Next To You (14 page)

Five minutes later, Will slipped naked into bed beside her. She was still wearing his socks.

Chapter 6

It was seven-fifteen.

The coffee was ready and William had always been on time. If he said seven, he was there at seven, on the nose, but it was seven-fifteen, the morning after the night before last, when they’d had that moment, that moment when they’d looked at each other and had the same thought. Except they’d talked about how she wasn’t a pretty girl, how they were neighbors, how they were friends …

Caroline shuffled her feet muttering, ‘Fifteen minutes late.’

Batman looked up at her from his little rug, his chin on his paws, one of his tan eyebrows raised. He knew what was coming, and sat up, waiting. She chewed her thumbnail, spinning, tumbling head first into anxiety, self-loathing and shitload of maybes. Like maybe he reconsidered, maybe he didn’t want to be ‘just friends,’ maybe she’d made a friend and lost a friend, or maybe coffee morning was at his place this morning.

This. This was why she needed coffee.

Besides suggesting grabbing life by the balls, Julie liked to talk about the habit people often had in making assumptions rather than informed evaluations. Caroline took a breath before the whole conclusion-jumping thing spun out of control. Batman quit looking at her, shook himself, and settled back on his rug.

She crossed the landing between apartments, twisted the doorknob, and poked her head into Will’s apartment. Coffee scented the air. Music played. Gladys Knight was riding that ‘Midnight Train to Georgia’ and Will was too, doing the Pips’
woo-woo
backing vocals.

She called out, ‘You’re dancing like of one the Pips in front of the mirror, aren’t you?’ She went inside, passing by the living room, going up the hallway to the kitchen. A pot of coffee sat on a trivet on the table. ‘See where assumptions get you, you idiot?’ Caroline muttered, and strolled back through the dining room. ‘You better hurry up and finish testing my theory of the L-Rule William, because I really need coff—’ She stumbled to a halt at the doorway to the living room.

How the hell had she missed the striking woman sprawled out on the big sofa? The woman wore a white, oversized bathrobe that obviously belonged to William. She squinted, grimaced, and kneaded her temple. Her champagne-colored Louise Brooks bob was highlighted by subtle strands of rich, milky toffee that accented large, tired-looking nut-brown eyes. A small, red hickey marred her neck.

An amorous interlude, she’d walked in on an amorous interlude, or a shortly-after-an-amorous interlude. Gladys Knight stopped singing and Caroline started apologizing, ‘Oh, excuse me! I didn’t know William had company. Um, I’m Caroline, the neighbor. I thought he might … we have … we were supposed to … I left my door open and my dog might run out, so I better just …’ Good God, she was jabbering inanely, like Bonnie Chesterman. ‘I’m sorry I disturbed you.’ She turned for the door—and bumped into William.

He’d appeared in his silent manner, and moved now to stand beside her. She looked at him, expecting to find him in pajamas or another bathrobe; only he was immaculately dressed in a navy suit, pale aqua shirt and hand-printed silk tie. She wondered if the collar of his shirt hid a love bite, and when she started looking for one, his hand settled on her shoulder, his touch soft, soothing,
sane
. Why did it matter if he had a hickey?

Will squeezed Caroline’s shoulder. ‘Good morning. Sorry to keep you waiting this morning. This is Yvonne Gibson. Vonnie, John Reginaldi moved out. This is Caroline Jones, my new neighbor. She’s Reg’s niece.’

Will caught the amused twitch of Yvonne’s mouth. ‘Oh, Reg. yes. Nice to meet you,’ Yvonne said. ‘I apologize for being rude. I had a bit of a big night last night. A little too big, if you know what I mean.’

‘Vonnie got in very early this morning.’ Will slid his hand from Caroline.

With another mouth twitch of amusement, Yvonne got up, gingerly, and moved toward him. ‘I got in very early. I hope I didn’t make too much noise coming upstairs last night—I mean this morning.’ She groaned and squeezed her skull. ‘Oh, shit, my head. Why do I drink cheap champagne, Willie? I ought to know better. I’m just going to lie around here today. I’ll take the nine o’clock train home tonight, after dinner—if I survive the morning. Go have coffee with your friend. I’ll go off and die quietly in your bed.’ She kissed Will’s cheek, then gave Caroline an anemic smile.

The pallid curve of Yvonne’s lips was all Will needed to know she had sized up Caroline. It was a judgmental peculiarity some women participated in, and something he never understood. Turning, his hand settled against the small of Caroline’s back as he led her through the doorway of his place, and across the landing to her apartment.

