Too Close to Touch (10 page)

Kylie grinned at the little-kid tone in Gretchen’s voice.

“Absolutely.”

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TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH

CHAPTER SEVEN

Gretchen Kaiser wasn’t used to being nervous. She’d done her best to banish the feeling from her internal stock and, for the most part, it didn’t show up often. But now, as she sat in her black BMW parked on the side of Sycamore Street, where she’d been lucky to Þ nd a spot at all, she surveyed the bumper-to-bumper cars parked along the same block and wondered what the hell she thought she was doing.

Mingling with her staff on a personal level was not a good idea, not in her book. It could create difÞ culties in the long run, so she’d always avoided it like the plague. But something about the expression on Kylie’s face when she’d extended the invitation…something in those damn blue eyes of hers was so…warm and engaging, Gretchen felt she really didn’t have a choice in the matter. And then Friday, when she’d left the directions, she just slid them onto Gretchen’s desk, right on top of the resume she was reading. She didn’t say a word; she just smiled and winked at Gretchen. Actually
winked
!

So here she sat. The cookout must be huge; she could hear the noise all the way down the street. She weighed her options as she glanced at the bottle of white wine sitting on her passenger seat. She could leave now and Kylie would never know she’d been here at all. That way, she wouldn’t have to deal with the nervousness, the awkwardness, or the uncertainty that were all clouding her brain. She wouldn’t meet any members of Kylie’s family and she would not have to see Kylie in a casual setting, relaxed and probably smiling. That was certainly the best course of action.
Just leave right now. Go!

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GEORGIA BEERS

“Shit,” she sighed as she grabbed the bottle and opened the car door.

Checking her reß ection in the car window, she redirected a stray lock of her dark hair and hoped she’d dressed appropriately. She’d tried to keep it simple: jeans, a light pink scoop-neck T-shirt with long sleeves in case it got chilly, and casual black shoes. Fussing with her hair once more, she blew out a breath and headed toward the noise coming from the back yard of number 77.

The day was beautiful, the temperature hovering in the high sixties to low seventies—an unusual occurrence for this time of year in Rochester, Gretchen had deduced from the weather reports. The O’Briens had indeed lucked out. The sky was clear and blue, and a gentle breeze wafted off nearby Lake Ontario, rustling the new leaves unfurling on the trees. Gretchen inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air after so many consecutive days stuck inside.

Sycamore was a nice, residential street in the suburbs. Unlike many of the new developments, it boasted sidewalks, and Gretchen followed one at an easy pace. The houses were nicely spaced apart and the lawns were neatly tended. Many people had begun to plant their summer ß owers. Gretchen noticed impatiens and petunias in various colors and remembered how her mother had loved to plant annuals.

An older woman on her hands and knees, gardening gloves brown with dirt, waved as Gretchen passed. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Gorgeous,” Gretchen replied, thinking for the Þ rst time in ages that it would be nice to live in a little house on such a street and plant ß owers out front every spring.

The O’Brien house was large and sunny yellow with white shutters and trim. The garage’s front and back doors stood open, and through them, Gretchen could see a throng of people milling around in the back yard. The precisely edged lawn was lush and green, a by-product of either chemical enhancement or a retired owner. Not a blade of grass was to be found on the smooth blackness of the driveway. The front shrubs looked like they’d been trimmed up recently. Three pots of rich red geraniums lined the simple concrete front steps. It was a house from the pages of a fairy tale: neat, warm, and inviting.

Crossing through the garage and entering the back yard was like walking into a giant frat party. The beat of a classic rock tune pounded from somewhere, and there had to be Þ fty people mingling, eating,

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and drinking. The atmosphere was welcoming, and the guests looked happy, chatting and laughing with one another.

Standing off to the side, Gretchen felt herself smile at the sight.

She located Kylie easily; she was surprised by
how
easily, as if Kylie was wearing some kind of homing device so Gretchen could Þ nd her.

She was standing by the grill near the center of the yard. Puffs of burger-scented smoke curled into the air around her, and she gave a musical laugh that carried across the yard. Next to her, an older gentleman wielded his spatula as he spoke to her. Gretchen knew instantly that he was Kylie’s father, and the obvious bond between them gave her a poke of sadness. She would never share such an easy rapport with her own father.

