Нора Робертс - Bed of Roses

“Maybe I’m starting to wonder about her expectations, that’s all. She’s in the marriage business.”

“No, she’s in the wedding business.”

“Okay, good point. She’s from a big family. A big, tight, apparently happy family. And while weddings and marriages are different things, one leads to the other. One of her best friends since childhood is getting married. You know how those four are, Del. They’re like a fist. The fingers may wiggle individually, but they come out of the same hand. Just like you said you and Mal are in the field, from what I can tell so are Laurel and Parker. But Mac? That shifts things. Now one of my poker buddies is going to be talking wedding plans with them.

That shifts things.”

He gestured with his beer. “If I’m thinking about it, it’s a sure bet she is.”

“You could do something radical and have an actual conversation with her about it.”

“If you have a conversation about it, it takes you a step closer.”

“Or it takes you a step back. Which way do you want to head, Jack?”

“See, you’re asking me.” To emphasize the point, Jack shot a finger at Del. “She sure as hell will. What am I supposed to say?”

“Again, radical. How about the truth?”

“I don’t know the truth.” Okay, he thought, that’s the source of the panic. “Why do you think I’m freaked out?”

“I guess you have to figure it out. You never answered the lead question. Are you in love with her?”

“How the hell does anybody know that? More, how do they know they’re going to stay that way?”

“Guts, blind faith. You’ve got it or you don’t. But from where I’m sitting, brother, the only person putting pressure on you is you.” Crossing his ankles, Del polished off his beer. “Something to think about.”

“I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to let her down.”

Listen to yourself, Del thought. You’re already sunk and don’t know it. “I don’t want to see that happen either,” he said casually. “Because I’d hate having to kick your ass.”

“What you’d hate is for me to kick yours if you tried.”

There followed the more comfortable interlude of insults over the last beer.

Because he wanted to keep a close eye on Mac’s addition, Jack tried to swing by the job site every day. It gave him a spectator seat to The Life of Mac and Carter.

Every morning he’d catch sight of them in the kitchen—one of them feeding the cat, the other pouring coffee. At some point, Carter would clear out with his laptop case, and Mac would get to work in the studio.

If his swing-by came in the afternoon, he might see Carter walking back from the main house—but never, he noted, when Mac was with a client. The guy must have radar, Jack concluded.

Occasionally one or both of them came out to check the progress, ask questions, offer him coffee or a cold drink, depending on the time of day he dropped by.

The rhythm fascinated him enough that he stopped Carter one morning.

“School’s out, right?”

“The summer of fun has begun.”

“So I notice you head over to the big house most days.”

“It’s a little crowded in the studio right now. And noisy.” Carter glanced back toward the buzz of saws, the thwack of nail guns. “I teach teenagers, so I have a high tolerance for confusion, and still I don’t know how she works with the noise. It doesn’t seem to bother her.”

“What the hell are you doing all day? Plotting pop quizzes for next fall?”

“The beauty of the pop quiz is that it can be repeated endlessly through the years. I have files.”

“Yeah, I bet. So?”

“Actually, I’m using one of the guest rooms as a temporary study. It’s quiet, and Mrs. Grady feeds me.”

“You’re studying?”

Carter shifted his feet, a tell Jack recognized as mild to middling embarrassment. “I’m sort of working on a book.”

“No shit?”

“It may be shit. Parts of it probably are. But I thought I’d take the summer to find out.”

“That’s great. How do you know when she’s cleared out—the clients? Does she call over, tell you it’s safe to come home?”

“She’s trying to schedule clients in the morning, whenever she’s doing a shoot here, and shifting most consults over to the main house while the construction’s going on. I just check her book for the day, so I don’t come back during a shoot, break the mood or her concentration. It’s a pretty simple system.”

“It seems to be working for you.”

“Speaking of work, I didn’t expect all this to move so fast.” Carter gestured toward the studio. “Every day there’s something new.”

“Weather holds and the inspections pass, it’ll keep moving. It’s a good crew. They should—Sorry,” he said when his phone rang.

“Go ahead. I’d better get started.”

