ThisTimeNextDoor (8 page)

“Can’t you answer a simple question?”

“No.” She grinned. “Whoops. Just did.”

“I’m twenty-nine, in case you were wondering.”

“Really?”

“You thought I was younger, didn’t you?”

Shaking her head, she poured steaming pasta into a bowl, drizzled olive oil over it. “Older.”

“You’re lying.”

“Though I give you credit for picking up on my unfortunate habit for falsehoods, no. I really did.” She lifted a lid to stir something.

“I don’t believe it. I’m still living with my mother.”

“So? You’re not twelve or anything, right? What’s the difference between twenty-nine and thirty-nine?”

The wine seemed to hit him all at once. He leaned against the counter for support. “You didn’t think I was thirty-nine.”

“I didn’t say I did.”

“But—”

She held up a hand. “Shh. Did you hear that?”

He paused, still shaken by the idea of him a decade older and still living at home. That he looked the part. “You think he’s here?”

“I swear, it’s like waiting for a car accident. Drain the asparagus, will you? I’m going to go look.”

She returned a moment later, rubbing her hands on a dish towel, her full lips pressed into a tight, flat line. “Let’s get this party started.”

Chapter 5

ROSE LEFT MARK IN THE kitchen and jogged down the hall to tell Blair her prince had arrived. She was sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed, her back perfectly straight, eyes closed. An iPod rested in her hands; the white earbud cord snaking down her torso was in stark contrast to her black clothes.

Her eyes popped open the second Rose tapped on the doorframe. When she saw Rose’s face she bolted off the bed and yanked the cord out of her ears.

“Deep breath,” Rose said, grabbing her by the shoulders in the doorway. “Stay here. Look cool. Let him stew a little.”

Blair froze, nodded. “Cool. Right.”

“I’ll tell him you’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“No, you shouldn’t rush to him either,” Blair said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take my time.”

“You haven’t seen him since…”

“I’m just going to let him in. Relax. I won’t start anything,” Rose said, adding to herself,
Not now, anyway.

She strode back down the hall to answer the front door, then paused, more than a little annoyed when she heard he was already inside. Two male voices rumbled through the house, one too quiet to make out the words, one very clear.

“Mark Johnson,” she heard John say. “My mom told me you were back home.”

Rose put a hand on the wall and drew in a breath, telling herself to calm down. She’d promised Blair she would stay out of it, but as she stood there, knowing she’d have to listen to John's cheerful, arrogant charm in person, she wondered if that was going to be possible.

Mark said something in reply she couldn’t make out. Then John's infectious laugh rippled through the air, setting Rose’s teeth on edge.
 

“Don’t put yourself down,” John said. “You’re a fucking genius, always were. Maybe we can go into business together someday. Cash in on some of those brains.”

Greedy bastard. He thought everything and everyone was ripe for the picking—all of humanity a buffet, with him holding the plate. Lifting her chin, she strode around the corner into the foyer.

“Perhaps we could sell them on eBay,” Mark said, then glanced at Rose. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets and his voice was quiet, but he’d placed himself directly in front of John, blocking his way into the living room.

Following Mark’s gaze, John turned and saw her.

For a moment they just stared at each other. Rose knew her face was probably as red as her manicure, but she finally managed to smile, barely, and say, “Hello, John,” without spitting.

He, of course, had no trouble at all. Gorgeous as always, charming as always. “Rosie Posey,” he said softly. “Nice to see you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mark frown.

Typical of John. After everything he’d done, he thought he could get out of trouble by being cute and reminding her of better times.

Big mistake. “Blair will be out in a few minutes. She’s not feeling well.”

His brow creased in concern that, damn him, looked sincere. “Was she sleeping? I hope you didn’t wake her up. She doesn’t have to get up for my sake.”

“
Now
you care,” Rose said.

“I deserve that. Do your worst.” John sighed, ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom? I was in such a hurry to get here, I didn’t use the one at the airport.”

For a second Mark stayed where he was. Then he nodded and stepped aside. After John patted him on the arm and strode past him into the house, Mark raised his eyebrow at Rose.

“Rosie Posey?” he asked.