‘Again, I’m sorry I kept you waiting,’ he said, taking two cups from a cupboard in her kitchen. ‘Vonnie had a miserable time on her trip. Her latest boyfriend left her mid-cruise. He just got off the ship and didn’t come back.’

‘You don’t need to explain anything. You’re old friends and we’re new friends.’

‘New or old, you and I are friends, Caroline. It was impolite of me to be so late.’

Nodding, she poured the coffee she’d already brewed. He took a seat at the skinny breakfast bar built in under the window that overlooked her terrace, and she glanced at the dog playing with what was left of his towel-rat. ‘I thought you might have … I didn’t ever stop to think you might be entertaining.’ She laughed with a small snort. ‘I’m sorry I burst in like I did. Hope I didn’t catch you out.’

‘Catch me out? You mean you thought … yes, that’s what you thought.’ He frowned. ‘Oh, Vonnie finds me very entertaining, but you didn’t interrupt anything. I didn’t know she was up. Last time I saw her she was snoring next to me. Do you snore, Caroline?’

‘Probably.’

‘Entertaining.’ He chuckled. ‘I was thinking. Why don’t you come out to dinner with me, Quincy and Erika tonight at a Turkish place called Istanbul—if you’re not doing anything? Yvonne hasn’t seen them in a while and she’d like to before she heads home.’

Right. That was an invitation to dinner, with other people, besides William. Was she ready for that? She was supposed to be grabbing life, but was she ready for a group activity, ready for the shallow small talk and the first impressions? Beet-red face aside, she’d survived meeting Yvonne, but did that mean it was time to make an even bigger grab of a bigger set of balls? Caroline looked into her coffee cup. ‘Your friends would probably like to catch up with Yvonne instead of meeting someone they don’t know.’

‘Well, I know you, and you’ve met Vonnie.’

‘I hope she didn’t mind that I barged in like that.’

‘I thought you and I were barging. I thought we’d become barging neighbors. I want you to barge into my place so I can barge in here and eat your ice cream when you’re not here.’

She slid her eyes to him. ‘So that’s what’s happened to the peanut butter and chocolate!’

‘I confess to having a spoon or five. I hope that was okay.’

‘That was fine.’

‘Then I’m not mistaken, we’ve worked our way to being TV sitcom neighbors?’

‘I thought so too.’

‘Okay, barge away. The door’s only locked if I’m not home or otherwise engaged.’

The
otherwise engaged
part of his statement replayed in slow speed through Caroline’s ears. Springs, cogs and tiny bits of machinery moved her mind back to Yvonne in his bathrobe. He’d confessed to still being in love with his ex, said they had a good relationship that benefited them both. Exactly what those benefits were was obvious. Amused and perturbed, she muttered, ‘You and your ex-wife still …’ Quickly, she gulped a mouthful of coffee. She had no right to be disapproving. No right at all.

‘Still what?’

Caroline shook her head, swallowing the coffee. ‘Nothing, nothing.’ She rubbed her tongue over her teeth, trying to keep her mouth from making any more idiotic automatic comments about something that was none of her business.

Will picked up the sugar bowl on the table and spooned four teaspoons of sugar into his coffee instead of two because, after puffing up his chest with the quiet elegance she said he had, he suddenly felt arrantly inelegant. But that made no sense to him. Everyone else knew about Yvonne, so why was it any different if Caroline knew? He didn’t understand why he cared, or why he thought it mattered, but it did matter. ‘Okay, look, we met when we were very young. We’ve remained close friends and it does happen from time to time, probably because I’m her first and favorite former husband—or maybe it’s because I’m the only one who’s still a sucker for her.’

‘You’re her favorite husband? How many times has she been married?’

‘Three if you count me. I guess I’m her favorite husband.’

She put her coffee down. ‘I noticed she calls you
Willie
.’

‘Are you going to make a dick joke now?’

‘Like
Willie
isn’t enough of a dick joke?’

He smirked and had a mouthful of too-sweet coffee.

Caroline rubbed her chin. ‘Does Yvonne ever sing that song to you about Little Willy?’

Coffee almost sprayed from his mouth. ‘You mean the one where little Willy won’t go home, right?’

‘That’s the one. I knew you’d know. Who sings it?’

‘The Sweet. Why?’

