Rusty Nailed (Cocktail, #2)(74)

He knew.

I kissed him back. “I promise.”

He was still wearing the tool belt.

? ? ?

An hour later we were in the kitchen, heating up yet another microwave dinner. The avocado appliances had been removed, but the new ones not yet delivered. So every meal was prepared in the microwave, then usually eaten on a tarp-covered box.

“Potpie or Salisbury steak?”

“Salisbury steak? Is this 1979?” I asked as he held up two boxes.

“Don’t mock the steak, this is the best! My mom used to make these the nights I had soccer practice. Dad complained, but he secretly loved these frozen dinners,” he said, plugging in the microwave. It moved daily.

“Potpie for me, then. I don’t want to come between you and your steak,” I replied, pouring a glass of wine into a plastic cup. I watched him as he moved around the kitchen, thinking how much more freely he mentioned his mom and dad and his childhood these days. That reunion had really changed things. He’d finally created a Facebook account, and was in touch with the apostles almost daily.

Though I’d released a lot of tension upstairs only a short while ago, I could feel it beginning to creep back in.

“So, something a little epic happened at work today,” I offered, examining my toes.

“A little epic?” He laughed, peeling back the plastic and popping in our dinners. I dug through our silverware drawer (read, the plastic bag) for forks.

“Well, a lot epic. Did you know Jillian and Benjamin bought a house in Amsterdam?” I eyed him carefully.

“They did? That’s great. He mentioned something about that, but I didn’t know for sure.”

“Benjamin mentioned something as huge as buying a house in mother-flipping Amsterdam, and you didn’t tell me?” I asked, incredulous.

“What’s the problem?”

“The problem is Jillian is ‘semiretiring,’?” I snapped, air quoting so angrily I almost got a finger cramp. “And she offered to make me a partner.”

“Whoa, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know yet. We just talked about it for the first time today and I don’t know all the details.” I filled him in on the details I did know: the six months she’d be gone, what I’d likely be doing in her absence.

We settled across from each other with our dinners.

“Well, it’s obviously a tremendous opportunity for you. Congratulations,” he said.

I couldn’t figure out what he wasn’t saying.

“Thanks?” I said, making it a question.

“It’s a huge deal. I’m proud of you,” he answered, stabbing at his Salisbury steak. He didn’t look up at me.

“What’s on your mind, Simon?”

“It’s just—you’ve been working so hard. And so much. I thought things were going to slow down a bit for you now.”

He only said everything I’d been thinking, but it bothered me to hear someone else say it. I balled up my napkin in my fist. “I can’t turn down a huge opportunity like this. No one gets a chance like this at my age. And I love my job—how could I ever say no?” I chewed my potpie angrily. “And as far as us not seeing each other, that’s kind of how we’ve always been, right? We’re used to that. I mean, we used to be used to that—you used to be gone more often than you weren’t,” I said pointedly.

“I’m home now, though,” he said back, just as pointedly.

I wanted to scream, “But no one asked you to do that!” And then I was horrified that I’d even think such a thought. Who the hell complains about that when a boyfriend’s as incredible as Simon? Case in point: the tool belt and the multiple orgasms I just enjoyed not thirty minutes ago.

But I said nothing about that. No, I went right ahead and opened up another jar of pickles. “Plus the money is going to be incredible.”

“We’ve got plenty of mon—”

“You’ve got plenty of money—not me. There’s a difference.” I pointed my fork at him. “Speaking of which, we need to talk about the car situation out there, while you don’t have your hands in my panties.”

“What’s wrong with the car? Don’t you like it?” he asked, truly not getting it.

“I love the car. How could I not? But you can’t just buy me a car.”

“I think I just did.”

“I know, and it’s incredibly sweet. And incredibly kind. And incredibly expensive, and I incredibly don’t need it,” I said, standing up to throw away my potpie.

“Caroline, come on. You loved driving Jillian’s car. Don’t tell me you didn’t.”

“This isn’t about whether I love the car, Simon. It’s about you buying me a car.”

“Dammit, I wish I’d been outside when you pulled up. I had this whole thing planned out, and I think if you’d—”

“Simon, there’s a brand new-car in the driveway with a red bow on it! I think I see what you were trying to do. And it’s incredibly sweet, but it’s just too much!” I sat back in my chair, at a loss. Was I out of line here?

“I don’t get it.” He sighed, standing up and throwing his dinner into the trash can. As he turned back to me, I saw total confusion in his eyes. “When I was thirteen, my dad bought my mom a new car. She came home from the grocery store one day, and bam—there it was. Red bow and everything. And she said all the same things you’re saying. It’s too much, you shouldn’t have done this—everything. And my dad kissed her, handed her the keys, and said, ‘Let’s go for a drive.’ And that was it. She gave in.” He leaned against a sawhorse, dragging his hands through his hair. “You know why? Because she knew how much it meant to him. Everything he did was to make her happy.” His voice deepened toward the end, sounding rough and a little choppy.