Finding Home (18 page)

“Not a problem at all.”

“Thanks a bunch. Okay, your turn.”

“Can you take him this Friday night? I know it’s my night, but I can switch with you and take him Saturday instead.”

“Suzanne the Tongue back in town?”

Sarah laughed again at the moniker. “As a matter of fact.”

Unable to explain the strange and uncomfortable sensation in her stomach, Natalie tried to swallow it away. “Sure. I’ll take him. Should I pick him up from your house again?”

She could hear Sarah hesitate. “Is that a big pain for you?”

“No. No, not at all.”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind, it would help a lot. I think we’re meeting after work.”

“Consider it all taken care of.” Natalie’s playfulness seemed to dissipate like it was made of mist. She wondered if Sarah noticed.

“Great. Thanks a bunch.”

“Sure. Have a good time.” Natalie hung up the phone. When she returned to the break table, Andrea was pointing a Þ nger at her, wiggling it around in the general vicinity of Natalie’s face.

“What’s this?” she asked, still pointing. “What’s this about?”

“What’s what about?” Natalie asked in return, sounding a bit testy even to her own ears.

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“This face you’re making. What’s it about?”

“What face? Nothing. Stop it.” She pushed Andrea’s hand away from her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.”

Andrea stared at her so hard, Natalie thought she could actually
feel
it on her skin. She made a show of looking at her watch, then said, “Break’s over. Back to work.” She knew Andrea was staring at her the whole way out to the cash register. She didn’t look back.

v

The slats of sunshine beaming in through the top of Bentley’s crate must have made a warm and comfy spot to sleep because Natalie was almost at his crate before he noticed. He blinked himself awake and stretched out his front legs—as much as he could in the limited space. His blanket, which looked soft and warm, was balled up in a corner where he’d obviously pushed it. A slobbery tennis ball and a bone with the knuckles gnawed down to mere nubs occupied the area with him, giving him things to do while he waited for the evening to come. His belly rumbled loudly and Natalie laughed as she unlatched the door of the crate.

“It’s just about that time, isn’t it, buddy?” He nosed out of the crate and pushed into her body, giving her his version of a greeting hug. She scratched his back right at the base of his nubby tail where he liked it and he leaned against her thigh, apparently loving life. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s do your business.”

He zipped to the sliding glass doors, tapping and prancing in place, excited to get out to the yard. Natalie let him out and watched for a couple minutes as he went directly to the same bush he went to Þ rst every time, the telltale deadening of the grass there offering proof of his daily visits. Then he walked the perimeter, nose to the ground, checking for any new passersby or markings. She didn’t use the leash but kept a close eye on

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him as he wandered. When he slinked off slowly, watching and snifÞ ng, Natalie slid the door open and called calmly, “Over here, Bentley.”

With an audible sigh, he turned back, moseying along at his own pace until he reached the doorway.

“Good boy,” she said, scratching his neck.

On her left heel as always, he trailed her into the kitchen where she reached into his cookie jar for one of the chicken treats he loved. He never ceased to amaze her with his smarts and obedience. She stopped in front of the refrigerator, noticing the note she’d jotted for Sarah was tacked there. Trying to understand why that simple thing made her feel all giddy inside, she stared at it for a long time, until Bentley shifted by her feet, letting her know his patience was growing thin. She turned and told him he was a good boy, chuckling at the spot of drool on the ß oor.

She wandered the house slowly, not quite sure of her destination, but Bentley followed, perfectly willing to just walk along behind her. From the kitchen, she strolled toward the back of the house, taking her time and looking at things on the walls, the photographs and artwork, never touching anything, just looking.

Sarah seemed fond of gentle, calming scenes, landscapes, but not at all boring. One painting in the hallway on the way to the downstairs master bedroom depicted a single Adirondack chair poised toward a large pond. Natalie swore she could almost hear the cicadas and smell the summer grass. She stared at it for a long time as Bentley watched her with curious eyes, probably wondering what she was doing.

