Chapter 31 #2
The tree I stopped under is right next to the canal. The normally calm water is choppy and dark. The houseboats rock hard enough to make me wonder why anyone would choose to live in one. I shiver; the air is still warm, but I’m so soaked that I’m chilled all the way through.
Staring out at the canal and the lightning flashing between heavy, purple clouds, I tell myself that everything will be okay.
Gramps will be fine. So he seemed put out by the news that I’m leaving.
It would have been strange if he’d been happy about it, right?
He has Wally. I’ll call him every week. I can even teach him how to FaceTime.
The thunderstorm moves on—the rain slows to a drizzle and the thunder rumbles faintly, miles away now.
I look around, shivering, and realize where I’ve been heading.
My subconscious led me to a three-story white building on the beach.
I wheel the bike across Gulf Boulevard and right up to the door.
I don’t try to talk myself out of it as I jab the button to dial Daniel.
Waiting for him to answer gives me time to regret this choice slightly, as I catch sight of my reflection in the glass door: I look like I swam here.
But he answers and rings me up with no questions asked, so I don’t have time to change my mind.
“Mallory.” He opens the door to his condo, his expression alarmed. “Are you okay? Come in.”
I follow him in, embarrassment surging through me as my clothes drip onto his floor, forming a puddle underneath me. I step out of my sopping sneakers with difficulty.
“What’s going on?” he asks, taking in the state of me.
“I…” I start, not knowing what I’m about to say. But then I stop, forgetting my embarrassment and the fact that I need to explain my waterlogged presence somehow. “Wow.”
He follows my gaze—I’m staring into his living room slash kitchen area.
“This is…”
“What?” He gives a little laugh that betrays his nervousness. He’s nervous about what I’m going to say about his place. This delights me.
“Not what I expected,” I finish. It’s not, not at all. I mean, for starters, there’s no galloping horse print anywhere. Maybe there’ll be one in the bedroom—I’ll hold out hope for that.
“What did you expect?”
A black leather couch, a bar cart… my imagination stops there.
Whatever I had in mind, it wasn’t this. Daniel’s living room is like something out of a Scandinavian design magazine.
It’s gently lit by well-placed globe lamps.
There’s a light-gray sofa that’s all soft angles, a modern bent-wood coffee table with two magazines and a black knot sculpture artfully displayed on top.
A black-and-white rug that looks extremely soft and extremely expensive.
“A plant!” I point out a graceful potted tree. I don’t know what kind it is, but its pointy leaves are a gentle green with almost gray undertones. He must have chosen the type of tree as carefully as he clearly chose everything else here.
“And you thought I wouldn’t have one.”
“What’s that?” I point at the painting above the couch. If I could have guessed, based on the rest of his decor, I would have imagined a monotone work of inscrutable modern art. But it’s a sort of impressionist painting in pale pinks and blues, so pale they’re nearly white.
“Beachgoers,” Daniel says.
I can see it now, the forms of two people sprawled on the sand, the effervescent sea in the distance.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I thought so, too. I found it at a gallery downtown.”
I beam up at him; I can’t help it. It’s so endearing to think of him browsing art galleries and choosing this painting.
We seem to realize at the same moment that my teeth are chattering.
“God, you’re soaking wet. Let’s get you dry.” He pushes one hand into the small of my back, guiding me across the living room and toward the hallway.
He ushers me into the bathroom, which is right next to a little laundry nook with a stacked washer and dryer.
“We can put your clothes in the dryer,” Daniel says, handing me a neatly folded, fluffy white towel.
“Um, okay. Sure. Thank you.” I look at the towel in my hands; I guess I could wear this while we wait for my clothes to dry. Because it would be weird to ask to wear a T-shirt of his, right?
He starts to close the door of the bathroom to give me some privacy, but then he stops. “Then you’ll have nothing to wear.”
“Ha. Yeah. But I’ll just—” I hold up the towel.
“You want to take a bath?” he says suddenly.
“A bath?”
“Look at you. Your lips are blue. You can warm up in there while your clothes dry.”
I glance at the tub behind me. It’s a large, built-in Jacuzzi-style bathtub that I’m guessing was here when his parents bought this place. The rest of the bathroom is neat and inviting, with pale-gray walls decorated with a large, framed ink drawing of a stingray.
