let's go sit.” His easy grin made her want to run the other way. He was obviously not finding this nerve-racking at all. Some people had no idea how lucky they were to be born without the shyness gene. The simplest things were so difficult for her. Like meeting a perfectly nice man and talking to him.

She walked next to him through the light, airy space to a table by the window facing the lake, already sure this wasn't a man she could have a relationship with. Still, if she got through the date with self-esteem intact, that would be something to celebrate. The next dates would be easier, most notably the one with Dale on Monday. That one really mattered.

Wait, so maybe it wouldn't be easier. Why was she doing this again?

They sat, Troy waiting until her butt hit the chair before he took his seat. So he was a gentleman as well as perfect.

He folded his hands on the table. “I think we know someone in common besides Justin and Candy.”

“We do?” She put her purse down and braced herself to spend the next hour having to look at him.

“My neighbor Steve was in your brother's class at Marquette High. I graduated before he got there, but I used to see Kent hanging around next door.”

“Oh. Yes. I know Steve.” She nodded politely. Steve was a chauvinist jerk. He'd always had this weird hold over Kent that she didn't understand.

Troy quirked a dark brow, eyes dancing. “Not one of your favorites?”

“Um.” She couldn't help smiling. “Not exactly.”

“My sister isn't wild about him, either. Maybe he wears better on guys.”

“Probably.”

A tall, slender and unfairly gorgeous waitress came over, smiling directly at Troy. “What can I get you?”

“Kim?” He gestured to her. “What'll you have?”

“Oh, um, a beer?”

The waitress rattled off a list of brews and waited expectantly.

Kim grabbed the last name. “I'll have a Spotted Cow.”

“And you, sir?”

“That sounds good to me, too.”

“I'll have those right out.” She shot a killer smile at Troy and swept away. Awkward silence.
C'mon, Kim, think of something.…

“Well.” Troy adjusted himself in the seat. “What were we talking about?”

“Oh…” Kim hadn't the faintest idea, because her brains had turned to scrambled eggs. Guys like Troy had intimidated her since adolescence, when she'd been victimized by the “popular crowd” he undoubtedly belonged to. Though it was unfair to put him in a fifteen-year-old box.

“So…what's Kent up to these days? He's in New York, right?”

“No, he's back.” She had to look away, gazing at the restaurant's deck where patrons could sit in warmer weather, and out at the lake beyond, then steel herself to meet Troy's midnight eyes again. “He got laid off last fall and came home to Milwaukee.”

“Damn. Has he found a job yet?”

“A couple of months ago, with M&I Bank.”

“Good for him.”

“He was happy.” She smirked. “So were my parents. He was living with them for a while.”

Troy laughed. “Tell him I said hello.”

“I will.” She looked down at the table, hating the silence, worrying about what to say next. “He plays basketball. Do you?”

“I do.” By some miracle Troy looked really interested. “Does he have a game going?”

“Yes.” Kim perked up, encouraged by his reaction. “Sunday afternoons. They're looking for more people. Do you want his number?”

“I'd love it.” He dug out his cell. “Go ahead.”

She rattled off the number; he put it into his phone.

“Here we go.” The waitress set down their beers. “Will you be ordering off the menu?”

“Not just yet, thanks.” Troy picked up his glass and held it toward Kim. “Cheers.”

She clinked with him and took a long sip, feeling cattily delighted that he hadn't so much as glanced at the gorgeous waitress. And having been able to do Troy the favor of connecting him with her brother, she felt less like she was out on a date with a movie star and more like he was one of the gang.

“Tell me about this book you're writing, Troy.”

He answered easily, with his usual charm and poise, but she no longer let it throw her, and by the end of their second beer and a shared appetizer, they were giggling together like old friends. He even brainstormed a few ideas for the Carter website, though she found them too masculine for the look she thought Carter wanted.

“Ready to go?” He stood, having taken care of the bill despite her offer to split it.

“I'm ready, yes.” She preceded him out of the restaurant and they walked together to the garage where they'd both parked, chatting about how great it felt to have warmer weather. Once there, he was gallant enough to make sure she got safely to her car. “Thanks for a great time, Troy. I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Same here. We should do this again sometime.”

She had to force herself not to snort. According to Kent, guys said that regardless of whether they meant it or not. “I'd like that, yes.”

Dating ritual: complete. But the evening had been a success because she'd had fun even though he was unbelievably gorgeous. And if that sounded weird, it was just Kim being Kim.

“Great.” He backed away a few steps and raised his hand in farewell. “I'll give you a call.”

She couldn't resist. “You don't have my number.”

