Nothing Like Love (11 page)

C
HAPTER
T
EN

Z
ach left the door open so he could hear if Simone called out for help, although Henry seemed calm at the moment. Once he unlocked Simone’s door, he left that ajar as well.

He found a light switch on the wall and flipped it on. Then, his errand momentarily forgotten, he stared around him in astonishment.

The walls were covered with artwork—sketches, watercolors, oil paintings. A few were prints or reproductions, but most were original and in a style he recognized, even though the only work of Simone’s he’d seen was her set design for
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.

There were figures and landscapes and abstract pieces, all of them so compelling it was hard to decide where to look first. After a moment, though, his eye was drawn to a large oil painting on the wall across from him.

There was a tall, stylized tree on a mountainside, its branches stretching out and up against a deep blue sky. And hovering over it, about to land on the very top branch, was an enormous red dragon.

The tree couldn’t possibly support the weight of the dragon about to land on it. And yet there was a sinuous, delicate grace about the creature that made you think, somehow, that he could manage it . . . that he would perch impossibly on the top bough like an angel on the head of a pin.

Zach began to walk toward the painting, slowly, staring into the jeweled eyes of the dragon. There was wildness there but intelligence, too. It seemed both animal and human. Sad and joyful at the same time, and—

“Couldn’t you find it after all? I thought I—”

Simone stopped speaking, and he turned to look at her.

“Oh,” she said ruefully, leaning against the doorframe. “You got distracted by my daubs. Sorry. I should have warned you.”

For at least the tenth time since he’d met her, he stared at Simone as though he were seeing her for the first time.

“Your daubs? Are you joking? These are bloody brilliant. Do you ever show your work at galleries?”

She looked taken aback. “At galleries? No, no, no. This is just a hobby. And I sent you in here on a mission, remember?” She went over to the couch and grabbed Henry’s crocheted throw from the back. “Let’s get you out of here before you make more crazy talk.”

He turned back to the painting. “How is Henry?”

“He’s fine now. Once I bring him the blanket I think he’ll fall back asleep.”

“Then do you mind if I stay here for a few minutes? I’d like to look at some of your other work.”

Simone sighed. “Fine, whatever. But no poking around. You’re only allowed to look at what’s on the wall.”

“Deal. Leave the doors open, will you? That way you can give a yell if you need me.”

He spent the next several minutes wandering slowly around Simone’s flat. Unlike the place next door, this was a studio rather than a one-bedroom. There was a loft bed in the far corner with a computer desk beneath it, and a kitchenette in the opposite corner like Noah and Henry’s. The space, though small, was as neat and clean as the living area next door, in spite of being crowded with knickknacks and photographs and artwork.

One piece especially intrigued him. On a small table near the window, she’d set up several panels of cut glass, stained different colors and overlapping to create a wash of jewel tones. The result was beautiful and familiar, and he realized after a moment it was the same effect she’d achieved with the layers of silk in her
Midsummer Night’s Dream
set. He imagined her here, experimenting with the layers of glass as she thought about the set, using light and color to create beauty.

He loved seeing her work. Each piece was like a different glimpse of her soul, offbeat and original and brilliant.

Her figure studies were subtle and lovely, each portrait capturing its subject at a perfect moment of individual vitality. He recognized her friend Kate in one exquisite charcoal sketch. She sat curled up on a chair with a book open in her lap, staring off into space with her eyes rapt and her lips slightly parted, as though chasing some vision she’d seen in the pages she’d just read.

He recognized a few more of her subjects, too—Norbert and Amy and Quentin, among others. She’d done Quentin in watercolors, onstage as Prospero from
The Tempest
. There was a speech bubble issuing from his mouth as in a graphic novel. “We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.”

He could have stayed for hours, but he forced himself to go after only twenty minutes.

The living room was empty next door. The flat was quiet, so Zach made his way softly across to the bedroom and looked in.

Henry and Simone were both asleep. Henry was under the covers, the green-and-purple throw around his shoulders. Simone had fallen asleep on top of the blankets with her head on Henry’s shoulder.

If he were an artist like Simone, he’d capture them just like this: the old man and the young woman, bound together by the illness and vulnerability of the one and the strength and kindness of the other.

