Parked just a few feet from the front door was Simon’s car.
“What are you doing here?”
“I can’t believe you really thought I wasn’t going to come pick you up,” he said into the phone, hanging it up and getting out of the car.
If he was sun kissed when he was in Africa, he was sun baked while he was in Bora Bora. Which made his eyes even more blue, his face even more handsome, his jet-black messy hair even more enticing. He caught me into a hug so tight he even picked me up a little bit and my feet hung.
“You’re so pretty,” I whispered, kissing his cheeks and his forehead and his nose and finally his sweet lips. Which were now grinning. “How long have you been out here? Have you been here all night?” I asked as he opened the car door, and I saw the stacks of coffee cups.
“Not all night.” He walked around to his side, getting in and turning the car on. “Just since about nine thirty.”
“Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come down. I would’ve stopped working.”
“I knew you needed to get your work done; no biggie.” He yawned.
“Uh, yeah, it’s a biggie,” I insisted, then leaned across the seat to kiss his cheek again. “You glad to be home?”
“You have no idea—I’m going to sleep for days. After I get some sugar,” he said, shooting me a waggly eyebrow.
“Maybe tonight, no sugar. Maybe tonight, just sleep.”
“I’m tired, but I’m not that tired,” he said, even as a yawn cracked open his face.
“We’ll see,” I conceded. “You should sleep so you’re ready for Game Night tomorrow.”
“Good point. I’ve gotta make sure we kill everyone at Pictionary. Is everyone coming?”
“Yep, should be interesting.”
“If you girls can behave yourselves,” he teased.
We cruised. He yawned.
“How’s the ninth looking for you?” he asked suddenly.
“The ninth?”
“Of December. The reunion? You still want to go with me?”
“I do. Bring on the cheesesteaks!” I smiled, resting my hand on his leg and making little circles there.
“Sugar,” he quipped.
“Sleep,” I insisted, as he gave me a look that said he was a man intent on getting some sugar.
But this woman knew better, and I made sure to take a little longer than normal in the bathroom. I didn’t need to exfoliate, but I did. I didn’t need to condition my hair twice, but I did. When I finally came out, my Wallbanger was dead to the world and telling everyone about it with his snores. Next to him? Clive. Making the most ridiculous little kitty snores.
I slipped under the covers and burrowed into Simon’s nook. Some nights, that was my sugar.
? ? ?
As soon as I was up, I left the city and headed over to the Sausalito house. I let Simon sleep in, allowing me some time to walk through the hotel alone. Sometimes it was easier to check on projects when there was no one else there. I could explore the space with my notebook and camera, taking pictures and generally getting a feel for how things were going.
The hotel was going to be beautiful. Still just a shell, but I could see what it was going to be. And as shells took shape, sometimes the design dictated a change to the original plans. Maybe a new palette suggested itself, or certain lines weren’t as strong in real life as they were on paper. It wasn’t second-guessing, it was adapting. And I missed my Master Adapter.
Jillian had the best eye for detail of any designer I’d ever worked with. And she was great at helping me solidify my vision, boosting my confidence; she was my gut check. My sounding board. So as I walked the plank flooring, I wished she was there. I did projects by myself all the time, but she was always in the wings, propping me up when I needed it. I had to prop myself up this time.
I’d never seriously considered having my own design firm. Of course every young designer thinks about it, some even dream about it—but that wasn’t me. So much work, so much risk, taken on solely. Your name, your failure.
I’d literally lucked into a dream when Jillian hired me after my internship. I followed her around like a puppy my first few weeks, soaking it all up, taking it all in. I sat in her office, marveling over how she managed it all. She was always calm under pressure, always the cucumber when everything else was jalape?os. She was who I wanted to be when I grew up. I just never thought I’d get there.
Jillian didn’t come from money; she’d worked for every penny she had. She’d left a successful position at a very high profile design firm in the city, and invested everything in her own tiny shop in the Castro. The stories I’d heard from some of her long-term clients were legendary. Receiving tile shipments at midnight, dog walking for her toniest clients, installing lighting fixtures twenty feet in the air when an electrician didn’t show—you name it, she’d done it.
And from her own stories, she taught me how to barter and how to haggle, how to get the best discounts, how to school a contractor who thought he was going to get one over on a female project lead, and how to deal with clients who were complete and total assholes. And there were a lot of them.
She’d made a name for herself, scratching and clawing her way to a highly successful business while looking like she’d just rolled off a runway in Milan.
She did it all.
Was I doing it all? I knew I was a good designer, but I’d never be a Jillian. I could wear her shoes for a little while, though.
I took my pictures, made my notes, and hiked back up the hill to the house. It was close enough to the main drag that I’d taken to walking into town when the mood struck. I usually walked most nights that I was there, sometimes to look at the hotel, yes, but sometimes to just explore the neighborhoods. Hidden pathways, rounded garden doors, high hedges and last summer’s hollyhocks . . . It was a little magical.
When I rounded the street corner, I was thrilled by the sight of a black Range Rover parked outside. Simon was awake and on this side of the bay. With a secret smile, I hurried inside.
? ? ?
As I brushed out my hair that night, I realized that it was the first time in almost two weeks that it wasn’t piled on top of my head in a bun held together with colored pencils. Simon was now working at the dining room table, checking all of his shots on his laptop. I passed by on my way to the kitchen, and was stopped by a hand on my ass.
“Hi?”
“Hi,” he answered, his eyes still on the computer.
“You need something?”