“I do love a bubble bath. But I don’t want to put you out. I just showed up here without—”
“It’s fine. You’re here until your clothes are dry, anyway.” He crosses to the bathroom closet and pulls out a new bar of soap. “No bubbles or salts or anything, but I do have soap.”
I take the small box from him. My fingers are truly very cold. He turns on the tap and checks the water temperature with his hand before plugging the drain.
“Thanks, Daniel.”
“Oh, wait.” He procures a bottle of Old Spice shower gel. “This might work for bubbles.”
I press my lips together, holding back a laugh as he pours some of the shower gel into the running water. I feel so cared for. It’s adorable.
“Look at that,” I marvel, as bubbles foam up in the water. “Works perfectly. Now I feel swindled by the bubble-bath industry.”
“Those bubble tycoons will take you for all you’re worth.” We stand there awkwardly for a second, and then he says, “Well, enjoy,” and gives a funny little salute as he closes the door.
I hang the towel on the rack, put my wet clothes in the dryer, and gingerly step into the bath. The water is steamy hot; it feels so good on my cold skin that I let out a sigh as I sink into it.
“This was a good idea,” I mumble to myself.
The rumble of the dryer and the sliver of night sky outside the narrow window create a very relaxing ambience. I sink down until my chin is submerged in bubbles, and then I startle up again when I hear Daniel’s voice.
“By the way, there’s shampoo and conditioner in the shower. You can use those, too.”
I laugh. “Thanks, but that’s okay. I don’t need to wash my hair.”
“All right, just wanted to offer.”
“Yeah. It takes a long time when you have this much hair,” I call back.
There’s a pause, and I figure he’s gone back down the hall. But then I hear, “I could do it.”
“What?” I sit stock-still, staring at my toes sticking out of the bubbles.
“I could wash your hair. If you want.”
I wait for a laugh or a just kidding or a never mind, crazy idea . But he doesn’t say anything else. I’m dying to know what expression is on his face right now as he waits for my answer.
“Okay,” I hear myself say.
The door opens slowly, and a flushed Daniel peeks around it. Then he mutters, “Probably need a cup,” and retreats again. He returns a moment later with a white coffee mug.
Wordlessly, he gathers the shampoo and conditioner, then sits on the edge of the bath.
“Have you always wanted to be a hairdresser or something?” I ask.
“Nah.” He doesn’t look embarrassed anymore as he dips the mug into the bathwater. “I just have a thing for your hair.”
Now I’m the one with flaming cheeks.
“Oh.” Because, really, what else is there to say to that?
“Lean back,” he says.
I do as he says, extremely grateful for the Old Spice–scented bubbles hiding my naked body from view. I feel a gentle hand smooth my hair back before he slowly pours the water. My scalp tingles with pleasure.
He works shampoo into my hair, strong fingers massaging my head.
“That feels amazing.”
He continues his massage, and then says, “So, you want to tell me why you biked here in the rain?”
“Right. That.” I savor the feeling of the warm water slowly rinsing away the shampoo, of Daniel’s hand sweeping the hair back from my forehead. “Where do I start.”
“At the beginning?”
“Well. Yesterday, I went to Pebble Cottage and laid the new flooring in the living room.”
“You did?”
I nod. Daniel smooths conditioner down the lengths of my hair.
I close my eyes, enjoying it probably more than I should admit.
It’s like the heavenly feeling you get at the salon when the stylist washes your hair, times a thousand thanks to the dash of chemistry between us.
I mean, maybe some people feel that way at the salon, in which case, more power to them.
“Why didn’t you call me? I could have helped.”
“I don’t know, but I should have. Because I messed it all up. We’ll probably have to redo the whole room now.”
“What happened?”
“I started on the wrong side of the room and the planks got all wonky.”
“Ah. Well, that sucks, but it is fixable.”
“That’s the next part. I don’t have time to stay and fix it.” I explain about the HR email. “So, they found out that I’m not in Seattle, and they’ll fire me if I stay here.”
“Harsh.” He finger-combs my hair, his touch the opposite of harsh. “They already told you that you have to go back to the office. Did they have to threaten to fire you, too?”
“Guess they really wanted to drive the point home.”
“Well, point taken.”
“And then there’s Gramps.” I sigh, opening my eyes to stare morosely at the ceiling light. I can tell that even that, a cute little brass fixture, was chosen with care. “I’d been putting off telling him that I have to go home. But I told him earlier, right before I came over here.”
