My Own Mr. Darcy (24 page)

Matt sighed. “This isn’t
going well. I called to smooth things over and I’m just making you more upset.
I don’t want to leave with you angry at me.”

“I appreciate that you
called, but you’re not making me feel better by putting me down and by ripping
this job apart.”

“I don’t think I was doing
that. I think you’ll do a great job. How about this? I promise, if we open
another Pink Salamander, we’ll hire you to do the interior.”

“I’m sure you’ll have to
check with your partners on that, won’t you? I doubt Meg would go for that.”

“What’s going on with you
and Meg?” Matt asked.

“Meg doesn’t like me,” I
said. Oh, I hated the way that sounded—so petty and insecure.

“Meg likes you just fine.
She thinks you’re great.”

“Of course she does,” I
said.

“She’s told me.”

“Oh Matt, guys are so
blind. I’m not crazy about you traveling with Meg because I can tell how she
feels about me and I don’t really like you talking about me with her.” I sat down
at the granite counter and unwrapped my sandwich.

“You’re being silly. We
don’t talk about you any more than we’d talk about anyone one of us was
dating,” Matt said.

“Oh really? You talked to
her about my tights. And you had her buy me pantyhose. Do you have any idea how
weird that is?”

“What’s weird about it?”

“I can’t believe you have
to ask that.” We were both quiet for a moment. “Why do you hate my tights
anyway?”

“This is a ridiculous
conversation.” Matt’s voice sounded frustrated.

“Is it? It doesn’t feel ridiculous
to me. I like my tights and you don’t. I’d like to know why.”

“I just think they look
childish. I’ve never seen a grown woman wear colored tights. Or tights with
flowers and patterns on them.”

“I like my tights,” I
said. “And I’m not the only grown woman who likes tights. Tights factories
aren’t making them just for me.”

“You know what, Elizabeth.
The tights are fine. I can get used to the tights. I’m sorry if I hurt your
feelings about the tights. If I’d known they were such a big deal to you, I’d
never have bought you the pantyhose.”

“Matt
, you
didn’t
buy me the pantyhose. Meg did. It’s humiliating to have someone who I know
doesn’t like me discussing my choice of legwear with you. And then she had to
figure out the size and the color and then I’m sure she was watching me to see
if I wore them or not. It’s embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. I
didn’t know it was a big deal. I won’t do that again. But I’m certain Meg
didn’t give it a second thought. And you’re wrong about how she feels about
you. She thinks you’re really nice.”

I took a deep breath and
let it out slowly. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I didn’t want Matt
to leave with things ugly between us and I didn’t want to point out what I
suspected was true—that Meg was interested in Matt and wanted me out of the
picture. What if I pointed it out and Matt realized he liked the idea. No way
did I want to lose him. There had been glimmers of the charming, generous Matt
lately. I needed to be nice and accept his apology and leave things alone.

“Well, whether she likes
me or not, I appreciate you calling,” I said. “I was pretty upset at lunch.”

Matt let out a laugh. “I
could tell. That’s why I’m calling. I want things to be okay with us. I promise
I won’t talk to Meg about what you wear and I’ll get used to your tights if
they’re that important to you.”

“I like my tights.” I
tried to laugh. “I know it sounds silly but I do.”

“I get it. And I’m sorry
if I haven’t seemed supportive about this job. I hope it goes really well for
you and you’re able to leave the bank and be a full-time designer.”

“Thanks Matt.”

“If I didn’t have so much
going on with the Seattle Salamander I’d come and help you.”

“Oh, I wish you could. I’m
dying with this wallpaper tonight.” I paused a second, hoping Matt would offer
to come over and help me. When he didn’t, I continued. “But I know you have a
lot happening. I hope things go well with your trip and the new store.”

“I wish I could see you
before I leave,” Matt said. “I wish I could give you a big hug and kiss.”

“Me too.”

“So are we good?” Matt
asked.

“We’re good at my end. Are
you good?”

“Better than ever. You
know I think you’re pretty great.” My heart warmed at the compliment.

“So are you.”

“When you’re through with
this job and I’m back from Seattle, let’s plan a nice celebration dinner. You
can pick any restaurant you want.”

“Thanks Matt. That’ll be
fun. I’m really glad you called.”

“Me too.”

“I’d better get back to
work.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow
night,” Matt said.

“Goodnight.”

I finished my sandwich
while I thought about Matt. Tall, dark, brooding and sometimes arrogant. But he
was coming around. Just like Mr. Darcy had. And he thought I was pretty great.
I couldn’t help but smile.

It was after eleven and I
was exhausted. My arms ached. Removing the wallpaper was a tedious process. The
steamer was heavy and after I’d held it up to steam a section, I’d set it on
the ladder tray and peel and pull the paper until nothing else would come. Then
I’d repeated the process again and again and again.

I still had almost the
entire large wall left and my arms were screaming in rebellion.

“Knock, knock.” I nearly fell
off the ladder. “Don’t be scared. Oh Lizzie, I’m sorry.” Chad stifled a laugh
when he saw my face. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I promise.”

“Chad. Hi. What are you
doing?”

“I told Mom I’d stop by
and water her flowers and get the mail. I drove by earlier and saw you were
here but I didn’t want to bother you. I’ll just put this in the office and get
out of here.” He waved a few envelopes in the air.

“Why would you think you’d
bother me?” I asked.

