Unbreakable (20 page)

“Okay,” she said finally. “But I should take the couch—”

“I’m on the couch. That’s also non-negotiable.”

Alex huffed a sigh. “Fine.” She offered her hand.

I took it, shook it, let go quickly.
You’re both adults. It’s for a few weeks. She’s a workaholic, anyway. She’ll be at the office all day and probably late into the night.

“So,” she said. “I guess I’ll go unpack and let you get settled. Later, we can plan out the changes to Callie’s room.” She started down the hall to the master bedroom.

“Don’t you have to work?” I called.

“I’m on paid leave for a few weeks,” she said over her shoulder, and disappeared into the room.

“Of course you are.”

I ran my hand through my hair and glanced around the house.
This is a test,
I thought.
A test of my self-control and…
Alex came back out of her room with her hair loose from the severe coil; it settled around her shoulders in vibrant red waves. Her impeccable suit replaced by curve-hugging workout clothes.
Not a test,
I amended watching her move in the kitchen.
Torture. This is going to be torture.

Alex

“So let me get this straight,” Cory said, his eyes on the light Sunday morning Wilshire Boulevard traffic. “You live a nanosecond away from the beach and you never go.”

“Turn right at the light,” I said. “I’m too busy. My job—up until now—takes up all my time.”

“Then why buy a place so close?”

I shrugged and looked out the window. After spending Saturday getting Cory settled in, we’d decided to spend Sunday purchasing the items necessary to transform the office into a little girl’s room. We took his truck to hold the furniture and I felt a peculiar sensation upon first climbing in. I still felt it ten minutes later.

The interior was a foreign land, filled with foreign scents. It was an older truck but Cory had taken great pains to maintain it. It smelled of cleaner and some sort of polish, and below that a scent that I knew was him; cologne and clothing and debris from his worksites, all combining into one heady, purely masculine scent.

I hadn’t been in another man’s car in years. It brought me back to my early dating days, getting picked up by a date in his car, and an old thrill awakened.
This is not a date,
I reminded myself for the hundredth time, but it did nothing to diminish that feeling.

“I bought the house after I started work at Lawson & Dooney, three years ago as an investment property. It started to build equity the
nanosecond
I bought it. But even so, I was already with Drew and he bought his place in Pacific Palisades at about the same time. I live there most of the time anyway. Turn left here.”

“I don’t get it,” Cory said, turning the wheel left. “I mean, I do. Investment property and all. But most people would kill to have a house like that and to you it’s extra. Like a spare tire.”

I crossed my arms and faced him. “And lucky for you I have it.”

“I’m not trying to give you a hard time,” Cory said, nonplussed. It seemed he was nearly impossible to rile up. “I just can’t imagine having a great place like that and never using it. I mean, you don’t even have a
dog
. That place is made for a dog.”

I laughed despite myself. “I had the same thought not long ago.”

“So get one.”

“I don’t have the time to take care of a dog,” I said. “Dogs need to be walked and they chew up your shoes if you’re away for too long. When I’m working on a trial, I don’t get home from the office until eleven o’clock at night, typically. Sometimes later.”

Cory nodded. “I’m lucky, I guess. On a site, we quit when the sun goes down, though I’m going to have to pull some late nights if I’m going to pass this GC license test.”

“Is it hard? This test?”

“Not as hard as the Bar, but hard enough.”

“So, what do you do, exactly?” I asked as we stopped at yet another red light. “You build houses? From nothing?”

“That would be a pretty sweet gig,” Cory said. “Lately it’s only remodels. The guy I work for, his operation isn’t big enough to take on a ground-up. The biggest we might do is an addition.”

“And you know how to put in the pipes and make sure the lights turn on when you flip the switch?”

“Yeah, pretty much. My dad taught me the basics of everything. The more you can do, the less likely they hire someone else.”

“Your dad is a general contractor?”
“Was. He had a stroke two years ago. Two or three strokes, actually. The doctors aren’t sure how many. One right after the other.”

I sat back, shocked. Again, the idea that there were still things we didn’t know about each other felt strange, never mind something so tragic. I had thought we’d shared everything.

