Читать книгу A Lick and a Promise - Jo Leigh - Страница 8

DANIEL LOOKED at the clothes in his closet as he tucked his white towel around his waist. He had no idea what to wear to this Sunday-night dinner. He’d only had glimpses of his neighbors in the four days he’d lived here. Mostly he’d been buried in unpacking, and although he wasn’t quite finished, he’d gotten most of it done.

He gazed around his new bedroom. His furniture looked good against the white walls, his favorite books placed neatly in the shelves. He’d even splurged and bought a new tartan bedspread with pillow shams, something he’d never had before. But this was his new beginning, and there was no law that said he had to have a traditional quilt just because he’d always had one. He could do whatever he pleased. Go nuts. Buy art because he liked it, not just because it would be a good investment.

Starting tomorrow, he’d go back to his regular world, but he had the feeling it wouldn’t be the same. Stepping outside of his comfort zone had already changed him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Last night, for dinner, he’d ordered a Hawaiian pizza. He’d hated it, but that was beside the point.

Back to the wardrobe. Nothing seemed right. Not his jeans, not his suits. Finally, he settled on something simple. Black slacks, white shirt, gray sportjacket. And what the hell, the purple tie his niece had given him last Christmas.

The decision made, he went back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. As he shaved, he studied himself in the mirror, not at all happy with how long his hair had gotten. He’d visit the barber next week. But he was pleased with the bathroom itself. A place for everything and everything in its place.

As the seconds ticked by, he grew more and more concerned about the evening’s activities. Yes, he wanted to meet his neighbors, but did he really want to spend a whole night with all those strangers? Maybe he should wait, meet a few of them at a time, ease himself in instead of diving into the deep end. He’d bought wine. Maybe he should go up, give them the wine, then come up with some excuse why he couldn’t stay.

That sounded right. He’d have a quick look at who he would be dealing with, then he’d be better prepared for future encounters.

He wiped the last of the shaving cream off his face and neck, then headed to the bedroom. It was almost five, and he wanted to be on time.

“MY BASIL IS DEAD.”

“Oh, no. When are the services?”

Margot flipped her hair back with her free hand and adjusted the volume on her phone. “You’re a riot, Corrie, and you should immediately go on the road with your act.”

“Only you, Margot, my dear, can tell a person to go jump in a lake in such an endearing fashion.”

“I must get fresh basil, or the entire meal is going to be dog chow. So come early and let everyone in.”

“They have basil at Martini’s.”

“They have lousy basil at Martini’s. I’m going to the Garden of Eden.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Margot looked at the ingredients for her grilled pizzas. Everything was ready, the dough was sufficiently rested, the coals in the grill on her patio were already lit. She’d have to cab it to the Garden, but their produce was the best, and it was worth it. She reminisced with longing about when she lived next door to her parents’ grocery store, where everything needed for any meal was footsteps away. But she’d spent years scoping out the best of the best food sources in Chelsea and beyond, and most of the friendly purveyors delivered. If there was enough time. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“But Daniel is coming.”

“Tell him to just breathe hard until I get back.”

Corrie sighed, but Margot could tell she was smiling. “Fine. Be late to your own party.”

“It’s just us guys,” Margot said, grabbing her pocketbook as she headed for the door. “There’s wine in the fridge.”

“Hurry.”

“Yes, dear.” Margot clicked off her phone, and dashed out, hoping like hell she could quickly catch a cab. She was actually a little nervous about tonight. She still hadn’t seen Daniel, but boy, those in the know, Corrie, Devon, Eric, had drooled over his potential.

As a group, they had more in common with Queer Eye for the Straight Guy than they should. They loved nothing better than sitting in the local eateries and dishing on the clientele, and how to revamp them. Unfortunately, they rarely got to use their considerable skills with real-life people. Only twice, actually, and Tad didn’t count. One shopping trip with Devon and Eric had been enough to send him scampering to Yonkers on the first train. So Daniel was a treat indeed.

She ignored the elevator and raced down the stairs, ending up on the street in half the time. And as luck would have it there was a Yellow Cab, right there, and she flopped into the back seat with her heart still racing.

“Garden of Eden on 7th.”

The cabbie took off, and Margot closed her eyes. Despite the excitement of Daniel, her thoughts were never far from work these days. She’d made it through Thursday and Friday, and she was pretty sure she could handle Monday. She still couldn’t believe they hadn’t given her more staff. It was insane trying to do everything she had to with only Bettina and Rick. They were nice enough, but she’d had to show them every step, every trick. Whompies was a major chain, and she couldn’t believe there wasn’t money in the budget for more stylists. But when she’d talked to Janice, her boss had strongly implied that if Margot couldn’t make it work with what she had, perhaps she wasn’t the right person for the job. It made her so crazy—

No. Today she would stop obsessing about work and focus on Daniel. She was dying to see him. God, she hoped he wasn’t a total stick-in-the-mud, because that would ruin everything. Although, when it came to persuasion of the personal kind, she was pretty much a tank, rolling over all obstacles in her way, whatever or whoever she had to squish.