Wanting to do something, anything, to help, he started in on the empty takeout containers. He gathered them up quietly and took them out to the kitchen, finding a rubbish bin under the sink and filling it up. After that he took out everything else he was certain was trash—Styrofoam cups and plastic utensils and used tissues.

Once that was done, he hesitated. The men didn’t let Simone clean in here. But the more he looked around at all the dirty laundry, the more he couldn’t stand it—and Simone, he was sure, felt the same way.

Well, what the hell. It wasn’t her doing it; it was him.

He found a basket, piled the clothes into it, and carried it downstairs to the laundry room. He stuck a ten-dollar bill into the change machine and quarters poured out. He bought detergent from a vending machine on the wall, loaded two washers with dirty clothes, and went back upstairs.

Henry and Simone were still asleep. He couldn’t vacuum, but he found a box of disposable dusting cloths and used them on the floor in the bedroom as well as on the furniture. Once he was done with that, it was time to go back down and put the wet clothes into dryers.

Upstairs again and out of chores to do, he started to think about the day-to-day reality of Noah and Henry’s life . . . and Simone’s, too, doing what she could to provide support.

He had a way to help, but he was a stranger. Would they think he was being presumptuous? Engaging in some kind of noblesse oblige?

He slid his hands into his pockets as he paced around the living room, pausing in front of a black-and-white photo of Henry and Noah. It had been taken about twenty years ago, by the looks of it.

It was wintertime, and the two men had their arms around each other. Henry, the taller by six inches, was laughing as he looked up into the gray sky. Noah, looking up at Henry, was laughing, too. Both men wore black overcoats, and the white flakes of snow were visible against them.

Zach stared at the photo for a long moment. Then he pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was early morning in New York, which meant it was late morning in England. He scrolled through his contact list and started making calls.

An hour later, the sun was up and Zach was folding clothes. The door to the apartment opened and Noah came in, his arm in a cast and an exhausted look on his face.

“How are you?” Zach asked, concerned.

“I’ll do. I feel like I could sleep for a week, but I’ll do.” He focused on the laundry basket. “Did Simone—”

“It wasn’t Simone,” Zach said quickly. “It was me. She told me you don’t let her clean in the bedroom, but I needed something to do when she and Henry fell asleep. Sorry if I overstepped.”

Noah shook his head. “You did indeed, young man . . . and I’m very grateful to you. Please don’t tell Simone, though. In an effort to pretend we’re not completely dependent on her, we said we’d take care of the bedroom. I kid myself that it lightens the load for her a little bit. She does so much for us already, and we can’t seem to stop her. Not that we try very hard,” he added wryly. “I honestly have no idea what we’d do without her. Simone is an angel, if you didn’t already know.” He glanced toward the bedroom. “They’re asleep, you said?”

Zach nodded, and the two of them went over to the doorway to look inside. Henry shifted in his sleep just then and Simone’s head slipped from his shoulder, waking her up.

She yawned like a kitten and opened her eyes, blinking up at Zach and Noah.

“Hi,” she said, sounding confused. “What time is it?”

“Much too early,” Noah said gently. “Thank you so much for staying, Simone. Did he give you any trouble?”

“Not at all,” she said, running her hands through her hair as she got to her feet. “He was fine. I got him to take his meds, too.” She looked at Noah’s wrist. “How’s the arm?”

“I’ll live.” He gestured around the now-tidy bedroom. “Did you see what this whippersnapper did while you were sleeping?”

She looked around and her eyes widened. “I didn’t tell him to, Noah. Honestly.”

Noah was grinning. “I know. Apparently he’s one of the few people in your life who won’t blindly follow your instructions, which makes him either very brave or very foolish.”

Simone looked relieved. “Well, I’m glad you’re not upset.” She sniffed. “And I must say, it smells a heck of a lot better in here now.”

Noah moved into the bedroom and made shooing gestures at Simone. “Thanks again for staying, dear heart, but you should go home and get some sleep in your own bed.”

“Can’t I get you some breakfast before I leave?”

“I had coffee and pastry at the hospital cafeteria. I’m fine. Now get out of here, for heaven’s sake.”

“All right, all right.” She kissed Noah on the cheek and followed Zach out of the flat, closing the door softly behind them.

Once they were out in the hall, Simone took in a lungful of air and let it out again. Then she looked up at him with a tired smile. “Zach, I don’t know how to thank you for—”

He shook his head. “There’s no need to thank me, Simone. It was my pleasure.”