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea. That must be so hard.”

Cory shrugged. “It is what it is. But yeah, he was a GC and we were in business together. Bishop & Son. We struggled for a while, but then he got a big job, some loyal guys, and we started to take off.”

“Then he had the strokes,” I said quietly. “Is that why you’re getting your license? So you can keep the business going?”

“No,” Cory said. His dark eyes took on a pained look. “When it was obvious Pops wasn’t going to recover enough to work again, I sold the company to pay for the long-term care home he’s in. My mom died when I was a kid, and there was no way I could take care of him myself. So he’s there and I’ve been working under Randall Martin, who’s a rotten son of a bitch when you get right down to it, but if I get my license…” He shook his head and laughed ruefully. “Actually, don’t know what that will do. You gotta have capital to start a business. But I’m going to get the license anyway. It’s what my dad wants me to do. Hopefully I’ll get it before he forgets who I am altogether.”

“Why would he forget you?”

“He’s got Alzheimer’s now. It’s slow, but it’s chewing up his memories, one after the other. Cheery story, right?” He jerked his chin at the children’s furniture store I’d told him to drive to. “This it?”

We pulled into the parking lot, I was stunned silent by Cory’s story.
So terrible,
I thought, but he handled himself well. Bravely. I wouldn’t be half so stoic if the same had happened to my father. I could hardly imagine it: invisible lightning striking and instantly stealing the vitality out of a once-healthy man.

I longed to express my condolences or find something comforting to say to Cory, but I knew he didn’t want it. Not pity, not sympathy. He took the cards he was dealt and he did his best. I felt good for helping him, for opening my house to him when he needed it, but I now realized that even if I hadn’t, Cory would have figured it out. Somehow.

He was already out of the truck cab; he startled me out of my thoughts by opening my door for me.

“Oh, thank you,” I said, stepping out. “I wasn’t waiting for you to do that.”

He smiled. “I don’t mind.”

“So you’re a chivalrous one? In this day and age, when people are writing articles about whether or not it’s acceptable to still open doors for women?”

He made a face as we started across the parking lot. “Maybe I’m old-fashioned. Or maybe I don’t want my mother’s ghost to haunt me for being a rude prick.”

I laughed lightly.
Are we flirting? This feels like flirting.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I hope your chivalry ends with women paying for things. Because I got this.” I nodded at the furniture store.

“The hell you do,” he said, stopping on the sidewalk. He looked at the store as if for the first time. “Hold up. What is this place? One of those overpriced boutique joints?”

“Yeah, but this is on me. If my paralegal is right—which he always is—your contractor’s test is going to cost a pretty penny. And—”

“Whoa whoa whoa.” Cory held up his hands, his dark eyes boring into mine. “Why are you looking that stuff up?”

“It’s what I do. I’m prepared for anything.”

“Yeah, well, I appreciate what you’ve done for me. Really. But you’re done.”

“Done? I’m just trying to—”

“I know what you’re trying to do, but no thanks. From here on out, I handle my own stuff, which includes buying
my
kid her goddamn furniture. Got it? And it’s not going to come from a place like this.”

I crossed my arms, a smile twitching the corners of my mouth. “You’re going to deprive me of the joy of shopping? What a
rude prick
.”

“I’m serious, Alex.”

“So am I, Cory.”

“You keep your credit cards in your purse or I walk.”

I started to retort but he
was
serious. He wasn’t playing that tired game, the one Drew and our friends’ husbands sometimes played, bickering over the dinner check until it bordered on embarrassing and someone had to claim it. Cory’s integrity was irritating but honest, and I found myself wilting slightly.

He saw it and his crooked smile returned. “Come on. If you’re up for a bit of a drive, there’s a much better place than this overpriced factory bullshit.”

We walked back to his truck and I stood beside it.

“What?”

“I’m waiting for you to open the door for me.”

Cory burst out laughing. “God, you’re a pain in the ass.”

“I think I’ve heard that before,” I said. “Usually, by the opposition team, just as the jury is rendering its verdict.
In my favor
.”

