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“This is my life, Zoe,” I said, stunned at her audacity. “You can’t speak for me.”
“I know,” she said and stood. “I know. You’re right. And I’ve done enough. I’ve—” Her eyes, those big green eyes, met mine and I saw too much. I saw her longing and her respect. Her sadness and her thousand-pound, happily-ever-after wishes. For all of us. “I’ve made a mess of things.” Her laugh was sharp and awkward and Savannah flinched against me. “I told you that’s the sort of thing I do. I’ll—” she gestured toward the door “—leave. Thank you for the food and…” Her swallow was audible, her blush florescent. “Last night.”
Her eyes clung to mine again. “Thanks,” she whispered and then she was gone. Out of the kitchen and through the living room.
Don’t go after her, I told myself, willing my feet to be rooted to the kitchen floor. You’ve done that already. It’s her turn.
I needed some time to get things back in line and Zoe was counterproductive to all of that—it was better to give it some time, let both of us cool off. Let me get my life under control.
But…
“Wait,” I called and followed her, catching her at the front door, Katie’s big blue eyes watching every move.
“You don’t need to chase me down,” Zoe said, turning away from the door. “You’re off Prince Charming duty.”
“It’s not a duty, Zoe,” I said, wondering if anything I’d said—anything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours—had mattered to her. I felt like the stuffing was being pulled out of my life. Chaos reigned and I was letting it happen because that was Zoe’s natural habitat and I wanted her around.
But if she didn’t want to be in my life, I wasn’t about to beg.
“I’m going to let you call me,” I said, and her eyes went wide.
“What?” she breathed.
“Normally after a night like last night, one person has to call the other, and I think I’m going to let it be you.”
“Thanks,” she muttered.
“You know how I feel,” I said with a shrug, as if it was casual when it felt anything but.
There was a long pause and my heart, on ice for the last few years, wanted desperately to crawl back to the freezer.
I knew it. This tough, woman-in-control-of-her-life persona was just an act. In the end, she was too scared to try. Too unwilling—
“I’ll call you,” she said, and while I stood there, dumbstruck, she leaned in, kissed my lips and was out the door with a quick wave to Katie.
Sunlight poked holes through the dark corners of my life, and I turned to find my sister and niece staring at me with giant smiles across their faces. They shared a quick, laughing glance, and I didn’t even care that they were laughing at me.
“We like her, Uncle Carter,” Katie said, bouncing on my leather sofa.
“So do I,” I agreed, rubbing the place on my chest where my heart beat so damn hard. “So do I.”
JIM
Monday morning, I opened my e-mail and felt a crack in the world open up around me. Angels sang. Heavenly light spilled across my desk and computer. Even Noelle Gilbert in the cubicle beside me looked less dour.
Carter O’Neill was holding a press conference on Wednesday night. There was not a question in my mind that Carter was going to announce his candidacy for mayor in the primary.
A half hour later, when I got an e-mail notification that the mayor would be holding a press conference next week as well, I nearly did a jig.
Mayor-President Higgins was going to endorse the Golden Boy.
After the weekend I’d had, this was the kind of news to make a man want to sing. I’d applied some subtle pressure to the HR woman out at The Rouge about that blond dealer but I hadn’t gotten anywhere.
It was beginning to feel as though this Carter O’Neill story was going nowhere, and my head hurt from beating it against a wall.
But now, with Carter all but cinching the Democratic ticket, now the rats would come out of the woodwork. They always did.
“Noelle,” I said, and she turned her mousy pointed nose toward me. “I’m in such a good mood, I think I’ll let you buy me a coffee today.”
“Go to hell, Blackwell,” she sneered.
Ah well, Noelle wasn’t feeling the love.
“Jim?” Tom said, wheeling his chair out around the edge of his cubicle. “You got a minute?”
I was even feeling okay about Tom. As okay about Tom as one could feel, so I said, “Absolutely,” without any sarcasm.
“In the meeting room.” Tom stood and walked over to the glass door of the big conference room.
“This about the press conference?” I asked, following Tom through the glass doors into the cool dark room. “Because I think—”
“I’m giving the press conference to Noelle.”