“You know. You’re . . .
working and . . . I don’t know. I don’t want things to be . . . weird.”

“Don’t be silly. We’re
friends, right? We should be able to run into each other without things being
weird.” I wasn’t sure I believed my own words even though I wanted them to be
true. I wanted us to be able to be around each other without it being awkward.
I wanted us to be friends. My mind went back to the last time I’d seen Chad.
Hopefully he’d think my flushed cheeks were about the hard work I was doing and
not from the memory of the long hug under the streetlight that had just popped
into my mind.

Chad smiled. “Friends.” He
saluted me with the envelopes in his hand. “You got it.”

“Please don’t avoid me.
That would make me sad.”

“All right. No more
avoiding. And no weirdness. Just friends. Now I’m going to go put these in the
office and water some flowers.”

“And I’m going to continue
peeling roses off the wall.”

My hands worked the
steamer and peeled paper from the wall, but my ears listened to Chad rustling
around in the kitchen. I heard him wander down a hall, opening and closing a
couple of doors and then I heard him running water in the kitchen. A few
minutes later, I heard the plastic sheeting rustle.

“How late do you think
you’ll stay?” Chad asked from the doorway.

“My goal was to have all
this peeled and scrubbed down tonight so I could prime it tomorrow morning and
paint tomorrow night. I’ve got floor people coming on Monday and we’re
celebrating my dad’s birthday on Sunday.”

I peeled a few pathetic wisps
of paper. When Chad didn’t say anything I turned to see if he was still there.
He was standing in the doorway with a serious look on his face.

“Is something wrong?” I
asked.

“I’m just trying to figure
out what to say.”

I laughed. “What do you
mean? You can say whatever you want.”

“I know this is important
to you and I’m trying to decide if you’d appreciate some help or if I’d offend
you by offering. Because I’m more than willing to help, but I don’t want to
step on your toes or make you think I think you can’t handle it on your own.”

I quickly turned my head
back to the wall and tried to see the wallpaper through the tears that had just
filled my eyes. I swallowed hard. Why did Chad have to be so perceptive?  And
so thoughtful? And so sweet? I knew what I should do. I should send him home
and finish the job myself. Matt would be less than thrilled at the idea of me
and Chad working late into the night. Alone.

When I could speak with a
steady voice, I turned back around. Chad was watching me. His kind face took
the words I’d planned to say and mixed them all up. “I’d love the help if
you’re not too tired.”

Chad’s smile did something
to my heart that I didn’t want to think about. “So I didn’t offend you?”

I swallowed and shook my
head. “This wallpaper is pretty stubborn. I could use the help.”

“Just give me an
assignment.”

“Do you know how to use a
steamer?” I asked.

“No, but I’m a quick
learner.”

I showed Chad how to steam
the wallpaper and then peel it back with the scraper. He took over that job and
I began scrubbing the walls I’d finished. 

At midnight, the radio
station I’d had playing quietly in the background started playing Delilah’s
Love Songs. Delilah started reading a letter from Chester, a man in Minneapolis
who was trying to convince his girlfriend not to break up with him. I listened
with increasing discomfort as Chester begged his girlfriend to listen to the
words of the Bee Gees and “don’t throw it all away.” A minute later, the
falsetto trio was singing and pleading that we not throw our love away.

I was dying to change the
station. First of all, I didn’t want to listen to a couple of hours of love
songs with Chad and secondly, the lyrics to this song were especially
uncomfortable given our circumstances. Would my thoughts be too obvious if I
changed the station? I didn’t know what to do.

“I think we need something
with a little more energy if we’re going to finish this sometime tonight,” Chad
said and hopped off the ladder to change the station. Soon we were listening to
sets of eighties music. Peeling and scrubbing was much easier and much more
comfortable to the sounds of The Thompson Twins and Howard Jones.

“How do you know all these
songs?” I asked. Chad had been singing along to most of the songs.

“My parents played this
stuff all the time. The eighties had some great music.”

When the walls were all
scrubbed and I’d shoved the last dustpan full of wallpaper scraps into a
garbage bag, I pulled out my phone and looked at the time. It was just after
three.

“I really would have been
here all night if you hadn’t stayed to help me. Thank you.”

“It
was fun. I’ve got a swim practice in the morning, but I’ll be finished around
noon. Do you want me to come back and help you paint?”

“That’s okay. I’m sure
you’ve got better things to do than paint.”

“Actually, I don’t. Don’t
worry. I know this is your thing and I won’t take any credit for it when it
turns out awesome. I won’t even tell anyone I came to help. I just don’t want
you falling asleep at your dad’s birthday party.”

Maybe it was the late hour
or maybe it was Chad’s cute, crooked smile. Maybe it was because we’d spent
several hours together laughing and working. Just like friends. Whatever it
was, I agreed.

We locked up the house and
left in our separate cars. All the way home, I went back and forth between happiness
that Chad was helping me paint the next day and caution that I may not be
treating him fairly. By the time I got home and fell into bed, the caution had
disappeared.

THE ALARM WENT
off just
seconds after I closed my eyes. At least that’s how it felt. I let it ring for almost
a minute before I rolled over and hit the snooze button. My arms ached, my eyes
burned and the covers felt leaden. For nine glorious minutes, I let my bed
cradle my weary body, but when the alarm sounded again, I pushed aside the warm,
heavy covers and headed for the shower.