Kept Page 11

  Nothing from Mark.

  In the kitchen the toaster dinged. Food and a shower, a little makeup and Advil—that would make her feel better. Then she could put yesterday behind her.

  The afternoon sped by as she edited. Her stomach rumbled around five, and she made a salad, scarfing it down while she worked. This book had everything going right for the heroine. The stranger she’d hit on—he’d turned out to be good in every way.

  Too bad real life hadn’t cooperated.

  She took another break to clean up the kitchen, then returned to edits.

  A knock sounded at her door.

  Miska looked out her window. What time was it? Six thirty? Seven?

  At her door, she looked through the peephole. Tracy stood outside.

  Miska stepped back, stomach churning. Of course. She swept her hair over her shoulder and drew in a slow breath. Tracy had every right to bawl her out, every right to call her whatever name she wanted. Miska would let her, then apologize and hope nothing worse happened—that in the months to come they could be good neighbors even if they weren’t friends. She forced a plastic smile and opened the door.

  Tracy looked up from the DVD case in her hand. “Miska! How are you?”

  “I’m—fine.” She swallowed the tangle in her throat. “I’m fine. You?”

  “Good. Ready for the NBA playoffs to be over. ’Course then it’ll be baseball.” Tracy heaved a sigh. “Men and sports, although I don’t think I’d understand a man who didn’t like sports. Oh, well. I thought I’d see if you were busy or if you wanted more of the Crawleys.”

  The picture on the front of the DVD registered. Tracy wanted to watch more Downton Abbey? After she’d hit on Garrett?

  “You can say no, Miska. I won’t be offended.”

  “Oh! No, I was just… thinking. I’m actually—” Miska gestured behind her. Maybe Garrett hadn’t told her yet. Could that be? She laughed in relief. “I was working. My brain’s a little fried. Come on in.”

  “Don’t stop on my account.”

  “I’m not.” Really, they were both too polite sometimes. The thought made her laugh again. “I didn’t realize how stiff I was until I got up. I’ve been at my desk awhile.”

  Tracy followed her into the kitchen. “What are you working on?”

  “A romance. Very unrealistic. Girl chases sexy man for a night of fun and discovers he’s the man of her dreams. So not real.”

  Tracy nodded. “No joke.”

  Miska opened the fridge. “Root beer?”

  “Can I bug you for water? My dress was a little snug.”

  “Sure. No popcorn tonight?”

  “If you want some, go ahead. But none for me.” Tracy leaned against the counter, one lip pooching out. “Just veggies and fish in my future.”

  “You look fine to me.”

  “Please come to my next fitting. The lady got on me like I was living off fudge.”

  “Tell her it’s that time of the month.”

  “It is, actually. Maybe that’s the problem. I better be careful, though, just in case. Tell me what you had for dinner. I’ll live vicariously.”

  Miska remembered Garrett’s hands on her shoulders, propelling her down his hallway. “Just a salad with a hard-boiled egg.”

  “Seriously? Do you eat like that every day?”

  Miska handed Tracy her glass. “I missed my run this morning. I haven’t missed in… months.”

  “You run every single day?”

  Every day she was home alone.

  “What made you miss?”

  Tracy really didn’t know. Why hadn’t Garrett told her? “I was stupid last night and woke up with a hangover.”

  “Oh, honey.”

  The word endeared Tracy to her, and after a moment she realized how much Tracy sounded like her mother. Oh, sweetness. Mom’s voice rang fresh in her ear, clearer than it had been in months.

  Tracy’s face swam.

  “Miska.” Tracy clutched her hand. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “I’m okay.” Tracy would find out. Why not tell her herself? Control the damage? “I need to tell you something.”

  Tracy eased onto a stool. “Okay.”

  “I—” She clamped her lips together. If only she could do it over. The last thing she wanted was to ruin this delicate friendship. “I went out last night.”

  Tracy nodded.

