Not Quite Perfect (Not Quite Series Book 5) (20 page)

By Thursday the plumbers had finally fixed the pipe in her floor and hadn’t found anything past the point where the roots had interrupted the flow of sewage. Mary tried not to enjoy the fact that Glen had taken the task of directing the work on her home, but she had to push all her clients into three days and couldn’t dwell over drywall and paint. She spent most of her spare time talking to insurance agents and mechanics.

At night she fell asleep in Glen’s arms, asking if he was flying home the next day.

Each time he met her question with
not yet
.

Friday morning the security system went in. Mary had only one client on Friday. By design, she’d been moving her clients around to give her the option of leaving for long weekends.

The technician stood beside a control panel pressing buttons and explaining the system.

Mary mimicked his motions. “So when I’m at home at night, I set it with this button?”

“Right, and when you leave for the day, or night . . . you set this. Giving you more time to turn it off when you come home before the alarm calls the police.”

“Seems simple enough.”

“Then we have a distress mode.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s say you’re on the way in the house and someone comes up behind you . . . tells you to turn off the alarm.”

She shivered. The thought hadn’t occurred to her.

“The code you put in turns the alarm off and notifies the alarm company that you’re in need of the police.”

“So the alarm turns off and whoever is with Mary has no idea the alarm triggered the authorities?”

“Exactly!”

Mary wrapped her arms around herself. “Sounds thorough.”

“Designed to keep you safe when you’re here and when you’re not.”

Mary stood by the control panel, prepared to program her codes, while Glen showed the technician out.

When he returned, he placed an arm around her shoulders, his hand dangling on the other side.

“Thinking of a code?”

She nodded. “Something I’ll remember.”

“Not a birthday.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”

“Not your address.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“When were you born?”

She huffed and started pressing buttons. “Good question.”

He noted the code, and her answer. Glen couldn’t help but feel for the meaning behind her words. Mary had no idea when she was born. Something as simple as a birthday Mary couldn’t relate to.

“Now the distress code.” She tapped a nail against the wall in thought, then chuckled before programming it in.

“I’m sure there is a meaning behind that.”

“Danger to self . . . danger to others.”

“Easy to remember?”

“Yeah,” she chuckled.

“Looks like you’re all set.”

Mary leaned into his shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough for all your help.”

“I didn’t do a lot.”

“Says the man who gave up his life this week . . . managed to get the plumbers to take down all this tarp and finish the job. Says the man who fixed the holes, had the walls painted, the floors finished, and managed to get an alarm system that monitors my window, my doors . . . my life in just a few days. No. You didn’t do a lot. You did everything.”

Glen placed a playful smile on his face and looked at the ceiling. “Well, when you put it that way.”

She punched his arm.

He grabbed it, pretended pain. “All I do and you beat on me.”

“Poor baby.”

He took her hands, pinned them to the wall, and kissed her.

She liked this part . . . the playful part where things could get hot and sweaty or simply move on to dinner.

He broke his kiss, stared into her eyes. “So, what are we going to do this weekend?”

She shook her head in amazement. “Don’t you have a life to get back to?”

“Monday. That’s soon enough.”

“I actually had plans this weekend.”

Glen leaned back. “Really?”

“I did. A long weekend. I had to cancel . . . in light of everything.”

“Is that right?”

She could tell by his tone he didn’t believe her.

“I didn’t sit at home every weekend before you came along.”

He pressed his body against hers, distracting her. “So what did you have planned?”

She closed her eyes, trying not to think of how perfect he felt like this. “Out of town trip.”

His teeth grazed her earlobe.

“Without me?”

“Planned months ago,” she told him.

“Sounds serious.” His tongue replaced his teeth.

She wrapped one of her legs around his and leaned against the wall he was pressing her into. “Very.”

He kissed down her neck, the tops of her breasts. “I think you’re bluffing.”

“I don’t lie.” And what he was doing with his tongue felt amazing.

“What was it?”

“Important . . .” She arched into him.

“What was it, Mary?” His hand slid up her frame, took her breast with a gentle squeeze.

“I’m not telling.”

“I can stop doing what I’m doing until you tell me.”

She reached around and grabbed his ass, pulled him closer. “Don’t you dare.”

“Tell me.” One hand moved down her torso, played with the space between her jeans and her skin.

Just when she was sure he was going to dip lower, his hand stilled, his kiss stayed just outside of reach of her lips.

“Tell me.”

She attempted to capture his lips. He pulled away.

“Brat.”

“Tell me.”

Mary grabbed the back of his head. “Arizona. Mary Frances . . . my spring trip.”

Glen laughed before he resumed her desired position and possessed every sensitive spot on her skin.

First thing in the morning he pulled her out of bed and dragged her to the airport.

Looked like her
exclusive
boyfriend wanted to meet the only claim to family Mary had.

