Stepping Up To Love (Lakeside Porches 1) (9 page)

Some of the rents were below market value. Manda was sure there was a reason for that, but she was not yet comfortable asking Joel to explain his business practices. Her boss at the Manse Dan would cheerfully explain things in detail, but Joel was much more guarded, even defensive with her. It was really none of her business, but his business sense and his management style interested her, and she wished she could pump him with questions.

Manda wondered some days how he had ever managed to keep the books, on top of all the work he did at the Manse and his constant interactions with people in the business community.

Anyone who believed the rumors about his being rich had to be ignorant of the workload he carried. Anyway, he didn’t live in a mansion. Sure, Lakeside Terrace was beautiful, perched right by a private beach on a bluff overlooking the lake, but a wealthy bachelor’s preferred residence? No way.

Manda had to wonder who owned all these prime rental properties and why Joel had taken on responsibility for managing them when he already had heavy responsibility at the Manse.

The Manse, she knew, was not a moneymaker; nor was it in the red. It operated more like a not-for-profit, although it did not have that status. Salaries at the Manse were higher than average for the type of business; she knew everyone on staff was hand picked and had impressive credentials. Although the facilities were luxurious and the grounds were meticulously groomed, even those expenses were closely watched.

There was no waste anywhere. There was no “lateral passing” of goods; Manda still chuckled when she heard that old football term used to describe employees walking off with property and supplies. It was common knowledge that if someone tried to sneak a spa-sized shampoo out the door—let alone a lobster tail or an antique desk—that person would be terminated without recourse and without so much as a polite letter of reference. Someday she would ask Joel how to make up for the spa supplies she had consumed without authorization that fateful morning in March when he’d walked in on her in the shower.

She wished she could continue her job at the Manse after graduation, but she suspected it was more of a good-will position that supported a worthy Tompkins College student. She would wait to talk to Joel about that when she finally had the answers to her questions about grad school scholarships.

It bothered her that “ask Joel” seemed to be her quick solution to most of her problems. She worried that she was not gaining much independence. That was another thing she wanted to talk over with the substance abuse counselor and with an AA sponsor. And Joel was definitely not her AA sponsor.  How many times had she heard “Men for men; women for women”? It was a golden rule that made sense. He was her friend and her mentor but not her sponsor.

So where was she going to find a good AA sponsor? Barb was a nice person, but they weren’t doing well as sponsor-sponsee. Barb was not willing to work with her on the twelve steps, and Manda had heard over and over that the steps were the heart of the program.

Part of her wanted to become more self-sufficient. Maybe she should accept the full scholarship to University of Texas at Austin she had been offered, where Lyssa was studying for her doctorate. But another part of her knew she did not want to be any closer to her sister’s “marijuana maintenance plan” while she was still so new in sobriety.

Besides, the graduate business program that most interested her was at a private college forty or so miles away in Rochester. St. Basil’s program emphasized not-for-profit business models and ethical workplaces. She knew a scholarship from St. Basil’s was a long shot. Still, if she could work something out, it would give her the opportunity to stay in Tompkins Falls, a place that felt like home and where she had bonds with sober people. Maybe she should take out a loan for St. Basil’s.

All of this whirled in Manda’s head as she tossed and turned on the futon and finally fell into an uneasy slumber just after ten o’clock.

Two floors above her, Joel heard the rumbles around midnight and knew they were in for a doozey of a storm. The damage reported west and south of them had caused him to alert Tony and a few other contractors that the properties might be damaged. All of them told him to relax, that the odds were in their favor. The forecast was saying “twenty percent chance.”

Joel stepped out on the porch off his bedroom and watched the storm approaching. Lightning illuminated the clouds—towering gray masses tinged with green. He saw a bolt of lightning strike the communications tower north of town and seconds later heard the crack. They would lose power soon. He headed back inside, flipped on the light, and hunted for a flashlight. Another lightning flash lit up the French doors to the porch. “Manda,” he breathed. They’d never fixed her windows.

