Driving in Neutral (27 page)

“I feel like someone broadsided me and spun me off the track. Coffee. Coffee will fix it. Coffee will fix
anything
. She took a step away from his body, holding his hand as she reached for the coffee. She handed him a mug, took a voracious gulp from hers, and hoped the dark brew would work some kind of magic.

“Listen to me, Olivia. This is between you and me. People knowing…well…so what.”

“So what?” She frowned, wrinkling her nose halfway inside the mug as she drank.

“So what if they know, you know too.”

“The only thing I know is I can’t carry two cups of coffee up a flight of stairs without spilling them.”

“Ah, that’s why your sleeves are wet.”

“Next time, no coin toss.
You
go get the coffee, and I’ll open the door wearing something other than a sheet,” she grumbled.

“So, the next time after this,” Emerson took the coffee from her, set it down next to his and pulled her backward toward the bed, “when I go and get the coffee
and
hot buttered croissants with jam, or toast if you prefer, would I come back to the room and still find you wearing this delightful, coffee-scented wet bathrobe? Or could I hope to find you in my pants?”

She looked up at him and dissolved into laughter.

He drew her onto the rumpled, unmade bed and began to kiss her with tantalizing pleasure, slipping off the damp robe with his warm, soft hands.

Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered anymore except him. Someplace finally felt like home. Emerson
was
home and, like Tex and Mimi unabashedly making love down on the patio, Olivia didn’t care anymore who knew, or heard, or saw.

Emerson held her close, utterly content and completely helpless to his feelings. Olivia lay wrapped around him, one leg curved over his hips, her head resting on the softest part of his chest, and she held onto his thumb. This was how it was supposed to be with a woman and man. Holding her in his arms was the simplest, yet most gratifying act that seemed to signify all was right with the world, regardless of wars and famine, and Emerson found it more satisfying than making love. His fingers slipped through the softness of her dark hair, and he sighed with actual contentment when she stirred.

Olivia opened her eyes. She tipped her head to look up at Emerson. He had the tiniest hint of satisfaction on his decidedly sweet lips.

Why had it been so hard to believe she felt something for Emerson, right from the start? She’d held out and tried to convince herself it had been chemistry at work, but that sounded like the stupid excuse Karl proffered as a defense for his affairs. Why did she think it mattered how fresh her divorce was anyway? The marriage was over long, long before the paperwork said so.

And she had fallen in love with this man.

That self-truth made her smile and burrow her cheek into his skin.

“Hey, you do know it’s the guy who’s supposed to fall asleep after making love?” he said, kissing her forehead. “Don’t you?”

“It’s also the guy who’s supposed to be into racing cars, so please forgive my continuing epicene nature.”

“What’s that mean?”

She moved her leg, rolled to her back and stretched. “It means I’m acting like a man instead of a woman.”

Emerson shifted onto his hip and lifted the sheet, looking at her body beneath the soft white cotton. “Boy, that’s some impressive acting you’ve got there.” He leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her laughing lips.

“I feel like I’m drunk. You make me feel positively plastered.” Olivia turned to face him. “And I like it. I’d like to stay here all day with you and get toasted.” She reached out and tickled her fingers through the hair on his chest. There were strands of silver mixed in with the black. “I like this,” she said. “I like that you don’t shave or wax off your hair.”

“You’d probably think different if I had the Chewbacca pelt Martin does.”

“Martin’s a tool.”

“Yeah, Martin’s an absolute dick. I wonder if he’d loan us some condoms?”

“There were more than three condoms in that basket. I know I put more than three in there.”

“We’re gonna need more. A whole bunch more.”

“How many do we have left?” She lifted her head and looked over his shoulder to the bedside table and groaned when she saw the clock face beside the empty condom wrappers. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“I have half an hour to sober up for the bride’s breakfast.”

“The wedding planner’s job is never done.”

“Not till the fat lady catches the bouquet.”

“Or eats cake.”

“You’re hungry, aren’t you? That’s the second time this morning you mentioned food.”

“Okay. Is this better? Is this what you want to hear? You’re all the sustenance I need, baby.”

“Oh, that’s
really
cheesy.”

“Mmm, cheese. Cheese is good, especially melted on toast. You needed coffee. I need breakfast. What’s a good after-lovemaking breakfast?” He sat up and kissed her. “That’s a pretty good start, but it needs orange juice.”

