Loving Mr. July (3 page)

“I’m sorry, girl,” he crooned to her, giving
her a good scratch behind her ears. “You’ve been very patient about
your dinner, haven’t you?”

He took the stairs to the living area at a
jog with Lucky dancing at his heels. She let out a few excited
barks when he headed straight for the kitchen.

Lucky watched him with bright eyes, her tail
thumping a rapid beat against the cabinet, and licking her chops as
he filled her food bowl.

While she happily chomped down her food, he
glanced around his immaculate house with its modern furniture and
neutral tones. The maids had come today. He could smell the
lemon-scented cleaner they used on his granite kitchen counters. He
knew that his laundry was completely done for him, his bed changed
and remade with precise hotel corners. All three spare bedrooms
would also have been changed, even though no one ever slept in
them. He received excellent service. Of course he paid them very
well.

But tonight the perfect neatness of his house
seemed cold and oppressive. Lonely.

He grabbed a Red Trolley ale from the
refrigerator, opened the bottle and wandered over to the massive
sliding glass doors that separated his living room from the second
floor deck and its views of the pounding surf. He slid open one
door and walked outside.

The marine layer had come in with a vengeance
tonight with the clouds and mist obscuring any stars. It suited his
rare mood, slightly melancholy and a little dark. The air was
thick, too, with the distinctly sea air smell of salt and fish. So
thick, the cushions on his deck furniture were slightly moist. He
stretched out in one of his teak lounge chairs anyway.

Lucky padded over to the chair, pushing her
muzzle against the hand he dangled over the armrest, sure of her
welcome.

“We might be having some company for a while,
girl,” he said to her, giving in to her implicit petting request.
“I hope she likes dogs.”

Lucky laid her head on his thighs, turning
her soulful brown eyes in his direction.

“If she doesn’t, she’s out of here, right
girl?” He stroked her head. “Besides, how could anyone not like
you?” He patted the deck chair, to let Lucky know it was okay to
jump up.

All seventy-five pounds of dog happily
complied, lying across his chest in lung-squashing eagerness.

“It’s not every day I let you up here, is
it?” Kurt used both hands to stroke her head. “And don’t get any
ideas about doing it when I’m not here.”

Lucky gave him her soft whine.

“Am I leaving you alone too much?” He asked
her in a quiet voice. “Maybe it’s time we got you a friend?”

Maybe it was time he thought about finding
someone more permanent to share his life. And where had that
thought popped into his mind? He had never been in any rush to
couple up, despite his mother’s oft-mentioned wish of having her
boys happily married off and producing prodigious quantities of
grandchildren. Why should he when there were so many women happy to
spend time with him? How was a guy to choose?

Recently though, seeing Blake get married,
culminating a long parade of the people closest to him coupling
off, seemed to amplify the fact that while he was almost always
surrounded by people, there was something missing.

He watched a couple stop to embrace on the
beach below him, their bodies silhouetted by the moon. A weird,
almost longing emotion filled him. He had what appeared to be
everything—an active social life, a successful business, wealth,
friends, and a close extended family. So why was he feeling so
alone on a Friday night? And why couldn’t he get Cynthia’s
vulnerable face out of his mind?

“I’ve been working too hard, huh girl?” He
nudged Lucky to the side, so he could rub her belly. “That must be
why I’m losing it.”

Yeah, he’d go with that, because to think
anything else was just too disconcerting.

Well, he’d thrown out a challenge. He
wondered if Cynthia would show up in the morning. Then it hit him.
He’d just committed to running at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m.—on a
weekend no less.

Cynthia gave the doorbell another press, and
heard the bell peal in the house for the third time. She glanced at
the doorbell button and back at the keys in her hand. It felt sort
of weird to just barge into Kurt’s house even though he had given
her leave to do so. But he had said six on the dot and her atomic
watch didn’t lie. And if the barking was any indication, at least
the dog knew she was here.

Hope there isn’t an alarm, she thought, as
she slipped the key in the lock and turned. Of course, who needed
one when the dog was doing such a good job? Either Kurt wasn’t home
or he was comatose.

“Hey there, sweetie.” She held out her hand
for the dog to sniff, smiling when the dog took less than one
second to smell her before shoving its muzzle in closer for
petting. “Some watch dog you are.”