“I liked your blocking action. Didn’t have a maneuver for the Bathroom Trick, though, did you?” Making jokes helped her keep from screaming. Seeing John again was harder than she’d expected. Her hands were shaking. “Let’s eat. The pasta’s cold and mushy by now, but I don’t want him to think we’re going to rearrange our lives for his unannounced visit.”

He followed her into the kitchen and took the plate she handed him. “Rosie Posey?” he repeated.

“Do you mind if we just load our plates as it is? Normally I’d stir the sauce and penne together for a moment to finish it off, but—no, you’re right, I should. Why skip it just because he’s here? Hand me the pasta.” She reached out for the bowl behind him.

“It’s fine. Let’s just eat it as is.”

“The asparagus is cold.”

“I’ll nuke it. Can I pour you some wine?” He took the bowl of asparagus from her and put it in the microwave.

“I’d rather have a martini.” The mushroom sauce was lumpy. She’d forgotten to cook the chicken. Or was it prawns?

How could he just swagger in here and smile at her like that?

“Start with this. I’ll look for the booze.” Mark put a glass of wine in her hands.

What a fool she’d been, thinking she could joke and tough it out. Assuming he’d never visit, let alone stay.

She’d been wrong. Not that she knew why he was there, but she feared—and hoped—

Oh, she didn’t know what she feared and hoped.

Closing her eyes, she reminded herself he was Blair’s problem, not hers.

Blair touched her shoulder, making her jump. She was wearing her coat. “We’re going to go out for a drink. Sorry about skipping dinner.” Her eyes were bright, her cheeks pink.

“It smells incredible,” John added. He stood behind Blair with his hand on her shoulder. Blair didn’t shake it off.

“But she can’t drink,” Mark said to John.

“Just alcohol, dude. I think other liquids are encouraged,” he said with a grin.

Rose turned back to the stove, pretending to adjust the burners. “See you later.” When, after a long minute, she finally heard the door slam, she put a hand on the counter and closed her eyes.

“Drink.” Mark had an arm around her, his free hand guiding the wine to her lips. “Then we’ll sit down and talk.”

She gulped it without tasting. “I need to grate the Parmesan.”

“I hate cheese. Let’s just eat the pasta with your awesome sauce.”

She let him guide her to the kitchen table. But as she took the fork he handed her, she shook her head. “I set the table in the dining room.”

“I hate dining rooms. It’s nice in here.” He shoved the newspapers to the side and put both plates on the table. “Eat while I look for the hard stuff.”

“I’m not hungry.” She finished her wine, gazed into the bottom of the empty glass.

“Sit.” Two firm hands on her shoulders pressed her down into a chair. The pasta was as pale as the sauce. The basil was still sitting on the counter. And the asparagus was in the microwave. “This is the worst dinner I’ve ever made in my life.”

A martini appeared on the table in front of her. “Now you’re just bragging.” He sat down next to her and made a show of unfurling a paper napkin in the air. “I hope you don’t mind if I start eating. I’m starving.”

She sipped her drink, heart still in her throat, head spinning.

When the alcohol began to take the edge off, she let herself settle back into her chair, regained some of her earlier calm, fantasy though it was, and watched him dig in. He managed to consume an impressive mound of penne with each forkful.
 

“Did you learn to shovel like that in Wisconsin?” she asked. “All that snow?”

He grinned, cheeks bulging, and saluted her with his wine. “She’s back.”

She took a bite. “It’s not terrible, is it?”

They ate in silence for several minutes. When she saw he was slowing down, she shoved the plate away to focus on the martini. “Imagine how good it would’ve been with the other half of the ingredients.”

“I hate ingredients,” he said.

She laughed. Held up her glass. “Here’s to hate.”

He tapped his glass against hers. “To hate.”

They drank. She took another bite. It wasn’t bad at all, actually.

“So,” Mark said, pushing away his empty plate. “What the hell just happened?”

“Guess I can’t cook under stress.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She glanced at him, then back at her plate. “She thinks she has to give him another chance.”

“If you don’t want to explain, you can say it’s none of my business.”

