This Changes Everything (19 page)

“What conclusions would he be wrong to jump to?”

“Come on, Sly, think about it.”

“You think it was all just a joke.”

“She’s up to her usual games,” Mark said. “Playing Cupid.”

“You weren’t there. Yes, at first she was bluffing about the thing with Hugo. But then she really fell for him. It was funny and then it wasn’t. They were dancing and she looked up at him and there was this—” Sly made a face. “Trust me. She lost control of the situation.”

“I sympathize, buddy. I’ve been in your shoes myself. You think she’s crazy and harmless, and then…” Mark found the coffee Sly had made and poured himself a cup. “Then you realize she’s pulling all the strings.”

“If you’d seen her face…”

“I know. She’s very convincing.” Mark sat down and kicked out chair for Sly. “You look like you need to sit down.”

N
ot sure what to believe
, Sly refilled his cup. In spite of the Elvis impersonator, the wedding had felt genuine. Hugo, he knew, hadn’t been faking his love or intentions.

Sly sank into the chair. “Whatever she’s doing, Hugo better be in on it.”

“I’m sure he is. She’d never hurt anyone on purpose.”

“Tell Liam, will you?” Sly asked. “And the rest of your clan? I don’t want Cleo dealing with it.”

“Why tell them anything? Liam might not believe it’s fake. Better just to say Cleo’s house-sitting while our mom enjoys another week in Las Vegas.” Mark sipped his coffee. “Question is, what are
you
doing to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to stay here?” Mark asked.

“Of course. There really are dogs to take care of. I promised Cleo I’d help.”

“Lots and lots of helping,” Mark said.

If the wedding was phony, nobody would be upset with him and Cleo for not interfering. The situation was better than he’d feared. “I’m a helpful guy,” he said, grinning.

“You must know this was her plan all along. The two of you… you know.”

Sly lowered his voice. “Cleo didn’t have a plan. It was almost impossible to get her into bed.”

Mark choked on another bite of chocolate. “I meant my mother. Having you and Cleo living together.”

“Oh.” Cleo had always claimed that people thought she must be in love with him but was too afraid—or sensible—to admit it. Those people were going to have a lot of ammunition now that they were sleeping together. It was going to annoy her.

He took a deep breath. Had he ever seriously considered the price of finally having sex with her?

“I bet she’d been hoping for more,” Mark continued, “when she got you to a quickie wedding chapel yesterday. But you didn’t bite, so she had to initiate plan B.”

Sly rubbed the back of his neck. The muscles were starting to spasm. “Bite what?”

“Eloping yourself. You and Cleo.”

“It wasn’t like that at all.” But Sly remembered how Cleo had taken Elvis’s card and put it in her purse.

“I’ve been to one of those before,” Mark continued. “Friends of mine renewing their vows. Everyone wore costumes. It was really fun. Touching, even.”

“It was Sunday morning. We were cold sober. If your mom had wanted us to get carried away, she would’ve called us the night before.” Sly lowered his voice. “Cleo and I had just—for the first… never mind.”

“She probably knew that. I don’t know how she does, but she does. Trust me. She’s scary.” Mark leaned back in his chair. “She set up me and Rose, April, the neighbors, and God knows how many others. Maybe even Liam. She’s a force of nature.”

“I don’t like it. People might get hurt.”

Mark glanced at him, a sympathetic smile on his lips. “Cleo’s tough. I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.”

In a very low voice, Sly said, “I hope so.” She’d been burned before. She couldn’t want to go through that again, not so soon.

“It’s not so bad, you know,” Mark said. “Settling down.”

Sly held up a warning hand.

“Married men live longer,” Mark continued, grinning.

“You’re as bad as your mother.”

He shot out of his chair. “God forbid. If that’s what you think, I’m getting out of here.” He put his coffee cup in the sink and strode directly to the front door. There he turned and said in a more serious tone, “Seriously, Sly. Marrying Rose is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You wanted a wife when you were sixteen. You’re like that. I’m not.”

