The Offer (16 page)

“You said
we’re going on an adventure today,” she says. “Where are we
going?”

Right. IKEA. I
can feel Bram’s eyes still on me and I don’t dare look at him. I
don’t think I’m ready for the truth, no matter which way it
spins.

“To a store to
get us a new couch,” I tell her.

She looks at
the couch, puzzled. “But I like our couch,” she says with her lower
lip trembling. “It’s my castle.”

My heart melts
and I automatically crouch to her level, pulling her under my arm.
“I know you do, Ava, but where we’re going we are going to get a
better couch. Maybe two couches! And you know what?”

“What?’ she
asks quietly.

“
There’s
a magical room there called the ball room,” I tell her. “Remember
when we watched that movie and you saw the kid hiding underneath
all the balls.” Unfortunately I think I’m remembering the
movie
Traffic,
which
she most certainly did not watch with me
,
but she doesn’t need to know that. “It’s so much fun. When
I was a kid, it was almost as good as Christmas.”

Now she’s
looking at me like I’m damn crazy.

“It’s true,”
Bram says and she looks up at him. “You’re about to have a very fun
adventure. Are you ready, little one?”

Because
she’s so in love with Bram, her eyes light up and she smiles,
nodding vigorously. I’d be jealous of him if I wasn’t feeling a
whole whack of other things, especially in my uterus. It’s like
it’s kicking at me –
hey, Nicola, hey, he’s a good one
– and I think I may have to put
my uterus, vagina, and heart into some sort of holding cell where
only my brain has the lock and key.

He eyes me
with a lazy kind of excitement. “Are you ready?”

I take in a
deep breath and manage a smile. “Let me just put on some clothes
and run a brush through my hair.”

“You’re
perfect just the way you are, babe,” he says. “Though those nipples
of yours seem to be vying for my attention.”

I look down at
my chest and see them poking through my thin top like they’re
trying to tunnel their way out. Shit.

I slap my
hands over them and hurry on over to my bedroom, wishing I could
start the morning over and yet oddly giddy about where it’s been so
far.

***

When we pull
into the IKEA parking lot in Emeryville, I’m surprised that it
isn’t full. Then again, even though it’s Sunday, it’s still early.
I glance at the clock on the slick dashboard of the Mercedes and
it’s 9:50, ten minutes till opening. I wonder if this is what
middle age is going to feel like, trying to beat the crowds or snag
a deal by going early.

Then I look
over at Bram, whose hand is still on the gearshift, and for a split
second I imagine more grey in his hair. I imagine more stubble on
his gorgeous chin and lines by his eyes. I imagine him older and I
imagine myself older, and a teenage Ava in the backseat.

My heart seems
to expand at the thought, feeling whole, complete. Then it
stutters, as if it’s something it can’t even begin to comprehend
and I feel embarrassed that my mind even went there for a moment.
Holy moly, what the hell has gotten into me?

“Let’s go to
the doors,” I say quickly, opening the door and getting out of the
car. I can tell Bram is puzzled by my abrupt departure but I need
to clear my head and focus on the task at hand. Couch, couch,
couch. Swedish furnishings. Mesh pits filled with balls. One-dollar
hot dogs.

By the time we
get to the doors though, after wrangling Ava out of the booster
seat and making sure I have sliced apples, a small bit of juice,
the insulin pen and glucose monitor just in case, the store is open
for business. Still it’s relatively quiet and we’re lucky that the
ball pit isn’t all full. Ava is measured to make sure she’s tall
enough to go in and then we leave her there with the daycare, which
gives us about an hour on our own, just enough to look around the
store and then pick her up for lunch.

I watch her
for a few minutes as she slowly approaches the edge of the pit,
watching the kids who are already in it. She’s never been that shy
with other kids but I haven’t really exposed her to them either. I
guess I just don’t have any friends who have kids – something that
happens when you have a kid early and out of wedlock.

One child, a
boy a few good inches taller that her, swims through the balls and
then stops in front of her. He grins, toothless and then throws a
ball at her. It bounces right at her head and before I know it, I’m
ready to run to the pit, scoop Ava up and call that little shit
what he really is.

But Bram has
grabbed hold of my arm and he’s pulling me back and to him.