  Miska jumped on her understanding. What people did when they were drunk, that didn’t count, right? “There was this guy. We had a lot to drink, and he tried to get me to go home with him.”

  Tracy’s voice was tender. “Did you?”

  “No. The cab driver kicked him out and brought me home. But I was really drunk, Tracy. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I just wanted someone to talk to.” She swallowed. “I knocked on Garrett’s door.”

  Tracy stiffened.

  Miska grabbed her hand. “Nothing happened. I promise. Garrett was more than the perfect gentleman.” Far more than she’d deserved. “But I was feeling sorry for myself and so drunk that I kind of… I kind of hit on him.” She grimaced at the words. “I just couldn’t stand having that between us. And obviously you didn’t know.”

  Tracy’s mouth tipped into a sad smile. “No, I didn’t.”

  “It was my fault. I was drunk, I was lonely, and Garrett was just there. But he totally turned me down and unlocked my door for me and left. He never stepped inside. I want you to know that. He’s—you’ve got a real gem on your hands, and I’m completely jealous.”

  Tracy studied her.

  “I couldn’t keep that between us. You’re my friend, and I’m really sorry.”

  “I’m your friend, huh?”

  “I hope you are. If you want to leave, I get it.”

  “No, Miska. I forgive you. It’s not okay, but I forgive you.” She sighed.

  Miska held her breath, not feeling safe yet.

  “He turned you down? Just like that?”

  “He did. He said something about having had enough of barf and blood and me spending the night in my bathroom.”

  “Did you?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Tracy rested her chin on her hand and traced patterns in the granite.

  What was she thinking? “Are we okay?”

  “I think so.” She glanced around the kitchen. “Thanks for telling me.”

  Miska fiddled with her glass. Tracy might not completely trust her, but at least she hadn’t thrown her away. For the moment, she’d be thankful for that.

  “Why is it…” Tracy moistened her lips. “Why go looking for a man when you’re with Mark? Do you have some sort of understanding?”

  “The only understanding I have is that I don’t know where we stand. He tells me he’s leaving his wife, but then…” She fiddled with a dish towel. “I’m tired of being jerked around. I want him to make up his mind.”

  “Why would you trust a man who’d have an affair?”

  “Because she had the affair first. He’s tried to put it behind them, but that’s a hard thing to get over.”

  “So his having an affair doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like he’s getting revenge.”

  “If it were revenge, don’t you think I’d pick up on that? After a year?”

  “A year, huh? I hate to say it, Miska, but I wouldn’t trust any man willing to have an affair with me, no matter what his wife did.”

  “No offense, Tracy, but I think it’s pretty crazy to wait for your wedding night for sex.”

  Tracy laughed. “That’s fair. You know why we’re waiting?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to be able to trust him. I want him to know that I’m faithful to him and I want to know that he’s faithful to me. No doubts, no wondering. I want our marriage to last, and if we jumped the gun, I’d never trust him. What kind of a relationship is that?”

  There was truth in her words. If she and Mark married, it wouldn’t be all roses, but real life wasn’t like that anyway. Only
the romance genre pretended otherwise. Besides, it wasn’t like Tracy or Garrett hadn’t been with other people.

  “Wait. Neither of you are virgins. So how does that figure into waiting and trusting each other?”

  “All of that was before we met. We were different people then.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s not that interesting.”

  “Then I won’t put it in a book.”

  Tracy laughed. “You write too?”

  She could never tell Tracy about her blog. “When I’ve got a few brain cells left after editing.”

  “Well, I’m not too worried about ending up in a story.” She blew out a sigh and spread her palms across the counter. “Okay. My junior year in high school I dated this guy. Ethan.”

  “Ethan. I dislike him already.”

  “Good girl. He was a senior, had this surfer-dude look in the middle of the ’burbs. We sat next to each other in two classes because our names were in alphabetical order.”

  Miska straightened. “I don’t know your last name.”

  “Coleman. And he was Cone. So he was always right behind me. He was gorgeous—”

  “If you’re into surfer dudes.” She pretended to stick a finger down her throat.

