All I Want Is You (4 page)

Ugh, he was right. He was only trying to be helpful and she was snapping at him.

That was when, from downstairs, a male voice called, “Um, hello? Is anyone here? I'm looking for Christy . . . but maybe I have the wrong place.”

“Crap,” she whispered.

“Better not just stand there,” her neighbor said, and a mere glance into his eyes, even now, made her breath go shallow.
But
don't give him so much credit—­maybe it's
all of this
making you feel unable to breathe.

Regardless, she looked back and forth between him and the sound of Jared's voice, then gave him a rough shove toward the bedroom. “Get in there,” she said under her breath. “And be quiet. I don't want him getting the wrong idea.”

Then she rushed toward the stairs in bare feet and bad hair. She was far from ready, but she had no choice. She didn't want Jared to leave, after all.

Reaching the head of the stairs, she peered down to find him staring up, looking all clean-­cut and well-­dressed—­and also perplexed. “Hey, hi!” she said, pasting on a smile. “I'm so sorry about the mess down there. Minor disaster when I got home today.” She forced a laugh. “And I'm running a little late, but I'll be down in just a minute, okay?”

That's when she realized he actually looked a little surprised to see her—­like maybe he was
hoping
he had the wrong place. At the moment, she couldn't blame him. “So . . . what happened to your door? Did someone break in or something?”

It was tempting to say yes—­that would be a good reason, after all, for a door to be off its hinges. But that would only lead to further lies and make a bad situation worse, so she just said, “No, nothing like that.” Then she tried to laugh again, more lightheartedly this time—­but it came out sounding as fake as it was.

He looked back at the door. “Then what happened?”

Sheesh, what was his obsession with her door? Even if it
was
weird—­couldn't he just go with the flow here a little?

“It's the funniest story,” she claimed, trying to blow off his concern. “I'll tell you over dinner.”

That was when he narrowed his gaze on her, or more precisely, it seemed, on her sweater. Was he staring at her chest? “What?” she said, blinking.

“Is your sweater inside out?”

She glanced down. Looked at the sleeve. Saw the thick seam running up to her shoulder. Oh God. Another laugh echoed automatically from her throat. It sounded a little maniacal to her this time. “Oh wow, looks like it is.” Then she rolled her eyes. “You won't believe what a crazy day I've had.”

By now, Jared had begun to look a little skeptical—­about everything. “I'm . . . not sure I really want to know.”

“Huh?” she asked, the confidence she'd so desperately tried to keep afloat beginning to waver.

His expression turned dark, disappointed, judgmental. “And did I hear a guy's voice up there with you just now?”

She tried to breathe. “Yes, but that's just my neighbor.”

And now it was Jared throwing up his hands, clearly ready to back away from this situation. “You know what? I'm not sure what's going on here, but I'm starting to think this was a bad idea.”

And as he turned to walk away—­stepping awkwardly past the fallen front door—­Christy said, “Jared, wait—­I can explain. Really!”

But Jared didn't wait. He just kept working his way past the door, until he stepped out into the evening sun now hitting the front porch, then disappeared from view.

And her heart dropped.

She couldn't believe it. All she'd done to try to pull off this date. And it ended like this? And he'd seemed like a really good guy, too—­the kind who
would
maybe be wild about her and want to help her. And the kind who—­perhaps wisely—­steered clear of wild ­people. Her hopes plummeted as she stared at the spot he'd just vacated.

“That's a shame,” her neighbor said from behind her.

Turning dejectedly, in her inside-­out sweater and bad hair, to find him standing just outside the bedroom door, she numbly said, “You have no idea.”

“He drove a Jag, too,” the neighbor informed her. “A nice one.”

And Christy's jaw dropped. She'd realized Jared had money, though she hadn't actually known how much. But to be driving a Jaguar at his age—­late twenties she guessed—­that said a lot. “Oh God—­really?” she replied, feeling the full potential of what she'd just lost.

