Monday, December 26 #3
Garrett took in her entire package. She looked seductive in her clingy sweater and skin-tight jeans. Who was he fooling? Angelica always looked seductive, and ... He needed a cold shower, not a hot drink. If a cold alcoholic beverage were available, he would settle for that.
“Do you have any beer, Angelica?”
“Yes, Brewmakers Ale.”
A local brew he dislikes. But desperate times call for desperate measures. “That would be great. Thanks.”
Angelica got comfortable on the couch with a glass of wine, while Garrett relaxed in the fireside chair, silhouetted by the burning split logs.
“You’re a good man, Detective Fitzpatricks. I hope some woman appreciates that quality in you,” she said, savoring a sip of Riesling.
Here we go again with the title on his business card. She demoted him to a mere detective. This from the woman who’d slept in his arms last night. What had he done to deserve that? Angelica was an enigma, driving him crazy. Perhaps things weren’t so hopeless; she rated him “good.” But for how long?
Trying to gauge whether it was as bad as it sounded, Garrett tested the waters. “Well, Ms. Whitely ...”
“Angelica ...”
That eased some of his worries. He scored a point. They were back on a first-name basis. “I don’t know about being good or appreciated, though.”
Angelica curled her left leg up. This was the second time he had seen her favor that one. The other leg must have been injured in the accident, causing her occasional limp.
“I thought you might be married.”
The flames cast a glistening glow across her face, further captivating him. He’d be happy to stare at her forever.
“Not me. Unless I have a wife in Canada I forgot about,” he joked, trying to endear himself to her. “Anyway, if I had a spouse, she’d be dragging me to divorce court for sleeping over at your house.”
A hint above a whisper, Angelica said, “I’m sorry for asking you to stay.”
“It wasn’t your doing,” Garrett said, jumping in when he saw her eyes turn into two dark, murky pools. “You didn’t start any of this, honey. Someone else did. Really, it’s okay. I chose to stay over.” He followed up with a wink.
With any luck, those words eased Angelica’s newfound tension. He took a few sips of the beer. This stuff tasted like water and had the same effect, dulling his senses and relieving his backache.
Garrett suddenly decided that his failed marriage was just a rough patch in his life, which could humanize him and help bridge the unexpected gap between them.
The long-necked green bottle, slick with moisture, settled on his knee. “Um … as for marriage, I was married for six months. We shattered the record for wedded bliss.”
Angelica hugged her goblet to her chest. “That’s heartbreaking,” she said, hanging onto her breath.
He chugged, making a sizable dent in the drink, then swallowed hard. “My wife ... she had a different take on our vows. She left me for a younger man.”
Carolyn’s words hit him like a two-fisted gut punch that day. After being called in for a homicide at dawn, all Garrett wanted to do when he got home was make love to his wife, not find her packing her bag in the bedroom. Her venomous parting words still echoed in his ears.
Like an actress on stage, she descended the staircase, preparing for her grand finale. Storming toward the front door, Carolyn shoved past him, smashing her suitcase into one of his knees, then the other.
Just before the door slammed and the curtain fell, she screeched her final line with impeccable timing. “By the way … you’re an effing lousy screw!”
Angelica’s comment jerked him back to reality. “You must have been crushed, Garrett.”
“I was.” But those two words failed to convey the pain and anguish he endured or the dark places his mind sought to dwell.
Even though a log crashed against the fire grate, a pregnant pause swept through the room. Garrett gazed into her brown eyes, worried he had revealed too much.
Contrary to his gulping, Angelica sipped. “How did you recover from that?” she asked hesitantly.
“I met someone else.” He stared at the spreading ring of moisture on his slacks. “Kind of … It’s too soon to tell.”
“I hope it works out for you.”
If only she knew they both wanted the same thing, just in different ways.
Garrett didn’t know how Angelica felt about the jerk she’d broken up with.
She seemed more traumatized by the fear that he might harm her than by the loss of love.
Even so, expressing his feelings and romantic longings was off-limits.
That would have been insensitive. Were his skills with women improving? If so, they were leading nowhere.
Be that as it may, he was a geek when it came to women. He knew how to dress the part, thanks to GQ magazine, but he suffered from lockjaw when it came to expressing his emotions.
“So do I,” Garrett said, shifting the subject but not his feelings. “Have you ever been married, Angelica?”
“Me?” Her head tilted to the side. “Oh, no. I’ve been too busy recovering and then attending college.”
That summed it up perfectly. Aside from her loser boyfriend, she hadn’t had time for men. Garrett found the news reassuring. He lifted the half-empty bottle, surprised by how much of this crap he’d already drunk.
Angelica twirled strands of hair around her index finger. “I did receive a marriage proposal, though.”
There had been someone else, possibly before her accident, which didn’t surprise him. He would be next in line to propose if the timing was right. His love for Angelica ran so deep that loving her felt second nature.
“If I may ask, what happened?”
“I couldn’t marry him. I didn’t love him … I just don’t love him,” she murmured, watching the liquid swirl in her glass.
Who was the man she turned down? Unless Angelica shared more, he would never learn the details.
The suitor loved her enough to imagine spending eternity together, and he must have been devastated by her rejection, just as he had been when Carolyn walked out the door.
And if Angelica hadn’t turned that man down, he wouldn’t be here now.
Not that he had her, but his chances would be zero if she had a husband.
One way or another, Garrett wondered whether anything could be hopeful for him.
Was Angelica expressing remorse, or just stating a fact? She appeared so dejected.
The rest of the brew trickled down his throat as he tilted the bottle. How could something this expensive be so bland?
On another note, Garrett wanted to ease his mind and help reduce some of her anxiety. “I know your alarm is being installed tomorrow. If it’s all right with you, I’m willing to stay over one more night?”
“Thank you, Garrett.” Her hand landed on her chest. “I appreciate it. But please don’t sleep on the couch. Use my guest room. You’ll be more comfortable there.”