Love Is a Breeze (8 page)

She went into the kitchen, collected all the ingredients and put them on the bar. Checking her handful of notes, she gathered the necessary utensils and went to work.

                                                              * * * *

Brianna leaned on the balustrade of the balcony. The glass door behind her slid open. Straightening her spine, she took a swig of wine but didn’t turn around.  The hair on the back of her neck prickled as John approached. He stopped at the table and picked up the nearly empty wine bottle.

“Did you drink all of this?”

Brianna did not respond.

“Brianna?”

“No, I did not drink all that.” She turned to face him.

“What the hell happened to the kitchen?” He demanded.

She gulped more wine, set the glass on the table and put her hands on her hips. “Where have you been?”

“We ran into friends at the club and had dinner.” He shook his head.

Raising her chin, she said, “I fixed dinner.”

“All that damage for one meal?” He swept his hand toward the kitchen.

“No, not for one meal. I cooked for you, too.” Picking up her glass of wine, she turned back to the lake view.

“I brought you dinner.”

“A phone call would have been nice.” She glanced over her shoulder briefly.  Draining her wine, she crossed back to the table and refilled her glass, emptying the bottle and ignoring John’s scrutiny. “I worked hard planning and cooking dinner to thank you for all you’ve done for me and you didn’t bother to come home. Do you know how hard it is to make a wine sauce?”

John picked up the empty wine bottle. “You used a two-hundred dollar bottle of wine to make a sauce?”

Brianna looked at the bottle then at John with wide eyes.

“Two-hundred dollars for a bottle of wine?”  Raising the glass to her lips with a shaky hand, she turned from his gaze. “No wonder it tastes so good.”

“Where’s the dinner?”

“Burned.  Everything was going so well. Then the pasta boiled over. While I was cleaning that up the wine sauce got lumpy. I tossed it out –” Wine sloshed as she gestured. “– and started over. When I remembered the chicken in the oven it was dry and crispy. It wasn’t supposed to be dry and crispy.” Her voice trailed off. “Then the sauce boiled over again.”

She felt John’s presence close behind her. His hand reached around, took the glass and set it on the table. He clasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. She swayed and had difficulty focusing his face.

“You haven’t eaten anything, have you?” he asked.

She sluggishly shook her head. The room lurched. She reached for a chair back but John slipped an arm around her waist and guided her into the kitchen, settling her onto a barstool. He cleaned off the bar and opened a Styrofoam box, transferred the contents to a plate, heated it and set it in front of her. Brianna took one look at the grilled salmon, clasped a hand to her mouth and slid off the stool, grasping the countertop for support. She hobbled as quickly as she could to the hall bathroom and dropped to her knees in front of the commode.

She saw John’s shoes in her side vision. “Go away.”

John reached over her and flushed the toilet.
Oh, if only I could disappear that easily
. He wet a towel, crouched beside her and wiped her face and throat. He left the towel on the back of her neck, stood and offered his hand to help her up. Keeping a steadying arm around her, he guided her to her room and sat her on the edge of the bed.

“Are you going to be okay or do you need help?” he asked.

Brianna glared at him. Too embarrassed to show gratitude, she merely waved a hand toward the door.

John left the room. Brianna collapsed onto the pillows.

CHAPTER NINE

Brianna cautiously opened one eye, grateful for the semi-darkness of the room before opening the other one. Her head felt like an anvil someone was hammering on and she couldn’t lift it. She wasn’t sure what was going to explode first, her head or her bladder. Inching to the edge of the bed, she slid to her knees on the floor, resting her head on the mattress before attempting more movement. Placing both hands firmly on the bed she forced herself to her feet and limped to the bathroom.

She splashed cold water on her face before raising her head to survey her reflection. With a groan she turned away from the mirror, stripped and stepped into the shower. She sat on the wide seat trying to come up with a plan to avoid John – forever. Her brain fired off several scenarios, none of which were possible. Turning off the water, she dried and slipped into her bathrobe wrapping a towel around her head. If her head exploded it would contain the pieces.

Entering the bedroom, she saw a tray laden with a large glass of tomato juice, a small teapot and cup, dry toast and two extra strength Tylenol tablets sitting on the bed.  She approached cautiously and sat beside it, tears spilling onto her cheeks. She heard a soft knock on the door.

“Come in.” She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe.

John poked his head in. “How are you feeling?”

She squinted through one eye. “My head’s ready to explode. My stomach feels like a volcano ready to erupt. My body feels trampled by the St. Paddy’s Day parade. Other than that - grand!”

He opened the door and came in, crossing to stand in front of her. Picking up the tablets and juice from the tray, he handed them to her. “This will help. Try to eat something.” She swallowed the pills with a drink of juice.