Moving down the hall several more steps, they stopped in the doorway of Sarah’s bedroom and Natalie leaned against the doorjamb. Bentley sat at her heel and looked up at her, waiting for a clue as to where they were going next. As if an invisible barrier stood across the doorway, Natalie didn’t step into the room. She knew there was a boundary there that she had no business crossing. She felt weird just being this close. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the musky scent of Sarah’s perfume

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hanging provocatively in the air and doing things to Natalie that she couldn’t explain and didn’t want to think about. Her eyes popped open and she suddenly had to get out of there. Now.

She turned so suddenly that she startled Bentley, nearly stepping on him and he jumped backward. “I’m sorry, buddy,”

she said, reaching down to scratch him as she exhaled a frustrated breath, wondering what was going on with her. “Ready to go?”

He knew the G-word well and his whole body waggled as he followed her to the front door. She clipped his leash on him—

she’d been doing that a little more often lately, rather than let him run free, out of respect for Sarah—and opened the door.

“We’ll go home and have dinner and guess what? Mrs. Valenti made chicken soup today, so guess who gets the scraps?”

She used the playful voice she always did when they were about to have some fun, so he kept on wiggling, even as he jumped into the backseat. When Natalie took her spot behind the wheel, he stretched forward and gave her a loving lick on the cheek. She looked back at him and he cocked his head at her. He actually looked like he was puzzled and she glanced at herself in the rearview mirror to see what he was seeing. She was dismayed to notice that she was scowling slightly, a new crease at the top of her nose between her eyebrows. “Oh, that’s attractive,” she muttered as she started the car and shifted into gear.

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FINDING HOME

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

This is a really nice place you’ve got here.” Sarah wandered around the living room of Suzanne

Kennedy’s loft apartment. A Bombay and tonic in one hand, she dragged the Þ ngertips of the other across the marble mantel of the gas Þ replace, admiring the smooth coldness of it. The room looked like it had been lifted from the pages of an Ethan Allen catalog and set directly into Suzanne’s space, the furniture made of crystal clear glass, gleaming metal, and angular corners of black leather. It was inarguably beautiful, if not at all warm or inviting.

“Thanks,” Suzanne said, taking a seat on the couch, which seemed to be made up of sharp-cornered black leather squares pieced together. “I’m not good at all with decorating, so I hired a guy. Gay guy, of course. No nurturing female could come up with this design. All I’m missing is the leopard-print rug in front of the Þ replace.” She laughed. “But it looks cool.”

“True,” Sarah said. Suzanne might have been a failure in the decorating department, but she was stellar in the kitchen. The chicken French she’d prepared had been out of this world and Sarah had cleaned her plate and contemplated asking for seconds before deciding that gorging herself on a date might be considered less than attractive behavior.

“Hey.” Suzanne’s voice changed, was now whisper soft, and

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when Sarah turned to look at her, she was patting the leather next to her. “Come here. Sit with me.”

She looked damn good, Sarah thought, her eyes quickly scanning over Suzanne’s lithe form. Her long legs were clad in black slacks that hugged her toned ass as if they were tailored just for her—Sarah couldn’t help but notice while Suzanne stood in the kitchen preparing dinner. The teal, short-sleeved summer-weight sweater not only showcased her strong shoulders and small, perfect breasts, but really enhanced the color of her eyes.

Sexy didn’t begin to describe her, but Sarah couldn’t Þ gure out why a tiny kernel of hesitation was forming in the pit of her stomach.

“Okay.” Sarah crossed and sat down next to her, the couch cushion barely giving half an inch with her weight. She met Suzanne’s eyes, which were slightly hooded and looked nothing short of seductive. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” Suzanne took Sarah’s drink from her hand and set it on the glass coffee table near their knees. Pushing a lock of hair behind Sarah’s ear, she said, “You’re a beautiful woman.”

A tiny lump of arousal formed in Sarah’s throat at the feather-light touch of Suzanne’s Þ ngertips near her ear, while at the same time, that kernel of hesitation combined with a weird nervousness that suddenly set in and caused a tremor in her right knee. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said, trying for humor but not sure she got there.