In response, Mr. Hot-­and-­Scruffy lowered his chin and said, “I think I get it now.”

“Get what?” she asked, mentally exhausted.

“Why that date was so important.”

And on top of every other letdown of the last few hours—­and the last few years—­it stung to realize her neighbor thought she was the one thing that she so, so desperately didn't want to be: a woman who wanted a man only for his money.

 

Alice soon came to the conclusion

that it was a very difficult game indeed.

Lewis Carroll,
Alice in Wonderland

Chapter 3

“I
T'S NOT
like that,” she said quietly.

“What's it like then?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It's complicated. But . . . not like it probably seems to you.”

Jack DuVall stood looking at the pretty girl who had just come dropping unexpectedly into his life like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Her eyes had grown unaccountably sad and the moment turned awkward. His fault, he supposed. He'd just gotten too personal. “Look,” he said, “it's none of my business anyway.” Then he stepped forward, ready to move past her, down the stairs. “I should get to work on your door.”

Somehow he almost
felt
how pretty she was as he brushed past her—­and his nose picked up a trace of . . . perfume maybe; something nice, feminine. Something stirred in his chest in response, and he realized for the first time that maybe he'd been a little disappointed to discover Alice hadn't come knocking on his door for
him
—­but to instead get his help catching another guy. Not that it mattered. After all, this chick clearly had way too much going on for him to want to get involved in any of it.

He'd reached the bottom of the stairs before he realized she'd followed him. He pulled up short upon reaching the fallen door and so she did, too, but not before ending up on the very last step, just an inch or two behind where he stood—­the nearness creating some sort of invisible force field between them, a connection that felt physical even though their bodies weren't actually touching. “Sorry,” she whispered near his ear after not quite colliding with him.

“No problem,” he murmured in reply. Then he went about lifting up the heavy old door to clear the walking path.

“I still can't believe you had me kick this thing down,” he added, thinking aloud as he leaned it against one of the interior walls of the short hall that led from the entrance to the steps.

“I can't, either,” she said. He glanced over in time to see her shake her head, suddenly seeming a lot less crazy than she had just a ­couple of minutes ago. “What was I thinking?”

Turning to study the broken door frame, he sized up how to best repair it for now. “That you were pretty damn desperate to make this date happen,” he said without really weighing it.

He was trying to avoid looking at her—­trying to keep this a light conversation, especially since they didn't even know each other—­but when she stayed quiet, he found himself peeking over, his gaze rising to her eyes. In the dimly lit hall, he could make out that they were a kaleidoscope version of hazel that held him in their grip for just a second before he forced himself free of it.

“Could . . . could I explain? About the date? About why it was so important?”

He looked back to the door frame. Decided to saw out the edges where the wood had split and replace that section with some of the scrap wood he'd carried over. He could probably use the same strike plate once he freed it from the part of the frame that had broken off and was still attached to the lock, and the door. “It's none of my business, like I said. I should have kept my mouth shut upstairs.” He focused on the busted wood the whole time.

“But . . . since you didn't—­and since I kind of dragged you into this—­I'd . . .
like
to explain. Maybe it won't make a difference, but I guess I just don't want you to think I'm awful.”

This caught him off guard. Alice in Wonderland hadn't seemed too worried about his perception of her up to now. And he didn't really want to get any more close-­up and personal with whatever was going on here. “Not necessary,” he told her to let them both off the hook.

“For me it is.”

Crap. He knelt down to flip up the lid on his red toolbox. Then he looked to the short sections of two-­by-­fours he'd brought along as well, thinking through his next moves—­both in terms of the repair and what he was going to say. Finally, he settled on, “Okay then, I guess. If you really want to tell me. But don't do it on my account. I don't even know you—­ya know?”

She sighed, appeared a little discombobulated. But not in the crazy way this time. That was when he realized he was looking at her again. He drew his eyes quickly back to his tools, reaching for a small saw.

