Читать книгу Like Cats and Dogs - Alexis Stanton - Страница 6

Chapter Two

I think I’m in love.

Enamored, Laura watched South Haven pass by her as she and Frank rode in a cab toward the rental house. Everywhere she looked, she found something else she loved about the small town.

Mature trees were everywhere, so different from the antiseptic Lansing suburb where she lived. Adorable independent businesses lined the main street, unlike the chain stores that dominated the malls of her hometown. Here and there she saw banners announcing an upcoming spring art fair, which, as luck would have it, coincided with her stay in South Haven. The homes were a charming mix of vintage brick and wood houses and sleek modern structures. It was precisely the sort of place she needed in her life.

The cab drove along the shoreline, passing a wooden pier, and she watched with fascination as the late-afternoon sunlight gleamed on the water.

If the water’s bright hue reminded her of the cat owner’s blue eyes, she would just chalk it up to watching too many old movies starring a young, idealistic Henry Fonda.

Frank planted his front feet on the window, just as entranced by the town as his owner.

She pulled her cell from her pocket and dialed. Within a few rings, a familiar voice answered.

“Laura?” Rose Chang exclaimed.

“I’m here! Heading toward my rental.” She glanced out the window. “This place is so beautiful. No wonder you love living here.”

“I can’t wait to see you,” Rose gushed. “How long has it been?”

“Since your wedding, right?” Laura shook her head in disbelief. Where had the time gone? She’d been sleepwalking her way through life since graduation.

“A whole year?” Rose asked in disbelief. “That’s crazy. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Laura almost bounced with eagerness. She and Rose had been through all of college’s craziness together, and maybe when they saw each other, they might be able to rekindle some of that fire and excitement her current existence lacked.

“Just let me get settled in at the house,” she said, “and we’ll go out. First margarita’s on me.”

There was a tiny pause. “Uh…about that,” Rose said.

“What?” Laura laughed. “Come on. Don’t tell me you’ve changed that much since college.”

“Like I said,” Rose said slowly, “we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. I’ll see you later.”

Laura frowned in puzzlement. It wasn’t like Rose to be evasive. She’d been so outspoken when they’d been in school, always the first onstage at the karaoke bar, dragging Laura up with her. They’d belted out “Que Sera, Sera” and “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend” more times than Laura could count.

“Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll see you later.”

She ended the call and sat in pensive silence for the rest of the taxi ride while stroking Frank’s sleek fur. Yet again, she had the feeling that everyone she’d known was moving forward, making progress, while she continued to sleep in her childhood bedroom, surrounded by tacked-up movie posters, and spinning her wheels.

But she wasn’t here in South Haven to brood. She was here to get inspiration, relax, and spend time with Rose. Even though Rose was married to Kenny now—a really terrific guy—it could be like old times again, when the future didn’t matter.

She asked the cab driver to stop briefly at the local market, where she bought a few groceries, including a nice bottle of white wine. It was a financial indulgence, but what the heck. She was on vacation.

Her mood lightened further when the cab pulled up outside the most gorgeous house she’d ever seen. It was a modern home of stone, fronting the lake, with a wide curving driveway leading up to its sizeable front doors. The best part about the two-story structure was that it was all hers. She could turn her music up and sing along without her father grousing about the volume. She could take long, luxurious showers, using tons of towels, and wouldn’t have to face her mother’s baleful looks of reproach.

“Wow…” she said as the taxi driver got out to grab her bags.

She opened the cab’s door and stepped out, careful to keep a grip on Frank’s leash. Once she’d paid and tipped the driver, she walked quickly to the front door and let herself in. Frank trotted ahead of her, just as eager to explore.

“Do you believe this, Frank?” she asked, even though she knew the dog couldn’t answer beyond a well-intentioned bark. “This whole place is ours, just us, for two whole weeks.”

She bit back a gasp as she took in the interior of the house. She remembered from all the home improvement shows her mom watched that the floor plan here was called “open concept.” A vaulted entryway led into a spacious living room, which melded seamlessly into a bright kitchen and dining area. Glass doors opened to a patio with Adirondack chairs and a fire pit.

