Cherry Adair - Slow Burn

Suzette and Kirsten, Nick’s date du jour, a statuesque blonde of awesome proportions, glanced up as they strolled in, but the music was too loud to have a conversation, and they went back to staining the baseboards.

Nick poured more soda for the two women, then leaned back against the hearth to chug down his own drink before hunkering down to do a little hammering on the floor.

The stone fireplace soared to the cathedral ceiling. Dusty sunshine shone through the plastic-covered windows onto the oak plank floor. The plastic billowed with the breeze like an animal breathing.

Luke envisioned the room filled with his furniture. Two black leather sofas framing the fireplace. The steel wall unit over there. The metal sculpture there. His slick, stylized, monochromatic paintings grouped on the far wall.

He frowned.

Suddenly, a jungle of plants materialized next to the windows and animal print cushions on the sofas. A bowl with a single goldfish appeared on the steel-and-glass coffee table placed between the sofas.

Suzette rose from her position on the floor and sauntered over to give Luke a hug. “I hope that fearsome scowl isn’t aimed at me.” She raised her voice and ran a finger between his brows. She had straight white teeth and a very pretty smile. She smelled of Obsession. She had a brain.

She bored him to tears.

“Kirsten and I are declaring mutiny for a couple of hours so we can eat, then go for a swim. We’ll come back in time to help you finish the floor in here, okay?” Suzette whipped her shirt over her head, exposing nicely tanned breasts and a flat midriff showcased in a minuscule white bikini. Luke’s eyelids didn’t even flicker. “Are you coming?”

He’d noticed the woman was barely dressed, but didn’t care. He pressed his fingertips into his temples and dredged up a smile. “Yeah. In a while.”

Coming? It was a dim memory....

* * *

“YOU DON’T HAVE to skulk. I’m awake.”

Luke looked adorably rumpled as he emerged from his cocoon of blankets to sit up the second she opened the front door the next evening. He’d left a lamp on for her, and the dimly shaded bulb cast a golden glow on his bare chest. He lay back against the arm of the sofa and eyed her yellow silk dress with approval. “You look very daffodilish. How’d it go with Ted?”

Catherine shrugged. “He knows a lot about fungus.”

“He’s a botanist.”

She set her purse on the end table and took off her shoes. “I might never eat a mushroom again.”

“Limiting, but not impossible. Will you see him again?”

Catherine shook her head, then picked up her shoes. “No sparks. Let me put it this way. You offered me white bread when what I crave is devil’s food cake.”

* * *

LUKE SAT ON Nick’s patio, a beer can balanced on his stomach, his bare feet crossed and propped up on the wrought-iron railing. It had been a swelteringly hot day, so they’d ordered pizza and taken a cold one outside. Now soft, damp fog misted around them as they sat in the dark and watched the lights across the Bay twinkle. Appear. Disappear. The fog oddly amplified, then dampened audio and visual details, making the foghorn sound close enough to touch tonight.

“Hey,” Nick said lazily. “Guess who called today? Rochelle Lemmon. She wants us to design the addition, after all.”

Luke glanced at his partner. “Our way?” The Lemmon’s Queen Anne Victorian was a magnificent lady. He and Nick had refused the commission the month before because the couple had insisted on modernizing the extension they wanted on the back of the house. Remodeling Victorians was not only Luke and Nick’s specialty as architects, it was their passion.

“Balconies, stained glass, roof finials and all,” Nick told him triumphantly, taking a swig of his beer. “I gave it to Christy to schedule.”

Luke’s mind raced ahead. He wanted their best craftspeople on this important job. There weren’t that many artisans capable of doing the detailed and intricate work required. The characteristic excesses of the style—projected bay windows, towers, turrets, porches, wall carvings and acres of decorative trim and elaborate brackets—required a sure hand and a keen eye for detail.

“Willie to craft the chimneys. Mike McGuire for the crestings.” Luke glanced casually at his watch. “If those two aren’t done on the Simpson job, the Lemmons will just have to wait.”

“They’ll wait,” Nick said with confidence. He and Luke had a sterling reputation, and their clients were prepared to wait. “Got a late date or something?”

“Cat’s late. Monday was Ted. Tuesday night she went to a Giants game with one of the Bobs. On Wednesday, Allan took her over to Ghiradelli Square. Tonight she’s at the symphony with Kevin. I’ve stopped asking who’s next.”

“That’s the whole point, right? Meeting guys?” Nick shifted on his cushion. “What’s the deal? Are you p.o.’d because she’s a big hit and can change her dates twice as often as her underwear?”

“Do me a favor.” Luke paused with the rim of the can poised below his mouth. He lowered the cold metal to his bare chest. “Don’t mention Cat and underwear in the same breath, okay?”

He looked out at the faint phosphorescent line of the waves breaking on the beach beyond the wide swath of the park across the street. Several people were out walking their dogs despite it being eleven at night. He wondered what Cat and Kev were doing right now. The show would be over. Coffee, he guessed. Hopefully in a crowded place.

“You know, old son, sometimes you sound more like a jealous lover than a concerned big brother. Why is that, I wonder?”

“You should write fiction, Stratton. I’m merely concerned that Cat makes the right choices.”

Luke felt as though he was going to jump right out of his too-tight skin. He wished to hell he could confide in Nick. He and Nick shared damn near everything. Not only did they own a business together, they were closer than most brothers. There was no one on this planet Luke respected and trusted more.

But Nick wasn’t the problem. Luke was.

This was one secret he’d take to his grave. The second his feelings for Cat broke free from their tightly sealed box, he’d be in a world of hurt. Once out, he knew he’d never be able to shove those explosive emotions back where they’d been forced to lie dormant for years.

“And have you seen my place lately?” he said, desperate to change the subject. Which seemed to go from Cat to Cat without missing a beat. “It’s overrun with foliage. If she buys one more plant I’ll need a machete to get in the front door.”

“She’s nesting.” Light glinted off the can as Nick lifted his beer to his lips by radar. “Look at all the antiques she’s suddenly acquired. Shoot, in three weeks she’s transformed the place. Plants, furniture, all those pillows, candles. Girl things. Hell, old son, if I didn’t know better... Nah. Nothing. Neither of us has ever shacked up with a woman. So how would I know what it all means?

“Oh, by the way,” Nick added lazily, “in case I didn’t mention it before, Catherine’s going out with me next week.”

“You?” Luke heard a strange noise, then realized it was his teeth grinding. “‘By the way?’ Since when have you and Cat had that sort of relationship?”

“Hmm. Relationship.” Nick’s voice came out of the misty darkness like The Phantom of the Opera. “I kinda like the sound of that.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Luke dropped his feet from the railing to the floor with a thump. “You keep away from Cat. She’s not sophisticated like the women we date. She doesn’t know how the games are played. She might fall for all your baloney, and you’ll break her heart.”