She leaned back against the wall. “That’s what you said when Jessica roped you into coming to her wedding, and once again I say it can’t possibly be true. But it’s really, really nice of you to say it.” She yawned. “Since we’ve got a show tonight—our last show of the run, no less—I suppose we might as well get some rest. You, especially. At least I caught a few hours of shut-eye while you were dusting things and doing laundry. Total props for that, by the way,” she added. “I’ve been begging that stubborn old man to let me clean the bedroom for months.” She pushed herself away from the wall and stuck out a hand. “So . . . thanks again, Zach. See you tonight?”

He took her hand but he didn’t shake it. Instead, he held it between both of his own, tracing over the calluses on her palm with a fingertip.

“I don’t have to go,” he said softly. “I could get some rest in your flat. You’ve got a couch, a bed . . . all sorts of possibilities.”

A tremor went through her. It was faint, but he was too attuned to her to miss it.

“You can’t possibly be thinking what you seem to be thinking. You haven’t been to sleep for twenty-four hours.”

He settled his thumb on the inside of her wrist and made small, firm circles against her skin. “Some things are more important than sleep.”

She looked down at her hand, watching as he touched her. Her lips parted and her breath came a little faster, and Zach could feel his own blood rising quicker than he would have thought possible.

Everything he’d learned about Simone came together in his mind. Her brilliant artwork, the way she helped people, the incredible job she’d done onstage last night . . . and what it all added up to was one extraordinary woman.

A woman he wanted to be with, even if it was only for a few days.

Hell, even if it was just for today. When it came right down to it, he’d take anything she was willing to give him.

But when she looked up at him again, he could tell something had changed.

“I’m tempted, but . . . I think we should both get some sleep. Actual sleep,” she added.

He knew there was more going on than that, but he also knew this wasn’t the time to push her.

“Fair enough,” he said. “But if you happen to change your mind, all you have to do is call.”

She nodded, and he lifted her hand and kissed it.

“Get some rest,” he told her. “I’ll see you tonight at the theater.”

A few minutes later he was heading uptown in a taxi. As the cab moved slowly through the traffic, his phone buzzed.

For one heady moment, he thought it might be Simone calling to ask him to come back—which he would have done in a heartbeat. But when he pulled the phone out of his pocket, it wasn’t Simone’s name he saw on the screen.

It was Isabelle’s.

He stared at his phone for a long moment as it vibrated in his hand. Then he did something he hadn’t done in years, at least not when it came to Isabelle.

He hit Decline and slid the phone back into his pocket.

He’d call her back later, of course. But for right now, as he rode through the streets of Manhattan, he didn’t want to think about his old friend.

He wanted to think about Simone.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

S
imone pulled off her shoes and her jeans before climbing the ladder to her loft bed and falling asleep. When she woke a few hours later, she felt refreshed . . . and regretful.

She curled up on her side and thought about Zach. If she hadn’t gotten all emotional last night, he would be in this bed with her right now.

And oh, what she was missing. She closed her eyes as she let her imagination run wild. That body . . . those hands . . . and that demanding, sinful mouth.

But he could never be a sexy fling now. Because now he was the guy who’d played Gershwin for Henry and done laundry for Noah.

Her phone rang, and for one delicious moment she thought it might be Zach calling to see if he could change her mind. But when she grabbed it, it wasn’t Zach’s name on the screen but Kate’s.

“Did I wake you up?” Kate asked breathlessly. “It was all I could do to wait until noon to call. Oh, Simone, you were so amazing last night. Are you going on tonight, too? Is it too late to get a ticket? I’ll take standing room or—”

Simone laughed. “You don’t have to stand up, although that’s the sweetest request ever. I can get you a ticket.” She paused for a moment. “So . . . I have something to tell you.” She took a deep breath and told her best friend everything that had happened the night before.

“Oh, my God,” was Kate’s repeated refrain.

Later: “He kissed you? This is epic!”

“He helped you take care of Henry? Like, all night?”

“Laundry? Seriously? This man is a keeper.”

And finally: “And after all that you sent him home? Are you crazy? If ever two people deserved great sex, it was you and Zach last night.”

Simone closed her eyes. “I know. It’s just . . .” She reached for words. “It’s just . . . I
know
him now.”