Mark frowned. “Really? You don’t ever see yourself getting married?”

“It’s been two days.”

“Come on, it’s been years.”

Sly opened the door and escorted him out onto the landing. “Nice seeing you, Mark. Give my best to Rose.”

Frown deepening, Mark shook his head. “My mother wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t see something serious happening.”

“I need to go make some pancakes.” Sly shut the door with more force than was appropriate, afraid that he himself had lost his appetite.

From the upstairs bathroom window, Cleo watched Mark get into a black Tesla and drive away. As far as she could tell from her aerial view, he didn’t look upset, and she hadn’t heard any yelling, physical assault, or tears. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and went to find Sly.

It was surreal, she thought as she walked downstairs, to think how much had changed so quickly. She was living in an unfamiliar house, where she’d shared a bed and her body with Sly, and when she walked into the kitchen, he took her in his arms and kissed her.

Sly had said they were having a good time, but it wasn’t feeling quite as good as it had the day before.

“Well?” she asked. “How’d it go?”

“He doesn’t believe it.”

“Did you show him the pictures?” Even Sly had taken a few shots with his phone.

“He believes there was a ceremony, but he thinks it was all a ruse.”

She wriggled out of his arms. “No, it was real. You saw the way they were looking at each other.”

“That’s what I told him. But he’s still not buying it. He knows her a lot better than we do.”

“No,” she said. “Nobody would get married just to set somebody else up. And how would that work, anyway?”

“Either we got inspired to get hitched ourselves, or we ended up here at her house living together.”

Uneasiness crept over her. “I don’t believe it. Hugo wouldn’t do that.”

Eyebrows raised, Sly shrugged.

“He wouldn’t,” she said.

“Not for me,” he said, “but if he thought it would get him closer to Trixie…”

“Yeah, like, married is pretty close.”

“Exactly.”

She tore the ponytail elastic out of her hair and dragged her fingers over her scalp. “I hate this. Have we been had?”

“I don’t know.”

Eating would help her think. A bowl of a promising yellowish batter sat on the counter. She pointed. “What’s that?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Sit your sexy ass down and prepare to be amazed.” He grabbed a paper towel and wiped out a pan. “Or at least fed. I’ll have to make more coffee. Mark drank yours.”

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Why does everyone think that? Thirtysomething guy who’s never been married—of course I can cook.”

“I assumed you lived on pizza and bad beer. Like all confirmed bachelors.”

“Don’t call me that. It makes me sound like a closeted Victorian. Do you want pancakes or not?”

When they were friends, she could tease him about being perpetually single and it didn’t mean anything. But now it made her sound like she was fishing. Which stung her pride. “Of course I want pancakes. Have you learned nothing about me all these years?”

He smiled at her over his shoulder. His jaw, she just noticed, was clean-shaven. No wonder their kiss had been so silky.

Her body tingled. The man had more sensual appeal than a dozen tech moguls bundled together and dipped in chocolate.

“I thought you might worry about my ability to make anything edible,” he said.

“I figured you could feed yourself on occasion.”

“Or my…” He turned back to the stove. “My friends.”

“Your girlfriends,” she said.

The word killed all conversation for a long, tense minute. Worries that earlier she’d been able to smother with mindless lust began to surface. Were they going to date for months or a year or break up next week?

Memories of her divorce played like an unwanted pop-up ad in her mind. Ashley’s emails apologizing for giving in to love, curling up in a ball on the floor while her mother rubbed her back, signing the final papers…

She’d refused to go through that kind of pain ever again. Yet here she was, rushing in like a fool…

“When does Hugo’s dog get here?” she asked.

“Don’t know. I’ll call after breakfast.”

A few minutes later, he set two plates of pancakes on the table, a bottle of syrup, the butter dish, and a cup of coffee. “We’ll eat healthy later.”

“No pressure.” She found silverware in a drawer and gave them each a set. “This looks great. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. Hope you like it.”

