5. Alex
5
Alex
I’ve been in this house for five days and now all the work has been completed. The kitchen is transformed with brand new, state-of-the-art appliances. There are new wooden floors in all the rooms, to keep with the style of the house, and the walls have had several coats of fresh paint.
Well, not all the walls and floors. Given that I won’t be giving anyone a tour of the house, the upstairs remains untouched. Partly because to do the entire house would take too much time. I can’t be here for such long periods, and I’ve already had to reschedule some of my surgeries so I’m here when the contractors arrive.
Then there’s been the delivery of the furniture. Even if I decided to leave the contractors to get on with their work, which I was not entirely comfortable with, I still needed to be here when my new bed, dining table and chairs, desk, and all other furnishings arrived.
And so, my new house now looks like it’s split into two eras. While the downstairs looks like I live in the twenty-first century, the upstairs still looks like I’ve walked into 1872.
The only thing I’ve kept is the rocking chair on the porch. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think it was my thing, but having spent the last four nights sitting out there in the peace and quiet, I’ve decided to keep it. All I need now is a banjo and a straw hat.
But I’m pleased with the result. Well, the downstairs anyway. It now mimics my apartment with its minimalistic appearance while still looking like a family home. More or less. Though, when I think of my brother’s house—he and his wife have three wild boys ranging from four to ten years old—this place holds no comparison by any stretch of the imagination.
In fact, I’ve told Mike to take out liability insurance because I swear, one of these days, I am going to break my darn neck trying to circumnavigate the toys that seem to be strategically placed across the floors in all the rooms. I truly don’t know how he and Cathy—or any of the boys, for that matter—haven’t wound up in the emergency room yet.
My brother and I are not similar in any way, shape or form. He’s younger than me and far more relaxed. I know I’m high strung. I didn’t used to be. Our parents were pretty cool and down to earth. I suppose, had my life turned out as I had expected, I might still be as relaxed as Mike is.
Actually, no. He’s always been a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants kind of guy. A man who doesn’t need to plan anything. Even when they take trips, he doesn’t plan their route. He just takes off and hopes he’s going in the right direction.
Madness.
Me? I’m far more of a control freak, now more than I was as a child. With the path life took me down, I clearly had lessons to learn. Lessons that involve paying more attention to your wife. I’ve worked through a lot of my anger, and in the end, I had to reach a conclusion that I was, at least, partly to blame for our disastrous breakup.
I won’t make that mistake again.
Being single is far easier, and that’s exactly the way I’m going to stay, no matter how much Mike yaps on about getting back on the horse. I don’t want to get back on the horse. The horse has no saddle, no reins, and, frankly, scares the living daylights out of me.
The focus of my life is now my work, which I have been told many times is a bad thing. But I don’t see it that way. I make people happy and I’m excellent at my job. Surely that’s enough, right?
Besides, I earn an awful lot of money doing what I love, so there’s that. How many people can say they love going to work in the morning? From what I hear my clients say about their jobs, not a great deal, I can tell you.
Barbara came back to me the other day with news of the arrangements for the dinner party.
“Tom says Friday suits him and his team just fine,” she relayed. “He was a little surprised to hear they were going to have to come all the way out into the country to see you, but I pacified him with the fact that you’d just moved.”
“I’m sure his chauffeur will find his way,” I replied dryly. “Thanks, Barbara. That’s great.”
“How are you finding it, stuck all the way out there?”
“Honestly, it’s better than I expected. I can’t remember the last time I was surrounded by such quiet.”
She laughed at me then. “You’ll be a country boy in no time.”
Maybe she was right. While there had been a small niggle of doubt about whether I had made the right decision, I think I can now firmly say that this house was a good purchase. Maybe I didn’t realize how stuck in the rat race I truly was.
The hour-and-a-half commute isn’t much fun, mind, even in the Mercedes. To save myself the drive, I stayed over in the apartment a couple of nights ago when I had an early surgery the following morning.
It’s not like this is going to be a permanent thing, right? Sure, I might decide to keep it, but realistically, I’m only going to use it for weekends or holidays. The only reason I’m here now is because I’m waiting for Dara to arrive this evening so I can show her around the place.
An hour passes, and right on time, the doorbell rings. I move across my brand-new wooden floors and open the door wide. I have to swallow a gasp.
For the most part, I’ve seen Dara either in her chef whites, or wrapped up in a warm coat, her hair tied back off her face. Like I said, I’ve only bumped into her a couple of times. There was that dinner party about eight years ago, but I was so lost in a mire of misery back then I can hardly remember anything of the night, never mind what she was wearing.
