Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) (12 page)

“Okay,” he said.

“Any back problems? We’ll be sitting on the floor.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” She gave him a hopeful look. “Even just a twinge? Because if you did, then we’d get to sit on chairs.” She caressed the sturdy-looking oak chair at the head of the dining table.

Sitting on the floor didn’t sound so bad. It might be more casual than a formal setting. “Will there be a red-checkered tablecloth?” he asked.

“Damn,” she said. “You saw it already?”

“No, just hoping.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You got your wish. Red. Checkered. Tablecloth.”

“What kind of dogs?”

“Do you like dogs?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Well, hopefully you’ll like these anyway,” she said. “Come on. The party’s back here.”

“Martini for you, April?” Rose called from the bar built into the wall.

“Nope, staying sober tonight,” April said. “I’m no fool.”

Not sure he wasn’t one, Zack accepted his own drink and brought it immediately to his lips, unable to break his gaze away from April as she moved through the warm, cozy dining room to the well-lit kitchen beyond.

Chapter 10

S
MILING
HIS
THANKS
TO
R
OSE
, he followed April into the kitchen as he took another sip, then another. He had only a second to take in the bright walls and savory smells of the Johnson family kitchen before April led him down a step into a walled-in porch overlooking the side yard and vast, twinkling night view of the San Francisco Bay.

At their feet, the checkered tablecloth was spread out on the floor and dotted with seven plates, bowls covered with cloths, a jug overflowing with silverware, and a half-dozen squat LED candles.

Trixie Johnson, her short white hair slightly mussed and standing up like she was ’80s rock star, spun around with a bouquet of huge sunflowers in her hands. “Zack! I didn’t realize you were here already.” She handed April the flowers and reached out to him with both hands.

He wasn’t sure if she wanted a hug or a shake. Feeling the buzz of the martini starting to hit him, he put his half-empty glass down on an end table, took both of her hands in his, and squeezed gently. “Thank you for inviting me. This looks fun.”

“Fun!” She beamed. “It is, don’t you think? I’m so glad you like it. My kids are pretending I’m crazy. I’m not. I’m a genius.”

Her hands were soft but strong, holding him in place. He looked past her friendly face to the distant skyline of San Francisco, the small rocky island of Alcatraz, the lights of the sprawling Bay Area freeways circling and crisscrossing the water. “Quite a view,” he said.

Trixie gave his hands another squeeze. “It’s so nice you could come. Where do you usually eat? I was worried about that.”

“In dark alleys and parking lots, I’m sure,” April said, thrusting the flowers back at her mother. “You know, scrounging in Dumpsters. Isn’t that right, Zack?”

“Too close to the truth to be funny,” he said.

Trixie nodded. “I thought so. I’ll send you home with some freezer jelly. Do you have a kitchen where you’re staying?”

“Sure. It’s a condo. A regular home.”

“Well,” Trixie said. “Some homemade jelly will help.”

He smiled at her. She reminded him of his own mom a little bit. A different kind of nonconventional from his mother’s pious eccentricities, but it put him at ease. For no good reason, he found himself comparing her to Meg’s mother, who’d always been as nice as anyone could be but had a stylish, wealthy demeanor both in her dress and her home that made him feel like he dragged mud over the floor whenever he moved. “What kind?”

“I only make strawberry,” Trixie said. “Don’t really see the point of other kinds, honestly.”

His smile broadened. “My mom preserves strawberries every year. She always gets them from the same patch. Says they’re the best.”

Trixie looked delighted. “And where is she, then? Back in New York?”

“Oh, no. I grew up in Bakersfield. My folks are still there.”

April made a surprised sound at his elbow. “You’re from California?”

“Yup,” he said.

“Huh,” April said. “You seem so…”

He retrieved his martini and sucked down another mouthful.
Ridiculously sexy?
He looked at her. Without makeup, her face seemed vulnerable, sweet, inviting. Those big gray eyes…

He took another drink. “What?” he asked.

“Eastern,” April said.

“Bakersfield is east of here. A little.”

“Maybe it’s because you’ve been living on the East Coast for so long,” April said.

He tipped back his glass, discovered it was empty. “Maybe.”

Trixie patted his arm. “You’ve run out. April, show him the bar, will you? I’m going to kick you two out of here while I get the lasagna plated up.” She rotated him and pushed him toward the door. “The others are in the living room. Tell them it’s time to dig in. No point standing around feeling uncomfortable beforehand.”

