Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2) (13 page)

Trish sat at the picnic table and stared back at the house. “I don’t know how you can be so detached about this,” she accused. “This is our childhood home they’re selling out from under us.”

“Selling out from—? What are you talking about? You couldn’t wait to move out!”

“And you hung around any longer than you had to?”

“That was different. I had plans for my life.”

“And I didn’t?”

Liz closed her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant,” Trish said, tucking the baby back under her shirt.

Liz flumped onto the bench next to Trish and reached for her bottled water. “I didn’t hate living here,” she said. “I actually like the house. It always seemed so Waltons, you know? I just…” She sighed and took a sip of water, looking out over the back fields. “I knew I wanted more out of life. The ways things had become, everything going on with John… I was afraid if I stayed in Sugar Falls I’d end up unhappy like everyone else. I didn’t
hate
it here, I just couldn’t wait to move on, you know?”

Trish harrumphed. “Who could? I got so sick of Dad’s disappointed looks and Mom’s making excuses, I took my first ticket out of here. Getting knocked up by Russ was easier than getting into college, anyway. Or so I thought.” Trish pulled her shirt down again as baby Clara flapped it around in her fist.

“You’re not unhappy, are you?” Liz asked.

“No. I got lucky. I may make Russ get snipped after this one, but I’m not unhappy. Not like
some
people.” Trish gave Liz a look.

“I’m not unhappy!”

“Sure. You’re single, attractive and rake in more dough than you know what to do with, and yet you live with an ugly cat in an apartment you hate. Why? I’ll tell you why. You’re waiting for Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet, marry you, and carry you off to your little Walton-esque, white picket-fenced house.”

“I am not.”

“Why are you here, then? Why are you not off using your vacation time like a normal single person—traveling to hot, sandy islands where the men don’t remember how fat you used to be?”

“Okay. You know what?” Liz said, standing up. “I’m getting back to work. And for the record, I was only a little plump.”

Trish grabbed her elbow and yanked her back down. “You know I’m just kidding. It’s the postpartum hormones talking. They make me bitchy. I’m just jealous because you don’t have any baby fat to work off. I ate like a horse with this one, and I’ll be lucky to get the weight off by the time she graduates high school. I’m just saying, ripping out rotten decks on your vacation doesn’t seem right. Even for you.”

“Maybe I wanted to come home. My tenth reunion is next week, you know.”

“
Ugh
. Reunions are hell. Everyone secretly hates them.”

“It might be fun. Besides, I’ve committed to go.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain guy whose initials are carved into the inside doorframe of your closet, would it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You know, the C.M. carved above E.B. with a plus sign between them?”

“You’re imagining things. Postpartum hormones can do that to a person.”

Trish nodded sympathetically and pushed off the picnic table as if still pregnant, the baby asleep across her chest. “Right. Well, I’ve gotta go. Preschool lets out in ten minutes. Call me?”

“Sure.”

Liz watched her sister drive away then scurried to find a piece of sandpaper before the house revealed any more embarrassing secrets. Who ever said coming home made you feel
good
?

“G
RANT!”
L
IZ PICKED UP the call on her cell phone as she pulled sandwich makings from the fridge. The deck demolition was harder work than she’d expected, and she was starved. “Hi! I was just making myself some dinner.”

“It’s only four-thirty.”

“I skipped lunch.”

“You know that’s bad for your blood sugar levels.” Liz was silent as she grabbed a bottle of Russian Dressing. To hell with calories, she’d worked hard all day. “Listen,” he said, “I’m glad I caught you. We need to talk.”

“Talk? Is something wrong? I sent the revised timeline you asked me to work up hours ago.” She kicked the fridge door shut and tucked the phone under her chin so she could wash her hands.

“No. Things are good...” Grant paused, and Liz frowned. She got the sense this call wasn’t his usual nightly check-in. For one thing, it was about four hours early.

“Listen,” he said again. “Ethan asked me to join him tonight for this... function. It’s a business thing.”

“He didn’t mention anything in his e-mail earlier. Are you meeting a client?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Uh?

“Who? Do you need help preparing something?”

“No. No. I’m all set.” He paused again, and Liz wiped her hands dry, waiting for him to continue. She folded the towel. Grant exhaled. “I wanted you to know...  I’ve been thinking. About us.”

“Us?”

“About how out of sync we’ve been lately. Let’s face it. We’ve been so wrapped up in this merger the last few months, we’ve hardly had time for us. You’ve been distracted… irritable—”

“Irritable? I haven’t—!”

“I’m not pointing fingers, Liz, and I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’m only saying… I know we’ve been talking about taking things to the next level. But, I think it’s good you’re home and… away for a bit. It’ll give you a chance to see things from a fresh perspective. It’ll give you some space. Some breathing room.”

“I don’t need…”

“It’ll give us
both
some space.”

Liz caught her breath. She swallowed. “You need space?”

“I’m only saying I think a little siesta will do us both some good. Then, when you come back—”

“What do you mean ‘siesta’?” she asked.