Suzanne’s lips were soft, hot, and thorough, just as Sarah remembered them. As if replaying the night in the parking lot of the bar, Sarah melted, became putty, was unable to do anything but let Suzanne lead. It was completely out of character for her, and that began to niggle at her brain.

Suzanne’s warm tongue slid into her mouth as Sarah tried to analyze why she didn’t seem to have it in her to push back with her own tongue, to slip her hands under Suzanne’s sweater, to

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scratch her nails down a black-clad thigh. Everything Suzanne did felt so good, so perfect. Sarah’s panties were already damp.

They had been since she’d arrived and Suzanne had kissed her at the door.

So why do I feel so…disengaged?

If Suzanne had noticed any lack of participation on Sarah’s part, she ignored it like a pro. Instead, she pushed forward so Sarah’s back was against the hard, sharp arm of the couch.

“Ow,” Sarah managed, trying to sit back up.

“Sorry,” Suzanne muttered. “Here.” She pulled on Sarah, sliding her body so she was lying on the couch beneath her. Her mouth covered Sarah’s once again.

Stiffening, Sarah tried to sit up. “Wait.” She pushed Suzanne away, trying to be gentle about it, not wanting to insult the woman, but feeling utterly claustrophobic. “Just…wait. Please.”

“What’s the matter?” Suzanne’s tone was steady, but her eyes crackled with a spark of annoyance.

“I…” Sarah blew out a breath of frustration and shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I just…” She stood. “I should probably go.”

“Already? Why?” Suzanne stood, too, and put her hands on Sarah’s upper arms, rubbing gently. “What is it?” she asked softly. “Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No. No, not at all.” Sarah scratched at her forehead, wishing she had some explanation to give, but just as confused as Suzanne seemed to be. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. I promise. It’s not you at all. It’s me.” She managed to suppress the wince that followed such a clichéd line, but it was the truth and it was all she had to offer as she moved toward the door and took her shoulder bag off the hall tree. “Thank you for dinner,” she said lamely.

“Sure,” Suzanne said, just as lamely, and opened the door.

In the hall, Sarah turned back to her, feeling completely idiotic and embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

Suzanne nodded and shut the door with a click.

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Twenty minutes later, Sarah slid her key into her own front door lock and let herself into the dark and empty townhouse, feeling a slight sense of déjà vu. Her keys clattered loudly in the silence as she tossed them onto a table on her way to the liquor cabinet. She had the drink all mixed and ready for consumption when something made her stop.

It’s such a pretty drink
, she thought strangely as she stared at it, the bubbles from the tonic water rising slowly to the top, the clarity of the liquor, the splash of color made by the bright green section of lime.
It should always be served in a clear glass
so people can see how pretty it is.
She was unsure how long she stood there, simply looking at the drink.

Suddenly, with no thought at all, she picked up the phone and dialed Natalie’s number. It was picked up in the middle of the fourth ring, the voice soft, kind, like always.

“Hello?”

“Hi there.”

“Sarah? Are you home already?”

Sarah could picture her, could see her as clearly as if she was standing in the room with her. Natalie had probably been lying on her stomach on her bed, maybe reading or watching TV. Recognizing Sarah’s voice, she sat up, her voice clearing, increasing in volume just a titch. It all made Sarah smile, a warm tingle seeping through her body.

“Sadly, yes.”

“No dice with Suzanne the Tongue?” There was an attempt at humor, but it was gentle, as if Natalie knew Sarah might be upset about something and didn’t want to needle her too badly.

“Not for her lack of trying,” Sarah said, wandering back into the living room to the chair where she’d dropped her bag. She unclipped it as she talked. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Natalie.”

“What do you mean?”

Snorting a little as she pulled a toothbrush and a change of underwear out of the bag, she tried to put her feelings into words.

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“I don’t know. I just…I wasn’t into it or something. The poor woman was doing all the work and I just…didn’t want to.”

“Well, maybe you’re just not attracted to her.”