“The thing is . . . okay, yes, I was interested in that guy based on . . . money.” She sounded pained saying it and he could understand why—­it was a pretty rotten thing to admit. And so far, he couldn't decide if he admired her honesty or was bothered by the blunt, ugly truth behind it.

“But I also actually liked him. And I know the money thing sounds despicable—­but . . . it's about survival. And not just for me. It's about my grandpa.”

Oh boy. This was getting way too involved for him, that fast. He already regretted letting her start to explain. “You really don't have to tell me this,” he assured her again. But he'd stopped looking at her, instead refocusing on his work. To his surprise, the hinges and bolts were intact, so he could easily reattach the door and just tighten them up.

“God, you're right,” she said on a sigh, then shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I won't dump this on you. I don't even know why I started to. Well—­okay, yes I do . . . I'm embarrassed. And I'm usually a lot more normal than I probably seem to you. It's just that ever since my parents died . . .”

Everything in Jack stiffened. Shit. Talk about something he hadn't seen coming. And his natural inclination was to say something comforting . . . but he stopped himself. This was already way, way more than he'd bargained for when he'd answered the door a little while ago.

Now she stopped, stiffening a little herself. “Crap, there I go again—­dumping. Forget I said that last part. Or any of this.”

He looked up at her, unable to avoid seeing the loss in her pretty eyes. “That might be a tall order.” But just as quickly, he looked back to the work before him. It seemed a much more sensible thing to concentrate on. And still, he heard himself asking, “I guess you have other family, though. Brothers and sisters?”

“No, there's no one else really. Other than my Grandpa. But he's in Florida, in a rest home.” Her voice sounded small, a little fragile. Yet then she toughened up again, seemed a lot more like the taking-­care-­of-­business girl who'd come knocking on his door. “But it's fine—­I can handle it. It's only because my grandpa needs help that I'm feeling a little . . . well, desperate, I guess—­like you said. Even if I don't love that word.”

“Sorry about that,” he said, and he meant it. “But having me kick down your door instead of just waiting for someone to unlock it . . . well, just
seemed
kinda desperate.”

“I can see that now. But at the time . . . it just seemed so unfair. To be locked out of my own house on top of everything else. And on the one night when I had this important date.”

She sounded so deflated that it almost made him wonder what all she'd been through. And again, what had happened to her parents and what kind of help her grandpa in Florida needed from her so badly. Almost. But he wasn't going to ask. He didn't want to get sucked into this girl's drama.

Of course he didn't want to be an ogre, ­either—­so he just decided to change the subject. “Don't know if it'll suit the landlord or not, but I can probably find some stain to match this door frame, and do as good a job on it as he would pay somebody for. The old lock and these others can still be used—­but I might add a deadbolt for good measure.”

“That would be great. How much?”

“How much what?” he asked.

“How much will you charge me?”

He glanced at her only briefly, then looked back to the work before him. “You've had a rough day, so it's on me.”

He heard her soft intake of breath—­and felt it, too, almost as if it echoed through his own body. “That's so nice. Thank you.”

He just gave his head a short shake as if it say it was nothing. And in fact, it was something—­but not a lot. He enjoyed working with his hands, doing home repair and refurbishment. And he wouldn't have felt right to charge her when she was already going through a tough time—­it was only a small time investment for him plus the price of a deadbolt lock. “Just give him a call, ask him if it's okay if you take care of it on your end. He can inspect it when I'm done if he wants.”

“He won't. It took two months to get him to come fix things here today, and from what my roommate tells me, we'll probably find out he only fixed half the stuff we called about. He's kind of a clod.”

Heading back out onto the porch, Jack knelt to put himself at eye level with the broken part of the door, then picked up his saw and began removing the rough edges of broken wood left behind. It was a shame in a way—­it was a thick old door frame, probably original to the house, which he knew from researching the history of his own had probably been built in the 1930s. But on the other hand, nothing lasted forever. And some things didn't last very long at all, so maybe the best way to look at it was to figure this door frame had had a good long life before getting broken a little.

