Candidate: A Love Story (10 page)

“The dress is floor length, so you could really go either way,” Kate said, picking up a pair of ballet slippers with encrusted crystals.

“True, and Ben is a good six or seven inches taller than me, so I don’t have to worry about looking like Athena next to him.”

The clerk asked Reagan if she could help. They found two comfortable chairs and the fun began. After a couple of hours and two store changes, Reagan decided on flats and heels. She would wear the heels for the ceremony and pictures, but wear her satin flats for dancing and the reception. They also found her an outfit for the honeymoon plane ride. She and Ben planned to spend two weeks touring Italy. Reagan had been once before, but it would be Ben’s first time. Sometimes Kate thought Reagan was more excited about the honeymoon than she was about the wedding. Looking at her Italy itinerary over salads, Kate couldn’t blame her.

“You’re sleeping on the train for two nights of the trip.” Kate sighed. “So romantic.”

“I know. I’m just stupid for the whole thing. I’m so happy already. It doesn’t seem real.” Reagan’s eyes started to tear and Kate took her hand across the table.

“But it is real, honey, and you deserve every bit of it. Ben is just the luckiest guy.”

Reagan smiled. “Messy apartment, clay under my fingernails, and all?”

“All of it. You’re an amazing woman and he sees that, so major points for him.”

They both smiled and decided on dessert. They didn’t normally go for dessert at lunch, but they had new shoes and a honeymoon outfit—definite reasons for a celebration.

Kate sipped her coffee and took a bite of their shared cheesecake. She was quiet for a moment.

“Hello?” Reagan waved her hand in front of Kate’s face.

She looked up. “Oh, sorry. I’m not sure where I went. What were we talking about? This is delicious,” she said, holding up another forkful.

“Is he cute?” Reagan asked.

“I think we should try Faire Frou Frou in the valley for your silk and lace. Two weeks in Italy and you’re going to need . . . wait, what did you say?”

“The son, the client, is he cute?”

Kate’s face flushed, it was silly. “Really, Reagan? Are we ditching fifth period in school again? Cute? We’re thirty-two, no one is cute anymore.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“He’s . . . rich. That brings with it a certain look.”

“Oh, boy. That hot, huh?”

“Will you stop? He’s a good-looking man. You said you’ve seen him, or seen him in magazines. He’s . . . well he looks like the pictures. He’s attractive, but he’s also sarcastic, at ease, and painfully confident. He drives me . . . ”

Kate stopped. Reagan was smiling her “I know you” smile as she put a bite of cheesecake in her mouth. Kate hated that smile. “Fine, he’s beautiful, better than the pictures. Happy?”

Reagan nodded as she pulled the fork out of her mouth. “So he’s luscious and rich and he annoys you because he’s always so at ease, confident, and that’s a bad thing, why?”

“He’s not . . . we are not . . .”

“Oh, but I think you are. Kate, for the last month we’ve met for food or shopping, what, nine or ten times? You’ve mentioned him in one way or another every time.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t mention him today. You brought it up. I was discussing what Ben was going to see once he got you out of your dress. You’re the one that—”

“You’re attracted to him. You’re thinking about him, I can tell. He’s pushing your buttons and getting under your skin, but you like it and why not? You’ve been holed up in your girl cave long enough. What a way to emerge!”

“Okay, enough. Cut it out. Do you want this last bite?”

Reagan slowly shook her head as her mouth formed into a knowing smile. Kate could tell Reagan was no longer interested in the cheesecake; she wanted details.

“It’s not like that. He’s a client. I’m working for his father, so please lasso in your romantic Bohemian heart, because that’s all this is. I think we should hit that little accessory boutique on our way to Frou Frou,” Kate said, and took a sip of her coffee.

“Oh, please. Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not changing the subject. We have things to do.”

“You’re blushing. Your cheeks are pink. I haven’t seen that in a very long time.”

Kate put her hands to her cheeks. They were warm. Damn her fair skin. “That’s a blush of annoyance,” Kate said.

Reagan dismissed her explanation. “Have you kissed him yet?”

“No! Wait,
yet
? What makes you think . . .? Believe me, there will be no kissing.” Mainly because Kate was sure she would go up in flames, but Reagan didn’t need to know that. Kate tried to stop it, but at even the suggestion of kissing Grady, her mind flooded with images. Blue eyes, soft lips, the dark evening sky, urgency and heat. Lots of heat. Where the hell had that come from? Her face was probably five shades of scarlet by now. She looked up and Reagan’s smile was now stretching right up into her beautiful brown eyes.

“You’re totally picturing kissing him right now! Oh God, it’s inevitable. When it happens I want all the details. Sliding tongues, heavy breathing, I want it all. I love kissing. It’s my favorite part of the whole naked business.”

Kate snapped out of her lust fog. “You are crazy. Nuts. There will be no sliding tongues. Who even talks like that?”

Reagan laughed and pointed at her. “Blushed again! Tongues, was it the tongues, Kate?” Reagan was having great fun now moving her head back and fourth in an air make-out session. “His hands, and those lips, I’m sure the lips are yummy.”

Kate couldn’t help it, she started to laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Laugh now, but it’s coming. I know it. Maybe we should all go to dinner. You, me, Ben and Mr. Yes, Please. That would be fun.”

“For the hundredth time, crazy lady, we are not dating. He’s a client. Great lips or not, that’s where it ends.”

“Really, then, why were you all dolled up in that gorgeous dress last night? Why did his car pick you up?”

Kate replayed the evening in her mind. The car, the ethereal glow of the Pasadena Playhouse at night, the chill, Grady and his friends wrapped in the most romantic marriage proposal she had ever witnessed. It messed with her mind, felt like a fairytale. Too bad Kate didn’t believe in fairytales anymore.