He pulled out his phone as Carter walked off. “Cooke. Yeah, I’m on the Brown site.” As he spoke, Jack moved away from the noise. “No, we can’t just . . . If that’s what they want we’ll need to draw up the changes and get a revised permit.”

He listened, continued to walk.

His job visits also gave him a clear idea of Emma’s basic routine. Clients came and went like clockwork in the beginning of the week. Midweek, she’d take deliveries. Boxes and boxes of flowers. She’d be working with them now, he thought. Early start, on her own. Tink or one of the others would probably come in later, do whatever they did.

In the middle of the day, if she could manage it, she’d take a break and sit out on her patio. If he was on-site, he’d squeeze in the time to sit out with her awhile.

How could a man resist Emma sitting in the sunlight?

And there she was now, he realized. Not on the patio, but kneeling on the ground, her hair bundled under a hat while she turned dirt with a garden spade.

“Tell them two to three weeks,” he said, and she turned, tipped up the brim of her hat and smiled at him. “I’m heading out from here in a few minutes. I’ll talk it over with the job boss. I’ll be in the office in a couple hours. No problem.”

He flipped the phone closed, scanned the flats of plants. “Don’t you have enough flowers?”

“Never. I wanted to plug in some more annuals here in front. It makes a nice show from the event areas.”

He crouched, kissed her. “You make a nice show. I figured you’d be working inside.”

“I couldn’t resist, and this won’t take long. I’ll put in an extra hour at the end of the day if I need to.”

“Busy after the end of the day?”

She cocked her head, slanted him a killer look from under the brim of her hat. “That depends on the offer.”

“How about we go into New York for dinner? Someplace where the waiters are snobs, the food’s overpriced, and you look so beautiful I don’t notice either.”

“I’m definitely not busy at the end of the day.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up about seven.”

“I’ll be ready. And since you’re here.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and took his mouth in a deep, dreamy kiss. “That should hold you,” she murmured.

“Pack a bag.”

“What?”

“Pack what you need for overnight and we’ll get a hotel suite in New York. Make a night of it.”

“Really?” She did a quick dance in place. “Give me ten seconds and I’ll pack right now.”

“Then we’re on.”

“I have to be back early, but—”

“So do I.” This time he kissed her, catching her face with his hands, drawing it out. “That should hold you. Seven,” he said, and rose.

Pleased with his idea and her reaction, he drew his phone out as he walked to his truck, and got his assistant busy making reservations.

“I told him i could pack in ten seconds. I’m such a liar.” With the workday scrubbed off and every inch of her creamed and scented, Emma folded a shirt into her overnight case. “Obviously the coming home clothes aren’t a real issue, but . . .”

She turned, held up a silky white gown for Parker’s opinion. “What do you think?”

“It’s gorgeous.” Stepping forward, Parker brushed a finger over the delicate lace that framed the bodice. “When did you get this?”

“Last winter. I couldn’t resist it, and I told myself I’d wear it just for me, whenever. Of course, I didn’t. Haven’t. It has this little matching robe. I love lush hotel robes, but this is romantic. I feel like I want to have something romantic to put on after dinner.”

“Then it’s perfect.”

“I don’t even know where we’re going, where we’re staying. I love that. Love the feeling of being whisked away.” She did a quick spin then laid the peignoir in her bag. “I want champagne and candlelight, and some ridiculously indulgent dessert. And I want him to look at me in the candlelight and tell me he loves me. I can’t help it.”

“Why should you?”

“Because it should be enough to be whisked away, to be with a man who’d plan a night like this. He makes me happy. That should be enough.”

As Emma continued to pack, Parker stepped forward to rub her shoulders. “It’s not as if you’re setting limits for yourself, Emma. If you feel you have to.”

“I’m not doing that. I don’t think I’m doing that. I know I’ve had some ups and downs about this, so I’m trying to adjust my expectations. And do what I said I’d do when we started.” Reaching back, she laid her hand on Parker’s, squeezed. “Just enjoy and take things as they come. I’ve been in love with him for so long, but that’s my deal. In reality we’ve only been together a couple of months. There’s no rush.”

“Emma, as long as I’ve known you—which is forever—you’ve never been afraid to say how you feel. Why are you afraid to tell Jack?”