Something About You (Just Me & You) (15 page)

“Forgetting anything?” Gage prompted her. 

“Nope, nothing.” She hastily dropped the boxes into the cart
and pushed it forward. “We’re all done here.”

“Look, honey, just in case you’re wondering, I’ve been
dispatched to the aisle of pink boxes more times than you can imagine,” he
said. “I’d have to say that making an emergency run for a pregnancy test was my
most delicate mission to date.”

Sabrina shook her head and closed her eyes, not believing
her ears.

“Dear god. Are we really talking about this?” she asked no
one in particular.

“Hey, at least we’re talking.”

“Look, Fitzgerald, you don’t have to make idle chit-chat on
my behalf.”

“I don’t, but I want to,” he told her. “Look, we don’t have
to order pizza together at the end of the day. We don’t have to become each
other’s best buds. But—”

“But what?”

“—it would be nice if we could have an intimate conversation
for a change.”

She brought the cart to a squeaking halt and stared at him
frankly. “Look, you moved in last week, and we’ve already talked about my
little pink boxes,” she said gruffly. “That’s intimate enough, don’t you
think?”

She pushed the cart forward with forceful determination,
popping the wheels of the cart around the aisle so quickly he was forced to
catch up with her. Sabrina felt cranky. She had been going nonstop since five
in the morning, fueled only by caffeine. Because the choice hors d’oeuvres had
already been ravaged by the time she got to the lobbyists’ party, she had
picked at the remnants of the crudité tray, and now she was famished. The sharp
edges of her alligator pumps were cutting into her heels. By now, she could
have been showered, dressed in her most comfortable pajamas, and cozied up in
her bed with her laptop watching Lifetime Television for Women on streaming
video.

If only Gage Fitzgerald hadn’t gone on a damned date.

“So exactly how terrible was it?” Sabrina asked, slowing her
pace.

He slid her a sly smile. “D’you mean my date? I knew you
were probably burning up with curiosity.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” she said disinterestedly,
batting a roll of paper towels into the cart. What type of woman did Gage
“Fitz” Fitzgerald go for, anyway? “I’m just trying to converse.”

“Because you really want to know?” He eyed her skeptically.

Sabrina sighed wearily. “I asked, didn’t I?”

“She didn’t want to get to know the real me. No big surprise
there. I used to think it was an occupational hazard.” Gage shook his head
ruefully, studying the rows of jams and jellies before reaching for a jar of
orange marmalade. “But I’ll be damned if I’ve ever met a woman who knows what
she really wants. Or who’s actually good for her.”

“Well, count yourself lucky, because you just met one who
does,” Sabrina informed him confidently. She pointedly tossed a jar of cherry
jam into the cart and stared at him point-blank. “First, I don’t like
marmalade. You do. That’s no big deal, right? I don’t need a man who likes the
very same things I do. That would be boring. But we both have to agree on the
important things. We have to agree on our bigger goals in life. Secondly, there
has to be trust.”

“That goes without saying.”

“I’m talking about a different type of trust than you are.”

“I didn’t know there was more than one.”

“Oh, there are all kinds of trust,” Sabrina told him sagely.
“Of course I want to know that his eyes won’t wander a few years down the line
when the relationship starts to get predictable — that’s Trust 101. But I
also have to
really
trust him. Say it’s fifty years from now and the
gray matter starts to go.” She twirled a forefinger around her temple to
illustrate her point. “Or I got hit by a Cap Metro bus while crossing the
street.”

“You really look on the bright side of life, don’t you,
darlin’?”

“Let’s just
say
,” she went on practically. “Say that
I was unable to speak for myself, that I had lost my ability to reason. He
should know me so well that he could make the same choices that I would make.
That’s the kind of trust I’m talking about. No, don’t get that; you’d get
better nutrition from a glue stick.” She took the white bread from his hands
and replaced it with a loaf of whole wheat.

“So far we have compatibility and trust. That’s pretty
meat-and-potatoes,” Gage commented as he put the wheat bread in the cart. “What
else do you want in a relationship — lastly?”

Why, oh why did I go here?
Sabrina asked herself
woefully.

“We’re both grown, experienced adults,” she said in a muted
voice. “I’m sure you can figure it out.” 

“Nope,” he said with a shrug, but there was a teasing note
in his voice. “Throw me a bone here.”

“Oh, geez. Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Exquisitely
intriguing, hair-raising, mind-blowing, totally spontaneous… ”

Sex.

The kind of sex she had never once had with Jackson.

Sex that kept her up all night, stumbling into the office
the next morning, fuzzy-headed and starry-eyed. Sex that involved emergency
runs to the market for small boxes labeled “Extra Large.” Sex that made days
like these worth it.

She blinked and snapped out of it. “I shouldn’t be talking
about things like this.”

