Going All In (9 page)

She changed her bedroom furniture nearly as often as she switched boyfriends. Once she got bored looking at the same pieces, she’d shop for a new suit, charge it all to her father’s account, then call the movers. They’d show up, box up her personal items, move out the old, move in the new, then replace her things. It happened so often, Callie couldn’t begin to guess how many bedroom suits—or boyfriends—Jen had been through.

By comparison, Callie had changed bedroom suits twice. The first when she graduated kindergarten, the second when she started high school. And she hadn’t had
that
many more boyfriends. She wasn’t a big fan of change, so once she got comfortable with something, be it a bedroom suit or favorite pair of pants, she tended to hold on.

Admittedly, that thinking caused her problems sometimes, like when she latched on to her infatuation for Gavin and refused to let go. But overall, she’d rather be a keeper than someone like Jen, who tossed things away when they were no longer new and shiny.

“I don’t want something new. This table has a lot of character and reminds me of the summer I spent in the south of France.” She sat back on her heels and admired the detail. Someone put a lot of time and effort into making this table, and she took pride in adding her personal touch.

Gavin always referred to her parents’ home as a mausoleum, and at the time, she didn’t understand why he disliked the marble floors or heavy, highly polished pieces filling her father’s office, or the cool, crisp whites in her mother’s sitting room. But as she traveled Europe, especially the various regions of France, she noticed not only the differences in decorating styles, but also a difference in the way the homes felt. They were warm and inviting, perfect for relaxation.

As soon as she moved into her own condo, her personal decorating tastes revealed themselves, and they were nothing like her mother’s. She painted the walls soft, muted colors and started collecting painted, not polished, furniture. Her condo felt like a home, not a house, and she finally understood why Gavin always seemed so uncomfortable at her parents’.

“Okay,” Jen said, refusing to give up the battle. “Go buy something new that’s similar and hire someone to paint it for you. Between the sale of the fishing pier”—her lip curled in an involuntary reaction to speaking the words she found distasteful—“and your trust fund, you can buy whatever you like.”

Callie repeated the dip-dip-wipe with the paintbrush and made another barely visible stroke down the opposite side of the flower petal. Callie would never be able to find a new piece of furniture with this kind of character, and she enjoyed painting. On most days, it relaxed her. Tonight, however, Jen’s yammering was zapping her Zen.

“We’ve been over this a million times.” Callie set down the brush and picked up her water bottle. “I’m not using any of that money.”

“Why? Why are you so stubborn about this?” Frustrated, Jen shook her head. “It pains me to see you going to work every day, then coming home to”—she flipped her hand over and waved it in the general direction of the dressing table—“this. You were born into a life of luxury. You’re not made for manual labor.” She pursed her lips. “Some women have to marry for money, but you don’t. With your trust fund, you can do whatever you want, whenever you want, with whomever you want, for as long as you want.”

Callie sighed and traded in the bottle for the brush. She might not achieve Zen, but keeping her hands busy would keep her from slapping Jen. A part of her recognized this as the chance she’d been waiting for to release her pent-up frustrations and resentments, but she was tired and not mentally prepared for battle tonight.

At the club, she’d been itching for a confrontation, and she questioned if her courage stemmed from being with Wade. He made her feel more carefree—some would say less uptight—and a whole lot braver than she really was. He made her want to expand her horizons and experience life from a different angle.

But he wasn’t here now, so she settled on a more docile approach. “I like painting. It’s calming.”
Usually.

“Painting is fine. There are lots of famous painters, and lots of celebrities paint. But… well… they paint on canvas, not used furniture.” She shuddered. “You don’t know where that thing has been. I can’t believe you actually brought it into your condo.”

“That’s why I scrubbed it really well.” Callie couldn’t hide the mischievous smile pressing against her lips. “It’s also why I painted the whole thing with Kilz. That way, any remaining nastiness is sealed in, and I don’t have to worry about it getting on me.” There was a grain of truth to the statement, but she’d scrubbed the entire piece with bleach a couple of times. She wasn’t the least bit worried about crud. She mainly wanted to get under Jen’s skin, and from the look on her face, it worked.

“That’s disgusting.”

The front door opened and the smell of fresh-baked goodies poured in, punching up Callie’s hunger and causing her stomach to growl in response. Water pooled in her mouth and she stood, as if in trance, following the scent.

“I made fresh-baked brownies,” Tiffany said. “Who wants one?”

Jen rolled her eyes. “You two are turning into a couple of Martha Stewarts.” She leaned forward and peered into the pan as Tiffany set it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “But I have to admit those look tempting.”

Tiffany, who had the uncanny ability to ignore the negatives and focus on the positives, beamed. “They’re white and dark chocolate marble. Try one.”

“Just one?” Callie said with a laugh. “I’m counting on that being dinner.”

“We made something similar last week in cooking class. I tweaked the recipe a little, so…” Hesitation and uncertainty crept in. “If they’re no good, I can whip us up something else.”

“I’m sure they’re great,” Callie called over her shoulder as she went to the kitchen to wash her hands and grab some plates and napkins. “So far, everything you’ve made has been incredible.”

Since Tiffany bought the condo next door and started taking cooking lessons, Callie had become her culinary guinea pig. The arrangement worked perfectly. Callie didn’t have to cook—something she’d discovered after moving out on her own she wasn’t very good at—and Tiffany had someone to try her new dishes. They’d also agreed on a bartering system of sorts. Tiffany kept Callie fed, and Callie helped Tiffany decorate her condo.

Tiffany had spent the past two years watching Callie pave the way, and she’d been taking notes. Six months ago, she decided to leave the comfort of the heated pool in favor of life’s more turbulent waters. She had yet to break free of her parents’ checkbook, but she was working hard to figure out her place in life, and total freedom was just around the corner.