They ate in silence, staring past each other at the unfamiliar kitchen, the window overlooking the San Francisco Bay, the family photos on the walls. “Nice house,” she said.

“I think Mark might be right.”

“He wasn’t there. He didn’t see—”

“But he knows her and says this would be like her. You’ve got to admit, it didn’t feel right. It was rushed.”

“Of course it was rushed.”

“Look, I was wondering. When you came by for that piano lesson. Maybe she got the idea then. Did you give her any reason to think you might want—I’m not saying you
meant
to suggest it, but given who she is, maybe she misconstrued it.”

Her stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?”

“Me. Us.” He looked down at his plate. “I’m sure you didn’t say you were hoping we’d fall into bed together or anything, but maybe you said something complimentary and—”

“Complimentary about you? Like, by the way, Sly’s so sexy and I dream about his hot body every night?”

He raised an eyebrow. “OK, so you didn’t say anything like that.”

“I can’t remember. I may have. I probably did. I mean, look at you. How could I not?”

“All right, all right. Forget it.”

“Everyone knows I’ve been in love with you for years,” she said. “Just ask my mother.”

He sighed. “I’d rather not.” The first and last time they’d met, Cleo’s mom had asked him if his opinion of his parents’ marriage was the source of his lifetime of emotional avoidance.

“She’s going to be pretty annoying.”

“You’re going to tell her?”

A mouthful of pancakes got caught in her throat. So he
had
assumed it would be short-lived. Why bother telling anyone?

It’s no big deal… just having a little fun…

She gulped down a mouthful of coffee. “Were you thinking we’d keep it a secret?”

“She lives in Oregon,” he said, “there’s no hurry. If it’s going to bother you to talk to her about it.”

“Before the farm, she was a clinical psychologist for twenty years. She can smell a lie from hundreds of miles away.”

“I’m not saying you should lie. Just don’t bring it up.”

Although she’d considered waiting a week before calling her mother, she knew she wouldn’t be able to wait that long. She was dying to talk to her about Sly, about what she was feeling, even if Mom couldn’t help saying
I told you so
. “She can read minds. Even if I don’t say anything, she’ll bring it up on her own within the first two minutes.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Fifty bucks, buddy.” She held out her hand. “Shake on it.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I was just trying to save you from getting mad at her. I know you hate it when you lose your temper.”

“She’s going to think she was right all along.”

Lips brushing her knuckles, he glanced up at her. He didn’t say anything, just held her gaze.

She pulled her hand away. “She wasn’t.”

He laughed. “I know, sweetheart. I was just kidding.”

Looking away, she stood up and began clearing the table. “Why don’t you call about the other dog? I’ve got to teach this afternoon, so we should deal with it now.”

He came up behind her at the sink and took the dishes from her hands. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll call and go get him after I clean up. Then Hugo’s employee doesn’t have to drive all the way up here. Isn’t this your work time? When you compose?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Then get going. I’m here to serve.”

“Nice. Very sexy,” she said.

“You’re procrastinating. Go on.”

“Say it again,” she said, turning and grabbing his shoulders, eager to banish the feeling that she was his infatuated sidekick. “The serving thing. It makes me hot.”

He pushed her against the sink, captured her face in his hands, and gazed into her eyes, his nose barely touching hers. His fingers, warm and strong, stroked her cheeks.

Raging desire flared through her body. She licked her lips, expecting his kiss.

But he released her and stepped away. “I’d better deal with that dog before I get into bed with you again and never want to get out.”

She watched him leave, wondering if he was really in any danger of that.

S
ly drove
off an hour later to get Hugo’s dog, leaving Cleo alone in the house with the Chihuahuas and a lot on her mind. The urge to seek confidential counsel from her professionally trained mother struck her at once. When the best friend you usually talked to was the guy you were sleeping with, your options for other qualified listeners were limited.

Her mom had been eager for her to start dating again. She could give Cleo the encouragement she needed to be brave. Loving Sly was potentially wonderful, but she was too scarred from the past to let herself. Her mother would seize the chance to tell her so.