“Wanting great sex with your partner is nothing to be
ashamed of,” he told her. “Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into
creating Sabrina’s hierarchy of needs.”

“What did you think I was going to say? Money, looks and a
great sense of humor?” she asked facetiously.

“A lot of women would rattle those off without thinking,”
Gage pointed out.

Sabrina gave him a superior smile. “Well, guess I just
scored an ‘A’ in originality, didn’t I?”

Just then, a voice came over the loud speaker to inform
shoppers that the market closed in fifteen minutes.

“We don’t have much time,” Sabrina fretted. She pulled the
neglected shopping list from the bottom of the cart and frowned at it
circumspectly. “Dill wickleafs? Meat bargers? I can’t make heads or tails of
your chicken scratch, Fitzgerald.”

“Screw the list.” Gage took the piece of paper from her,
balled it up and shoved it in his shirt pocket. “Let’s split up, get whatever
we need and catch up by the register.”

Sabrina stared into the deli case, looking over aluminum
tubs of chicken casserole, green bean salad, and cheese enchiladas that had
gone brown around the edges after a day under warming lamps. She didn’t feel
particularly hungry anymore. She was tired, and her feet were killing her. She
hoped Gage had brought his car; she couldn’t bear the thought of walking back
to the house in her heels.

She ordered a container of hummus from the deli clerk and,
after grabbing a package of pita bread, headed to the cash register. When she
got to the counter, Gage had already placed all of the items in their cart on a
conveyor belt.

“How much is my share?” she asked, digging around in her
wallet for some bills.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “We’ll sort it out when
we get home.”

Sabrina watched as he retrieved his checkbook from his coat
pocket, put it on the counter and neatly tucked the strip of carbon protector
under the next check.

“Really, Fitzgerald,” she groaned and shook her head.

“What?” He paused with pen in hand to glance at the empty
store around them. “It’s not exactly like I’m holding up the line.”

Monday morning came, and Sabrina sat at the receptionist’s
desk double-checking the facts in the “sustainable building” bill the Tide
Brothers had sold Theo on. She looked skeptically from her analysis to the
closed door that led to Theo’s inner sanctum. Didn’t the Hon. Rep. know a bum
steer when he saw one? There was no good way to pitch this bill. There wasn’t a
big sell. It would be a push to even get it on the calendar.

Resigned, she shook her head and got back to work on the
tedious bill. Theo would have to learn the hard way. She was jolted out of her
boredom by the sound of his office door opening.

“Sabrina, I didn’t get your RSVP for my little soiree.” Theo
poked his head out. “You
are
going.” He hadn’t exactly posed it as a
question, she noticed.

“It’s a ball, Theo,” she reminded him.

“And?”

Surely he couldn’t be that obtuse. “The purpose of a ball is
to dance. With an escort. I don’t have one.”

“Well, hell. Why didn’t you say something?” He scratched his
chin. “You know, Jill’s younger brother just broke off his engagement. You just
got div—”

“—Oh, Theo. Please stop,” Sabrina interrupted quickly. “No
blind dates. I know that when it comes to my selection of beaux, you’d prefer I
keep it in the family, so to speak. But being set up with your brother-in-law
feels practically incestuous.”

“Yee-
ah
,” Theo conceded slowly. “Don’t you worry your
beautiful noggin’ about going to the gala wallflower or whatever you women call
it. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and see if I hear of anybody who’s
scrounging for a date.” Then he retreated back into his office.

Sabrina pressed her palms to her cheeks. Was she really that
much of a lost cause? That much of a fixer-upper? The ball was only two weeks
away. No one remotely appropriate registered on her mental list of escort
candidates.

Carlton whooshed through the doorway, looking dashing in a
new Yamamoto suit and a tan.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered. “You have to be the only
person I know who loses weight during the holiday season.”

“Survival of the fittest,” he said breezily. “Besides, I’ve
got to fit into my tuxedo before next Friday.”

“Are you going to the ball alone?”

Carlton snorted. “Only because I have no other choice. Going
to one of these blowouts is like being invited to the royal wedding when you’re
the guy driving the carriage.”

Sabrina sized him up surreptitiously. He wasn’t
overwhelmingly tall. What, five-foot-eleven? If she wore two-inch heels …

“Say, Carlton?” she asked innocently.

He looked up from his plate and immediately translated the
hopeful look on her face. “I know what those fluttery ‘Shy Di’ eyes mean. Don’t
even think about it. No,” he said firmly.

“Oh, c’mon,” Sabrina cajoled, twirling her pen. “Like you
said, it’s only for a couple of hours. We both have to show up, like you say,
and … well, you have amazing taste in clothes.”

He gave her an amused look. “Sabrina, I’ll gladly dance with
you at the ball. I’ll refresh your drink and summon over the guys holding the
canapé trays and do all of the attentive things a man in my position does for
the lady Chief of Staff he adores, but—” He leaned over and spoke into her ear.
“—I refuse to be your beard,” he whispered gleefully.