Reluctantly, as his fingers slipped a caress down her back, she climbed out of bed and paused after she stood. “It’s going to be a long time before I see you again today. I’ve been looking forward to watching Ella get married, to having this all come together, but now I can’t wait for it to be over so I can get back to you.” She tipped her head to one side. “Is it too much? Have I scared the shit out of you?”

Emerson sat with his back against the headboard and pursed his lips before he sighed. “You ever think about time travel?”

“What?” How did he do it? What skill did he possess to get inside her head and pull out the strange random thoughts she’d had?

“Time travel.” He made circles in the air with one finger. “You know
Back to the Future
kind of stuff.”

Olivia smiled. “Sometimes.”

“I’d like to get in a time machine and set it to jump ahead to oh, say eight-thirty tonight. You doing anything then? Think you can make it? Because I sure do like sharing time and space with you, Olivia.”

The thrill she got from those words made her luminous enough to supply energy for the entire city of Chicago, and she knew her smile was probably blinding. “You are such a huge geek.”

“Since we’ve shared so much this morning, you know, the bed, the coffee, the possibility of time travel, why don’t we share the shower too?”

“I don’t know. Think you’ll be able to handle a reduction in the already limited shower space?”

“There’s a big glass door just like at home.”

“Well thank God the movie that left such an indelible mark on your mind wasn’t
Psycho
.”

Emerson slipped out of bed and put his arms around her. “Well…to be completely honest, that movie scared me too.”

“How long,” Olivia snickered, running her fingers through the hair on his chest, “did you refuse to bathe?”

“A week.”

“And how old were you? Nine? Ten?”

“Nope. Twenty-two.”

“No wonder you were such a late bloomer.”

He buried his nose in her neck and flicked his tongue in the salty sweetness on her skin. “So what unreasonable thing are you freaked out by?”

Olivia bit her bottom lip, her fingers convulsing in his chest hair as his lips tickled. “Are we going to start this again?”

“Honey, we started this weeks ago and I’m making up for all that lost time.”

“Silverfish,” she said. “Spiders and silverfish.”

“Now that’s a romantic response to my advances.” He lifted his head and chuckled.

Her fingers ran over his mouth, pinching his bottom lip the way he did sometimes. “Emerson, I’m trying to tell you, in a very delicate way that conveys an appreciation for your very wanted attention, and an understanding of your need to make up for your unfortunate late blooming, I have a wedding to run, and today that’s going to take precedence over what you and I both want.”

“You take this promise to Ella very seriously, don’t you?”

“I love her very much. She’s been there for me since we were ten, and she’s the one person outside my parents who’s loved me no matter what. I know she’s coming across as a loon crossed with a harpy. She’s under a lot of pressure, from work and the wedding. It’s a temporary thing. She’s allowed to go nuts about this and I don’t take any of it personally. She’s been alone for so long and Craig makes her happy. I want her to be happy. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make Ella happy. Nothing. How many people can you say that about? I want this day to be as special as it can be. I want it to be everything she’s ever imagined.”

“I’m sure it will be memorable for all of us.” He kissed her very softly. Even if it meant he would come second today, he was impressed by her devotion to her best friend.

As best man, Emerson had the task of keeping Craig away from the house in an effort to prevent him from laying eyes on the bride until the moment she made her grand entrance. The best way to accomplish that was to take the groom and groomsmen out for a meal in town. While the bridesmaids had breakfast in the sunroom of Hutton House, he and Craig, the other groomsmen and Al sat in a chain restaurant known for their all-day breakfast menu.

They were a subdued bunch. A few of them were hung over, Al more quiet than usual. Martin sat slumped in the seat beside Emerson. “So,” he pursed his lips as he announced, “guess what I saw at six this morning?”

“The inside of a toilet?” Jason wore sunglasses and rubbed his temples.

“Where’s that dang coffee?” Tex said with a twang.

“Did I order hash brown or home fries?” Pete mumbled. “God, I hope I ordered home fries.”

“Isn’t anybody interested in what I saw this morning?”

Craig unrolled his knife and fork from a paper napkin, glancing at Martin. “Okay, you big baby, what did you see?”