There was a short silence. Then: “Oh, wow.”

“What?”

“Something just occurred to me. When’s the last time you hooked up with someone? Not just a kiss, but the actual deed?”

She thought about it. “Well, there was still snow on the ground.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God. There was still
snow
on the ground!”

“That’s what I thought. So, like, almost six months.”

“Six
months
.” She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “I haven’t been with a guy in
six
months
. What does that mean? You don’t think I’m outgrowing sex, do you? I was sort of planning to indulge my carnal desires well into my seventies, if not later. I was going to be the hot chick in the retirement home.”

“You and your retirement home. No, I don’t think you’re outgrowing sex. But maybe you are ready for sex with a little something more.”

“What, like romance? No, no, no. I’ll leave that to you, my dear friend. You’re cut out for romance. I’m not.”

“You know, I’ve let that assumption of yours go unchallenged for ten years. Maybe that’s too long.”

Simone thought about Zach in her apartment last night, looking at her artwork and calling her brilliant, and she felt a pang. Then she remembered the cleaning he’d done in Noah’s bedroom and the laundry he’d folded so carefully and the pang grew sharper.

“I can’t go there, Kate. Okay? I mean, let’s say it’s true. Let’s say I am starting to have romantic feelings or whatever. What does it tell you that the first guy I’ve felt this way about in forever doesn’t even live on this continent? It tells you that romance and I are not meant to be.”

Kate was quiet on the other end of the phone, and when Simone found herself actually hoping that her optimistic friend would find some silver lining in this situation—some scenario in which her connection to Zach Hammond wouldn’t have to end in a few days—she knew she was in real trouble.

“What if you went to Ireland with the company?” Kate finally asked. “I know you said Zach let you off the hook, but—”

“No way. Even if I could bring myself to actually volunteer for a plane trip, don’t you think that would only make things worse? Every minute I spend with this man will only suck me in deeper. And the deeper I go, the harder it will be to . . .” She stopped, suddenly embarrassed at how she must sound.

“Oh, Simone.”

“What?” she said defensively.

“It’s just . . . I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk like this before. I feel so sad all of a sudden.”

Her friend’s sympathy actually helped her cheer up a little. “Oh, it’s not so bad. This is probably just an aberration. Once Zach’s out of the picture, I’ll get back to normal. Don’t you worry about me.” She sat up in bed. “All I need to do is get myself up and out of this apartment. You’ll be in the audience tonight?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Break a leg, Simone.”

A few hours later, as she was climbing the stoop to her apartment after grabbing some lunch, Noah stuck his head out of his living room window. “Simone! Is this your doing?”

She squinted up at him. “Is what my doing? What are you talking about?”

“This woman on the phone. Did you hire a home health-care company to give me and Henry full-time support?”

Full-time support?

“Do I look like I suddenly have access to two grand a week?”

Noah’s face fell, and she realized that as crazy as it was, he’d been hoping against hope that the phone call was real.

She was going to kill whoever was on the line. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was a scam, but she was going to kill them.

“You didn’t give them your social security number, did you?”

He scowled at her. “I may be old but I’m not an idiot. Anyway, she didn’t ask for any personal information. She says she’s calling to set up interviews so we can choose aides who best fit our needs and situation.”

It had to be some kind of scam. “Ask her who hired them. Keep her on the line and I’ll be up in a sec.”

She took the steps two at a time and knocked on the door. Noah answered a moment later with his cell phone in his hand.

“She says they were hired by a charitable foundation operating out of London.” He looked miserable. “It can’t be real. Can it?”

“Who did she say she was calling from?”

“Home Care Partners.”

Simone frowned. “Okay, I’ve actually heard of them. They’re big and respected. A friend of mine hired them to take care of her grandmother.” She thought for a second. “Ask her for her number and tell her you’ll call back. If it turns out the number really is for Home Care Partners, then . . .”

“Then what?”

“Then we’ll have to figure out why an English charity—”

She stopped speaking.

It couldn’t be. Could it?

She followed Noah into his apartment as he finished his conversation with the woman on the phone. Then he hung up, checked the number he’d written down, and dialed.

When the call was answered on the other end, he listened for a few seconds. Then he hung up and looked at Simone.

“It’s Home Care Partners. My God, Simone. Could this actually be real?”