The cab turned onto 7th, and she dug her money out of her purse. If only she could be as assertive in her work as she was with her friends. When it came to being a food stylist, she was hell on wheels. But negotiating? Playing well with others?

Oh, well. She’d continue to strive. Take baby steps until she could stride with pride. And pray she didn’t self-destruct.

It was time to buy basil. And maybe some more fresh flowers. Oh, and some marinated olives. It was almost five, she’d better jet.

THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR surprised Daniel as he was on his way to get the wine from the kitchen. Corrie was there, only this time she was wearing this long pale dress that flowed over her tall, slim frame. Her hair was short and spiky, and she’d made her eyes up with quite a bit of dramatic black. Next to her was a man taller than she, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants. He looked as if he’d stepped out of a shampoo commercial.

“Daniel, hi. This is Devon,” Corrie said.

Daniel put out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Corrie mentioned you when we met.”

Devon gave her an odd look, and she seemed equally puzzled.

“Oh, no. This isn’t Nels. My husband. Who can’t come tonight. This is Devon. He lives on the other side of Margot. With Eric.”

“Ah,” Daniel said.

“We’re here to get you,” Corrie said, looking past him into his apartment. “Wow, it looks great.”

He stepped to the side. “Come in.”

“We can’t stay long,” she said as she checked out the room as if she wanted to redecorate. “Margot’s getting basil so I have to be the hostess until she gets back.”

“Margot?”

“She’s first tonight. I think she’s making grilled pizza.”

Devon breezed by him, heading straight for the bookcases. He eyed them slowly, row by row, nodding his approval. “Interesting stuff. Lots of architecture.”

“That’s what I do.”

Devon grunted, and Daniel wasn’t sure if it was in approval or something else. Given what these two had on, he should really go change into something more casual.

“Come, come. Hurry. There’s going to be pouting people in the hallways if I don’t let them in.”

“I—”

Devon hooked an arm around his shoulder, which wasn’t a big deal, really. “Come on, New Guy. Into the fray.”

“Wine.”

“Ah, it’s not time to whine yet,” Devon said, leading him toward the door. “That’s for after you meet the others.”

“Um, no. I have some wine.”

“Oh.” The tall man let him go. “We must have vino.”

“Then I’ll go, uh, get it.”

“That’d be good.” Devon smiled, a little too kindly, as if Daniel was feebleminded.

He went to the kitchen, pulled out two bottles, one an excellent merlot, the other a decent chardonnay. When he got back to the living room, Corrie was gone, the door was open and Devon waited.

Walking as casually as he could, he closed his door behind him, silently rehearsing his speech about how he couldn’t stay long.

HE WANTED MORE WINE. Lots more wine. Because he needed to be drunk to process this…menagerie.

Corrie was the normal one, and it turned out she was an ex-exotic dancer who’d had to give up her career after she’d broken her leg.

Devon was a bartender at something called a she-been, and his partner, Eric, was a chiropractor who believed in auras and spirit guides. Then there was Anya, whom Daniel guessed was in her seventies. She’d had several long, involved conversations with her pets—three poodles, two cats and a parakeet. Her best friend was Rocco, also in his golden years. He was an ex-boxer, and his whole face, not just his ears, looked like a bruised cauliflower. Rocco watched soap operas, and he knitted. Evidently, he knitted a lot, and all the tenants in the building were recipients of his largesse. Daniel kept trying to take off the floppy yellow cap, and Devon kept putting it back on his head.

The introductions were over now, and all anyone could talk about was the missing hostess. Margot. He’d already learned she was a food stylist. He’d heard of the profession, although he’d never met anyone in the trade. It made him wonder about the market for such a thing. Was the pay very good? By the look of her rather extravagantly decorated apartment, it must be.

Anyway, she was young, talented, witty, bright… going places. He’d love her. Every one of them assured him of that. He wasn’t so sure. But, he had to admit, he was curious.

Just as Corrie came by to fill his glass, the front door swung open and a woman breezed in. To a chorus of applause, no less. She carried a big grocery bag, and her long dark hair billowed behind her as she crossed the room.

So this was Margot. She was taller than he’d supposed, and quite ample, although she wore a scarlet cape, so he couldn’t really see much. Besides, he was too busy looking at her face to be bothered with the rest. She was…striking. A presence. Large eyes, a lush smile that made it hard not to grin in return, high cheekbones. Her hair came down past her shoulders, thick and flowing. Everything about her seemed larger than life.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. I couldn’t get a cab on 7th, and traffic was hell, but I have everything now so we can get cooking, and I hope everyone’s had wine and isn’t upset and oh, my God.”

This she said when she stopped right in front of him. Staring, mouth open, the whole bit. Talk about knowing how to make a stranger feel welcome.

“You’re…delicious.”

He hadn’t blushed in a long time. Not since college, at least that he could recall. But he was blushing now. Wishing like hell he’d made his excuse about five minutes ago. It wasn’t too late. He could still escape before he burst into flames.

She thrust the grocery bag into Eric’s hand, never once shifting her gaze from him. “I’m Margot.”

“So I gathered.”