She turned the dog’s collar around so she
could read its tag. “Lucky. I’d say an appropriate name given where
you live.”

“Wow, a complement.” Kurt’s voice preceded
him down the stairs. “I just might faint from the novelty.”

“You deaf, or what?” Cynthia retorted. “Or is
punctuality just not your strong suit?”

She looked up to see his bare feet appear
first as he descended the stairs, then long, muscular legs. She saw
loose basketball shorts, and a glimpse of bare chest and stomach
before the shirt he pulled over his head unfortunately covered it.
He had a surprisingly dark shadow of stubble on his chin given how
fair his hair was. And he looked sleepy.

She thought back to how she had groaned when
her alarm went off at 5 a.m. How she had rushed through her normal
routine, not completely styling her hair, but blowing it dry enough
that Kurt wouldn’t realize she had showered this morning. And how
she’d even put on a light cover of makeup and a quick coat of
mascara to cover her pale blond eyelashes. A truly ridiculous
effort, given that she was about to get sweaty, but there was no
way that Kurt was going to see her without makeup. Suddenly it
seemed more worth it.

“Clock upstairs said six,” Kurt replied in a
mild tone.

He slid a pair of dark rimmed glasses onto
his nose that should have made him look like a geek, but instead
made her pulse race just a little.

He stared at her.

“Something wrong?” Cynthia asked.

“You worried I wasn’t going to see you in the
fog or something?”

Cynthia looked down at the brilliant yellow,
close-fitting workout outfit she had donned that morning. “Sorry,
only clean workout outfit I had.” Also the one chosen to bring as
much attention to them as possible, in the hope of embarrassing
Kurt enough to give up this crazy scheme, but he didn’t have to
know that.

“And what’s all this?” Kurt pointed to the
bags of groceries cluttering the small porch area by the front
door.

“You ordered healthy food. I followed
through.” Cynthia picked up one of the bags. “This is the only one
that needs refrigeration. Want to show me where things go?”

Kurt grabbed the other three bags, perusing
the contents as he did so. “Anything besides rabbit food in
here?”

“Nope,” Cynthia cheerfully replied. “You want
to lose body fat in three weeks, then you’re going to have to go
severe on your plan.”

“You work fast. I haven’t even given you my
trainer’s cookbook yet.” Kurt indicated she should precede him up
the stairs to the main living area.

“We go to the same gym, although I’m sure
you’ve never seen me there.” Cynthia called over her shoulder. “And
I know Carl. I helped him come up with a marketing plan for his
personal trainer business. I’m familiar with his cookbook. Have
several copies in fact.”

“Oh.” Kurt’s voice held a note of
surprise.

Cynthia looked over her shoulder to see a
nonplussed look on Kurt’s face. She turned around so Kurt wouldn’t
see the smile that came to her face. Yes I know Carl, she thought,
and I know how awful his food was before I helped him spice it up.
Food and how to cook it well, she knew. What Kurt didn’t need to
know was that she wasn’t going to cook from Carl’s published
cookbook. She was going to use his ‘before’ recipes, as in before
she helped him vastly improve their taste. And she couldn’t wait to
see Kurt’s reaction to it. He wanted to punish her a bit for the
photo shoot. Well, two could play that game. She hoped she could
serve the stuff to both of them with a straight face.

Cynthia stopped at the top of the stairs.
After the rather non-impressive entryway, living area of Kurt’s
house brought on a bit of a shock. It was absolutely stunning. Her
dream home if she’d ever thought to dream that big.

To her left, the expansive living area was
arranged to make the most of the straight-on view of the Pacific
Ocean. Floor to ceiling windows and sliding glass doors replaced
walls in the western side of the room. And the north- and
south-facing sides had been cleverly constructed to let in as much
view as possible while still providing privacy from the neighboring
homes.

Kurt, or his decorator, she thought,
evidently also liked the same design aesthetic she did—clean-lined,
20
^th
-century modern furniture. From working in Sharon’s
shop, she recognized the Breuer chairs casually grouped around a
white Saarinen table, the black Le Corbusier sofas and the Noguchi
coffee table. Except that it lacked the color she would have
preferred and it could use more plants or flowers, she could move
in and feel perfectly at home. Suddenly Kurt’s offer to let her
stay at his house for three weeks took on some additional
allure.