At first, the rumbles sounded like a motorcycle cruising the street, but Manda knew she’d left Stacey and the biker behind weeks ago. She turned over and settled back into a fitful sleep. A loud crack and a lightning flash brought her fully awake. She sat up with her heart pounding and her head throbbing.

She’d always been terrified of thunderstorms, and she’d never been through one sober. She tried to steady her breathing, but it was no good. She tried praying. She tried covering her eyes and ears at the same time. Finally she fell apart in panic. She didn’t remember wrapping herself in the futon cover like a cocoon.

Joel knocked at her door, called her name, and pounded the door before using his master key. He flipped the light switch, but by then the power was gone. He stood his flashlight on the table by the futon and followed her sobs to find her buried in the futon cover.

“It’s okay, Manda,” he told her, pulling the covers away from her head. He wedged himself onto the futon beside her and pulled her against his chest.

Manda clutched at his bare shoulder and buried her face in his neck.

“It’s okay. It’s just a bad storm. We’re going to be just fine.”

Her trembling brought him close to panic, too.

“Talk to me, Manda,” he said sternly, but he could not seem to reach her.

He let out a steadying breath and remembered that was her way of calming herself when she was under pressure. “Manda, take a big, deep breath with me.”

Joel heard her pull in a breath and let it out in a shaky sob.

“That a girl,” he encouraged. “Five more just like that. You can do it. Breath with me.”

With each breath, Manda became calmer and more present. Joel said a silent prayer of thanks and stretched out more comfortably beside her. “You’re doing great,” he cheered.

“I feel like a two-year-old.”

Joel ran his hands down her back. “Trust me, you do not feel like a two-year-old.”

She laughed. “Thank you.” She propped herself up a little and brushed at his shoulder. “I have soaked your neck.”

“It’s not fatal.” He smoothed the hair off her forehead. “I am sorry for not getting to those windows before this happened.”

“I totally forgot. Or maybe I thought I was going to grow up before it stormed.”

Joel shifted his weight and arranged her body more comfortably against his. “Tomorrow we’ll check the attic and see what’s there that might work. Or I’ll make an emergency call to my decorator.”

“You have an attic?”

“A very cool space. My grandmother’s things completely fill it. The decorator raids it whenever she needs anything for one of the units. I’m pretty sure there are curtains or whatever you call that stuff that people put on windows.” He was being silly, and it was exactly what she needed.

“You don’t believe in window treatments?” she teased.

“Only my decorator knows the answer. I may have vetoed something you call window treatments, but I don’t pretend to know.”

“What have you ever vetoed?”

“Let’s see, a chartreuse ottoman comes to mind. Made me want to throw up.” He twisted his head to look at her. “You’re not—?”

“Going to throw up? No.” Manda ran her hand over his chest and did a little swirl with his chest hair. “I wouldn’t ruin a perfectly good cuddle.”

Joel chuckled. “It is that,” he agreed. It was also way too tempting. “However, there is another round of lightning not far off.”

Manda tensed.

“I have a very comfortable sofa in a very dark living room that is yours for the rest of the night. And if you’d prefer, we can trade, and I’ll sleep down here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll take your sofa. If you’re worried about me jumping your bones, it’s frowned upon in early sobriety,” she said solemnly.

He grinned. Maybe the “frowned upon” was only a suggestion, but AA his sponsor Phil treated it like a rule, and Joel had, too, until right now.
Damn
. “Then I won’t feel insulted. Anyway, I’ll be on the phone and out checking on the properties. I’ll try not to disturb your sleep.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She yawned dramatically.

“Grab some clothes for morning and your toothbrush.”

“Good idea.”

“Self-preservation,” he corrected. “It will not look good for you to sneak down the stairs in your pajamas tomorrow morning.”

Manda gathered her things. She smiled saucily and told him, “Lead me to your man cave.”

Joel let out a laugh and shook his head. “One of us is in trouble here,” he predicted.

Manda awoke mid-morning with a killer headache and a satisfied smile on her face. She’d dreamed of steamy sex with Joel all night long.