She rubbed her chin again. ‘Well, is it you or Yvonne who doesn’t want to go home?’

Will nodded. ‘Nicely played, Caroline. Yes, I know. I need to change my name to Chump.’

‘I think William suits you better.’

He smiled. ‘Thank you. Will you come with us for dinner tonight? There’ll be Turkish food, or maybe Ethiopian, if Quincy’s feeling adventurous. You ever feel adventurous?’

‘Not for a long while. I don’t know how I’ll be meeting your other friends. You saw how I was with Yvonne, but I’m up for an adventure. I think. ‘

‘Well, how are you with big German things?’

She shrugged. ‘Can’t say I’ve had much experience with big German anything, unless we’re talking about bratwurst.’

‘Are you making a dick joke now?’ He lifted his cup and drank what was left in his cup.

‘What gave you that idea? Did I stiffen up or something? Is the worst a wurst, or a willie?

‘Witty. Alliterative.’ Will wiped his dribbling mouth and freshened his coffee, warming her cup as well. ‘What if I could guarantee a smooth jaunt on soft leather?’

‘Leather? Hold on. You switched themes on me, and I’m not well versed in BDSM lingo or puns. Or are you trying to get me to ride your motorcycle? I don’t do leather pants, William.’

‘My bike’s American, not German. My car is German.’

‘You have a car?’

‘You know that green Volkswagen Passat parked beside your Spitfire, the car that hasn’t moved since you moved in? It’s mine.’

‘How come you don’t drive it?’

Will put the empty coffeepot on a towel beside the sink. ‘It hasn’t been cold enough yet. I drive more in the winter or if I go out on a real date with a real girl.’

‘Ouch.’

‘If you come to dinner, you could drive the Passat home. Night driving, with streetlights, oncoming halogen headlights, neon advertising is a little demanding. But then there’s also if I have a drink or two.’

‘Can’t you drive at night?’

He nodded. ‘I can, but I prefer to be sensible and limit most of my driving to daytime and odd occasions where I don’t really have a choice. I don’t want to get lumped into the category with the ninety-five-year-old who can’t see over the steering wheel, or sixteen-year-old boys who drag race their father’s Toyota Camry at the stop lights. It’s enough of a pain to have to have my vision tested once a year without running the risk of giving the rest of us low-vision drivers a bad rap.’

She cocked her head, curious. ‘Why do you need to have your vision tested every year?’

Will liked that she was curious. ‘So I can keep my license. It’s a condition of this state’s law for drivers with albinism. I have to get documentation from a doctor saying my vision meets the standard for a license.’

‘Do you need a separate license for your motorcycle?’

‘No, just another road skills test every year. Does that make you nervous?’

As though contemplating this issue, she leaned on an elbow and looked into her coffee cup, her hair spilling over her right eye. ‘No. That’s not something that makes me nervous.’

With a finger, Will lifted the hair away. Her gaze moved up to his face. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘So you think you’d like to sit in the luxurious lap of a big German on the way home?’

‘I think I can handle the lederhosen.’

***

Yvonne rode up front beside her ex-husband. Her fingers ruffled the hair at the back of his head.

Caroline watched the hair ruffling from the back seat and didn’t like what the ruffling conveyed, didn’t like the intimacy it conveyed, didn’t like that it stirred up a jumble of memories of deep red hair and the feel of it beneath her fingertips. There was just one thing. The car’s stereo was playing Dionne Warwick’s ‘Do You Know the Way to San Jose.’ As William
wo-wo-woed
with the backing singers, melancholy thoughts did not lead to a crying jag or tears of any sort. A bittersweet memory didn’t make her want to cry, just like when she told William about the baby dying. Processed. She’d processed the memories, noted them, recognized they were sad, and moved on. She had moved on.

Proud, smiling over her startling victory, Caroline looked out the window—and had no idea where she was. William was driving down a residential street, taking a rat’s maze of back streets instead of the usual thoroughfares to the Turkish restaurant where they were meeting his friends for dinner. Before she could ask about his course, it dawned on her that these streets had less traffic and little of the light pollution of neon signs and advertisements that challenged his sensitive eyes.

When they arrived at Istanbul, William parked the car and went around to the passenger side to open the door for Yvonne. Accustomed to his old-fashioned manners, his ex-wife waited for him. Caroline didn’t need anyone to act as her chauffeur. She got out of the car and stood at the rear, watching Yvonne take William’s hand as she climbed from her seat.