“Don’t be difficult, Liz. I’m trying to be understanding here. I’m trying to be patient. But, it’s clear you’re having trouble commit—”

“Trouble committing?” She interrupted. “But…”

“I don’t want to get into this over the phone. It’ll get us nowhere. Look, I’m sorry. I am. But, I’ve got to go. I’ve got that—thing, and I’ve got to get ready. I just wanted you to know I’ll be gone for a couple, few days, okay? I’ll call you early next week.”

“
Next week?
Why—?”

“Liz,” he sighed, “I’ve got to go. Enjoy the weekend, all right? All right?”

“Sure. I— You, too.”

Liz pressed
end
and set her phone on the counter.

A siesta?
Did he mean he wanted to take a break? And what did he mean she was having trouble committing? She wasn’t having trouble committing! She was ready to commit!
Had
been ready to commit.

Unless it was Grant who needed the siesta.

Liz swallowed again and looked out the slider at where the deck used to be. Was he trying to tell her he was tired of waiting? But,
she
wasn’t the one holding things up. He’d had bronchitis, and then they were busy with the merger. And, that night at his apartment… he couldn’t blame her for
that!

Liz frowned at the deli meat. True, she hadn’t relented as Grant had pressed—ever more frequently—to consummate their relationship, but she wasn’t the one reluctant to bring their romance into the open. In the nearly five months they’d been dating, not once had he dared ask her out even to the corner deli in case they were seen. As if Ames & Reed had spies lurking around every street corner ready to nab randy employees.

A siesta? Liz peeled a slice of swiss cheese from the package. It didn’t sound like a restorative break. It sounded more like a stalemate in a buy-out negotiation, each side needing a leap of faith from the other before they would proceed.

You’re waiting for Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet, marry you, and carry you off to your little white picket-fenced house,
Trish had accused.

Liz shook her head as she laid the cheese on the bread, feeling like all her plans were like so many sheets of paper caught in a sudden gust of wind. Why was it up to her to stop everything from flying to pieces? Why was it up to
her
to think and plan and organize and
commit
? And what was Grant doing all weekend that he couldn’t pick up a three-ounce cell phone and call until next week?

She didn’t want a break or a siesta or whatever the hell he’d called it.

She didn’t want time to
think
.

Why was it always her job to be the one who planned ahead? Followed through? Took responsibility?

Liz shook her head and slapped roast beef onto the cheese, even though it was entirely the wrong order in which to make a sandwich.

Whatever.

Trish had it wrong.

Liz wasn’t waiting for Prince Charming to carry her away. She was just waiting to be carried away. Period.

There was a world of difference—and a pair of laughing, sexy green eyes—between the two.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
____________________
Twelve years earlier…

O
H
G
OD! Oh God! Oh God! How did she get into these things?

Beth trailed after Valerie, her velvet flats scuffing on the hardwood floors of Jenny’s house, the nylons in her bra growing sweaty and itchy against her skin. She dared not scratch, could barely breathe, as she tried to blend into the white-on-white color scheme of the Whitmeyer’s newly-renovated kitchen.

The room smelled of cinnamon and apples like a Yankee Candle store, wholesome and welcoming except for the cold sweat dripping down between Beth’s shoulder-blades as she waited for the others to do whatever it was they were going to do. She hung back by the door, while Valerie playfully positioned the participants—boy, girl, boy, girl—in a circle on the floor.

Beth grew a little light-headed from holding the air in her lungs and then it came out in a surprised whoosh as she noticed the lone figure standing in the far side of the room.

Ohmigod. Carter McIntyre.

He rested one shoulder against the refrigerator, a slight smirk on his features as he took a sip of soda from a can. At least, Beth thought it was soda. It was hard to tell now that Valerie had dimmed the overhead lights. Rain pounded outside, a steady drumbeat matching the pounding of blood in Beth’s ears as she watched Carter. He had on that vintage motorcycle jacket he always wore, the one that creaked a little as he moved. He took another drink from the can, raised his head and caught her staring.

Beth felt a warm flush heat her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Couldn’t have even if she tried. She smiled tentatively.

He winked at her.

Her smile froze on her face as she tried to figure out whether he was teasing her or flirting. It was so hard to tell. When he smiled and joked during their tutoring sessions, did it mean he liked her, or was he just taking pity on her?

She was sure her emotions were plastered over her face—the fawning attraction, the nervous self-doubt—and she wished she were bold and sexy and confident like the girls leaning into the guys on the floor, running their fingertips over the boys’ arms in casual flirtation, laughing gaily, throats lifted up in invitation for who knew what.

Beth glanced across the room again. Carter’s lips hitched up a little on one side and he took another drink. He looked away.

She swallowed, her cautious smile fading altogether as Valerie spied Carter loitering outside their little group. “Carter! No voyeurs! You have to play.”

He took another sip. “I’m an odd man out.” He gestured to the group on the floor. “I’d throw off your numbers.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can find—Beth! Stop hiding in the corner!”

Beth pushed away from the wall. “I wasn’t hiding,” she lied. “And if Carter doesn’t want to—”

“Nonsense!” Valerie popped up to grab Carter’s arm playfully. “Carter’s always up for a good time. Aren’t you?”