Cookie Cutter (17 page)

How did he know I love daisies?

“So pretty,” I whisper to them. Then I set them down beside my monitor and get back to work on the many things I still need to complete by day’s end. Every once in a while I find myself glancing up at the flowers and secretly smiling.

When I leave for the day, I have a text on my phone, from Ally, letting me know dance practice is going late and that she’s grabbing a ride home with Mrs. Dennison. This means one of two things could happen now; I could turn around, go back into work and get a head start on tomorrow’s work, or I can go home. Going home entails going over to Carter’s house. I can’t say I’m ready for that yet, but if he did send these flowers . . . and I’m fairly certain he did . . . I need to thank him.

“Home it is.”

When I pull into the driveway, Carter is outside. He sees me too and my nerves prickle with anxiousness as I put the car into park. I sit there for a minute or two, trying to check my make-up discreetly.  After I’ve sat there long enough for him to have noticed I’m sitting there too long, I grab the bouquet of flowers and head across the street.

“Hi,” I say with a smile as I approach him.

“For me?”

I laugh at his playfulness. I smell the daisies again and grin. Then I stop myself because although I do need to be grateful, I shouldn’t act quite so excited about getting flowers for crying out loud.
Humble
.

“Carter, it was really very sweet of you to send these---”

“Wait,” he says. “Sweet of me to do what exactly?”

“The flowers.” I hold the bouquet out to show him I received them.

Carter’s eyes flash to something behind me, then to me again. “Iris, as much as I’d love to take credit,” he shakes his head, “I didn’t send you any flowers.”

I’m sure the disappointment is showing right now. What if Mark fibbed to me and he really did send them?

“You . . . didn’t?  Then---?”

“I did.”

I swing around to see my ex-husband standing there in Carter Blackwood’s driveway and he’s staring at me with this ridiculous grin on his face.

“James?”

“The one and only.” He smirks with wide open arms.

Carter’s got his arms crossed and a blatant scowl across his brow. He is glaring at James.

“Um.” I laugh nervously and blink a few times. “Well this isn’t awkward at all.”

“I knew you were having a hard time this week,” James says as he keeps an eye on Carter. “I just wanted to, you know, brighten up your day.”

I am . . . so confused right now. “You what?”

“Look, I was just stopping by on my way home. Want to chat for a bit?”

I hesitate. I have no idea what he would want to
chat
with me about. Until he adds, “It’s about Ally.”

And now I do. She left him that message on his cell phone Saturday night that caused him some alarm. Which means now I have to explain where I was and what I was doing when she called me.
Great.

“Well.” I look to Carter for some sort of clue as to whether he’d like me to stay or not but he’s still just scowling. “Okay.”

I start to leave. James takes the flowers from me and takes my arm like he used to when we were first married and he would take me out to dinner from time to time. I look back over my shoulder to say goodbye to Carter but he’s already heading back inside and the door is closing behind him. Nope. Not awkward at all.

I’m not given the chance to brood about that, because once James and I are in my house, and the flowers have found a vase to live in. he wastes no time grilling me about the night of the carnival.

“So did you have a good time?”

“What are you talking about?”

“At your event,” he says. “You didn’t stay long, that’s for sure.”

My head tilts to one side, perplexed at the phrase he’s chosen. Mostly because I know he’s just digging for information.  “I was there for . . . wait, I didn’t see you at the carnival.”

“I’m not surprised. Seemed to me all you saw was that guy you were with.”

He was there? “Jealous?”

His tone turns playful. “Maybe.”

“That’s . . . an odd thing for you to say, James.”

“Why odd?”

“Because you’ve never been jealous a day in your life. Not even when we first met you were always just . . . flippant.”

“Well, I’m not flippant anymore.”

He gives me a look. His eyes soften. These are his bedroom eyes. Even though they haven’t spent the night with me in well over two years, I know them like I know my own.

“No?”

He shakes his head and takes his jacket off. Then throws it over the kitchen table chair the same as when we were together. He loosens his tie as he walks toward me.

My nerves begin to show.

“What’s the matter Iris?”

I fiddle with something laying on the counter.

“Nothing, I’m just . . .” I smile and look away, then shake out the edginess and turn to him again. “Nothing.”

He’s a couple of feet in front of me now, and before I can stop him, he pushes some hair out of my face. He watches his own actions while he does it. “Can I be candid, here?”

I swallow, uncomfortable with what’s happening. He hasn’t paid this much attention to me since Ally was about three years old. “Of course.”

“I’ve missed you.”

What?

“Missed me?”

“Definitely.”

I push his hand away, but only half-heartedly. “I thought you wanted to talk about Ally, James.”

“That was just a way to get you away from the house flipper.”

“I don’t---”

“It’s been a long time since you needed anything. Much less me,” he says. “You’re usually so . . . together, have everything so well thought out; on top of the bills, on top of Ally, on top of this town; I guess I got intimidated by that after a while. But now . . .”

He has my attention. “Now?”

“You let a side to you show these past few weeks that I needed to see.”

“What do you mean, what side?”

“Your vulnerability.”

Suddenly he closes in on me and his lips touch mine. Just barely. “I want you, Iris.”

