The Art of Romance (13 page)

“Caylor Evans.” A shiver ran up her spine at the feel of his calloused hand against hers.

“I hear you’re a professor out at James Robertson.” A baritone voice, just as a romance novel hero should have.

“I am.”

“That’s fantastic.” He returned to taking measurements. “Mrs. Evans tells me that you’re to have the final decision on the configuration and the finishes in here.”

“It’ll be a collaborative effort.”

“That’ll be fantastic, too.”

Once Mr. Fantastic’s back was turned again, Sassy looked up and down Caylor with an exasperated look. Caylor gave her a look right back and dropped into one of the dinette chairs.

He finished measuring the kitchen, telling them how fantastic it was that they still had the original 1950s appliances, but what a bummer that they didn’t work anymore, because retro appliances could fetch a fantastic price if they were in prime condition.

Finally, he came and sat at the table with them, hands clasped atop his clipboard. “Now, ladies, let’s talk remodel. Why don’t you tell me what your dream kitchen would look like, and I’ll tell you if it’s possible and how much it would cost.”

“Caylor, why don’t you start?” Sassy rested her chin in her hand and gestured with her head toward the contractor.

Caylor turned her head completely away from Riley, pursed her lips, and gave Sassy the stink eye. Sassy kicked her—gently—under the table.

Caylor turned her best I-don’t-want-to-be-here smile toward Riley. “I’d just like to see new appliances. Maybe reface the cabinets, and butcher-block or granite countertops.”

“Pshhh.” Sassy waved her hand dismissively. “Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the remodeling? That’s just refurbishing.” She leaned forward. “I’d love to see the kitchen opened up to the dining room and family room, more of—oh, what do they call it?”

“An open concept?” Riley flashed his megawatt grin at Sassy. “That would be fantastic.”

Caylor could have gagged.

“Yes. Open concept.” She stood up. “If we take down this wall”—she touched the wall that separated the kitchen from the den—”and then we take down the walls between the kitchen and the dining room, and the dining room and the living room, the only thing that would keep all of the living area of the house from being completely open is the staircase, and I think that could be redone so it’s a nice feature between the living room and den.”

Caylor knew her mouth was hanging open, but she didn’t care. Who was this woman? Tearing down walls? Making all of the common areas of the house open to each other?

Riley also stood and went around and started knocking on the walls. “We’d have to get a general contractor in here to deal with taking the walls down, but I think that’s doable.” He returned to the table and leaned over to scribble some notes on his clipboard. “You know, you could also enclose half of this big side porch here off the kitchen, make that your breakfast nook so you have somewhere for this table—you don’t want to get rid of this, it’s fantastic—and then we could build an awesome island, maybe even put your cooktop in it, with a bar for seating.” He stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the den. “That would give the dining area and family room a lot more space.”

“Write that down—that’s a great idea. Now floors. I’m thinking bamboo throughout.” Sassy made grand, sweeping gestures with her arms. “But can those be done with a darker finish?”

Caylor pulled her phone out of her pocket and texted Zarah: C
ALL ME
ASAP.

“It can be stained as dark as you want it. But aren’t there hardwoods in the other rooms?”

“There are, but they’re pretty beaten up, which is why we’ve got the wall-to-wall carpet in the living room and den and the big area rug in the dining room. And I’ve seen them talk on TV about just how hard it is to match existing hardwoods. So let’s just start fresh.”

She turned around and seemed startled to see Caylor sitting at the table. “Caylor, dear, what do you think?”

Thank goodness, at that very moment, her cell phone rang. Caylor looked down at the screen.
Zarah Mitchell calling
scrolled across the display. “Oh, I’m sorry. I have to take this call.”

She dashed from the kitchen and up the stairs, not answering until she was safely in her bedroom, where she knew Sassy couldn’t hear her. “Hey, Zare.”

“What’s up? Your message looked urgent.”

Caylor explained her need for escape. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Maybe she’s been bingeing on HGTV these last few weeks while I’ve been at school or something.”

“You said the contractor is good-looking, right?”

“That’s an understatement.” Caylor stepped into her closet and started looking through her wardrobe to pick out what she wanted to wear tonight.

“And he’s probably around our age?”

“Yeah.”

“Was he wearing a wedding ring?”

“I don’t—no, I don’t think so.”

“Remember what Flannery said to us back at the family cookout in October?”

“Uh…she said a lot of things.” The primary thing Caylor remembered her talking about was her dislike of Maureen O’Connor’s grandson, the advertising salesman.

“She said it sounded like our grandmothers were trying to play matchmaker for us. Do you think, maybe…“

Caylor smacked her open palm across her forehead. “Well, duh. No wonder she looked so disgusted when I showed up down there in my sweats and no makeup.”

“Hey—someone’s calling on my office phone. We’ll talk about this tonight with Flannery.” Zarah said good-bye and hung up.

Caylor tucked the phone into the pouch pocket of her sweatshirt and got back to picking her outfit for dinner. She pulled out her favorite pair of dark jeans—a pair of talls that were actually long enough that she could wear heels with them, quite an unusual find for her—and a bright purple cashmere sweater, which she’d wear over an ivory silk camisole. She also grabbed her favorite high-heeled brown ankle boots and laid everything on her bed.

In the shower, her mind wandered—and ended up back in sixteenth-century Italy with Giovanni and Isabella.

By the time she got out, she had the perfect opening scene. Wrapped in her long, thick bathrobe, she dashed from the bathroom to the office—and came to a screeching halt.

Sassy sat in Caylor’s desk chair, hands folded in her lap, legs crossed, looking for all the world like a Venus flytrap waiting for its dinner.

“Sassy?”

“So? What did you think?”