“Easy, mum,”
he murmurs in my ear. I let him hold me and we watch as Ava picks
up the ball and throws it right back at the boy. It hits him square
in the chest and she scowls at him before walking off to the other
side of the pit where a girl with red pigtails bounces up to
her.

“He’s not much
different from you,” I mutter as my heart rate turns back to
normal.

Bram still has
his hand around my bicep and he lowers it down my arm, his fingers
skimming over my skin until I’m certain he’s going to grab onto my
hand and hold it. But then he pulls away all together. “And Ava
knows just how to deal with boys like me, just like her mum has.
Shall we?”

I know we
won’t get anything done if I keep standing in by the play center. I
watch as other moms come and drop off their kids and then hurry
away into the store as if they can’t wait to be done with them. I’m
so used to being around Ava all the time that it’s hard not to have
her with me if I can help it. But this is good for her and it’s
good for me. It has to be.

I give Bram a
small smile and we go up the massive staircase and into the rest of
the store.

“So,” Bram
muses as the floor plans make us start in the living room set ups,
just where we need to be. “What kind of couch are you looking
for?”

I shrug. “I
don’t know. A cheap one.” I eye a humungous sectional right in
front of us. “A small one. And one that doesn’t tear easy.”

Bram plops
down on the sectional and puts his feet up on the coffee table,
making himself right at home. “Well, I hate to break this to you
but IKEA isn’t exactly known for their quality. Cheap, yes.”

But I’m no
longer listening to him. Instead, my eyes are drawn toward his
socks on display. Again, they are the ugly brown and yellow ones
with the loch ness monster all over them.

“Okay,” I say,
nodding at them, “this is the second time I’ve seen you wear them.
What is up with the socks?”

He looks at
his ankles, as if he’s surprised to see his feet there. “Oh these?
Lucky socks.” But when he smiles at me, there is something hard in
those eyes of his. It’s a look I don’t see too often and even
though I immediately want to dissect it and figure out what it
means, I know I shouldn’t. I’m the queen of deflection and that
look tells me he’d give me a run for my money.

Instead I say,
“Are they lucky? They are the ugliest things I’ve ever seen.
Doesn’t really go with your whole outfit.”

The dark look
passes and he eyes me with mocking sincerity. “Are you taking an
interest in what I wear?”

“It did used
to be my job,” I say. “I mean, I dressed mannequins but I made sure
they were the best dressed mannequins in the whole of SF.”

“I believe
it,” he says. “For a woman without a lot of money, you sure manage
to make yourself look like a million dollars.” He gets up off the
couch and I’m kind of stunned at the compliment. Believe it or not,
it means more to me than he could know. I used to have a fashion
blog years ago when it was cool and profitable, and I took so much
pride in how I dressed. Now, it just didn’t seem important
anymore.

No, scratch
that. It wasn’t that it wasn’t important. It’s just I found it no
better than the crazy glue holding my kitchen table together. I
could dress up but deep down I was still a fucking mess.

Except today I
actually did dress up a bit. I put on a pair of Alexander McQueen
ankle boots from many years and many seasons ago, skinny jeans from
Old Navy (which I got on sale for $4) and a Petite Bateau Breton
striped topped. It’s a little threadbare at this point but it still
makes my rack look fantastic. Let’s face it, it’s why I’m wearing
it and from the way Bram’s eyes keep flitting there, I can tell he
appreciates the effort.

“Thank you,” I
tell him, fumbling for a way to play off his compliment. “You’re
not so bad yourself. You know, aside from the poo and pee
socks.”

He bursts out
laughing. “Poo and pee? You’ve been hanging around Ava too long, my
love.”

“Probably,” I
admit and we carry on down the aisle. So far, none of the couches
I’ve spotted are exactly what I’m looking for and I’m getting tired
of sitting down and getting up again to try them out.

Finally we
come across an area where a lot of the armchairs are and there’s
something that catches my eye. It’s a small loveseat with bright
yellow fabric and metal legs. I gravitate toward it and look at the
price tag. It’s under a hundred bucks. I could get two of them,
they’d fit with my décor and they look pretty easy to assemble as
well.