“Nah,” April said, walking up the stairs to the kitchen, “we’ll save it for dinner.”

“Give my little guys their dinner first, please,” Trixie called after them. “They’re in my bedroom.”

“I better feed Stool again, too, before he eats something he shouldn’t.” April stopped and reached down to pick up a stainless steel bowl on the floor. “Stool is my dog. My mom has three Chihuahuas. Well, two are actually Chihuahuas. We don’t know what Zeus is.”

“A Greek god?” Zack asked.

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen him. He’s pretty ugly. In a good way.” She held up the metal bowl and turned. “This will take me a minute. The bar is right over—”

“I remember,” he said, and returned the way he’d come, through the warm kitchen to the dining room. Maybe another martini would be too much, at least the kind Rose made. In the neighboring room, he heard more voices, a baby, and a piano. He took his time pouring a glass of Pinot Gris, in no hurry to dive into another conversation just yet.

Trixie stuck her head into the room. “Could you help me set the table?” She laughed. “I mean, floor? It’s hard for me to get up and down.”

He went over, wine in hand, glad to be useful, and in ten minutes they’d carried in a hot ramekin bubbling with lasagna to each plate on the tablecloth, a large salad, a platter of steamed asparagus, a bowl of stuffed green olives, and a warm baby bottle filled with milk.

“Dinner!” Trixie yelled. Clapping her hands together, she sat cross-legged on the floor near the window, then said to Zack, “Sit here with me. I’ll do all the talking.”

The first to join them was Beverly Lewis Johnson, her baby daughter in her arms. He’d met Bev at Fite several times now, but hadn’t realized he owed her his job. They were saying hello just as the others poured into the room, each with a drink in hand.

“Will the dogs be sitting at the dining room table while we’re out here?” Mark asked, sitting with Rose near the door. “It’s only fair.”

“No, they’re in my bedroom,” Trixie said.

Liam brought in a baby carrier and propped it between him and Bev before sitting down. April was the last to come in, scanned the area, saw the only empty spot was next to Zack, and gave him a look that hit him like ten of Rose’s killer martinis.

The other people faded to dust, the sound of cheerful small talk drifted miles away, the smell of garlic bread and bubbling tomato sauce evaporated. It was just April’s gaze drilling into his as she moved closer, closer, until finally she sank down to her knees and was scant inches from him.

“Hi,” she said.

He catalogued the now-predictable responses in his body. Accelerated heart rate. Cold palms. Parched mouth.

“Hi.” He turned slightly away from her to drain his wine glass.

It was his own fault. For too long, he’d convinced himself he could live without sex and pleasure, and now he was experiencing a systemic breakdown.

Hoping his hand wasn’t visibly shaking, he reached across the tablecloth for a large wooden bowl. “Salad?” he asked her.

“Get me the garlic bread first,” she said. “Under the striped towel. If I don’t get a piece now, Liam and Mark will eat it all first.”

He found the basket and handed it to her as if he weren’t fighting the urge to unravel a year’s worth of plans.

No. He took on the job; he’d finish it. He couldn’t get involved with anyone at Fite, especially not the client’s sister. As soon as the six months were up, he’d pursue… a personal life. Not with April. He wasn’t her type. He’d find somebody with whom he could have a normal, steady, quiet, mature relationship.

The Johnson family’s conversation boiled around him, washing over him unheard. Vaguely he recognized talk about weddings. One soon, for Mark and Rose.

He glanced at April’s profile. Her nose was slightly upturned. And her lips were full, talking and laughing and smiling, full of life.

She’d probably laugh at the idea of getting involved with a cold stick like him. Except… he didn’t use to be cold. He’d been funny once. In fact, by the time he was nineteen, he could imitate two dozen of the most famous cartoon voices of all time—such an impressive feat that his college roommate made him perform for his parents.

He leaned toward April and asked, in his best Scooby Doo voice, “Pass the parmesan?”

She paused with a chunk of garlic bread sticking out of her mouth. “Wuh?”

He cleared his throat. Only a drunk guy would think the Scoob was irresistible. “Excuse me. Parmesan, please?” He pointed at the tiny grater and wedge of cheese on a board next to her.

She squinted at him for a full three seconds before handing it over.