“Is there a reason why you’re not moving?”
Kurt’s voice behind her, where he was trapped on the stairs, jolted
her back to reality.

“Sorry. Just admiring the view.” Cynthia
moved out of the way, heading to the kitchen at the rear of the
living space. That area didn’t disappoint either. A little
impractical with its gleaming white cupboards, white subway title
and white Viking appliances, it nonetheless featured every
convenience a real cook would want. Apparently Kurt wasn’t much of
one, as everything looked spotless. More than spotless, it looked
like it had never even been used.

Cynthia headed for the massive built-in
refrigerator, where one glance inside confirmed her suspicions. The
shelves sat bare of any food except for a carton of milk, a
six-pack of beer missing one bottle, and an unopened bottle of
pinot grigio.

“Into cooking, I see,” Cynthia said, reaching
into the shopping bag to unload packages of fish and chicken.

“Kind of hard to make stuff for one person,”
Kurt said. He put the three shopping bags he carried on the counter
and started to unload. “It’s usually just easier for me to grab
stuff on the way to or from work.”

“Or you’re wining and dining people, as Blake
told me.” Cynthia took the vegetables as he handed them to her and
placed them in the refrigerator.

“Part of the job,” Kurt acknowledged. He held
up a block of low-fat cheese. “Have you actually eaten this
stuff?”

“Not recently.”

“It’s vile,” Kurt told her. “Mom used to buy
it when she went on one of her diet kicks. You might as well eat
rubber.”

Cynthia ducked behind the refrigerator door,
so Kurt wouldn’t see her face. She tried to stop a giggle from
coming out. Failing, she covered it up by coughing.

Yeah, the stuff was vile, she agreed. If Kurt
could see the contents of her kitchen, he would know she was up to
something. Nothing artificial ever entered its hallowed grounds.
She cooked with real butter, whole dairy products, and fresh
everything. Some would see that and say that’s why she was sort of
overweight. But she knew better. She had a healthy diet and ate
well most of the time. She just also occasionally binged as a
coping mechanism when she brushed up against the scary rooms in her
mind from her childhood. That and the fact that she was vertically
challenged as well as somewhat allergic to exercise didn’t help
either.

She got her humor under control enough to
emerge and answer. “You wanted Carl’s recipes, you got it.”

Kurt scowled at her. “Great. The reward for
having to pose like I think I’m some stud muffin is tasteless food
for the next three weeks.”

“But just think of how the woman who buys
your fantasy weekend will appreciate your awesome body,” Cynthia
said in an overly sweet tone, patting his arm like he was a little
boy she needed to comfort.

Kurt let out a deep sigh. “I’ll be in such a
foul mood from weeks of starvation, I’ll probably scare her.”

Cynthia bit back the laughter that still
threatened to emerge and glanced down at her watch. “We’re a little
off schedule here. I’ve got some things to do this morning, so if
we’re going to work out, we’d better get to it.

Kurt didn’t answer. He had crouched down to
rub Lucky’s belly.

“Or I could just come back tonight for the
gym workout?” Cynthia tried not to sound too hopeful.

“I don’t think so,” Kurt said in measured
tones. There was a gleam in his eye that Cynthia didn’t like. When
he grabbed a leash from the counter, sending Lucky into a barking
frenzy, she resigned herself to the idea that she was indeed going
to have to run this morning. With a sigh, she followed him down the
stairs.

~ ~ ~

Kurt led the way out of his house and onto
the sand. The marine layer from the night before hadn’t yet abated,
leaving the air still thick with moisture and the skies grey
overhead. The cooler temperatures meant that not too many people
were out on the beach. Of course, it could also be because the more
intelligent people were still happily sleeping. Like he wished he
was.

Cynthia trudged beside him, taking two steps
for each of his one. He hadn’t realized just how short she was
until she stood next to him in running shoes instead of her normal
heels. Her outsized personality made her seem bigger somehow, but
the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She had slight
frown lines between her eyes. She was either a little annoyed or
else determined, possibly both.