Sitting at the piano for confidence, she played silent chords with her left hand while she selected her mom’s cell number on her phone. Neither of her parents bothered to answer the landline anymore, and they were probably out in the garden anyway, harvesting the last fall vegetables for next weekend’s farmer’s market at the town square. They called themselves farmers, but their operation wasn’t much larger than what Cleo had seen in Trixie’s backyard. Everything they grew, they grew by hand, by themselves. They didn’t make much money, and their house was so small they used the garage as a living room, but they were happier than she’d ever seen them. She knew what a successful family was. Although her own first try was a disaster, how could she not still want it, someday, for herself?

“Please tell me you’re coming up here this weekend to help us with the last of the winter squash,” her mother said, not bothering to say hello.

“Relationship drama,” Cleo said.

“Oh?” There was a long pause. “Someone new?”

“No.” Cleo said it forcefully, knowing that would be enough.

“Not Dylan, I hope.”

Cleo nearly dry-heaved. “God, no. But it is somebody you know.”

Her mother let out a long whistle. “Give me a minute. I’m out in the back forty.” Which referred to feet, not acres. There was the sound of a thud, footsteps, then her mother swallowing. When she was working, she always wore a water-reservoir-containing backpack with a straw on her shoulder. “Is he there?”

“No.”

“We are talking about Sly, correct?”

Cleo made an affirmative grunt.

“When?” her mother asked. “Saturday, I’m guessing? That would give you a day of afterglow and then another night to see if it was still as good as the first. Which it was, so you’re starting to worry.”

Cleo sighed. It really was hopeless. “You never should’ve given up clinical practice. You’re robbing the world of a truly scary gift.”

“My happiness will do more good. It can be catching, you know, like a virus.”

Having heard this philosophy before, Cleo got to the point. “I need you to tell me it’s OK. I’m feeling the urge to sabotage.”

“It’s not my place to tell you anything is OK. You have to come up with that decision on your own.”

“Drop the shrink act, Mom. You’re not an impartial observer here. You’ve wanted me to do this for years.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Oh, come on. You’ve never believed I was happy just being friends with him.”

“And you think that means you’ll be happy being his lover?”

Flinching, Cleo closed the lid on the piano. In her mind,
lover
was a pretentious word you couldn’t say without a fake French accent. “I don’t think that’s all we’ll be.”

“Has he talked about the future?”

“As you guessed, it’s only been two days.”

“So you haven’t.”

Cleo’s hands balled into fists. “We were flying back from Las Vegas in a crowded airplane, and then we got to the house where we’re—you don’t know the whole story, but you think—” She jumped up and groaned in frustration, startling the three dogs sleeping on the sofa. “No. We haven’t.”

“Does Sly have any interest in having children?”

“Mom, come on.”

“You haven’t discussed it? In all these years?”

“No,” Cleo said, realizing only then that that was odd. That she’d always assumed he’d be a great father—not for her kids, but in the abstract—but she couldn’t remember him expressing any interest.

“Do you think that’s something you might want to discuss now?”

Cleo dug her fingers into her ponytail and twisted it around her fingers. “You can’t just be a normal mother for once, can you?”

“How do you think he’d react?”

“I think he’d freak out. It’s too soon.”

“And what would he do? When he freaked out?” her mother continued.

Crap. Mom was going for the jugular. There was no escaping the drilling down into the deepest secrets of her mind. Her mom wasn’t a headshrinker, she was a power tool. “He might decide this isn’t something he wants to do after all.”

“Decide
what
isn’t what he wants to do?”

Cleo sat on the couch near the dogs, stroking them for comfort. “You know.”

“You need to say it.”

Cleo couldn’t. “It’s not normal for women to demand that sort of thing anymore. Or a man. If that guy I went out with a couple of times last year had asked me if I wanted to have his children, I would’ve run screaming in the opposite direction.”

“You did just that, as I remember.”