However, at this very moment, she’s on my front doorstep in a checkered shirt and jeans that hug her legs. Her soft blonde hair hangs loosely around her shoulders, bringing out the blue in her eyes. I can’t deny it. She’s totally caught me off guard.
“Hi,” I say hurriedly, not wanting the woman to think I’m gawking at her. “Please. Come in.”
She nods. “Thanks.” And then she steps by me, smelling of vanilla and jasmine.
Stop it.
I close the door and follow her into the large living area, watching her as she’s looking about the place. “I remember when the Faulkner’s used to live here. Seems like a lot has changed since then.”
“Yes, well. I needed to change a few things. It was a bit…” I struggle to find the word.
“Dated,” we both say at the same time.
“Right.” I nod. “Were you here a lot as a child?”
Unusually for me, my stomach churns a bit, and I find myself asking a question I have no interest in knowing the answer to.
“My friend, Casey, used to live here. She’s long gone now. Her parents moved when we were all still in high school. Another couple moved in a few years later, but they didn’t have kids.”
“Right,” I say, feeling like I now also have to sound like I care.
“So, how many people are attending this dinner party?”
Clearly, she has no problem getting right down to business, unlike me.
Interesting.
We’re not going there. As cute as she is, you don’t do relationships for a reason, remember?
I’m well aware. Opening up and trusting someone again after what Cindy did is just too hard. She didn’t just tear my heart from my chest cavity: she chopped it up into little pieces. In fact, I’m determined I don’t have a heart any longer, which is the other reason I can’t do relationships. I have nothing left to give.
“There will be eight of us in total,” I say, answering Dara’s question.
“And you’ll want an amuse-bouche, an entrée, a main, and a dessert, at the very least,” she concludes.
I give her a strange look. “An amuse what?”
She shrugs with a smile that makes her look even prettier than a second earlier. “It’s another word for an hors d’oeuvres.”
“Ah, right. French?”
“Yep. So, is this the kitchen?” She wanders through to the next room without invitation, but I like her initiative. I really don’t know why Mark worries about her so much. I get the sense that Dara Gilbert can do just fine on her own.
“It is,” I say, following her in.
“Holy cow,” she gasps, looking around as her fingertips trail across the brand-new marble surfaces. “You’ve got everything in here. Convection oven, grill, griddle, blenders.” She turns to look at me with widened eyes. “You planning on having a lot of dinner parties?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “We’ll see how it goes.”
Clearly there’s something in my voice that seems to alert her. At least that’s what her face is telling me, and I’m very good at reading faces. Maybe it’s because I look at them all day.
“You’re not staying here?” she exclaims.
And there it is. This woman is far too perceptive for my liking.
“Why would you think that?” I say, trying to avoid the question.
“You just said it yourself. You said you’re going to see how it goes.”
“I suppose what I mean is I haven’t quite decided if this is going to be my main home yet.”
She gives me a long look, like she’s trying to decipher if that was indeed, my real meaning, and then she turns away. Again, without asking, she starts opening cupboards left and right, taking in her surroundings as though her decision will determine what I have hidden behind all these doors.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” I ask.
She turns and looks at me over her shoulder. “No, I’m just looking.”
“Oh. Okay. So, my assistant got back to me today with a date. How does next Friday suit?”
Dara stops rooting around in my kitchen cupboards and turns to look at me.
“It’ll have to be after eight thirty. I don’t get off work until six, and then I’ll need to go home and change before I get here to begin preparing the courses.”
I’m surprised at her answer, mainly because I’ve been a selfish pig, and I’ve not taken her circumstances into consideration at all.
“You’re going to come here after doing a full shift at the diner?”
She cocks her head. “I still have to show up to work, Alex. The diner needs me.”
“Right. Of course.”
“Is it the time?” she asks. “Do you need me earlier?”
I shake my head. “No, I can arrange the time. I’m more worried about you being completely exhausted.”
She gives me a derisive smirk. “Please. When I was working in the city, the days ran into nights. I was also making proper food. You know, stuff that contained more than two ingredients, not just burgers and fries.”
I look at her for a long moment, and though I know she didn’t want to talk about it the other day, I can’t help but ask again.
“Why did you leave Opulento ? It was such a good opportunity.”
She full on scowls at me then, and in that second, I know I’ve crossed a line I should have stayed firmly behind.