“Work. That was work. It was an event. The senator was there, his son, the entire family was there. They’re actually great people and the playhouse has this patio, I guess it’s a courtyard, with a fountain and old tile. It was all very 1920’s. The whole night felt unreal. Grady’s friend, Peter, is a playwright and his other friend, Samantha, is the artistic director. They all grew up together. Peter proposed to her, and Reagan, my God it was incredible.” Kate looked up to Reagan’s soft expression.

“There’s a light in you, Kate. It’s dim, subtle, but it’s there. It’s coming back.” Reagan sighed.

Kate held her breath. She didn’t have room for light or love. She was sensible. People only got one shot at the fairytale, if they were lucky. Kate’s had started out exciting enough, but it was over now and it hadn’t worked out.

Reagan seemed to sense her panic and changed the subject, for now. “Okay, well, enough about how the other half lives, let’s go get me some naughty panties.” Reagan tossed her napkin at Kate.

They paid the check and Kate’s pulse returned to normal.

Grady arrived home and went straight for the shower. He was filthy. As scheduled, he had spent the morning at a campaign volunteers’ appreciation breakfast. His father was there and they served the volunteers as a way of thanking them for their work. It hadn’t been bad, but then his other life came calling. He hadn’t expected a call, nor was he expecting a shipment on a Saturday, of all days. No one was around, his partners were all busy, and even their normal go-to crew was nowhere to be found. Grady made excuses to his father and cut out early. The delivery guy was shorthanded too, so Grady ended up helping him move crates and the day got away from him.

Hair still wet, Grady moved to the kitchen to prep a well-deserved dinner. He rubbed olive oil on a roaster chicken he’d picked up on his way home. Salt and peppered it, then placed it in a skillet with some potatoes and carrots. He threw the whole thing in the oven and turned the television on. Not the news, he never watched the news. His channel surfing brought him to an Antique Roadhouse marathon. He loved this show. Dropping the remote on his coffee table, Grady grabbed a water from the kitchen, and returned just as some guy with a long goatee was inquiring about the value of his old AM/FM radio. Thankful for the distraction of the show, Grady sat and propped his legs up on the coffee table.

He couldn’t get her out of his mind. What the hell had he been thinking? Why did he give a shit whether she knew him, really knew him? Christ, he was going soft. She spent less than thirty minutes in his home and now she was everywhere. When he looked out his back patio all he could see was her standing there in the moonlight looking at him like he might actually have a chance. Like she was about to kiss him, or would have let him kiss her. This was insane.

He wanted her. It was as simple as that. The thought washed right over him as she walked through his house. He had no idea what to do with her. Actually, he had a lot of ideas on what to do with her, they came to him daily now, but none of them would ever find a door in his world to let her in. He felt as if he was standing outside a store that he never knew existed, and she was in the window. He wanted, but wanting and having were two very different things.
Shit!

To hell with lying low, he was going out. He had friends, women. There was no reason for him to sit around this house pining over some woman he met last month. This wasn’t him. Grady picked up his phone to make fun, single guy, non-thinking plans when he saw the text from Kate:

Great work with the volunteers today. Hope you
’
re having a calm and peaceful night in. No climbing!
:)

He must have read it three times before something in his male brain said, “That’s a damn smiley face, you idiot. Why are you staring at it like it’s a naked woman?” Grady dropped the phone and then picked it up again. He should respond. Christ, it was like he was in high school again. He started with a simple, “Thanks,” and then thought that sounded too, well simple. He hated texting, it lacked personality, but she was obviously reaching out, professionally anyway, so he needed to say something. In the end, he decided to just be himself:

Just lying here in bed, alone.

Grady smiled and hit send. “That’ll fix your cute little smiley face that’s driving me crazy,” he said out loud to no one. Yep, he’d lost his damn mind.

He looked up and there was a lady on Antique Roadhouse wanting to value the enamel on silver gilt she was told was Romanov. Grady turned up the volume, eager to hear how the show turned out, and went to the kitchen to grab his dinner. It was official. He was staying in for the fourth weekend in a row.

Chapter Eleven

M
adison Elementary was hosting the regional spelling bee this year. Once again, Kate agreed to be the reader. It all started when Faith, her sister-in-law, Ethan’s wife, who was a fourth grade teacher, called her a year ago with a crisis. Mr. Plimpton, the theater teacher with the melodic exacting voice, had some type of nervous breakdown and apparently started eating at the drywall in his apartment. When Faith called, Kate was on her second pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey and not feeling so great herself.

“Kate, the spelling bee is tonight and without a reader they just can’t . . . think of how disappointed everyone will be!”

“Isn’t there someone else that can do this?” She had asked, muting the television.

“You have a really great voice and we need that—someone who can articulate. Please,” Faith had begged.

When Kate said nothing, Faith started to back out, masterfully. “It’s fine, if you’re busy I understand. Mr. Hardgrove can read. I mean, his voice is a little scratchy, and we always need him to repeat the words during practice, but . . . I just thought if you weren’t doing . . . don’t worry. It’ll work out.”

What the hell else was she doing? Sitting on the couch, over a year after her divorce, and eating herself to death? She wasn’t at the drywall level yet, but give it a few more months and she could very well be there with Mr. What’s His Face.

“Faith, I’ll be there,” Kate had said, getting up from the couch.

Faith thanked her incessantly, and hung up.

That night had stirred something in Kate, and since then she had been the reader for many spelling bees across the city. She loved it. She wouldn’t give it up for all the Chunky Monkey in the world. These children dressed in their finest and despite insecurities, braces, poorly-fitting pants and just general adolescent angst, they got up, walked to the microphone, and gave it everything they had. They were inspiring every year. They showed her that the little things matter, and during a time in her life when she really needed it, they helped her hang on. Still did.