“Always,” he answered, maneuvering my ass so it was on his lap.
“Not always; you were sleeping earlier,” I pouted.
“I’m not sleeping now.”
“I’ve got turnovers.”
“I already like where this is going,” he murmured, his hands tightening around my waist.
“No no, I mean I have turnovers that I need to put in the oven.”
“Wait, those are like tiny pies, right?”
“Yes, Simon, they’re like tiny pies.”
“Apple?”
“Cherry.”
“Have mercy.”
“You know what it does to me when you go Uncle Jesse on me.”
His eyes widened, and something else hardened. “I do indeed.”
Kissed me fierce, he did, and while I did my best to remind him of my turnovers, he did his best to make me forget. And I did, until the doorbell rang.
“Dammit,” he muttered, releasing me.
“Saved by the bell,” I sang out, rising off his lap.
“You know what it does to me when you go Kelly Kapowski on me.”
“I do indeed. And if you’re a good boy tonight, I’ll give you my own special Bayside cheer later on.” I winked and danced away from his grabby hands. “Now go do something with that,” I instructed, pointing at his enthusiasm.
He strutted away, and I headed to the front door. I could see Ryan through the glass, but no Mimi.
“Hey, where’s your girl?” I asked, but then heard a wheeeeee coming from up above.
“She’s ridden it twice already,” he replied, rolling his eyes but smiling at his girlfriend as she came down the hill in the hillevator, peeking over the side.
“That will never get old. I love this thing,” she announced when she got to the bottom, opening the door and climbing out. She had a basket full of treats and an armful of board games, which Ryan hurried to assist with. “See, this thing is actually useful.”
“Well, it’s not just a carnival ride, no.” I laughed, grabbing a bag as well. “Good lord, how many games did you bring?”
“I thought it would be best to plan for any and all hiccups tonight. And speaking of hiccups, I brought plenty of booze,” she stated, nodding to the box from the liquor store.
“Sure, because what goes better with tension than alcohol?” I snorted, catching Ryan’s eye.
“I tried to tell her,” he said under his breath.
“I heard that,” she sang out as she trotted into the house.
“I meant you to,” he sang back. “?’Sup?” He nodded to Simon, who had parked himself behind a wing chair.
I chuckled to myself at his technique for hiding his enthusiasm. I winked at him, feeling a thrill rumble through me when he looked at me with those heavy lidded eyes. Damn, that man got to me.
I led Mimi into the kitchen, letting her set up the bar while I finally got the turnovers into the oven.
We chatted while we put together snacks for the evening. Since I didn’t have the time I used to, it nearly killed me to get the turnovers together in time. But taking a page from the Barefoot Contessa, I managed to put together a respectable spread. I arranged several cheeses from a local shop, including a runny Brie and a stinky Stilton, some French bread, and little bowls of spicy almonds and salty olives. Slices of salami, capicola, pepperoni, and mortadella covered another wooden board, along with bowls of marinated artichoke hearts and roasted red peppers. A few containers of garlicky hummus and pillowy pita completed the nosh. I finished up just as Mimi was putting the final touches on her drink stations.
“Whiskey sours, martinis, and look! Wallbangers!” she cried, setting out a bottle of Galliano just as Simon and Ryan came in to join us.
“Perfect. Caroline was just saying before you two got here that she was dying for some more of me,” he teased, making me blush as the timer went off on my turnovers.
“Mix yourself up there, Simon,” I said over my shoulder, pulling the flaky triangles from the oven. The look he gave me told me I would indeed be getting turned over later on that night. You wouldn’t catch me complaining.
Just as Simon handed me a drink, we heard the doorbell.
“Showtime,” Mimi mumbled, heading off to the door. It was Sophia, with the tallest man I’d ever seen. But not just tall, he was crazy good looking. He was like NBA meets surfer.
“Why, hello there!” I said, looking up and up. “I’m Caroline.”
“Hey,” he said down to me in a voice that was incredibly deep. “Zach.”
He shuffled off to shake hands with the guys as I took Sophia’s coat.
“When I say that’s a tall drink of water, I’m not exaggerating,” I whispered to her, checking him out as he towered over Ryan and Simon, neither of whom were short.
“Thanks. He plays basketball in France; he’s home for the holidays. I met him at the gym.”
“Damn, I need to switch to your gym. The cute boy quotient is considerably higher than mine,” I replied, hanging up her coat.
She scanned the room, breathing a little easier when she saw that Neil wasn’t there. “Can I help with anything?”
The doorbell rang again.
“Like right now, can I help with anything? How about I make sure the bars okay,” she said, heels clicking across the floor as she grabbed Tall Zach and pulled him toward the alcohol.
Simon walked over to me, reaching around me to open the door for the only friend who hadn’t yet arrived.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” Neil said, handing Simon a bottle of scotch. “Caroline, thanks for inviting me,” he added, sneaking a kiss on my cheek before I could react.
“Hi, Neil,” I managed, trying to remember that this was Simon’s friend and I was making an effort. I had to really make an effort when I got an eyeful of who he brought with him.
I can’t say for sure that she’d ever appeared in Playboy. But if she hadn’t, she should have.
“Hi! I’m Missy,” she said, and I smiled at Neil through clenched teeth. I could tell it was putting Simon in physical pain not to laugh.
“Hi there, Missy,” I managed. “Let me take your coat, Missy.”
“Wow, look at all those windows!” She giggled as I led them inside.
I knew how much a window wall that size cost to install, and I wondered how much it would cost to repair . . .