“I think that bomb is going to go off any minute.” She rubbed her forehead and avoided looking at him.

He put a hand under her chin, raised her head and studied her face. “I think you’ll live. I’ll get an ice bag for your head.”

He poured a cup of tea for her before leaving the room.

Brianna drank half of the juice, nibbled a small bite of toast and sipped the tea – hot and sweet – no cream. Convinced her head wasn’t actually going to blow up, she unwrapped the turban and made an effort to finger-comb her hair.

John came back with the ice pack, walked to the bathroom and returned with the detangling comb. He moved the tray to the dresser.

“Turn around.” He made a circular motion with his hand. Brianna looked up at him uncertainly but did as he suggested.

She scooted around until she sat with her back to him, cross legged at the edge of the bed. John placed the comb at her hairline and drew it back. It caught on a tangle and Brianna fell against his chest. John inhaled sharply and she struggled to sit up. He steadied her with hands to her shoulders. Her pulse was anything but steady.  “My mother used to comb my hair.”

“I’m sure she was much better at it than I am.”

“She pulled, too. The curse of curly hair, I guess.”

He chuckled as he carefully drew the comb through her hair.

“Tell me about your mother.”

“She was an artist.”

“So that’s where your talent comes from.”

“I suppose but she gave it up. ‘Too much real work to be done,’ she said. But I think that was more my father’s idea than hers. I remember when I was about five she painted a picture of me with my little dog. That’s the last thing she painted. She said to me one day when I was around ten, ‘Don’t let anyone steal your dreams.’ The light in her eyes faded and she never painted again.”

“Why not?” John asked.

“I don’t really know but I think my dad had a hand in that, too. One day he found her in the attic. She had destroyed all her paintings except that one. Took a butcher knife and slashed them to ribbons, she did. My dad took her to the hospital where he left her and a few months later he sent me to live with my aunt and uncle here in Chicago. I was fourteen. He said they didn’t have time for my shenanigans, besides it wasn’t right for me to be raised by five grown men.”

“How long was she in the hospital?”

“A couple of years but by then I was in school here so they left me be.”

“That must have been hard for you. Is she all right now?”

“Oh, yes. She’s fine. It was one of those change of life breakdowns not handled well by a bunch of men.”

“And the painting? Do you still have it?”

“I did but Eric took it along with some I had done. They’re not worth anything to anyone else. I don’t know why he would want them.”

He gently finished combing her hair.  When she laid down, he put the ice bag on her head, turned off the bedside lamp and walked to the door.

“Thank you.” She closed her eyes.

“Anytime.” He eased the door shut.

                                                             * * * *

Several hours later, Brianna wandered onto the terrace where John sat on one of the loungers reading. A gallon of sun tea brewed on the table. She took a seat  on the chaise next to his.

“I’m sorry about the dinner and the wine and – everything,” she said, watching white clouds drift across the early afternoon sky.

John put his book down.

“Don’t worry about it. I appreciate the thought.” He turned toward her. “I read online this morning about Red Wine Headache syndrome. Surprisingly, it’s a fairly common reaction. That and the fact you hadn’t eaten anything is probably what made you sick. You really didn’t drink enough to cause a bad hangover.”

Brianna gave him a weak smile. “I suppose.” It was as good an excuse as any.

“How are you feeling now? Hungry?”

“A little, I think.”
If the fluttering of a thousand butterflies indicates hunger.

John stood up. “I’ll fix you a cup of soup and some crackers. That shouldn’t be too hard on your stomach.”

She watched him walk through the door to the kitchen appreciating the panther like combination of strength and grace. She released a long sigh.
This guy is too good to be true. I’ve got to be dreaming.
She pinched herself.

A few minutes later, John returned with a tray and set it across her lap. He sat on the chaise facing her,.

“When you’ve finished, call your friend and ask her if we can pick up your things this afternoon.”

Brianna nodded and blew on the hot broth.

                                                                 * * * *

Returning to her room, she picked up her cell phone and noticed a missed call and a new text message, both from Carly.

Call me
.

Brianna pulled up her contact list. Carly’s name, the first of only two contacts, was already highlighted. She pressed ‘Call.’

Carly answered on the second ring.

“Hey, Carly. John…”

“John? You’re on a first name basis with the boss?” Carly replied.

“Well, ‘Mr. Sharp’ is a little formal under the circumstances. He wants to know if we can come by and pick up my stuff today.”

“You know you’re welcome to stay here, Bree.”

“I know but I’m all right here and, no offense, but your place is a bit small.”

“Just a bit. How about I bring your clothes over? I’m dying to see you and hear everything,” Carly said, her tone dripping with curiosity.