“Seriously,
this?” Bram asks, eyeing the couch with distain. “How are you going
to have me over? I’ll break the damn thing if I sit on it.”

“Try it,” I
coax him and watch as he lowers his large frame onto the couch.

He winces.
“The most uncomfortable couch I have ever had my arse in.”

I sit down
beside him. It’s snug. Really snug. My leg is smushed up against
his and that wonderfully hot, male smell of his is teasing me. But
other than that, he’s right. It’s pretty bare bones in the padding
department.

But the price
is right. “I have lots of pillows,” I tell him, attempting to get
out of the couch. “I could make it work.”

And I’m really
working my abs trying to get out of the damn thing. Bram is
absolutely no help. He reaches for my collar and pulls me back down
beside him.

“You know if
we were a couple,” he says, sliding his arm along the backrest so
it’s hovering behind my shoulder, “this would be the perfect couch
for us. We’d never get up. We’d have to sit here in each other’s
company for eons.”

“Thank God we
don’t have to deal with that,” I say and now his arm is right on my
shoulders, his hand curling around and holding me to him.

“It isn’t so
bad,” he says, his voice sounding a bit gritty. “Is it?”

“I can’t
believe you’re putting the moves on me in IKEA,” I joke, making an
attempt to rise again. I don’t make it far. I guess my attempt was
rather half-hearted.

He takes his
arm off and jerks his head back, an incredulous look on his face.
“You think this is me putting the moves on you? Oh, sweetheart, you
haven’t seen anything yet. My moves make you hot, sweaty and
breathless, moaning my name. They don’t have you cracking
jokes.”

I don’t dare
admit that there is something breathless about our proximity to
each other. “They would have me coming up with a motto though,
right?”

He grins
broadly and I notice that crooked tooth on the bottom, which adds a
rugged charm to his already too perfect face. “Wham, bam, thank you
Bram is a good one.”

I shake my
head. “You’re too much.”

“I am too
much,” he says and he somehow manages to get to his feet. “But I
have faith you can handle me.” He holds out his hands for me and
when I place mine in his, admiring how small and delicate they look
compared to him, he pulls me up.

“Thanks,” I
tell him, adjusting myself after the mini couch nearly held us
captive. “By the way, you’re always so tan. Is that fake or do you
just get to go to nice hot places all the time?”

He seems a bit
too pleased at my question. “Why, Nicola, I’m flattered that you’ve
noticed my skin tone. First it was my socks, now the color of my
skin. I’m starting to think that perhaps you’re interested in more
than my landlording skills.” I cross my arms, one leg askance and
give him the “are you kidding me?” look. He continues. “I have a
few favorite spots where the sun shines even when it doesn’t in
this grey city.” He pauses and his gaze is steady. “And I’d be more
than happy to take you and Ava sometime.”

Whoa. I look
at him, used to his generosity and all but a trip together seems to
say something else entirely. “What about Linden and Steph?” I ask
cautiously.

He lazily
lifts a shoulder. “They can come too. It kind of interferes with my
whole seducing thing though.”

I can’t help
but laugh. “Seducing thing?”

He flicks his
finger at me. “Just you wait for it.” But then he strolls over to
the kiosk nearby and gets a card and one of those small pencils and
writes down the product information of the couch and where to find
it in the warehouse. He waves the card at me. “I got all the
details of your horrid little couch.”

“Thank you,” I
tell him and we continue on our way, even though Bram keeps looking
over his shoulder at a nice futon. I nudge him playfully. “I’ve
made up my mind, I can’t afford the futon and the yellow couch is
cute. And cheap.”

“It’s going to
be a real shit to assemble.”

“I’m an old
pro,” I reassure him. “And I’ve got a neighbor who seems to know
how to wield a tool.” I glance at his smug face and quickly add,
“Not that Allen keys are all that complicated.”

When we head
toward the bathrooms, Bram grabs my hand and quickly pulls me
aside. “I have a dare for you.”

“A dare?” I
repeat. I know that Steph and Linden had their first real kiss
because of a dare but I’m not sure what Bram has in mind. Dares are
dangerous, usually embarrassing and, well, kind of immature. I
think I was eleven years old when I last had a dare and it involved
trying to tip over a cow in the middle of the night.