Kylie’s jeans hugged her hips gently, and Gretchen tried to prevent her eyes from lingering on her assistant’s backside, to no avail.

She took in the white T-shirt and the way the sun glinted off Kylie’s blond hair and sucked in a deep breath. She’d admitted to herself quite some time ago that she found Kylie extremely attractive. She’d even allowed herself to entertain a fantasy or two about her. But observing her unawares across the yard made Gretchen’s heart pound, and she wasn’t terribly comfortable with that. As a matter of fact, it increased her level of nervousness tenfold.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea
, she thought with a grimace. If she turned and ß ed right now, she could actually escape without being seen. After all, nobody else here knew who she was and Kylie hadn’t noticed her yet.

As if on cue, Kylie turned in Gretchen’s direction, met her eyes, and her face lit up. She said something to the grill master, who also looked at Gretchen, and then she headed toward her. Gretchen shifted uncomfortably, muttering to herself about the impossibility of escape now.

“You made it.” Kylie said as she drew close. Her voice was Þ lled with enthusiastic delight.

“I did.” Gretchen held out the bottle of wine.

“You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.”

Kylie accepted the bottle, and she and Gretchen stood looking at one another, grinning, for several seconds. They were eye to eye, and Gretchen sent up a silent thanks that her casual shoes had a bit of a heel and Kylie had chosen to wear sneakers.

“Quite a party.” Gretchen stated the obvious.

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GEORGIA BEERS

Kylie seemed to draw a deep breath. “I’m really glad you’re here.

Come on. I want you to meet some people.” Grasping Gretchen by the wrist, she pulled her into the crowd.

In the six weeks they’d worked together, Gretchen had never thought of Kylie as reserved or shy, or noticed any sign of timidity around others. But in her element, in a large group of people she knew well, she was even
more
friendly, outgoing, and sweet. Trailing along behind her like a little lost puppy, Gretchen enjoyed watching her interact with people. She charmed the older folks, the kids followed her as if she was the Pied Piper, even the couple of dogs pulled at their leashes, wanting to be scratched and kissed. Kylie obliged without a second thought.

They stopped at the line of coolers along the deck. “What can I get you?” Kylie asked, holding up the wine. “Should I open this bottle?

Do you want a beer? Pop? Oh, wait. You’re not from around here.” She smirked. “It’s probably soda to you, isn’t it?”

Gretchen laughed. “Yeah, what the hell is ‘pop,’ anyway? A beer would be great, thanks.”

“Labatt? Coors? Light? Dark?”

“So many choices. Got a light in there?”

Kylie shook the ice water from the bottle. “Watching your Þ gure, are you?” She winked at Gretchen and then pulled her along toward the grill.

She just winked at me again.
Gretchen shook her head with a disbelieving grin as she followed.

“Hey, Dad,” Kylie said to the man diligently ß ipping burgers.

“This is Gretchen Kaiser. Gretchen, my father, Matthew O’Brien.”

Gretchen shook the hand he held out. His grip was Þ rm, his hand large and callused. “Nice to meet you, Mr. O’Brien.”

“Please. Matt. Mr. O’Brien makes me feel old. Nice to meet you, too.”

Matt O’Brien was tall, probably six-one or six-two, and looked to be in his late sixties. What remained of his white hair circled his head like a donut. He gave the impression of a man who was in very good physical condition when he was younger; the only signs of his age were the balding head and the slightly protruding belly visible beneath the Kiss the Cook apron he had tied over it. When he smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his brown eyes were very prominent, making Gretchen suspect that he smiled often.
Kylie’s eyes will crinkle just like that when

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she’s older.
The thought came out of nowhere and Gretchen blinked several times, trying to clear it from her head.

“Your yard is lovely,” she said sincerely.

It was difÞ cult to see it all through the crowd of people, but the back yard seemed to be as neat and well kept as the front, not huge, but large enough. A light-colored wooden deck off the back of the house sported ß ower boxes Þ lled with the same red geraniums that decorated the front steps. A colorful swing set in one corner was completely covered with children. A small, barn-shaped aluminum shed stood in the other.

