Chapter Fifteen #2
In the first, he noted, she’d started with Jane Austen, ended with Arthur Miller. While he hadn’t read either, he’d passed the time with several between.
“And one more today. I didn’t realize you’d bring them one or two at a time. It’s great for me.”
“The shop’s good size, but it’s a hell of a lot of bookcases. Easier to move a couple out when they’re done. Pop’s doing some of the staining, so it’s moving along.”
“He does good work, too. Does he have a date tonight?” she asked as they started out for the second case.
“Sort of. He’s meeting some friends for dinner, then he has a library meeting. He’s on the library board.”
“I’m surprised the women in town don’t move on him. Handsome, smart, sweet, handy.”
“He has women friends, but my grandmother was it for him.”
She held her breath until the second bookcase reached the dolly.
“The lucky ones find their it. And dating’s overrated anyway.”
“Is it?”
One hand to steady the bookcase, she walked along beside the dolly.
“Yes. Overrated and mostly just a pain in the ass, full of frustration, anxiety, unreal expectations. It’s just fraught.”
“Okay.” He didn’t intend to ask, he really didn’t. But. “Why?”
“What am I going to wear? What does this outfit say?”
“Right, I stress over that for hours.”
She laughed, shrugged. “Easy for you to say. What am I going to talk about? Am I talking too much? Why does he talk so much? Am I going to be bored, engaged, interested? Will this lead to sex, and will that be any good? Should I wear my might-have-sex underwear, or is that pitifully obvious if there is sex?”
“What color is it?”
“Depends on the outfit chosen for the date. Is it little-black-dress date, jeans and shirt, fancier cocktail wear, outdoorsy activity?”
A little breathless from the effort, she helped him place the bookcase.
“How many dates is this?” she continued as she ran a hand over the bookcase. “Did the first date end, if this is not date one, on a firm yet friendly handshake?”
“If it did, that date was a bust.”
“Probably. Or a light, casual kiss, or a long, lingering one?”
“Sex isn’t on the menu for date one, I take it.”
“That’s not a hard no, but a pretty solid give-it-some-more-time. It’s all fraught and a lot of trouble. If sex is the end goal, just have sex and forget all the dancing around it.”
“That’s an interesting take.”
“Just my observations and experience. Look how these make this room. The fireplace is delayed, but Joe said next week for certain. I don’t care what the weather is, I’m lighting it. And sitting in one of the chairs that’ll be here in a day or two.”
“Have fun with that.”
“Oh, believe me, I will.” She turned to him. “Do you have a date?”
“No.”
“All right then, I’m going to fix you a sandwich.”
“Why?”
“Because you fixed my leaky pipe and brought me two more bookcases. And you said Joe’s having dinner with friends. I’m going to make myself a sandwich, so I’ll make two. You can take it with you if you’d rather, or I’ve got wine, beer, and soft drinks.”
He’d figured to make a sandwich himself when he got home. Why not let her do it?
“I wouldn’t mind a beer.”
“Great. Come on, Zorro. Dinnertime.”
He sang and danced in place, then bulleted toward the kitchen.
She gave Gideon a beer—not in a bottle, which would’ve been fine, but poured into a pilsner glass. Then she fed the dog before pouring herself a glass of wine.
“What’s your preference? I have—”
“Whatever.”
She tilted her head. “Is that whatever as in I’m a gambling man, or knee-jerk polite?”
“I don’t have a knee-jerk polite. I’ll gamble.”
As she laid out a host of ingredients, he wandered the kitchen.
Her stove, aesthetically beautiful, also looked like something requiring a pilot’s license.
“Do you actually cook in here on a routine basis, or on that grill?”
“Yes, I do. But I had tonight designated for sandwich. I’m a third-generation sandwich artist.”
“Artist.”
“Color, texture, the melding of flavors. My grandfather taught my dad, my dad taught me.”
He watched her work. “A lot of trouble for two pieces of bread.”
She shot a finger at him. “You’ll eat those words, Riley, along with this sandwich.”
“Maybe. Joe mentioned you’d lost your parents when you were a kid. I’m sorry. It had to be rough.”
“It was. It would’ve been a hell of a lot rougher without my aunt and uncle. I didn’t really know them before. They lived in Columbus, we lived in Brooklyn, so we only saw each other a couple times a year. But they were right there for me, and I didn’t make it easy on them. On anyone.”
“Death flattens us, then pisses us off.”
Exactly, she thought. Exactly.
“I’ll say. They had a monthly date night. They were heading back home. Sixteen-wheeler, black ice, driver lost control. My dad died instantly, they said. My mom on the way to the hospital. I’m at home already brooding because I didn’t have a boyfriend.”
She flicked up a glance as she built the sandwiches.
“At fourteen, I still thought dating was desirable. I was writing in my journal about how crappy life was because … I can’t remember his name now.
Whatever boy I had a crush on at that moment didn’t think twice about me.
Maybe not once. Then the cops and the social worker came to the door, and the life I thought was crappy was over. ”
She looked at him. “You probably had to knock on a door when you were a cop.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you miss it? I don’t mean notifications, that had to be hard on your end, too. But Los Angeles, being a cop.”
“Not LA. I like it here, always did.”
“Then being a cop?”
He jerked his shoulders. “That was then, this is now.”
Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about that, Arden thought, so switched it up.
“When did you move to LA?”
“I didn’t. I grew up there. Mostly.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize that. Are your parents still there?”
“Mostly. They split when I was about six. Is this date conversation?”
She looked up with a laugh. “I consider it sandwich-making-and-eating conversation. And since I do, any sibs?”
“Half brother from him, half sister from her. From their second marriages. Sort-of steps—two sisters and a brother—from their third tries.”
“Three marriages each? So they’re optimists.”