“I could tell he wanted more than I did,” Cleo said.

“And is that what you think about Sly?”

Oh, her mother was evil. “Possibly.”

“And you think it’s better that you found that out later rather than sooner?”

“Are you capable of saying anything without making it a question?” Cleo asked. But it was the issue she’d been wondering about herself. She stroked Zeus’s back, watching him close one eye and smile, his tongue lolling. His ecstasy brought her comfort. Giving pleasure could feel as delicious as receiving it. It made her feel powerful and good, godlike.

Is that what had happened with Sly in Vegas? He was getting off on making
her
feel good?

“I’d like to know as soon as possible,” Cleo admitted.

“Then maybe you should ask him.”

Cleo made a face. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Why? Of course you’d like to have a happy, rewarding union with someone. You were hurt before, but you’d still like a family. Why not say so up front? Don’t be ashamed of what you want.”

“I don’t want him to think I’m in a hurry.”

“You called me because something was bothering you,” her mother said. “Putting it off isn’t going to make it easier.”

Cleo slumped over on the couch, completely horizontal now, and let the three dogs climb all over her. “I’m not even sure if”—she bit her lip and rushed on—“marrying him is what I want. We just… it’s only been…”

“You know my suspicions about that,” her mother said.

Unbidden, tears burned in Cleo’s eyes. Love? All along?

She touched her lips, remembering the feel of his kiss, and her insides melted like plastic wrap on a flatiron.

Cleo’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t think it’s mutual.”

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Then write it down,” her mother said.

“That would be worse.” The last thing she wanted was a paper trail.

“I think it’s important to get it out.”

Cleo hugged Zeus to her neck. “He won’t want to see me again.”

“But if he doesn’t love you by now, Cleo, would you still want him in your life?”

Sly sat in late-morning traffic in Berkeley with a giant dog slobbering on his shoulder from his spot in the backseat.

“Sorry about the change of plans, Mouse,” he said, hitting the gas to turn before the light changed.

Not expecting the change in gravity, Mouse teetered off the seat with a muffled thump. A moment later, his head reappeared in the rearview mirror, his droopy eyes reproachful.

“Sorry about that,” Sly said. “It’s impossible to turn left in this town. Ironic, don’t you think?”

With a sigh, Mouse replaced his chin on Sly’s shoulder, which was already soggy from their first mile on the road.

Sly reached up and stroked his massive head. Except for the parts that were sticky with drool, Mouse’s fur was silky and thick, a tactile pleasure. “I hope you like your new house. Whichever one that is. Not quite sure yet if this is a forever thing for Hugo.”

His words echoed in his ears. A forever thing. Not quite sure yet.

He hadn’t anticipated how accelerated his relationship with Cleo would be. They’d had their first real date less than forty-eight hours earlier, but already he felt as if everyone expected them to get married tomorrow. According to Mark, Trixie had hoped they’d elope yesterday.

“I care about her a lot, but come on,” he told Mouse.

Mouse sighed.

“She doesn’t even know what she wants herself. Maybe I’m the first of a hundred men she’s going to sleep with to make up for lost time.” The idea didn’t bring him any comfort.

He was approaching the turn for his condo in Rockridge. Trixie’s house was another ten minutes of twisty turns up into the hills.

If he had a job, he’d be at work right now. Maybe that was his problem. All this free time made him neurotic. He’d founded a multimillion-dollar corporation and started a few smaller ones, never wasting time doubting himself the way he was now.

And his personal life hadn’t ever bothered him this much, either. Even Teresa, who had meant more to him than any of the other women he’d dated, had never given him insomnia. But since his first night with Cleo, he hadn’t slept more than two hours in a row. Even when she’d been asleep, he’d stared at the ceiling, or at her.

Mouse began kissing his ear with long, wet strokes of a tongue as big as a man’s hand. His loose jowls leaked drool down the collar of Sly’s shirt. The creepy feel gave him gooseflesh.