Empty stomach, wine, martini. Putting her hands on the table, she tested her leg stability before standing up all the way. “Let’s fix the furnace. I could use a distraction.”

He shook his head but followed her out of the kitchen and down the hall. She grabbed the duct tape and flashlight from the hall table before making her way to the basement stairs.

“You aren’t as steady on your feet as you were earlier,” he said. “Why don’t you hold the light while I get up on the ladder?”

Halfway down the stairs into the gloom, she turned the beam of light on him. “You brought a ladder?”

Squinting into the light, he said, “Rose.”

“What?”

He turned around and went back up the stairs to the house.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To get a ladder. Why don’t you come with me?”

The darkness was soothing. She sat down on the steps and clicked the flashlight on and off. It wasn’t that she was jealous, not the way they thought. How could she be jealous of an unplanned pregnancy, a relationship without love, and no time to sort it out properly?

“What happened, Rose?”

And she wasn’t dying to have a baby. Someday, probably, but she was only twenty-six, and her mom had been warning her since puberty about the price of growing up
with
your babies instead of
before
.

“I really didn’t expect it to hit me this hard,” she said. “I’m sorry. Very embarrassing.”

The stairs creaked as he came down to join her, sitting one step above hers, his legs stretching down alongside her raised knees. He didn’t say anything, which was nice. Just waited.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she finally said.

* * *

The beam of the flashlight lit up the dust motes in the dark basement like fireflies.

“A long way back, ages and ages ago,” she said, “so long ago I can hardly remember it, John and I had a little thing going.”

Mark let out an audible breath. “Rosie Posey.”

Hearing that nickname on his lips in the darkness gave her an odd shock. She stifled a shiver. “I didn’t blame Blair. Well, I did at first. The baby changed everything, of course.”

“She’s only, what, a few months pregnant?”

“Not even. She tested positive at only eleven days.”

“So, how long ago was this long ago, ancient relationship?”

This was what she didn’t want to get into. It gave the wrong impression—of Blair, of herself, even of John. Flicking the flashlight back off, she stood up. “It ended the night the baby was conceived. Let’s go upstairs, shall we? You’re right, the furnace can wait.”

He didn’t get up. “Jesus,” he said. “But why did you move out here? Are you a masochist?”

“Not at all.” She nudged his knee with her foot. “Cashing in on my victimhood. Since she got herself knocked up by my boyfriend, Blair has to let me live here rent-free. See? I’m actually quite mercenary.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Smart man.” She shoved him harder. “You going to stay there all night?”

Apparently.

“I can’t believe she’d do that,” he said softly, not moving.

“Don’t think less of her. Please. She knew I’d just decided to break up with him. And she told me right away what happened, the very next morning. She cried harder than I did.”

His hands found hers in the dark, took the flashlight from her. The sudden light blinded her eyes. “You cried?”

She kicked him and took the flashlight. “I got over it.” He was big, but she wedged her foot under his ribs to find the next step and climbed up and over him.

“Obviously,” he said behind her. “That’s why I found the chicken in the dishwasher.”

To hell with what he thought. She jogged up the stairs to the house. The kitchen was a mess, even after she took the poultry out of the top rack of the Whirlpool. The basil could be saved, but the rest would go in the trash. Next time her ex-boyfriend came to woo her pregnant roommate, she’d order takeout.

Mark came up behind her, rinsed his plate in the sink.

After a couple minutes of silent, side-by-side dishwashing, she said, “I just need to know why he’s here so I know how I should react, how I should treat him, how I should feel.”

He handed her a handful of rinsed silverware to put in the dishwasher.

“Is he here to tell Blair he’s changed his mind?” she asked. “Or to start planning for shared custody? Single custody? Marriage?”

“Was it only that one, uh, time, or did they date?”

“They dated. There wasn’t even a few days’ breather.”

“It’s official—I don’t understand women. How could you stand that?”

“It sounds worse than it was,” she said. “He and I never got serious. We met at the gym, started working out at the same times, having a smoothie at the club afterwards. One thing led to another and he ended up at my place. It was mostly a physical relationship. We never talked about the future, or even if we were exclusive.”