And he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Chapter Twenty-One

Mary Frances lived in a two-bedroom, two-bath bungalow in a quiet neighborhood outside of Phoenix. The front porch was designed to sit on and watch the neighbors, the cars, the kids playing in the street. Not that Mary Frances did a lot of that. The woman held a part-time job at the library and volunteered for just about every organization she could to fill her days.

Glen and Mary pulled into the driveway in the rental they’d picked up at the airport.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t book a room at the hotel?” Glen asked for the millionth time.

“Mary Frances would be offended.”

“I’d think she’d be more offended that we’re sleeping together . . . her being an ex-nun and all.”

Mary shook her head. “And we won’t be sleeping together in the hotel?” She pushed the door open. “C’mon . . . she doesn’t bite.”

She made it three steps before Mary Frances, all five feet nothing of her, let the screen door slam behind her. Mary paused and let all the stress and worry of the past week float away.

She flung her arms around Mary Frances for a soothing hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You have to stop hugging me to see me.”

“Shut up.” Mary kept hugging.

When she did pull away and take a good look, her jaw dropped. “What is that on your lips?”

“Just a little lip gloss. It’s dry here.”

Mary ran her thumb over the other woman’s cheek. “Blush?”

Mary Frances batted her hand away. “I am allowed, you know.”

She wanted to squeal. Since when did Mary Frances wear makeup?

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Mary turned to find Glen standing at the edge of the walkway, enjoying the reunion.

“Mary Frances, this is my friend, Glen Fairchild.”

Mary Frances looked him up and down, kept a snarky smile on her face. “When Mary called to say she was on her way and bringing a friend, I half expected a woman. I was starting to think my Mary was a lesbian.”

“Oh, my—”

Mary Frances cut her off with an evil eye.

“Word! How could you think such a thing?”

“Because I haven’t met someone you’re dating since you were in high school.” Mary Frances turned toward the house. “Let’s go inside. It’s getting hot out here.”

Glen walked in beside her, chuckling. “Lesbian,” he said under his breath.

Mary elbowed his ribs.

The house hadn’t changed. Sparse furnishings, very few knickknacks. A young picture of Mary on the mantel along with her college graduation picture with the both of them in it.

“I have iced tea or lemonade,” Mary Frances said as she led them toward the kitchen.

Mary walked around the familiar kitchen to help with the refreshments.

“Lemonade would be great,” Glen said.

The cupboard where the glasses normally lived now housed a half a dozen vases.

“I moved the glasses to the one on the left. Reaching that high was starting to hurt my back.” Mary Frances took the seat opposite Glen. “Tell me, Mr. Fairchild . . . how long have you known my Mary?”

“We’ve known each other for about a year. And please call me Glen.”

Mary Frances released a disapproving click of her tongue. “A year and I’ve not met you?”

“We haven’t been dating that long,” Mary explained. “We met when I went to that conference in Florida with Dakota. The one where she met Walt?”

Mary Frances nodded. “Yes, yes . . . the one where you and that sassy friend of yours ended up in a police car. I remember the story.”

Glen started laughing. “How could I have forgotten that? I had to circle the airport. They wouldn’t let me land due to some woman saying there was a bomb in baggage claim.”

“I did
not
say there was a bomb! It was Dakota, and she said the luggage was taking so long you’d think they were searching for a bomb . . . or something like that.” Then a little old woman practically yelled “bomb” and pointed her finger at the two of them. So yeah, they were both in the back of a squad car for the better part of three hours explaining the situation.

Mary Frances turned back to Glen. “So you’re the pilot . . . I believe I have heard about you.”

Glen smiled, and Mary cringed . . . she knew what was coming next.

“You’re the arrogant player with commitment issues.”

Mary wanted to bury her head in the sand.

“This is him, right?” Mary Frances asked with the sweetest smile a nun could have.

Glen locked amused eyes with Mary.

“My summation before we started dating,” she explained.

He sipped his drink and said, “Arrogant? I’ll go with confident. Player? We all have a past.” He winked at Mary Frances when he said it. “As for commitment issues . . . maybe I just haven’t found the right person to be committed to . . . until now.”

Mary Frances slapped a hand on the table, laughing. “Oh, you’ll do just fine.”

Mary took a seat beside Glen.

“Now tell me what was keeping you from coming this weekend.”

Mary stiffened. “Nothing. We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Don’t start that with me, child. I heard your voice when you called on Tuesday. You were upset. So spill.”

She needed to downplay this to keep the woman from worrying. “I have those plumbing issues.”

Mary Frances just stared.

“And my car is back in the shop.”

Glen kept silent beside her.

Mary picked up her drink and held out as long as she could. “Someone broke in while I was away last weekend. Not a big deal, just needed to clean the place up a bit.”

Mary Frances blinked a few times, her face unreadable. Then she turned that gaze toward Glen.

“Her plumbing issues are now fixed.”