“Maxwell in a sheet and the Watch Commander in a slinky bathrobe.”

Craig dropped his fork. Jason went on rubbing his head. Pete tried not to grin, while Tex delicately turned his head and waved to get the attention of a waitress.

Emerson wanted to kick Martin under the table.

“Yeah, that one. She’s
all woman
,” Al muttered with his eyes closed.

Pete cleared his throat. “Listen Em, I think Craig wants to tell you something.”

“I don’t have anything to tell him.” Craig shook his head and inspected the water stains on his knife.

“Sure you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“It was your sister’s idea.”

“So I get the blame?”

“She’s your wife.”

“Not yet. Right now you and I are not legally related and she’s
your
sister.”

Tex groaned, his forehead resting on the tabletop in front of the salt and pepper shakers. “Can you two ladies take it outside? Some of us are trying to die with dignity. Where
is
that dang coffee?”

Al nodded off, leaning on his elbow. Craig pushed a glass of water to Emerson. “Here,” he said, “you’re going to need this. Right, Pete?”

“Okay, fine, I’ll tell him,” Pete huffed.

“You’ll tell me what?” Emerson asked.

“Well,” Pete began, “you know how the documents for the Hockenheim production were all in German?”

Emerson nodded. “Yeah?”

“Automatically, it made me think Olivia would be perfect for the job. She was looking for something different outside the automotive racing industry. It just seemed like a good idea to offer her the position.”

“Okay. You were right. She was a good choice. She does great work.”

Martin snickered. “Oh is
that
what you call it? Work?”

“Shut up Mart,” Emerson shot back. “What’s your point, Pete?”

Pete ran his fingers through his dreads. “Remember the last Christmas? We had a bunch of extra tickets…to that Nutcracker or whatever thing at the theater?”

“Uh-huh.”

Pete shifted uncomfortably, looking at Craig for support, but not getting any from the chickenshit. “Okay, so like last Christmas, Ella invited you…except that got scuppered, but she had this idea the other day…well…she told us all we
had
to, so then since we had to, we noticed it seemed like it could, you know, work out because you have…uh, uh, considering how you…it’s obvious you’re… All right let me just be totally honest and say…” Pete swallowed, “we’ve all been cooperating with the bride…well, not Justine, and Kim isn’t really you know on board. She’s not afraid of Ella. In fact my wife told us we were all a bunch of dipshits for playing along and swi—”

“Oh, for the love of God, just tell him the bride’s newest demand so we can eat in peace!” Jason whipped off his sunglasses.

Pete glared at Jason, continued the story, and Emerson felt his eyebrows crawl up his forehead. “Your sister is a certifiable fucking nutjob!” he shouted, throwing up his hands and clipping the pot of coffee a waitress had clutched in her hand. The pot flew upward, arching out of her hand, and it bounced on the linoleum-tiled floor without breaking, coffee splashing rich mahogany puddles all over the nearby table and chairs.

Tex whimpered piteously.

After the bride’s breakfast, Ella retired to her suite for half a day of pampering and preparation. Olivia kept busy overseeing all the last-minute details to ensure everything fell into place with the precision set forth in the wedding scrapbook.

Periodically, right in the middle of a task, her mind remembered the breathtaking feeling of Emerson’s body moving on hers and girlish giddiness overtook her actions. She paused as she signed a delivery slip for a wedding gift because a spiral of delight started just below her breasts and radiated throughout her body, twirling pleasantly out the top of her head, the tips of her fingers and toes. She caught herself before she sighed again, and signed the form, licking the corner of her mouth as if to catch any lingering taste of him that breakfast and toothpaste hadn’t washed away.

By eleven-thirty, the kid from Finucci’s Pasticceria delivered the proper, white-iced Siena wedding cake. The fresh flower arrangements and bouquets arrived just after noon and by two the bridesmaids were upstairs taking turns having manicures that left them with matching red fingernails.

Out in the rose garden, white chairs were tied with ribbon and arranged in short rows for the ceremony. A long roll of white carpet was unfurled to make a path from the terrace to the domed, stone gazebo. The altar beneath the gazebo was adorned with pink roses that matched the cake and the simple fat bouquet Ella would carry. The weather had cooperated and a cool breeze off the lake kept the day from becoming uncomfortably warm.