Cory rolled his eyes and jerked open the door, but before I climbed back in, I put my hand on his forearm. His extremely strong, tanned forearm. “Lunch, after. It’s on me, and I don’t take no for an answer.”

“Why are you so determined to spend money on me?”

“Oh, it’s this funny thing I have when someone saves my life. Call me crazy, but I get all grateful and eager to show my thanks.”

I was teasing but Cory’s eyes grew shadowed again. He leaned in the open door. “Alex, don’t. Forget it.”

“It’s not that easy,” I said and realized my hand was still on his arm. I pulled it away. “I still dream sometimes…gunshots and blood.”

His expression softened. “Yeah, me too. And if you want to talk about it, you can. I’ll listen. But you gotta stop thanking me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“No,” I said. “Just my life.”

He sighed. “You’ve done enough. More than enough. More than anyone’s ever done for me. We’re even.”

Not remotely,
I thought. I felt myself leaning closer to him. A wisp of hair fell over my eyes and Cory raised a hand as if he wanted to brush it away. But he stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans instead. “Are we going to hang out here all day? We got some driving to do.”

I brushed the hair from my eyes myself. “Lunch is on me. Non-negotiable.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. I surrender.”

“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked as he climbed behind the wheel.

He grinned. “You’ll see.”

#

Cory drove us all the way to Pasadena and just when I’d given up on guessing what he could possibly have in mind, he turned into the very crowded Rose Bowl parking lot.

“Biggest swap meet in town,” he said. “Only happens twice a month. We got lucky that this Sunday is one of them.”

We got out and walked through a tailgate party, only instead of being for football fans, it was for vendors and buyers come to make deals on everything from antique furniture to old CD’s. There was a friendly rather than competitive atmosphere here, and instead of a bunch of beer-drinking sports fans, the people were artists, DIYers, and collectors.

“I’ve never been here before,” I said.

“You went to UCLA, right?” Cory asked, incredulous. “You’ve never been to a game here? To support your own Bruins?”

“Never.”

“Never?”

I shook my head. “And I’ve never been here for this swap meet either. I don’t go anywhere, really.”

“Well, if you’re itching to shop, this is the place.”

He paid our entry fee and got a map. I thought that was strange until we stepped inside the stadium’s arches. Then it made sense.

I’d never seen so many booths in my life, and Cory wasn’t kidding about this being the place to shop. For anything. I saw one man selling large iron picks that looked like they’d be used for baling hay. Another woman’s table was laden with nothing but lace doilies, piled high in all shapes and sizes.

We strolled together in the bright sunshine that was made bearable by a pleasant breeze that swept into the open-air stadium. The backs of our hands brushed several times and I remembered Cory said he was a big fan of handholding. I didn’t exactly mind if he wanted to but of course he never did.
Why would he? We are not a couple.

Nevertheless, the feeling that we were on a date didn’t leave me, but grew stronger. We talked and laughed and perused the wares of countless vendors. Some pieces were extraordinarily beautiful. Some nothing more than junk.

Cory guided us to the furniture section and we were confronted with all manner of furniture in all states of wear and tear. He shocked me by pulling out a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. On it was a detailed sketch in colored pencil of my spare room, redecorated with furniture and accessories in lavender and pale green.

“Did you do that? That’s…amazing.” I gazed up at him. “I didn’t know you could draw.”

He gave me a crooked smile. “How could you? It’s nothing, anyway. I’m no interior decorator, but sometimes it helps the client if you can sketch out how a remodel might look after you’re done.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” I muttered. This guy. He was like an onion. The more layers I peeled away, the more remained.

Cory showed me the sketch. “So we’re looking for this type of stuff but unfinished. I’ll do the finishing myself.”

“How about here?” I guided him to a spread of desks, bedframes and other wooden pieces that looked to be in great condition.

“Nope,” he said. “Too finished which makes it too pricy. Here look.” He took my hand then, and led me to another area. He didn’t let go as we perused wooden furniture, which was covered in peeling paint or splintered. I wondered if he even realized, and I didn’t remind him.