“This is amazing, Frank.” She set her groceries down in the kitchen, pulling the bottle of wine out and placing it on the counter. “Do you see this?”

What truly took her breath away was the view. The lake shimmered just outside, with elegant homes ringing the shore.

“Oh my gosh,” she whispered.

Her fingers itched for her camera, wanting to capture the landscape.

A wall of photographs snared her attention. In every one, different happy couples beamed at the camera.

“Huh.” She wouldn’t have expected any family photographs in a rental house.

She turned away from the pictures to gaze in wonderment at the lake. Oh, yes, she definitely felt inspired. “Oh, wow. Look at this view. Didn’t look this big on the website.”

Frank, in typical dog fashion, didn’t seem all that interested in the scenery. He scurried off, eager to take in all the details of their new temporary home. He made straight for the stairs that led from the foyer to the second floor.

“Frank,” Laura called after him. “Come here, Frank.”

He didn’t listen, most likely too keen to take in all the new smells, and trotted up the stairs.

Carrying her bags, she followed him up to the second story. As she climbed the stairs, she noticed more photos of more couples, all of them looking blissfully happy. They must have a big family.

Finally reaching the landing, she trailed after Frank as he poked his nose into a bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was tastefully furnished, though it lacked a view of the lake.

“Oh, this is nice.” She could see herself here, away from her bedroom at home and its childishly yellow-and-pink walls. Yes, she could lie in bed here until late in the morning, letting her mind spin with how she would fill up the hours of her vacation.

Her dog was less impressed, quickly turning and leaving the bedroom.

“What?” she asked, curious about whatever had distracted him.

She followed Frank into another bedroom. Her mouth fell open. It was huge, with a big gorgeous bed where her dog already perched, and—even better—the lake glimmered just outside.

“Oh, wow,” she said softly to Frank. “Now this is more like it, huh?” With a happy sigh, she sat down on the bed and stroked Frank’s silky neck. “Yeah. I think it’s exactly what we need.”

She couldn’t wait to head outside and start taking pictures. At least when she was behind the camera, she didn’t feel so adrift.

Fortunately, the car company was able to accommodate Spencer’s requests, and the electric vehicle hummed approvingly as he drove to the rental house. He made certain to follow the GPS, sticking to the recommended routes and avoiding any detours. After stopping at a local health food store for some supplies, he got back in the car to hurry to his destination.

Though South Haven had a definite small-town charm, he didn’t have time to spend seeing the sights or admiring views. He had to write his dissertation—in only two weeks.

His hands tightened on the wheel as he drove down a tree-lined street. What had he been thinking, putting off writing the most important work of his life? Oh, he’d been assembling a mountain of notecards, all of them covered with his tidy, precise handwriting, but when it came to actually writing the dissertation itself…he’d made no progress. And the defense was just fourteen days away.

Susan had been the one to suggest he try getting out of town. “Maybe you need a place to focus,” she’d said when he’d nearly thrown his laptop out the window of his apartment. “Get away from distractions—like me.”

“You aren’t a distraction,” he’d protested, but he hadn’t been entirely truthful. She had carefully monitored him whenever he’d sat down to work, reading over his shoulder or making sounds of disapproval when he’d played computer solitaire. She seemed more invested in his dissertation than he was.

Maybe that wasn’t fair. She only wanted them to start their future together—two PhDs blazing trails in academia, being a power couple in the field of psychology. Wasn’t that what he wanted, too?

It is, he told himself. Stability, security. Finally.

“Make a U-turn,” the GPS said cheerfully.

In her cat carrier in the backseat, Mozart meowed with impatience. She hated car rides.

Spencer cursed softly under his breath as he followed the computer’s instructions. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts he’d missed the house, which just went to show how jumbled he was. Hopefully, a couple of weeks of peace and solitude would help him get his head and priorities straight.

He guided the car up the driveway before parking. Staring through the windshield, he couldn’t believe that this amazing house would be his. The woman he’d rented it from had quoted him a price even a graduate student could afford, so he’d jumped at the chance. Lakefront views and total quiet would definitely ensure that he worked.