  “I know. Who likes that?” Tracy grinned and shuddered. “Anyway, at the time my sixteen-year-old brain thought he was gorgeous and funny. We dated a couple months before he tried to take things farther. When I didn’t want to, he pressured me. Told me if I loved him—”

  “You’d prove it. Because love is action, not talk. I think Ethan had cousins at my school.”

  “Probably. So I gave in. Didn’t want to at first, but I got used to it and began to really like it, and then it was over. He moved on. I was devastated.”

  “Then what?”

  “A friend invited me to her youth group, and everything changed. I read what God said in the Bible and vowed to wait until my wedding. Since then, I have.”

  “All that time? Going without?”

  “Nine long years. But it ends in three months and four days. I can’t wait.”

  “What about Garrett?”

  Tracy paled. “Oh, no no no.”

  “Come on.”

  “Miska—”

  “Please. Tell me.”

  Tracy eyed her. “Why?”

  “Because guys don’t wait, Tracy. They don’t. If he’s only been waiting since he met you, I’m not buying it. And if he is waiting, I want to know why. Because it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why couldn’t it make sense?”

  “Because he’s living differently than every other man I’ve met. They don’t wait for marriage, Tracy. If you don’t put out, they go elsewhere.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Prove me wrong. Tell me Garrett’s story.”

  Tracy fiddled with her cup. “Fine. The condensed version.”

  It would do.

  “Garrett picked bad friends in high school, guys that got their hands on magazines and passed them around.”

  Miska frowned. What guy didn’t like those magazines?

  “He hid it from his parents, but he was with a couple girls in high school. Once he went to college, he got tired of hiding it and went pretty wild. It caused a lot of problems between him and his parents. Then he went to law school and lived with guys who partied all the time. You know.”

  She did. “How long ago was this?”

  “Maybe a year before I met him. Maybe nine months. He moved back just as I moved here and started my job. He was very quiet when we met, very introspective.”

  “What happened?”

  “I can’t get into it. It’s not something he wants to talk about, not something his family likes to remember. But he went through something about a year before we met that made him stop and look at his life, made him get right with God. That’s part of the reason he came back to Chicago. He wanted to fix things with his family and have some accountability.”

  “So he’d gotten out of that right before you met.” Miska swished the words around in her mouth, then spit them out. “Not that long, really.”

  “Long enough.”

  Maybe. “I can’t picture him introspective.”

  “Yeah, he’s loosened up. Jordan and Dillan say the quiet Garrett was a little unnerving. But considering what God was doing in his life, it makes sense.”

  “What does that mean? ‘What God was doing in his life’?”

  “It means that God was bringing things to his mind, working on him to get rid of sin. It’s what God does to all of us Christians every day. He’s molding us, making us more like him—if we let him.”

  Sounded boring. Miska held the words back. She wouldn’t hurt Tracy by saying them.

  But the light in Tracy’s eyes faded.

  Rats, it must have shown. Miska ran a hand over the granite, wiping away imaginary crumbs.

  Garrett, the partier. She could see it.

  But his brother… “And then there’s Dillan.”

  “I know. Talk about brothers being opposite—in every way. Sometimes I wonder who God will send him, you know? Who my sister-in-law will be.” Tracy rested her chin in her palm. “Dillan deserves the best.”

  Which wasn’t her. She knew it. Dillan—the man who didn’t date much while his brother partied through school—deserved a woman she couldn’t even begin to imagine. Someone sweet and honest, someone kind and gentle, someone who probably didn’t exist.

  Just like the men in the novels she edited. Crazy sexy—and dedicated to one woman.

  Poor Tracy. Poor Dillan. Like the rest of the world, they were in for disappointment.

  The conversation turned to other things before Miska popped the disc into the DVD player. As Mary Crawley ruined her sister’s romance, Tracy’s words about Dillan and Garrett returned. Brothers being opposite—in every way.