They mostly quit talking then, and at some point Alice sat down on the steps and quietly watched him work, seeming undaunted by the fact that she still wore an inside out sweater and no shoes. Or maybe she just didn't care. Interesting girl, Alice.

“You don't have to stay here with me,” he finally told her. “If you have other stuff to do.”

“I don't, really,” she said. “I expected to be on a date right now. And besides, I kinda like watching you work. I like watching things . . . come together.”

“Why's that?”

“I don't know. Maybe,” she mused, “because it's better than watching things fall apart.”

So Jack kept working—­slowly and methodically measuring, sawing, and hammering in bare new wood where the old had given way. After that, he used a key left behind by the landlord to open the lock that had caused all this trouble, then detached the strike plate from the old wood. With Alice's help balancing the door, he reaffixed it to the hinges, changing out a few screws for heavier ones to make sure it would hold tight. Then finally he put the old strike plate on the new section of door frame he'd just installed, testing it afterward to make sure everything lined up.

When he was done, he said, “I'll take a piece of this broken wood and get some matching stain. I'll be back over in a ­couple days to finish the job.”

“Thank you again,” she said, getting to her feet. “I really appreciate the help—­more than I can say.”

He shrugged it off. “It's not a big thing.”

“Yes it is. To me anyway.”

Aware that his heart was beating a little faster than usual, he chose not to reply to that, and instead just picked up his toolbox and turned to go.

“Um, hey,” she said, stopping him in his tracks before he reached the edge of the porch, “what's your name?”

“Jack,” he told her.

“I'm Christy,” she said. “Christy Knight.”

Yeah, he'd heard her “very important date” say her name earlier—­but for some reason he asked, “Mind if I just keep calling you Alice?”

She cast him a sideways glance, looking understandably suspicious. “Um, why?”

“Maybe I think it suits you,” he said.

Though perhaps there was another underlying reason. Maybe it would be a reminder to him that she was . . . a little lost, struggling, grasping for answers and help, just like the girl in the story. And that even as appealing as she was in some ways, he'd be wise to keep his distance.

C
HRISTY
was already tired of trying to catch a rich man, especially given how crappy she'd felt attempting to explain it to Jack, but Bethany wouldn't let her give up that easily. “Grandpa Charlie's rest home bill isn't going to pay itself,” she promptly reminded Christy the night after what, between them, became known as “the great Jared debacle.”

And the very mention of her grandpa's name refueled her, relit the fire inside her to do whatever it took to save his home, to make sure neither of them lost anything else. “You're right,” she conceded. The two girls sat in their living room, Christy piecing together a new bracelet on her jewelry tray.

She still couldn't help questioning, though, if this was the only way. “But look at the message fate sent me,” she said, lifting her gaze to her roommate, “when I tried to go after a rich guy.”

This, however, merely produced one of Bethany's usual shrugs. “Maybe fate's message was: ‘This isn't the right one, so you don't have to waste your time on him.' It doesn't mean fate is against the whole idea.”

Christy didn't like to admit it, but her friend made a good point. Maybe she spent too much time thinking the universe was conspiring against her and not enough time expecting it to help her out and lead her in the right direction. “Okay then,” she said on a sigh, “back to the drawing board, I guess. What's next?”

“Why don't we go drink some expensive Cokes in another nice place downtown. On me. And we can dress up and pretend we have tickets to see whatever's playing at the Aronoff. I think
Phantom
is in town.”

The mention of
The Phantom of the Opera
made her think of her friend Anna, back in Destiny. Anna's cat, Erik, had been named after the phantom himself and she owned a cool, old edition of the original novel the musical was based on. Christy had never seen the show, but she wished she had, or that she could—­and how wonderful it would be to have enough money to just jaunt off to the theater on a typical Thursday night. “Okay, I'm in,” she said. “But what if we're drinking our Cokes and we meet guys who are going to see
Phantom
and they want to walk us over there?”