After getting his luggage from the trunk, he grabbed Mozart’s carrier and his canvas bag of groceries, then maneuvered everything to the front door. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. Soaring ceilings and a living room with an enormous fireplace greeted him.

“Wow,” he said admiringly, stepping into the open space. “All right, Mozart.”

He set her carrier down and opened the latch on the grate. When she gingerly stepped out, he ran an encouraging hand down her back. “This is home for the next two weeks.”

Even though she hated car rides, Mozart liked new places. After giving one last assessing look at her environment, she padded off to explore.

He straightened, and his gaze fell on an ice bucket sitting atop the kitchen counter. A bottle of white wine stood chilling in the bucket, and a tumbler waited beside it.

“Well,” Spencer said with pleasure, “isn’t that thoughtful?” He examined the bottle, recognizing the label. “It’s good, too.” He picked up the tumbler and saw it was painted with cheerful little daisies. Cute, but not a wineglass. “Deserves a better glass than this.”

A hutch held long-stemmed wineglasses, so he set the tumbler down on one of the shelves and plucked a more appropriate vessel for the chardonnay. He brought the glass to the counter and poured himself some wine.

“Here’s to a productive two weeks.” He raised his glass. It would have been better if someone had been there to toast with him, but that was what this time was about—being alone.

After taking a sip, Spencer put the wine down and went to collect his luggage. It took two trips to bring the three perfectly matched bags up the curved staircase that led to the second floor. Once all his belongings were upstairs, he examined one of the bedrooms. It was a comfortable room with a perfectly pleasant bed, but it wasn’t quite what he wanted.

Further investigating uncovered a second, larger bedroom with a bed that faced a spectacular view of the lake. Wonderful. He stacked his bags neatly on the bed and, after ensuring that they were precisely lined up so that they wouldn’t topple over, he headed back downstairs. There was just one more thing to do to make the house perfect.

A small pedestal table was exactly the right size and height for his portable phonograph. He took a vinyl LP out of his canvas bag, then set it carefully on the turntable.

Mozart continued her exploration of the living room, sniffing delicately at the sofa and chairs.

“Hey, Mozart,” he said over his shoulder. “How do you like the place?”

He gently lowered the needle onto the record, and immediately the elegant strains of “Spring” from Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons filled the house. Spencer smiled to himself. He’d spent months tracking down this particular recording of Vivaldi. It had been his mom’s favorite.

There was something enchanting about an LP versus a digital recording. It had a warmth and humanity that a download could never achieve. He was glad that he’d taken the chance and brought some of his album collection with him. After he worked all day, he could relax in the evening with Vivaldi, Beethoven, and a few vintage oldies. They reminded him of those rare evenings with his parents, when he’d lie between his mom and dad on the living room floor of his grandparents’ house and just listen to music with his eyes closed, sensations of love and belonging enveloping him like an embrace.

The bittersweet memory made his smile fade a little. Maybe someday he could think about his parents without feeling that sense of loss and loneliness.

With the music sweeping through the rooms, he grabbed his wine and ambled down the hallway. If he wasn’t mistaken, the description of the house had included a media room. He doubted he’d have time to watch movies, but the film buff in him had to see if the rental came with the latest equipment.

The media room contained four large recliners and a wide-screen television, along with a sizeable assortment of DVDs. Some of them were new releases, but he picked up one that was still in its plastic wrapper.

“Casablanca.” He smiled to himself. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought the rental company had stocked this particular title just for him.

In the distance, a dog barked frantically. He tried to ignore the sound as he perused the rest of the movies. Singin’ in the Rain, Roman Holiday, An Affair to Remember. The classic romantic films spoke directly to his own personal taste, even though he seldom watched old movies with Susan. She preferred modern, cerebral dramas, and he sat through them dutifully, although they usually left him cold.

The barking grew louder. Spencer looked up from the DVDs when he heard Mozart’s annoyed howl. Something thumped and a woman’s voice cried out in warning. His heart raced when the unmistakable sound of a record scratching ripped through the noise.

The sounds were coming from inside the house.

Still holding his wineglass, he rushed out of the media room—and immediately collided with someone. Chardonnay went everywhere, including all down his pullover.