“About the kitchen remodel? I didn’t realize just how ambitious your plan was until you started explaining it to what’s-his-name—Mr. Fantastic.”

“His name is Riley Douglas. I think he really liked you.”

“Oh Sassy!” Caylor pressed both hands over her heart in a melodramatic fashion. “My wee little heart is just all aflutter—a handsome,
fantastic
man likes little ol’ me.”

Sassy laughed. “Okay, so the conversation skills don’t quite come up to par. But with that to look at, who cares?”

Caylor dropped the dramatics. “Wait, did you bring him here for me or for you?”

“If you don’t want him…” Sassy winked at her. “I do need to get the kitchen remodeled—perhaps the house, depending on how much it will cost and how long it will take—and I thought it would be fun to have it done by some good-looking men. And if one of them just so happens to be single and just so happens to catch your eye, all the better.”

Caylor perched on the edge of the credenza. “Look, I know you mean well, but I really don’t need my grandmother acting as a matchmaker for me. I don’t have time in my life right now for a man.”

“You would if you met one you wanted to spend time with. Love is something you make time for.” Sassy stood. “Now, I know you’re supposed to be getting ready to go out with the girls, so I won’t keep you any longer. But just think about what I said, and try to enter this house remodel with an open mind.”

“Open about the house or about the people coming in to rip it apart and rebuild it?”

“Both.” Sassy waggled her finger at Caylor, raising it above her head so it was the last thing Caylor saw as she disappeared down the stairs.

She quickly jotted down the idea for the opening scene of Giovanni and Isabella’s story, then went back into the bathroom to finish getting ready to go out.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d slept through lunch, but since Zarah and Flannery were taking her to the Cheesecake Factory for dinner, one of her favorite restaurants, maybe skipping lunch wasn’t so bad. Now she wouldn’t feel quite so guilty over what she’d been planning to eat anyway.

At five thirty, she said good-bye to Sassy and left to drive up to the Mall at Green Hills. As expected, traffic on Hillsboro was horrible, and the parking lot at the mall outside the restaurant was even worse. She parked at the very end of the overflow lot and hoofed it to the restaurant.

Flannery stood just inside the door. “I saw you out there driving around. Why didn’t you just use the valet service?”

“Because I hate handing over my keys and car to a total stranger. You’ve seen
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off
.” Caylor stuck her keys into her purse.

“Oh, right, like these guys would have time to go joyriding in someone’s car—and like they’d choose yours when there are people around here in luxury cars that make yours look like a Yugo in comparison.” Flannery patted her front right pocket, where she must have put her valet claim ticket. “This time of year, valet is the only way to go.”

“Hey, girls, sorry I’m late.” Zarah breezed in, cheeks pink from the cold.

“You’re not late—we’re still waiting on our table.” Flannery’s phone started playing a pop song Caylor didn’t know. Flannery lifted it out of its holster, read the screen, grimaced, then silenced the phone.

“You’re not going to answer that?” Caylor exchanged a surprised look with Zarah.

“No. It’s six o’clock, and I’m off work for the night—because it’s my best friend’s birthday.” She raised the large gift bag in her left hand and waggled it in front of Caylor. “You realize, of course, now that you’ve turned thirty-five, you’re closer to forty than you are to thirty.”

Yeah, she’d realized that. But she’d also decided she wasn’t going to let it bother her. She shrugged. “No biggie.”

Flannery opened her mouth to say something, but the buzzer in her hand started flickering and vibrating.

“McNeill, party of three.”

“That’s us.” Flannery followed the hostess, and Caylor and Zarah followed Flannery.

Though she usually did her best to pay no attention to it, for some reason, tonight Caylor couldn’t block out the way people stared and whispered as she walked by their tables. At five foot eight and five foot nine respectively, Zarah and Flannery were by no means short. But at six feet tall—and with three-inch heels adding to that—Caylor towered over them. Fortunately, being involved in drama almost all her life had taken any shred of self-consciousness away from her.

She felt like turning around and saying, at the top of her lungs,
“Just to answer the questions I know you all have, yes, I’m very tall. No, I’ve never played basketball or volleyball. No, it’s not a hormone abnormality or defect. Everyone in my family is tall. Deal with it and move on.”
But that would mortify Zarah and give Flannery a story to tell at parties for years to come.

At their booth, Caylor slid into one side while Flannery and Zarah shared the other.

“So did you tell her before I got here?” Zarah asked.

Caylor launched into the story of Mr. Fantastic and shared with both of them the fact that Sassy confessed to the scheme afterward.

“Would you go out with him if he asked?” Flannery asked around a bite of crispy artichoke heart.

Caylor scooped up some of the lemon-garlic aioli with her piece of artichoke. “I guess so—why not? I haven’t been out on a real date in years. It might be fun.”

Flannery and Zarah looked at each other, then said in unison, “It would be
fantastic
.”

C
aylor set the plastic action figures of Sir Galahad and Morgana behind her desk on the shelf displaying other figures from the legend of King Arthur. Where Flannery kept coming up with these, she’d never guess. With last night’s addition of these two as part of her birthday present, the collection of literary and legendary action figures was up to at least thirty.

Along with Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde, and James Joyce, the collection included Henry V, Henry VIII, and Elizabeth I; King Richard the Lionheart, one standing and one on horseback; William Wallace and Robert the Bruce from the
Braveheart
movie; Sherlock Holmes; fashion dolls dressed as the Brontë sisters; and several characters from the Robin Hood legend. They were scattered throughout her office, near the books pertinent to their presence in a British literature professor’s office.

She stuck two of the blank journals Flannery had also given her into the top drawer of her desk. Even though Flannery either got them as promotional marketing items from vendors or off the bargain table at bookstores, it didn’t matter. She always found the most interesting and unique patterns and styles.