In a move that would have impressed Liberace, she whipped off her cloak and tossed it behind her, directly into Corrie’s waiting arms.

Now that he could see more of her, he was struck by how different she was from most of the women he knew. Miles away from those he dated, who tended to be borderline anorexic overachievers with exotic allergies. There was nothing of that in the woman in front of him. Even her dress looked like something a movie star would wear. Long, black and red, with a big glittery pin gathering the material right under her breasts. Which was what they deserved. They were impressive breasts. Bountiful was the word that came to mind.

Her laugh brought his attention back to her face. He cleared his throat, stood up. Held out his hand. “Daniel.”

She looked at his hand, laughed again and shook. “Welcome to the building, Daniel.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ve met everyone?”

He nodded.

“I see Rocco made you a kicky little hat.”

Oh, God. He ripped the cap off his head. “Uh, yeah.”

“Don’t worry. Before you know it, you’ll have a scarf and mittens to match. Come, Daniel. Let’s make pizzas, shall we?”

He nodded again, only then realizing his right hand still held hers. She used the situation to pull him toward the kitchen.

It was as bright and colorful as the woman herself, with lots of knickknacks of the fifties kitsch variety. A display of PEZ dispensers was his first clue. Then there were the turquoise and pink diner accents, like the old-time malt mixer, the napkin dispenser and the pink retro stove. Even the tiles were coordinated. The only thing black in the kitchen was the Felix the Cat clock.

“You can wash the basil,” she said, letting his hand go. “While I prepare the dough. Yes?”

“I’ll be happy to.”

She gave him another of those dazzling smiles. “Good Lord, you’re Studly Do-Right. Fabulous.”

If her eyes hadn’t been shining like that he’d have been insulted. Maybe he was insulted anyway.

She washed her hands, dried them with a pink towel, then handed him the basil as if it were the crown jewels. It was his turn at the sink. His concentration was split between his task and Margot. She had sprinkled flour on two large pizza boards and was folding a large round of dough as if she’d done it hundreds of times.

She cut the dough in six, then brought out a wooden rolling pin and made two ovals. When she turned to the fridge, he went back to the basil, making sure it was thoroughly clean. He wrapped it in paper towels as he watched her once more.

“We’re going to Corrie’s next,” she said. “Then Eric and Devon’s. We’ll have dessert at Rocco’s, which is really a treat, because he cooks a hell of a lot better than he knits.”

“And you do this every Sunday?”

“Yep. These are the regulars, but the rest of the folks in the building join in from time to time. We’re all pretty friendly.”

“So I gathered.”

She put down a large bowl filled with stuff like braided mozzarella, mushrooms, olives and tomatoes and turned to face him. “Tell me about you, Daniel.”

“I’m an architect.”

“Have I seen any of your work?”

“Maybe. I designed the Fourth Street library in Brooklyn Heights.”

“Nope.”

“Uh, the Woolsey building on lower Broadway.”

She shook her head.

“Those are the biggest projects.”

“Are they gorgeous?”

“Gorgeous?” He smiled. “No one’s ever called them that.”

“What have they called them?”

“Practical. Well built. Sturdy.”

She blinked. “Tear them up.”

“Pardon?”

“The basil leaves. Tear them. Into pieces.” Then she turned to the pizzas and started spreading the sauce.

Devon stuck his head in the kitchen. “Hey, we’re starving out here.”

“Then go make sure the grill’s ready.”

Devon saluted. “Yes, ma’am.” He did a two-point turn and marched away.

“Totally nuts, but such a sweet pea. You’ll love him. And Eric. They’re great.”

“Have you been here long?”

“Five years. This place used to belong to my uncle Sid. He was a photographer. Mostly for National Geographic. Incredible life. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Okay.”

“Continue.”

“What?”

“Telling me about your life.”

“Ah. Well, I moved from Greenwich. Connecticut.”

“Hell of a commute.”

“Yeah. I got real used to the train.”

She turned to him again. “Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

That took him back a step. “No.”

“Ah, so you’re straight.”

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what? Rude?”

“I was going to say forthright.”

She patted his arm. “That’s sweet. Really.”

He had no idea how to respond to her. How to react to this whirlwind. So he focused on the basil. He was supposed to tear it. Which he did, even though he wasn’t the least bit sure he was doing it correctly.

She emptied her bowl and started slicing mozzarella so quickly it made him fear for her fingers. By the time he’d finished tearing, she had neat little bowls of accoutrements, most of which he recognized. She rubbed the crusts with olive oil, then scattered them with mozzarella, some of his basil and then some prosciutto. Then she lifted the boards, one in each hand. “Come. We grill now. Oh, and be a love and get me a glass of whatever it is you’re drinking.”

He nodded as he watched her walk from the kitchen. His gaze moved down the length of her, wishing he could see more of her curves. What he did see appealed in a way that surprised the hell out of him.

This Margot was something outside his ken. Brash, focused and a little nuts. But interesting. Definitely Chelsea. Completely not Greenwich.

He thought again about his excuses to leave. Now would be the perfect time. No one would think he was escaping. On the other hand, that pizza sounded really good.