The Homewreckers(105)

“That’s all I have for now. Thank you for coming.”

The reporters were still calling out questions as he made his way out of the room.





55

A Lightbulb Moment




“Have mercy!” Hattie sat up slowly and looked around. Her head was throbbing and her stomach was unhappy. Ribsy was curled up on the floor beside her, and she was flooded with guilt, again, on seeing how happy he was to greet her, even after the way she’d forgotten about him the previous night.

He jumped up onto the sofa and nuzzled her neck until she scratched his head, his ears, and his chin. “Good boy,” she whispered. “Do you forgive me?” As an answer, he flopped onto his back to allow the administration of belly rubs.

She leaned her head against the back of the sofa, then groped around on the floor for her phone, which she found nearby. There was a text from Mo, sent the previous night. Keys in planter. It was nearly seven, and the sun was starting to rise. Time to get to work.

In the shower, she reflected on the previous night’s surprising, and somewhat alarming, turn of events. She and Trae had come close, she thought, to doing the deed. It was clear from the way she felt now that she’d had way too much champagne. Had he deliberately gotten her drunk to have his way with her?

But she was a consenting adult, and she felt a powerful attraction to her costar. She’d probably have given in to his charms anyway. Right?

She was blowing her hair dry when she thought about what Mo had whispered as he was tucking her in last night, when he obviously thought she was passed out. He’s not good enough for you. And then there was that kiss. As kisses went, it was fairly chaste. There was tenderness, there, and she surely hadn’t imagined that. But what else had he said? I’d never do you that way? It was all very confusing. Was Mo warming up to her? Was she warming up to him?

She was nearly dressed when it occurred to her that her truck was still parked on Tybee.

She tried calling Cass to ask for a ride, but her call went directly to voicemail. She considered, then immediately rejected the idea of calling Trae. Reluctantly, she called for an Uber, then leashed up Ribsy while they waited outside for their ride to arrive.



* * *



The Uber driver wasn’t happy about it, but he finally agreed to let Ribsy ride shotgun, with his head stuck happily out the front passenger window, for an extra ten in cash.

“Headed to the beach?” the guy asked.

“To a job site,” Hattie said firmly.

That was how she was going to think of the house on Chatham Avenue from now on, she promised herself. A job site. No more falling in love with a pile of lumber and bricks. This was strictly a business relationship. Wasn’t it?

The off-duty cop was still stationed at the entrance to the driveway. She leaned out the window of the back seat and waved, and he gestured for the car to keep going. As she approached the house she noticed, with satisfaction, that it appeared all the subs were on the job, and everyone was busy. The painters were on scaffolding, finishing the trim work on the fa?ade. She saw that the plumbers, electricians, and HVAC trades were also present. Mo and Leetha were standing at the side of the house, talking to a man she didn’t recognize.

“Just let me out here,” she told the driver.

Trae waylaid her as soon as she walked into the house. “Can I see you for a minute?” He opened the master bedroom door. “In here.”

When they were alone he stroked her cheek with the back of his free hand. “Can we talk about how things ended last night? I thought we were headed for some great sex until Mo parachuted in to defend your virtue.”

Hattie had been debating that point ever since she’d awakened on the sofa earlier that morning.

“I’m not saying I wasn’t thinking the same thing last night, in the moment. It seemed like we were headed that way. But the fact is, I’d had way too much to drink. My judgment was, uh, clouded. If and when you and I go to bed, Trae, I want it to be when I’m clearheaded. And Mo has nothing to do with that.”

She didn’t mention the thing that had been nagging at her all morning; the fact that Trae had abruptly left and driven back to town apparently without troubling himself about how she would get home in her impaired state.

“Let’s continue this conversation over dinner tonight,” Trae said, squeezing her hand. “I promise, we’ll skip the champagne this time.”

“Hattie!” It was Tug. She opened the door and stepped into the living room.

“Hey, Dad,” she said. “When did you get here?”

“Hi, Mr. Kavanaugh,” Trae said.

“Trae.” Tug gave the designer a cursory nod.

“I just now got here. I need to show you something out in the kitchen.”

“Leetha wants me in makeup because we’re shooting upstairs,” Trae said. “I’ll talk to you later. Let me know about tonight, okay?”



* * *



Pete Savapoulis, their finish carpenter and Sheetrock installer, was standing beside her prized antique haberdashery counter that had been converted to an island for the kitchen. A stepladder stood on the marble-topped counter, and Pete’s expression was a mixture of embarrassment and chagrin.

“Hi, Pete. What’s up?”

“Tell her,” Tug said, pointing toward the ceiling.