  Curled up in her corner of the couch, Miska stilled. Surely Tracy didn’t mean that Dillan— She couldn’t mean—

  There was only one way to find out.

  Tomorrow. Lasagna. Lunch.

  Chapter Fifteen

  This time Miska went for simple. The condo was clean, but she left the stack of paperwork on her desk. Already wearing her favorite jeans, she changed the scooped-neck shirt for a black camisole and form-fitting, lightweight, gray sweatshirt zipped halfway up her chest.

  She brushed her teeth, dabbed a little perfume on her wrists, then went for the pièce de résistance. She carried the small lasagna to the hallway and waved its herb and tomato scent by Dillan’s door.

  He and his tuna had no chance today.

  Lasagna safely on her table, she hurried back to Dillan’s door and knocked before the scent vanished. He opened the door quickly, like he’d been about to leave.

  “Hey. How’s the arm today?” she asked.

  He looked at the blue cast as if he needed to ask it. “Better. Doesn’t hurt much anymore.”

  “That’s great.” Yes, he was very different than Garrett who would have said a lot more, teased her, and given her something to go on. “Remember that lasagna recipe I mentioned? I found it and made some for lunch. You hungry?”

  His eyebrows went up. “Lasagna?”

  “I can’t eat it all, and I thought of you and that sad can of tuna. You got a few minutes?”

  He nodded as if he didn’t need to think twice. “Definitely. I love lasagna. Thanks, Miska.”

  “No problem.”

  Inside her condo, the aroma wrapped around them. He inhaled, long and deep. “Man, I was sure I was making this up a minute ago. I could smell it next door.”

  “Really?” Ah, she loved playing dumb. “Have a seat at the table. I’ll grab dressings.”

  Instead he followed her to the fridge. “Anything I can help with?”

  She looked up at him, aware of his warmth. “Umm, drinks maybe.” She nodded at a cabinet. “Glasses are up there.”

  He turned his back to her as he opened the cabinet, muscles in his shoulders
bunching beneath the thin fabric of his T-shirt. She searched the fridge for salad dressings before he caught her staring.

  “What do you want to drink?”

  It felt so good to have him here. Almost like he belonged. “Water’s fine. You want A&W?”

  “I’ll do water.”

  She set the salad dressings on the table while he filled glasses. By the time he joined her, she’d cut the lasagna into pieces and slid a piece onto his plate.

  He eased onto the chair across from her, her usual seat with the view out the windows. “This looks great.”

  “Thanks.” She gave herself the smallest piece. “Do you want to pray again?”

  “Sure.” He lowered his head and closed his eyes, and she did the same. “Heavenly Father, thank you for the food you’ve given us and for the income you’ve provided Miska. Please bless her for sharing with me, and bless this food to our body. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

  She mumbled an amen, feeling very fake. But when in Rome and all that. She slid her napkin onto her lap. “May I ask why you pray before you eat?”

  “Keeps the calories from sticking to you.” He dished a large helping of salad onto his plate before looking at her and breaking into a grin.

  She took the salad bowl from him. “You’re hilarious.”

  “So I hear.” He drenched his salad with honey mustard dressing, negating any value the lettuce had. Well, he was in his twenties. Clearly his metabolism was still going.

  “Do you think it’s wrong not to pray over food? Because I never have. Today’s the second time I’ve ever had my food prayed for.”

  This time his expression was more serious as if he were a bit shocked. But then he shrugged and took knife and fork to the lasagna. “It’s not wrong. My family always prayed at meals. It’s just a way of thanking God for what he’s done for you.”

  She dribbled balsamic dressing over her lettuce. “What’s he done for you?”

  “He’s done everything. He’s given me hope, a future; he’s given me health. He’s given me a great family, work that I love. Peace. Security.”

  His words rolled around in her mind. She could see crediting a higher power with family, because no one could pick that. “I don’t understand health. You run. You’re the one taking care of your body.” She waved a hand at his salad. “Except for that.”