“You’re a handsome guy,” Sly said, patting Mouse’s head away, “but I prefer a certain blonde these days.”

All he needed was a decent night’s sleep. No sense trying to think about anything right now.

The closer he got to Trixie’s house—and Cleo—the better he felt. He wondered when her first lesson was, if they’d have a little time together. As he got out of the car and opened the back door for Mouse, he vowed to make time.

The dog, however, stared at him from the backseat, not budging.

“Come on, Mouse.” Sly spoke in the voice he’d used for team-building retreats. “You can do this.”

Mouse lay down, rested his chin on his paws, and closed his eyes.

Sly clipped the leash on his collar and tugged. It was like trying to move a redwood with a jump rope.

“You can do this!” Sly repeated, but his confidence was fading.

The advantages of having a dog from Chihuahua, Mexico, instead of Newfoundland, Canada, struck him with full force. Newfies had been used to haul lumber over the tundra. And to rescue drowning fisherman in icy Atlantic waters.

Mouse wasn’t going anywhere unless he wanted to.

Sly looked up at the house, imagining Cleo naked, and sighed.

Inside the car, Mouse also sighed.

While Sly stood there pondering the volume of a Newfoundland’s bladder, Cleo came out of the house and walked down the steps to the driveway.

“Hi,” she said. Something about her seemed strange, but he was too preoccupied with the dog to pursue why.

“He won’t get out of the car,” he said, turning back to Mouse.

Her gaze moved to the backseat. “Holy moly. He’s huge.”

“Yup.”

Moving past Sly, she reached into the car and stroked Mouse’s blocky head. “What a handsome fella.”

“Too heavy to lift. I can’t convince him to move.”

“Maybe he’s scared.”

He glanced at her, hearing the empathy in her voice. “I’m not scary.”

She buried her fingers deeper into the black fur. “Maybe it’s not you, it’s me.” The dog watched her with sad eyes. Drool puddled on the leather under his paws. “I’ll go get a treat, see if that’ll move him.”

But nothing she got appealed to him. They tried ham, cheese, peanut butter, crackers, kibble, and even the dried bull penis Bella had given him at the clinic with his other gear.

“That’s just wrong,” Cleo said, wrinkling her nose at the two-foot-long brown stick. It was like a magic wand. Except without the magic.

“I’ll bring him back to the clinic.” He let the unwanted bull penis sag in his hand at his side.

“Maybe you should try bringing him to your place.”

“And what, stay there with him all week?”

“If he’s happy there.”

He turned, about to make a joke about making her happy, then saw the tightness in her lips. “Would you rather I did that?” he asked.

“I was just talking to my mother.”

“Oh, no wonder,” he said.

“She thinks I should ask you if you want children.”

His bark of laughter made her flinch. He sobered instantly, feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “And this is how you’re doing it,” he said.

“Apparently.” Her restless hands twisted the fur around Mouse’s neck.

“What else did she say?”

“Don’t blame her. I’m the one taking her advice.”

“I’m just curious,” he said. “You’re obviously upset.”

“You haven’t answered the question.”

“You didn’t really ask me,” he said, knowing he was being a jerk but unable to help himself.

“Do you want to have children someday?”

The world around them faded away, leaving them in a silent bubble, frozen in time. “You’re serious.”

“That’s another thing my mother pointed out.” She raised her chin. “I am serious. I’m serious about us. Are you?”

He heard the blood rushing in his ears and felt his legs twitch as if the starting gun had just blasted.

They were friends. Everything had always been so easy. He’d thought he understood her, that she understood him. “Is this really the time or place to discuss this? I’ve got this huge animal stuck in my car, we’re standing in some random driveway…”

Her cheeks were as pale as the haze hanging over the bay. “I need to know before we take this any further.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he said. “Because I’m not prepared to answer that question right now.”

“I see.”

Their eyes met for a moment, then both turned to stare at the dog. A car drove by but didn’t stop. The sun hadn’t come out yet and didn’t look like it was going to.