My breath catches when he presses his lips against mine again, more firmly this time. I’m actually caught up in his affections for a minute. Maybe I craved this side of him for so long when we were together that now that he’s showing it to me, I’ll take anything I can get. Maybe I also think about Ally for a moment or two; how she’s been vying for her father’s attention since he left, and how maybe it would be nice to give him back to her again.

But then, it hits me.
Maybe
I’ve lost my mind. I push him away, gently, and ask a very simple question. “When?”

“What?” He chuckles and makes to move in again, but I keep my hand firmly against his chest.

“When did you suddenly realize you want me, James? Do you want me, or do you just want what you can’t have?”

He backs away some and scowls at me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re not interested in me because you miss
me
James. Or
us.
Or
your daughter.
You’re interested in me because maybe someone else is for once.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I love my girls.”

“First of all? I’m not your girl.  And secondly, bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You barely have time to spend with your daughter on visitation days, James. Much less any of her dances or any
other
day of the year for that matter - and as far as I go, tell me something, where was this
love
you speak of when we were married? How about the day you walked out of the house and never looked back?”

He points at me. “You forced that on me.”

“You. Were. Sleeping. With. Someone!”

Seriously.

“You never proved that. That was just some crazy concoction you made up in that . . .” He waves at me. No, he flails at me.

“What James? What, in my crazy mind? Well, let me tell you something, I know what I saw on your cell phone and I know how affected our bank account
was – and I know that when you can’t answer simple
questions about where you’ve been---”

He throws his hands in the air like he’s giving up. Finally. Then he shakes his head as though he’s disappointed in me or something. “I don’t have to listen to this shit.”

“You’re right. Just go.”

“Iris, babe.”

“I’m not your babe, James. Not anymore.”

He stares at me for a minute or two. I can see that he’s irritated by the snarl spreading across his face. “Whatever, Izzie.”

“And don’t call me
Izzie
.”

“Fine,” he says, smiling sarcastically now. He grabs his jacket and folds it over his arm. “You want your fling with that . . . whatever the hell you wanna call him, go for it, Iris. But when he’s gone, don’t come crawling back to me.”

“Count on it.” I stand, cross armed, waiting for him to leave. When he does, and the door is closed, I let the tears spring to life. “Asshole.”

I allow myself a full five minutes of self-pity, then I get myself up, wipe away the tears, and head over to face Carter. Properly this time. I get one knock in before the door opens.

I breathe. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says back. Although he’s not smiling exactly, he’s doesn’t look angry either.

I open my mouth but haven't thought about what I wanted to say so the silence hangs there for what feels like forever before I finally decide, this is crazy. What am I doing?

“This is so embarrassing. I’m going.” I turn to go but a hand grabs mine before I can.

“Don’t.”

I turn around and look up at Carter, slightly embarrassed. Instead of waiting for me to say something, he says, “Listen, just because I didn’t send those flowers today doesn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about you, and it certainly doesn’t mean I didn’t have a great time with you Saturday night.”

“Before I got sloshed, you mean.”

The side of Carter’s mouth turns up into a smirk. “No, I pretty much enjoyed that too.”

I slam my eyes shut and want to die.

“Come in.” He tugs at my hand.

I open my eyes and nod, then step inside Carter Blackwood’s house for the first time. I glance around at all that he’s done already. It certainly doesn’t look like he’s simply been tinkering around over here for the past month or so. The hard wood floors look professionally done and I can’t remember where the walls were before but he’s definitely opened up the entire space somehow. It’s beautiful.

“Wow, you’ve practically gutted this place.”

“Yeah, you know, I didn’t want it to look like every other house on the block. Not so . . .”

“Cookie Cutter,” I say, admiring his handiwork.

He’s so talented.

“What?”

“It’s called cookie cutter because all the houses look like they’ve been stamped out, like a---”

“Cookie cutter.” He nods. “I get it. Cool.”

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Wanna beer?”

I wince.

“I promise I won’t let you become a lush,” he says. “Besides, you shouldn’t beat yourself up over a moment in time when you were hurting. It’s in the past. Let it stay there.”

It hits me, I shared a few things with him Saturday night during my shot fest I might not have otherwise. But now that he’s said what he’s said, I’m kind of glad I did. “I’d love a beer actually.”

We move into the kitchen and again and I’m blown away with what he’s done.  This looks nothing like what it once was. There’s an island and a new window looking out to the back yard. I can see straight out to the woods behind his property line now. I never knew there was so much yard back there. I’m jealous. And the cabinets. I smooth a hand over the nearest one.

“These are so
my style.”

“Yeah, it’s weird.” Carter pulls two Miller Lites out of the fridge. “I was actually thinking about you when I picked them out; they seemed very Iris
to me.”

I smile up at the one I’m holding onto.

“That’s so . . .”

“Weird, right?” He laughs and hands me my beer after he takes the top off for me.

“I was going to say, sweet.”

“Well,” he says, holding his bottle up. “Here’s to sweet.”

I tap mine against it and tag a swig.

“Mmm.”

Carter is staring at me. He’s not smiling anymore.

“What?”

“You made a sound very similar to that the other night,” he says.

I cover my face with my free hand. “Oh man.”

“Iris.” Carter sets his bottle down on the counter, then he takes mine and puts it aside as well.  He takes my hand and pulls it away from covering my shame, and now he’s got both of my hands in his as he looks down into my eyes with sincerity.