“How did he take it?”
“Um, he seemed fine, but—” I stop, my lips trembling as I try not to cry. “He was watching baseball. Which he never does. He seemed pretty into the game. And then I told him, and he acted fine, but then he went to bed.”
“You think he was broken up about it?” Daniel rinses my hair one last time and then twines it in his fist, gently squeezing the water out. I want to ask him to wash it again, but that would be weird.
I sit up a little, crossing my arms over my chest, just in case.
“I think so. But he would never admit that.”
Daniel peers into my eyes, his elbows on his knees. “You really care about your grandpa. I’m sure he can feel that. And I’m sure he appreciates the time you’ve spent with him.”
I shrug. “It just sucks that I have to leave. But this was supposed to be a quick weekend trip, and it’s already been over a month. It’s not like I was going to stay here forever.”
I lean back again and close my eyes. The water is still deliciously warm.
If only I could stay in here forever, soaking my troubles away.
Daniel doesn’t say anything, probably because there’s nothing more to be said.
So my little vacation has to end, so I have to go back to my life and my job.
It’s a privileged problem to have. I’m happy I had this time here. And now it’s time to move on.
I heave a sigh that may or may not be a touch dramatic.
Wordlessly, Daniel slips his hands back into my hair and rubs my scalp. I let out an involuntary, embarrassing moan.
He snickers.
Cracking open one eye, I say, “You could charge three hundred bucks an hour for these hands.”
“That much? I should get new business cards.” He massages some more. “Hands for hire.”
“Sounds dirty.”
“Hey, please don’t sully my professional name.” He sits back and I feel his fingers disappear from my hair.
“Don’t stop!”
He grins wickedly—and ridiculously—and I flick water at his face. He grabs my wrist.
“We’re not making a mess in here, young lady.”
I point at my head and he laughs, resuming my head rub. His strong fingers stray down to the nape of my neck and my shoulders, but—other than the fact that he’s massaging me while I’m naked in the bath—he keeps things strictly respectable.
“I just had a brilliant idea,” I say.
“Do tell.”
“Baseball games happen all the time, right? Like every day?”
“Pretty much.”
“I could take Gramps to a Rays game before I leave. Cheer him up a bit. He said he hasn’t been to a game in decades.”
“I bet he’d enjoy that.”
There’s a pause as Daniel shifts his position to massage my forearms and hands. Screw three hundred—this man deserves five hundred an hour.
“You know, the Rays stadium is pretty big. It might help to go with someone who’s familiar with it.”
I turn to raise an eyebrow at him.
“Are you saying you want to come hang out with me and Gramps?”
“Mallory, please.” He gives me a look, like he’s about to say something like Of course I want to spend more time with you , and my heart speeds up, but then he says, “I’ll take any excuse to go to a Rays game.”
I laugh. “That would be great. I mean, I barely know one end of the baseball bat from the other. I’m sure Gramps would appreciate having someone there who knows what’s going on.”
“It’s a deal.” The dryer buzzes, and Daniel hands me the towel. “I’ll let you dry off. Come through to the living room when you’re done.”
I do as he says. My shorts and tank top are nice and toasty. Daniel’s sitting on the couch, but he stands and hands me a glass of water.
“Thanks.”
He motions for me to sit, taking a seat beside me.
I sip my water, my damp hair against my neck a potent reminder of what just happened in the bathroom. Daniel washed my hair. A hot flush creeps up my chest and neck.
We settle back against the couch, leaving a full foot of space between us. I stare around his place, my curiosity getting the better of me. It’s so minimalist chic.
“You didn’t have a professional designer do this, did you?”
He lets out a surprised laugh. “Flattered. But no.”
“Well, I can tell you have an eye for this kind of thing.”
“Thanks, Rosen.”
“You’re welcome, McKinnon.” I drain my water glass and set it on the coffee table. “Am I going to get in trouble for not using a coaster?”
“Yes,” he says seriously. “You will be punished.”
My hand flies to my chest in mock fear. “What’s my punishment?”
He tilts his head as though considering something, then gives a little laugh and changes tack. “It’s getting late. Are you riding home, or am I driving you?”
“I can bike. Should be fine as long as there aren’t any more downpours.”
“You never know,” he says.
“Yeah. You never do.”
He promises to text me about the baseball game. I thank him for everything and say goodbye, then let myself out into the starlit night.