“Well, thank you. I can only take credit for the grass. My wife is the ß ower expert.” Matt O’Brien took a swig from the beer bottle that was resting on the grill’s counter space.

“Speaking of…” Kylie’s eyes rested on an older woman approaching with a large, empty plate.

If Gretchen had known instantly that Matt was Kylie’s father, the family resemblance was nothing compared with Kylie’s likeness to her mother. The woman walking toward them was
exactly
what Gretchen pictured Kylie would look like at age sixty-Þ ve. She actually did a double take as Mrs. O’Brien handed the plate to her husband.

After Kylie made the introductions, Caroline O’Brien shook Gretchen’s hand in the way older women tended to, more of a loose clasp than a Þ rm pump. “It’s so nice to meet you, Gretchen. Kylie has told me a lot about you.”

Gretchen glanced at Kylie. “Should I be worried?”

Caroline chuckled. “Oh, no, no. She very much enjoys working for you.”

“Well, she’s a wonderful employee. I’m lucky to have her.” She felt a thrill at the pink tint that suddenly colored Kylie’s cheeks and took a swallow of her beer to hide her smile.

Caroline lifted the plate, now piled high with hamburgers of various sizes and doneness, and hurried back to the deck, where a table Þ lled with food stood waiting for guests to indulge.

“Your mother’s a very beautiful woman,” Gretchen said quietly to Kylie.

Kylie’s smile was Þ lled with pride. “Yeah. I hear that a lot.

Thanks.”

“Hey, Short Round!” The greeting was followed by a slap to Kylie’s behind. She tried to roll her eyes, but Gretchen could see that

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GEORGIA BEERS

she was laughing instead. She elbowed the very tall, thin guy behind her, whose hair was exactly the same shade as hers.

“Shut up, Bean Pole,” she sneered at him.

“Who’s this?” he asked, holding his hand out to Gretchen. “Hot new girlfriend?”

Gretchen returned his Þ rm grip in kind. “Hot new boss,” she informed him.

“Oh, shit.” He turned his suddenly pale face to Kylie and began to stammer. “Sorry, Ky. I…I wasn’t…she’s really…I should’ve…shit.”

“It’s okay. She’s cool.”

“Yeah? She’s cool? Or
cool
cool?”

“She’s
cool
cool.”

“Ah, I see. Cool.”

Turning to Gretchen, Kylie introduced the embarrassed male as her brother, Kevin.

After exchanging the requisite courtesies with him, Gretchen inquired, “Short Round?”

“Ugh.” Kylie covered her eyes with her hand.

Kevin laughed. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Our little Kylie was a late bloomer as far as height and stuff went. Rory and I got tall right away.

I’ve been six-three since I was Þ fteen. Even Erin is, what? Five-ten?” He looked at Kylie, who nodded. “So, anyway, here we all are, teenagers, and we’re all these string-bean-looking kids. All except Kylie. She’s barely Þ ve-three and not exactly…bean-like.” He laughed, but his eyes crinkled with great affection for his little sister.

“I just took my time,” Kylie said in her own defense, her cheeks pink yet again. To Gretchen, she explained, “I lost Þ fteen pounds and grew three inches from my sophomore to senior years in high school.”

Turning to Kevin, she added, “So there,” and stuck out her tongue.

“Topping off at a mere Þ ve-foot-six. Not short by any means, but certainly short for this family.” He lowered his voice. “Mom would never tell us what the mailman looked like.”

Kylie slapped at him. “Don’t you have something better to do than harass me?”

“Can’t think of a thing, Short Round,” he answered playfully.

“Story of my life.”

Watching the back-and-forth interplay between the siblings, Gretchen felt her heart swell. At times like these, she missed J.J.

immensely.

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“I could harass Gretchen,” Kevin replied with a wink. “She seems to have the same vertical challenge as you. What are you, Þ ve-four?”

“Five-four and a half, thank you very much,” Gretchen answered.

Kylie shoved him. “Get lost, Stilts. We don’t need your kind here.”

“Fine. I have more joy to spread, anyway. Nice to meet you, Gretchen. I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Keep her in line, will you?”

Gretchen laughed. “I’ll try.”

“Ready for another beer?” Kylie asked.

Gretchen nodded, surprised at the good time she was having. “I think I am. Join me this time?”