“You could look at it that way, or as the definition of insanity. Third try didn’t stick either. Now they’ve circled back. They’re living together. Mostly.”
“Really? That’s kind of nice. What’s mostly?”
“They both travel for work.”
She cut each sandwich in two, then went for chips from the pantry. “What do they do?”
“They’re in the movie business.”
“Well, that’s interesting. Want another beer?”
“No, I’m good.”
“So what do they do in the movie business?” She set his plate in front of him, then sat with her own.
“He’s a director.”
“Your dad directs movies? I like movies. Zorro and I often have movie and popcorn night. Maybe I’ve seen one of his.”
“Maybe.” He took a bite of the hefty sandwich. He had to admit, the mix and meld of flavors and textures hit solid on tasty. And packed a punch.
“Got some heat on it.”
“I figured you could handle it.”
If this happened to be a date, she thought, she sure couldn’t claim he talked too much.
“How about a tiny bit more information? Like your father’s name.”
“Riley. Liam Riley.”
“Okay, that name’s familiar. Give me a minute. I haven’t haunted the movie blogs since my crush on Tom Holland.”
“When was that?”
“If I’m honest, it’s ongoing. I would certainly make him a sandwich if he knocked on my door. But … Oh, oh! Beaten Path! Is that right? Is that one of his?”
“Yeah.”
“I love that movie. If I’m scoping streaming options, and I hit it: Bang. I’m there. Action from the jump, sexual tension, great dialogue. And there’s another, more recent … Shit, I’ll get it. The Unseen. That’s it. Scared the crap out of me. I watched it twice.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s really good, and I wanted to see what I missed, how I missed it.”
She gestured with a chip, then ate it.
“The clues are all there, but it’s all so layered. You need that solid script, and actors who can make you believe it’s real, but you have to have someone with the vision and the skill to pull it all together.
“Does your mom direct, too?”
“No. She’s one of the people trying to make you believe it’s real.”
“She’s an actor? How about a hint, like her name?”
“Scarlett Dash.”
Arden punched him in the shoulder. “No! Seriously? She’s wonderful. I’ve seen plenty of her movies. And I binged Solomon’s Creek a few months ago. She has such presence. Plus, she’s just gorgeous. I figured you got your looks from Joe, but you’ve got some of her in there. Wait!”
She held up a finger. “Your father directed Solomon’s Creek. Is that how they got back together? Oh, I mean, jeez. That’s so romantic.”
“Now it’s my turn for a seriously.”
“Yes, seriously. A little weird for you, I guess.”
“Weird’s the word.”
“Well, I’m rooting for those crazy kids. Now I’m going to have to watch Solomon’s Creek again. No pull to join the family business?”
“That’s a solid no.”
“You’ve got the looks for it. Since you own a mirror, I’m not telling you what you don’t know. But no pull, no deal. I wanted to write pretty much always. Whenever I tried anything else, it felt flat. I don’t think you can be good at something if it doesn’t pull at you.
“So the Hollywood son opts to go on the job in LA, then relocates to the Willamette Valley and makes my bookcases. Woodworking must pull.”
“I like it.”
“You’re good at it, again nothing you don’t already know. I was good at retail. I worked in a bookstore part-time for years, and really enjoyed it. But it wasn’t the big pull.”
He could play the game.
“So the writer and former part-time bookseller relocates from Columbus to Riverbend and changes all the doorknobs.”
“She did. And she really likes it. The area, and the doorknobs. I wasn’t sure how I’d adjust from east to west, and city to more country, but I like where I landed.”
“Miss anything?”
“My aunt and uncle, but they’re planning to move out here in about a year and a half.
And they’ll be back for Christmas. Some friends, but we keep in touch.
The house? It’s probably the first thing I’ve ever just jumped into.
I’m not impulsive. But I liked it, and I liked where it was.
It felt quiet and safe. I needed a change, and I got it. ”
“Columbus didn’t feel quiet and safe?”
Something there, he thought, when she took a moment to answer.
“I’ve never lived anyplace where I could keep windows open at night and hear an owl hoot. Or look out one of those windows and see for miles. See mountains. So, I like where I landed. Looks like we both hit the mark on that.”
“I knew what I was getting, since I spent time up here—summer weeks, holidays now and then.”
“Still a big change from Los Angeles. Will you take over the hardware store if and when Joe retires?”
Shrugging, he tipped back his beer.
“No pull, huh?”
“Sometimes you do what you’re supposed to do instead of what you’re meant to do. You make a hell of a sandwich, Legs.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, I do. I can offer you half a Dove bar for dessert, as I only have one left.”
“Tempting, but I’m good. And I need to get going.”
Rising, he studied her long enough to make her easy smile turn quizzical.
“Do I have chili paste on my face?”
“No. It’s an interesting face. You’ve got a mirror so I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.”
That got a laugh out of her.
“I’m deciding whether to skip the firm-yet-friendly handshake.”
He liked impulse—in its time and place—so went with it.
He lifted her out of the chair and an inch or so off the floor. Before he kissed her, he read the surprise in her eyes, and something else.
The something else had him keeping the kiss—even though she packed a little heat herself—more casual and easy than the impulse wanted.
Her hands landed on his shoulders, and her fingers dug in, but he broke the kiss and set her back on the stool.
“Thanks for the sandwich.”
“You’re welcome.”
“See you around.” He gave the dog a quick rub, then walked out through the mudroom.
He’d been a cop long enough to recognize a victim. Someone had hurt her, he thought as he got in his truck. Maybe a boyfriend, maybe a stranger, but someone had put that look in her eyes.
Not his business, he reminded himself. And still he was sorry for it. Sorry it had happened, sorry he’d put that look back even for a moment.
And he wondered who, how, and why.