“Manda Doughty, you wicked woman,” she said out loud and then covered her mouth. She glanced around to see if Joel had heard her. His apartment was silent except for the ticking of an imposing grandfather clock. She squinted at its face and made out nine fifteen. It must be the real thing, the kind of clock he wound periodically that ran without power. The squint told her she’d forgotten to bring her glasses with her. She didn’t dare run downstairs without putting on clothes.

Joel’s guest bathroom was immaculate, fully supplied, and very masculine. She brushed her teeth and downed two of his Tylenol before helping herself to shampoo and spicy scented soap. She turned on the shower, and multiple jets assaulted her. Squealing and dodging, she finally found the combination that gave her soothing rainwater from the ceiling.

Wide-awake and clean all over, she reached for two thick brown towels to dry her hair and body. Her final discovery—silky, spicy body lotion—really needed to be on her grocery list from now on.

Dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt, but barefoot—another thing she’d forgotten—she started for the front door only to see that it was pinned with a note for her. She plucked off the note, walked across the carpeted living room with it, and drew back the draperies. Sunlight sparkled on the dark blue lake for miles and miles to the south, interrupted only by a dozen evergreen-covered islands.
I’d like to start every day this way
.

Manda wondered if the lake had a different mood every morning. Today it shouted with joy.

She peered at Joel’s note. The gold, block-letter heading read “Joel T. Cushman.”
Thomas, probably.
She’d never seen his handwriting. It was bold and slanted, every letter at the same angle. “Water damage to your kitchen,” it said. “Tony is on it. Your laptop and glasses are on the island. Help yourself to coffee and breakfast. I’ll be home before 10. Joel.”

She looked skeptically at the lake.
On the island?
When she realized what he meant, she burst out laughing. She set the note on the kitchen island beside her laptop, grabbed her glasses, and went in search of coffee supplies. “A real kitchen,” she said out loud as she spied the sophisticated coffee maker, filters, three choices of beans, grinder, and carafe.

She was sitting cross-legged on a kitchen stool with her laptop open when Joel returned.

“That sigh tells me you’re exhausted,” she told him. “Coffee is hot. Want some?”

He nodded wordlessly and stood looking out at the lake.

When she carried a full mug to him, she smelled smoke on his clothes and saw smudges on his face. “One of the units burned?”

He nodded and gratefully accepted the mug. “House near the marina. Total loss. Kid broke an arm from jumping from an upstairs window, but that was the worst of it. No one else hurt, no one burned. I hate fire,” he said.

“Why don’t you grab a shower, and I’ll fix us something to eat?” She’d seen eggs in the refrigerator and assorted fresh vegetables that would make a tasty frittata.

“I’ll take the world’s fastest shower and—if you don’t mind—I’ll fix us a mushroom omelet. I really need to do something creative right now.”

“You cook?” she said to his back.

“I do. On weekends. Would you mind drying off the chairs on the porch?” His bedroom door closed before she could reply.

Guessing he’d rather slice the mushrooms himself, she ventured onto a small balcony off the dining room, armed with one of the brown towels. She could see why he called it a porch; it felt like a sheltered, old-fashioned outdoor living space. She tipped the chairs and table to let most of the water drain and drip, before returning to the first chair to buff it dry. It took a few minutes to work her way around. Joel was thick-slicing the mushrooms when she came in. “Thanks for not using a whole roll of paper towels to dry off the furniture,” he said.

“I couldn’t find any white linen napkins,” she told him and was glad to see a smile curve on his mouth.

“I will need more coffee. That was a great pot, thank you.”

Manda worked around him easily. “We’re a good team,” he observed.

She smiled, thinking about how well they had fit together on her futon during the storm. And then there was the wild sex of her dreams.

“What’s that smile?” Joel teased.

“A girl needs her secrets,” she insisted and changed the subject. “You really know how to handle that omelet pan.”

He nodded. “If it weren’t so important for me to use the community, I would cook all my meals.”

“What do you mean ‘use the community’?”