Sabrina’s shoulders slumped with disappointment.

“I guess I’ll go alone to the ball alone,” Sabrina said
forlornly. “I can’t think of anyone else to ask.” She imagined herself standing
next to Moira in the drinks line.

“I can.” Carlton’s smile turned mysterious. “I’ll bet a
certain local celebrity is hankering to hear from you.”

Sabrina looked at him in disbelief. Was he really suggesting
what she thought? All it took was a single soliloquy from Gage Fitzgerald, and
everyone leapt to foregone conclusions.

“That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard your utter,
Carlton Hayes.”

“Why?” He looked at her, bemused. “I’ve seen Fitz at
Waterloo Records once or twice doing station events. He’s a big bruiser. You’re
a wispy little petal. You’d look darling together — sort of like Moose and
Midge.” His expression turned devious. “Not to mention that he obviously has a
hard-on with your name tagged to it. Oh, close your mouth unless you want to
catch flies, Sabrina. I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

“Gage isn’t my type, remember?” Sabrina glowered at him.

“That’s precisely what I was trying to tell you,” he replied
smoothly. “Your ‘type’ hasn’t exactly served you well in the past. Think about
it. It’s just Theo’s ball. It’s not like you’re asking him to move in with
you.”

Sabrina bit her tongue.

She had come to terms with the fact that a man occupied her
spare bedroom. Gage had made it clear that he had no interest in taking things
to the next level.
Maybe Molly’s right
, Sabrina told herself. Maybe he
was an honorable man. Maybe she and Gage could be friends, although “friends”
suggested a tight, permanent bond. Acquaintances, perhaps?

No,
housemates
. That’s what they were. And she could
live with that.

Sabrina had to admit that things between them were going
more smoothly than she thought they would. Well, except for their first encounter
on his moving-in day and the awkward conversation during their recent shopping
expedition. She had bumped into him in the kitchen the night before, and he was
grabbing a Coke from the fridge before he—

How
did
he spend his evenings, anyway? And where did
he spend them?

Sabrina had tried to imagine what he did with his long
stretch of downtime during the wee hours of the night. Bars, live-music venues,
all-night diners, women’s bedrooms, or a combination of some or all of them had
initially come to mind.

But later that night when she was eating her takeout curry
at the small kitchen table, Gage had come out of his room dressed in his usual
flannel shirt worn over a T-shirt, faded jeans and scuffed Dr. Marten boots.
He’d mumbled a brief, distracted salutation before heading straight to the back
door with a determined look on his face, as though he were preparing himself
for serious business.

Personal business.

When Sabrina had gone to the kitchen to put her leftover
curry away, she noticed that the door leading to the backyard was ajar. She
could hear Gage talking to someone on his cell phone outside. His tone of voice
was neutral without being ambivalent; he could have been speaking to almost
anyone — an old girlfriend, an estranged family member or a work
colleague. Through the blinds, she could see him pacing the small flagstone
porch, face blank and body taut.

Sabrina had retreated to her bedroom and closed the door.
The entire house was flooded with the clean scent of the castile soap Gage used
in the shower. The warmth of the steam seemed to filter through the walls and
into her room like a friendly incubus. It was an innocent smell, a smell that
never intended to be sexy but was sexy nevertheless. It was a scent that seemed
to seep into her pores, into her hair and the soft fabric of her fleece robe.
She wanted to rub it off. She wanted to dive right into it.

It’s getting way too stuffy in here.

She’d pushed the window open a fraction. Outside, gentle
bursts of wind whipped the fallen elm leaves into motion. They made a tiny
crackling sound, almost like fire flickering in a hearth. She found the sound
oddly comforting. She sat down at her desk, opened her laptop, and began to
reply to her personal emails. In between the rustling going on outside of her
window, she could hear Gage’s voice coming from the patio.

“No … no, I never discussed it with her … yes …
yes, I plan to be there.”

Sabrina stopped typing.

“It’s hard … I’m the only person she has.”

So there
was
a woman in his life. Who was it? His mother?
Grandmother? A favorite elementary school teacher? Not that it mattered. Nor
should
it matter, she reminded herself sternly. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard,
and she craned her neck in the direction of the window while she waited for him
to respond to the person on the other end of the line. But he’d walked along
the side of the house, and now all she could hear was the wind and the leaves.

Snoop
, she’d chastised herself as got up to close the
window. She was not this person. The type of person who eavesdropped on other
people’s private cell phone conversations. She was doing exactly what she had
expressly forbidden Gage to do. She was making their co-dwelling more
complicated. Whoever he was talking to and whatever that person had said to make
the timbre of his voice turn dead serious weren’t her business.

Not unless he decided it was.