She hesitated. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, in case there’s some kind of mistake. But I think . . . maybe . . . Zach might be behind this.”

Noah stared at her. “Your young man from last night? But why on earth would he do something like this?”

Tears came into her eyes and a lump into her throat. “Because he wants to help.”

Noah lifted his arms up and let them fall. “I can’t let a total stranger do this for us. Can I?”

“Don’t think of it as a stranger. Think of it as a foundation that’s stepping in to help. Zach isn’t giving you anything directly; he’s going through a charitable organization . . . if it is him. And they couldn’t have chosen a more deserving recipient.”

Noah thought about it for a minute, walking slowly to his sofa and sinking down into it.

“Well,” he said finally. “When a miracle shows up on your doorstep, it would be ungracious to turn it away. I don’t have it in me to turn down this gift. I know there are folks out there too proud to take charity, but I’m not one of them. I’m just grateful.” His eyes were bright as he looked up at Simone. “If it is your friend, and if he wants to stay anonymous, I won’t violate his privacy. But if there’s a way Henry and I can thank him, please let me know.”

A few minutes later, Simone was in her apartment. She sank down on her own sofa and started to cry.

What Zach had done . . . acting so quickly, so competently, so generously . . .

She wanted to call him.

She couldn’t call him.

He’d intended to remain anonymous. But he must have known she might figure out who was behind this.

She wouldn’t call. She’d be seeing him at the theater in just a few hours, right? She’d see him then, and she’d play things by ear.

It was cooler and less humid than last night. Simone walked quickly from her apartment to the theater, brimming with energy and the desire to see Zach again.

He was so much on her mind that she seemed to see him everywhere. One guy looking in a shop window had brown hair a little like his. Another one seemed to have his easy, confident stride. Still another had . . .

She stopped and looked again. That guy in line at the hot dog cart
was
Zach.

She started to walk toward him, faster and faster, until she was practically running.

“Zach!” she called out, and he looked up.

It was him. It really was. Not that there was anything so astonishing about that. The hot dog cart was just a few doors down from the theater.

He broke into a grin when he saw her, and as her energy took over her body, she did start to run. Zach stepped out of the hot dog line and came toward her.

If she didn’t slow down, she was going to crash right into him. But she didn’t want to slow down. She wanted to—

He opened his arms and she launched herself forward, throwing her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. He spun her around in a circle as they both started to laugh, and then he let her slide down his body to the sidewalk.

“Wow,” he said. “That’s the second time you’ve said hello by jumping into my arms. A bloke could get used to that.”

She clutched his shirt in her hands and looked up at him. “You hired that company for Noah and Henry,” she said breathlessly. “I was going to play it cool and not say anything, but . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know how to thank you. Do you have any idea what this will mean for them?”

He looked embarrassed for the first time since she’d met him. “I wasn’t sure what Noah would think if he found out it was me . . . or what you would think. I was afraid I’d look like a rich guy dispensing favors or something.”

She let go of his shirt and smoothed out the wrinkles, appreciating the hard definition of his chest. “Well, you are rich, and it was a pretty big favor. But it’s going to make a huge difference in Noah and Henry’s life.”

She started to pull her hands away, but he covered them with his own first, trapping them against his body. “I wanted to make a difference in their lives. But I wanted to lighten the burden for you, too. If you want to know the truth, I was thinking about you as much as I was thinking about them.”

She could feel the color coming into her face as she stared up at him, her hands caught between the warmth of his palms and the warmth of his body. He was so much bigger than she was, but he never used his size to intimidate or overwhelm. His presence made her feel safe, somehow. Cared for. Protected.

She blinked. Since when she did think about being protected? And by a guy, at that?

This was not good.

“Well,” she said, slipping out of his grasp and taking a step back. “I thank you for my sake
and
for theirs.” She broke eye contact and glanced at the food cart. “I’m sorry you lost your place in line. Can I buy you a hot dog to make up for it?”

He looked at her a little quizzically, seeming to sense that something had changed. But all he said was, “I would love a hot dog. Sauerkraut and mustard?”

“You got it.”

The show went smoothly, although it didn’t have quite the magic of last night’s performance—at least not for Simone. But the audience loved it and the company was thrilled, and as everyone mingled together in the lobby afterward at the closing night reception, Simone felt almost completely happy herself.