“I’ll ask him if you promise to behave yourself.” Asking Carly to behave was like asking her to stop breathing.

She walked to the terrace and, holding the phone against her chest, asked John, “Would it be all right if Carly brings my things over?”

“Of course. Invite her to stay for dinner, if you’d like,” John said.

She relayed the message to Carly and turned off the phone.

“She said she’d love to stay since Rob is working until midnight.”

“I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.”

You have no idea

“I’d like that, thank you.” Brianna smiled.

“Can she manage the boxes by herself?”

“She’s only bringing my clothes. There’s no point in moving everything twice.”

“That makes sense. What time is she coming?”

“Around four.”

“I’ll order a pizza or, Chinese, if you’d prefer,” John offered.

“Chinese would be great.”

                                                                      * * * *

The doorbell rang a few minutes after four.

“I’ll get it,” Brianna called to John who was watching a golf tournament in the den.

Carly set the suitcases down and wrapped Bree in a bear hug as soon the door opened. Releasing her, she held her shoulders and examined her face.

“You don’t look too bad under the circumstances,” Carly said, smiling. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “How’s life with the shark?”

“He’s not a shark, Carly. I don’t know how I’d have managed without him this week. He’s very nice. Come on.” She took Carly’s hand. “I’ll introduce you.”

Carly hung back, taking in the living room with a low admiring whistle.

Brianna tugged at her hand.

John rose when they entered the den. Brianna made the formal introductions.

“Carly.” John said, offering his hand. “Bree’s told me a lot about you – all good.” He smiled.

Brianna watched her normally talkative friend lose her power of speech as spots of red colored her cheeks. She hid a smile, shaking her head.

“We’ll be out on the terrace,” Brianna said to John, leading Carly from the room.

“Let me know when you want me to order dinner.” John called after them.

Carly followed her to the kitchen and perched on a barstool while Brianna fixed two tall glasses of iced tea.

“You okay?” Brianna asked her still silent friend who now had a dreamy, far-away look on her face.

“Mmm-mmm,” Carly replied, giving her head a shake. “I knew he was good looking – everyone in the office drools at the mention of his name – but up close… Wow! How do you do it?”

“Do what? Keep from drooling?” Brianna shrugged her shoulders and avoided eye contact. “I guess I’m getting used to him.” The erratic pulse was a problem though.

Carly narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

Brianna handed Carly a glass of tea. “Come on.” She said, opening the sliding patio door.

They each sat in a chaise facing the lake and sipped their tea.

Carly sat up, set her glass on the side table and turned toward Brianna, elbows on knees, chin on hands, and leaned close. “Tell me everything.”

“I’ve already told you everything.”

“You told me about the accident but,” she said, “not about him.” She tossed a glance toward the den.

“There’s nothing to tell, Carly. He goes to work - comes home – we eat. Maybe watch a little TV, then go to bed.” Carly’s eyebrows shot up. “Alone, Carly – separate rooms.” Brianna swiped at her arm, knocking it off her knee.

“Where’s the fun it that?” Carly swung her legs onto the chaise. “Don’t you ever wonder what it’d be like to kiss him?”

All the time. 
“You’re incorrigible, Carly and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.” Brianna turned her eyes to the lake.

“Ah-ha, so you do think about it.”

“I do not.” Brianna blushed and continued to avoid Carly’s eyes.

“John and Brianna, sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.” Carly chanted.

“Carly, stop it. That’s not funny.” Brianna rose and turned her back on her friend.

“Oh, come on. He can’t hear us. Anyway, it’s payback time for all the teasing I got over Rob.”

“That’s different. Rob was your fiancé. John’s my boss.”

“And roommate.”

Brianna threw her an exasperated glare which Carly returned with an evil grin.

“Come on, I’ll show you MY room and you can tell me all about your trip while I put my stuff away.” Brianna walked stiffly through the kitchen. Picking up her suitcases by the front door, she continued to her bedroom with Carly trailing behind.

She hoisted one bag onto the bed and flipped it open. Carly perched beside it.

“Nice place,” Carly said. “What’s his room like?”

“It’s very nice. You should see his bathroom! The tub’s big enough to swim in.”

That piqued Carly’s interest and Brianna told her about the bubble and dinner disasters.

“It’s a wonder he didn’t send you packing. He must be a saint.”

“Actually, he was very nice about it. The dinner, anyway. I didn’t tell him about the bubbles.”

“Probably a wise decision.” Carly nodded. “Anything you’re not telling me?”

“I’m trying to decide if your middle name is Persistent or just plain Nosy.”

Carly laughed. “It’s both. What are best friends for, anyway?”