The stare of death was heightened by the fact that it was difficult to tell if Mary Frances was breathing.

“Her car
is
back in the shop . . .”

Glen was going to cave, Mary felt it in her bones.

“. . . because the person who broke into her house trashed the car, trashed her house. We’ve spent this week cleaning it up and installing an alarm system to keep your girl safe.”

Mary reached over and pinched Glen’s thigh.

He gently placed his hand over hers and removed the grip of her fingers without breaking eye contact with Mary Frances.

“Do the police have anyone in custody?”

Glen shook his head.

“It might be a random act.”

Mary Frances turned that death stare on Mary.

She squirmed in her chair. “I’m fine. My house is safer than walking into a bank now. I didn’t want you to worry, so I didn’t tell you.”

Mary Frances leaned forward. “You listen to me, young lady. It is my right to worry. I’m not so old that I’ll fall into some kind of fit with bad news. Please don’t treat me as such.”

Mary lowered her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

The mother figure in Mary’s life was pure amusement. Glen could picture her in a nun’s habit forcing confessions from the congregation with her stare.

Mary was in the kitchen helping the senior Mary with dinner while Glen was in the back of the house . . . on a ladder, no less, removing leaves from Mary Frances’s gutter.

It wasn’t like the woman asked. She told him where the ladder was and encouraged him to make himself useful so she could have a few words alone with her girl before dinner. Dinner that was going to include Burke, Mary Frances’s beau.

Getting his head gripped around the ex-nun was one thing, thinking of her dating was quite another. And from the tight expression on Mary’s face when Mary Frances announced that Burke was coming for dinner, she was less than excited.

Which was probably why Glen was hanging off the side of the single-story bungalow cleaning gutters, something he didn’t even do for his own home, while the women were in the kitchen talking in hushed whispers.

Everything aside, Glen couldn’t think of a better way to spend his weekend.

Staying at Mary’s would remind him of her troubles . . . going home he’d be worried about her alone. Here, he could enjoy her company, learn more about where she came from, and find distraction in cleaning gutters.

Mary Frances ducked her head out of the back sliding door. “You can come down now, we’re done talking.”

Glen laughed, reached for another set of leaves. “Almost done.”

“It’s not like we get a lot of rain here.”

“I’m up here, might as well finish the job.”

She chuckled and left him to it.

He was positioning the ladder to the final spot on the roof when Mary stuck her head out. “He’s here!” Her rough whisper said she meant business.

“I’m almost done.”

“You’re done
now
!”

Glen didn’t bother holding in his laughter. “Yes, ma’am!”

Mary dusted off his shirt. “I can’t believe she’s dating.”

“I can’t believe how upset you are.”

“I’m not upset!”

He laughed harder. “You don’t lie, remember?”

She growled, pulled him into the house, squeezing the circulation out of his hand the entire way. Her fingernails dug in when she caught sight of Mary Frances’s guy.

“Here they are,” Mary Frances said when they walked into the room.

“My goodness, Mary . . . just look at her. She’s just as you described.”

“Burke, this is my girl, Mary . . . and her friend Glen.”

Glen pried Mary’s hand free of his and extended it. “Glen Fairchild. Mary’s boyfriend.”

“Oh, is it boyfriend now?” Mary Frances asked. “It was just friend when you arrived.”

Glen winked. “We move quickly in the city.”

He liked watching the older woman blush.

“A pleasure.” He shook the other man’s hand. “Burke Perry, Mary Frances’s boyfriend.”

Mary clenched at his side, the physical weight of his words and their meaning hitting her like a truck.

“I take it you weren’t ready to hear that,” Burke said, his English accent somehow softening the blow.

“Nope. Can’t say that I was. First there was pie . . . then makeup . . . now a boyfriend.”

Glen wished he had this on film. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a woman so amusingly torn.

“It might take some getting used to.”

Mary nodded like a bobblehead doll. “Yep. Probably.”

“Changes make life interesting,” Burke told them.

Mary kept nodding.

Glen kept laughing.

“If it makes you feel any better, Mary and I dating is like it was for you in secondary school. Quite innocent.” Burke placed an arm on Mary Frances’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t you say, m’dear?”

“Well, of course it is . . . you’re dating a fifty-eight-year-old virgin.”

Glen lost it.

Mary tossed her hands in the air, twisted around, and said, “I’m out.”

Glen followed her into the kitchen while the older couple giggled behind them.

“She’s delightful.” Burke’s words carried through the house.

It was a damn good thing Jesus drank wine.

Mary handed a second bottle to Glen for opening before they started on the main course.

Burke was actually really nice.

It was Mary Frances who’d somehow morphed into something other than what she was when in the man’s presence.

She blushed, giggled, and held his hand even after they said grace.

Watching Mary Frances, Sister Mary Frances, being a woman and not just a motherly type or a nun, was sensory overload.