Spencer stared down at the elfin blonde woman from the train station, the one with the cute face and annoying dog. She stared back at him in shock.

“You!” he exclaimed.

“You!” she said at the same time. She wiped wine off her shirt, her hands skimming over the camera hanging from her neck.

Mozart leapt up onto the kitchen counter and hissed at the dog, who pawed at the counter and barked frantically.

“What’s your dog doing in my house?” Spencer demanded.

“What’s your cat doing in my house?” the woman fired back.

He rushed forward to grab Mozart, cradling her to his body and keeping her away from the excited dog.

“Actually,” the woman demanded, “what are you doing in my house?”

“That’s an easy one. It’s not your house. It’s mine.” He hurried his cat toward her carrier, still waiting in the foyer. “Come on, Mozart. Let’s get you somewhere safe—away from that animal.”

As he tucked Mozart into her carrier, he heard the woman say, “He has a name. That’s okay,” she added softly, presumably for the dog’s benefit. “You’re not a mean dog. No, you’re not. Shh. That’s fine, buddy.”

Spencer strode back into the living room. The woman had clipped a leash onto the irritating dog’s collar. But he barely saw that. All his attention was focused on the phonograph and the record spinning on the turntable.

“Please don’t be scratched.” Anxiously, he knelt down and took the needle off the record. “Please don’t be scratched.” His pulse jumped as he examined the LP, terrified at what he might find. “It took me an entire year to find this album.”

“Can’t you just download it?” the blonde asked with a look that said, What kind of idiot buys records?

He glanced at her with annoyed disbelief. “It’s not the same. It’s like the difference between sunshine and a…” Spencer looked her over. She was just as attractive as she’d been at the train station, except now she gazed at him with exasperation. “A tanning bed.”

There were no scratches on the record. He felt himself calm slightly. Standing up, Spencer faced her. “Okay, would you like to tell me what you and your dog are doing here?”

“Look, all I know is I rented this house for spring break. See?” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and held it out to him. “I had to fill out this whole questionnaire.”

Taking the paper from her, he squinted at it and walked to the kitchen.

“And then I go out to walk my dog,” she said, “and I come back, I find you here, drinking my wine. I picked it up on the way here.”

His face heated. “Oh. I thought it was a gift from the rental company.”

“Nuh-uh,” she said as he pulled out his glasses from their case.

He slipped on his spectacles and reviewed the paper she’d given him. From his briefcase on the counter, he pulled out a similar document, except his wasn’t wrinkled or covered in feminine cursive, like hers.

“I filled out the same questionnaire,” he said, placing his sheet of paper next to her. She glanced at both lists of questions.

“Starting today,” she noted.

“Starting today.”

“Obviously,” she said, “there’s been some sort of mistake.”

“Obviously. But I don’t know how. It was a very personal questionnaire. They seemed to have every other detail covered.” When he’d filled it out, it had seemed particularly strange, but he’d shrugged it off and attributed it to the house owner’s peculiarities. “I mean, Favorite Color, Favorite Food, Favorite Movie.”

“What did you answer for food?” the blonde asked.

“Italian.”

She eyed him. “Me, too.”

“Favorite movie?” he asked, expecting to hear her name something like Titanic or Bridesmaids.

“Casablanca,” she said without hesitation.

“Me, too.”

They stared at each other. Never would he have believed that a woman her age would love that film. But it seemed that she did.

“Well,” she said slowly, “maybe they thought we’re the same person.”

He considered this. “Maybe.” It made an appalling kind of sense.

She held out her hand. “Laura Haley.”

Spencer lifted an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

“If we’re going to be stuck in the same boat,” she said, “we better know each other’s name. Mine’s Laura Haley. What’s yours?”

“Spencer,” he said as he removed his glasses. “Spencer Hodkins.” Seeing as how it was the only polite thing to do, he shook her hand.

A current of awareness passed through him when their hands touched.

He shook his head, dismissing it. Clearly, he was tired and confused. He had a girlfriend, and besides, he’d only just met Laura.

“Well, Spencer Hodkins,” she said. “It appears as though we have ourselves a little problem.”