The conversation about the wedding continued at the other end of the tablecloth.

“I’m kind of looking forward to it being over,” Rose said. She sat curled up against Mark, her legs bent to one side.

“Over before it even began,” Mark said with a sigh. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

Rose laughed and sipped her wine. Her smiling gaze met Zack’s across the tablecloth. “I’m a bridezilla, can you tell?”

“I doubt that,” Zack said.

“I’ve already issued decrees about what color nail polish my honor attendants can wear,” Rose said.

“You did not,” April said.

“Other than you,” Rose said. “I knew you’d rock it with the bridal style, Ape.”

April tipped her glass at her. “Thanks. I hope black is okay.”

“Nails or all over?” Bev asked, looking alarmed. “You don’t want to look like the protest vote. The bitter, angry sister.”

“I don’t get it,” April said. “The guys get to wear black. What’s the difference?”

“You can wear black if you really want to,” Rose said.

Liam lifted Merry onto his shoulder. “And then she can serve drinks to cut down on the catering costs.”

“Costs, schmosts,” Mark said, lifting his beer. “One server isn’t gonna make a difference at this point, believe me. Not that it wasn’t a good idea.”

Zack glanced at April, alarmed to see the teasing was bothering her. Lips thinned, she stabbed her lasagna with her butter knife.

“Bridesmaid dresses are a very poor value,” Zack said. “Making them black would do a lot to change that. Plus, you look good in black. I mean, everyone does, don’t you think?”

April paused, knife in air. Zack realized he’d become the center of attention. He’d just told April she looked good in black. Very subtle. Maybe this would be a good time to lean over and stick his tongue in her ear, too. Pant a little.

He tried to drink from his empty glass.

Rose came to his rescue. “I agree. Black is the new black. If anyone, male or female, wants to wear black to our wedding, you have the bride’s official permission.”

Trixie tapped Zack’s shoulder, a kind smile on her face. “More pinot?”

Nodding, he held out his glass. “Thanks.”

“We hope you can come, of course,” Trixie said as she poured.

He didn’t know what she meant. Another picnic? “Excuse me?”

April’s voice was ominous. “Mom…”

Oh, man. Did she mean the wedding? Mark and Rose hadn’t heard her. He sipped his wine, pretending the same.

“You can be April’s date,” Trixie said. “She doesn’t have one yet, do you, sweetie?”

Zack thought he heard the words
kill me now
come faintly from April’s direction.

The picnic fell into another awkward lull. Then Rose said, “We’d love to have you just as you are, Zack. Right now our guest list is very heavy on my side—and very female. It would be great if you could come. No pressure, of course.” She smiled. “And you can even wear black.”

“Thank you, that’s really, really generous of you,” Zack said. “But I wouldn’t want to mess up your guest list this late in the game. I know how tight the planning is. When we—”

Well, shit. He’d started to say, when he and Meg were planning their wedding, they’d had to call each invitee individually to find out whether they were coming, because the caterer was threatening to pad them five extra plates, which would’ve busted their already strained budget. And given Meg’s cancer diagnosis, they didn’t want to waste a dime…

“Thank you for inviting me,” he said instead, holding up his glass in a toast. “To your wedding and to this great picnic.”

“Fabulous,” Trixie said. “I love it when everything works out.”

“You’re
coming
?” April asked.

“I’ll get your address from Liam for the invitation, all right?” Rose asked. “So you know we’re serious.”

Perhaps, given April’s obvious horror, he should’ve taken that moment to backtrack and give his regrets. They’d just met him and might wish later they hadn’t been so hasty in inviting a stranger.

But Mark Johnson had founded tech companies, he was a wunderkind programmer that was famous in some circles, and he was a contact Zack had angled to make when he took the job with Fite. Being invited to his wedding was an incredible opportunity for Zack’s business, one he couldn’t possibly pass up.

And he looked good in black.
 

“I can’t wait,” Zack said, shooting April a smile.

* * *

April watched Zack in the kitchen after the meal, cursing the attractive shape of his back and shoulders as he dried dishes. Her brothers had set up a dishwashing chain after dinner, and Zack had somehow fit himself into the drying step of the process. Liam scraped, Mark washed, Zack dried. Zack Fain, the temporary, hired business consultant, fit into the Johnson kitchen as if he’d been there for years.