Jen, however, was content to remain entrenched in the world of maids and Daddy’s credit card and didn’t understand why they wanted to make their own marks on the world.

After drying her hands, Callie grabbed the plates and napkins and headed back to the living room. She stopped short as the scents of fresh paint and brownies hit her. She drew in a deep breath and enjoyed the rush of endorphins the unlikely combination caused. Who knew those smells could be so comforting?

Tiffany scooped a brownie from the pan and placed it on one of the plates. “The dressing table looks great.”

“Thanks, I’m happy with it.” She took a bite of brownie, then moaned with pleasure as the warm, gooey treat melted on her tongue. “God, these are good. I don’t know how they tasted before, but you nailed this recipe.”

Tiffany’s smile grew and she bounced on her toes. “You really think so?” She looked to Jen for confirmation, then back to Callie.

“Absolutely. They’re incredible.” Callie took another big bite. Then another. And another, then finally gave up the fight to be polite and crammed the rest in her mouth.

Jen’s reaction was more subdued, but after a dainty bite, she agreed. “Yeah, they’re good.”

“You know…” Tiffany started, then stopped and cranked her mouth around as she worked up the nerve to finish her thought. She sat down in a chair and tucked her leg beneath her. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of starting a catering business.” As soon as the words spilled from her mouth, she sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for their response.

Jen blinked a couple of times and fiddled with her earring, like she was adjusting the dial on her hearing.

But Callie knew she’d heard right, and excitement for her friend bubbled up. “Seriously?” She dropped into the chair next to Tiffany’s. “You think you’re finally ready?”

Callie didn’t doubt Tiffany’s abilities. She’d been eating her food for months and had no complaints. Ever. But Tiffany wasn’t as sure of her culinary talent, and Callie worried Tiff’s self-doubts would get in the way.

Tiffany’s eyes misted with fear and trepidation, but the fog quickly burned away as underlying determination shone through. “Yeah, I am. I’ve done a lot of thinking since our last conversation—”

Oh crap.

“—and I think it’s time.”

Callie held her breath as Jen’s gaze narrowed and swung between Callie and Tiffany. “I don’t remember talking about this before.”

“You weren’t there.”

Callie’s retort was harsher and more defensive than intended, but she loved the conversations she and Tiffany had without Jen, and she was protective of them. Their private sessions were real and genuine, about important things that mattered. They talked about their futures and made plans—plans some would say were nothing more than pipe dreams—but they were quickly learning there wasn’t much of a difference between plans and dreams, and they were excited about the possibilities life held for them.

She’d rather continue this conversation without Jen, the pessimistic voice of doom and gloom booming loud and strong from the sidelines like James Earl Jones narrating a film:
The end is near… Prepare for destruction.
But Tiffany had started the discussion and was excited, so Callie encouraged her to continue. “Tell me more. What are you thinking?”

As Tiffany began to talk—more or less thinking out loud and brainstorming—Jen rolled her eyes, swirled her drink around in her glass, tapped her foot, and checked the polish on her perfectly painted nails. Of course, Jen’s increasing boredom intensified Tiffany’s anxiety and uncertainty.

Jen’s insensitive, selfish, immature attitude was to be expected, but it still pissed Callie off. Stepping in to diffuse the situation before Jen stole Tiffany’s dreams before they had a chance to fully develop, Callie said, “You’re off to a great start.” She grabbed Tiffany’s fingers and squeezed while locking gazes with her. “Let’s go to lunch one day this weekend to celebrate. We’ll make a day of it.”

Her blatant dismissal of Jen caught all of them off guard, but Callie didn’t care. She refused to let Jen’s negativity poison Tiffany’s hopes and dreams.

After Tiffany’s quietly spoken, “Okay,” everyone fell silent and tension filled the room, making it difficult to breathe. Callie searched for a safe subject to get them back into neutral territory, something they could all talk about and enjoy, but her mind was a blank.

Okay, not completely blank, because Wade seemed to be taking up a lot of space there recently. But given the awkward atmosphere of her living room, she decided to keep thoughts of Wade to herself. Seeking an escape from the expanding tension, she grabbed another brownie and opened her mouth to take a large bite.

Before the chocolate morsel hit her lips, her phone pinged with a text message. She’d given Wade a special ringtone, so without even looking, she knew it was him.

Her heart took a few beats to get back into rhythm, as did her breathing, so she did her best to hide her reaction as she picked up the phone and read the message.
Campfire tonight. U interested?

She felt Jen and Tiffany’s curious stares on her but refused to meet their gazes. Nervous excitement made her mouth too dry to speak, and she didn’t know what to say anyway. She pressed her lips together and slid them back forth, thinking things through.

Oh heck, who was she kidding? She didn’t have to think this through. She was so excited by the invitation she could jump out of her skin. So without conferring with Jen or Tiffany or seeking confirmation she was making the right choice, she replied,
I’d love to.
What do I need to wear? Pick me up or meet somewhere?

C
allie battled her trembling fingers, trying to steady them enough to attach the back of her earring while Tiffany and Jen stood guard at the window, watching over the parking lot like a couple of sentries guarding the fort.

“What does he drive?” Jen called from the living room.

“No idea. I’ve only seen him in company trucks.”

She sighed with relief as the back finally slipped onto the post. Then she fixed the collar of her turtleneck and adjusted her necklace. Wade told her to dress casually, jeans and a sweatshirt if she had one, then nonchalantly offered to bring something of his if she didn’t.

She’d been tempted to take him up on it for the silly, girly pleasure of wearing his clothes, but she finally admitted she’d be able to find something on her own. After twenty minutes of rummaging through her closet for something casual-not-drab, she settled on a black turtleneck and red sweater.