“Oh, geez.” He rolled his eyes and came back sheepishly. “Smooth, huh?”

She shook her head mock-disparagingly, liking him more. Troy the Magnificent had done a dorky thing. “I've completely changed my mind about seeing you again.”

He cracked up, opening his cell. “Don't blame you.”

She gave him her number, said good-night, then grinned all the way home. Hey, guess what? She'd lived through a date with a totally hot guy. How about that?

And maybe back at her apartment, an email from Dale would be waiting on her laptop. If this kept up Kim would start thinking she was some kind of megababe.

She arrived home and let herself in to find Nathan sprawled on the couch in the dark, watching the giant high-definition TV he'd brought from his old place and set up in her living room. Honestly. Men must have done all the prehistoric cave paintings, because otherwise what would they have to stare at all evening?

“Hi, Nathan.” She walked past him, heading for the laptop in her room and her latest fun email from Dale. Two men in one evening? She was getting greedy.

“Kim. Hey.” He sat bolt upright and turned off the set. “How was your date?”

Wait, he'd turned off the set? She backtracked and peered at him through the dim light. Was he feeling okay?

“Hello?” He frowned at her, snapped his fingers. “Your date?”

“The date was fine.” She couldn't help another grin, coupled with a giggle. Maybe the beers helped her giddiness along, but she didn't think that was all. “Great, actually.”

“Yeah?” He didn't look thrilled. “I thought this guy was too gorgeous.”

Kim shrugged, picked up one of the throw pillows from the couch and punched at it to fluff it up. “Yeah, well. Apparently not.”

He got up and stretched. “You going to see him again?”

“Very possibly.” She twirled the pillow between her
fingers, trying to act supremely casual. Gorgeous guy after her? Sure, why not?

“What about this
Dale
guy?” Nathan said the name as if it were a disease.

“I'm seeing him Monday.” Kim tossed the fluffed pillow up in the air, her hands ready to catch it.

Nathan grabbed it out of the air and threw it back onto the couch.

Startled, she looked up at him. He was staring at her oddly.

“Wh—” The word didn't make it out the first time and she had to clear her throat to try again. “What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

Had he always been that tall? That broad? Maybe the twilight in the room made him more impressive. Against the glow coming through the unshaded windows he loomed large and male, not threatening, but…she felt nervous, edgy, as if she should step away from him. Why should she? Nathan wasn't dangerous.

He just seemed it right now.

“You're really doing this dating thing, huh?” His voice was gruff, not his familiar casual tone.

She had plenty of sassy in-his-face responses, starting with
Don't you think it's about time?
Moving on to
Why, you think you're the only one who needs sex?
But all she could do was stare at his darkened face, trying to read his mood.

He swallowed audibly. “Kim…”

This was weird. Too intimate somehow. All wrong with Nathan. “You don't think I should be dating?”

“No. No, you should be. Absolutely.”

“So where's the problem?”

“There is no problem.” He reached out and touched her shoulder. He'd touched her before, but this felt different, as if she was supposed to find meaning in it. All she found was more confusion. “I hope you find someone great. Someone who treats you like the amazing woman you are. Some
one who respects every part of you, everything you do and believe, and everything you want.”

Was he making fun of her? He didn't sound as if he was, but more than once she'd bought into some sincerity act and had it bite her on the ass when he cracked up with a
gotcha.

She gave a stuttering laugh. “Well. Okay then. Thanks, Nathan.”

“Right.” He backed away. “I'll just go back to
my
hot date. With Miss St. Pauli Girl.”

Kim took an impulsive step forward. What the hell? Now he did sound annoyed. And sulky. What was with him?

He turned and went into the kitchen. Through the pass-through she could see him by the refrigerator light. Seconds later, a bottle top rattled to the counter—where he would undoubtedly leave it. “Want a beer?”

“I had some earlier. I'm going to my room.”

He emerged from the kitchen. “Rushing to see what Jamaica Dale has written?”

Kim bristled, since yes, that was exactly what she was going to do, and it was none of his business. “Actually, I'm tired. I'm going to read for a while.”

“Uh-huh.” He tipped the beer up to his mouth, a shadowy figure leaning against the doorway between the living and dining rooms.

“What is with you tonight?”

He lowered the bottle, gave her a look she couldn't see in the dim light, but said nothing. His silence made her nervous, which, combined with her irritation, made her want to jab at him, get some reaction.

“Why aren't you out on your night off, trying to get some? It's Friday, prime hunting. The dewy-eyed does must be out in force.”

He pushed himself away from the wall, pausing to put his beer on the end table. “Is that what you think of me? That my life is all drinking and sex?”