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So this Tuesday morning, Callan was in his office on the phone, working out details for his upcoming release and tour. He’d invited me to go with him on the road, and I was tempted. I’d be more likely to agree if I didn’t feel like a big-ass block of concrete was hanging over my head. I hated waiting for it to drop.
I’d worked for a time at the kitchen island. Everything was shaping up nicely on the charitable project, although I’d have to submit revised graphics to Carrie later today. Callan had asked Carrie to arrange a location other than his estate, as originally planned. No way was he opening the gates to anyone right now. Carrie had come through and pulled a few strings to get a venue at Vanderbilt University, and the fundraiser tickets had gone on sale the minute I turned in revised graphics two days ago. Her PR team did the rest, and the event was just about sold out after twenty-four hours.
As I studied the graphics I’d begun for Barks and Recreation, I leaned back on the stool and yawned. I wasn’t sleeping well, but had been holding myself still to keep from waking Callan. As a result, I was stiff and achy.
I dropped my feet from the rung of the stool I’d propped them on, and my legs tingled like pins and needles. God, I hated that feeling. I climbed down and stretched, muscles and joints creaking and burning. I’d been sitting still for too long. Because I am who I am, I did lunges on my way to the SubZero fridge. A Diet Coke and maybe a walk was in order.
As I cracked the pop can open, I scanned the kitchen for Frank’s bed away from home. We’d stowed it under the bench by the back door, and sure enough, the cat was curled up on the pillow. One eye flipped open when I’d made noise, but he just kneaded the pillow, got more comfortable and shut his eyes again. He was used to my wanderings in the middle of a workday.
Elvis, on the other hand, leaped to his feet and started spinning in circles. He nosed the door, looked at me with a full body wag, and then let out a lowwoof. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who’d been still too long. I hurried to the office and knocked, opening the door a crack. Callan had his feet propped on the desk, leaned back in the chair, earbuds in. When I stuck my head in, he pulled one out and arched his brow.
“I’m taking Elvis for a quick walk,” I whispered to him as I pocketed my phone.
He held up one finger. “Hey, Archer, hang on a sec, okay?” He pulled the other earbud out. “Where’s James?”
I shrugged. “He’s been in and out, but I haven’t seen him for a while.”
“Don’t walk in front of the house. Just stay in the back, between the patio and the lake, yeah?”
I shot him thumbs up, then heard him return to his conversation with Archer as I shut the door.
Returning to the kitchen, I slipped my feet into the flipflops I’d left by my stool, shut my laptop down, then headed to the hook where Elvis’s leash was hanging. Callan had postponed the installation of an electric fence to keep Elvis contained until after this shitstorm we were in had blown over. Or we took our relationship public. That couldn’t happen until we were sure Tiffani wasn’t about to release her copy of that damn video. Callan’s lawyers were working on that.
Elvis’s tail thumped the ground as I snapped the leash on him. Crazy puppy just about knocked me over as I swept open the door to head out into the late morning sunshine.
Elvis pulled on his leash, dragging me right to the line of azaleas bordering the patio. The knee-high shrubs were leafy green, with startling pink flowers on them. This late in the year, I didn’t expect that, but Callan had said his dad encouraged him to plant encore azaleas that would bloom during multiple seasons. I inhaled the delicious fragrance deeply, and hand to heart, tension in my back and shoulders just melted away.
After Elvis finished his business, we wandered along the lawn toward the dock. The small lake was like glass, so still and calm. The trees surrounding it were in full leaf and were reflected on the surface. If I could have painted the trees in fall colors, I’d use reds, golds, yellows, and flaming oranges, just like what you’d see in a jigsaw puzzle of a Northeastern Autumn. I was already framing camera shots in my mind. Maybe I’d get the chance to do a four seasons study of this view. God willing and the creek don’t rise, as my dad used to say.
A woodpecker squawked and drummed on a tree near the shore. A wren warbled out a song as Elvis pulled me along the grass. He barked at a squirrel scurrying up a nearby tree, then shied away behind me when the squirrel paused and scolded him. I caught a blaze of red in the trees, and stopped to look for a cardinal, but the flash and the bird were elusive.
My flipflops slapped against my heels and Elvis’s nails clicked as we crossed the dock. I kicked off my shoes, eyed the chairs, but decided on sitting on the end of the pier, dangling my legs over the side. The water was warm on my toes as I dragged them through the surface.
At the far end of Callan’s land, one of the guys from the security detail emerged from the trees. He lifted a hand to wave at me. I waved in return, then went back to studying the houses on the opposite shoreline. Callan had mentioned that a country superstar and some corporate bigwigs lived across the lake from him, and I could just make out chimneys above the trees. I was glad there weren’t trees to obstruct the view of the lake from Callan’s house.
There was a rustling in the nearby trees. Elvis growled. I scratched my fingers through his fur. “Hush, boy. It’s probably the squirrel again.”
Ignoring the noise, I pulled my phone from my back pocket, prepared to call Naomi, now that the breakfast rush was over. Elvis lay down at my side, his ears still pricked forward. Across the yard, the security guard had paused in the shade of one tree, his head sweeping from side to side as he kept watch.
The phone only rang twice before Naomi picked up. “You okay?” she said in lieu of a greeting.
“I’m fine. Callan’s fine.” I’d talked to her each day since I’d been here and told her about the escalating feelings between us. “Just hanging in. You know, waiting for the dough to rise on this mess.”
“Look at you making a baking reference.” She laughed, then the sound of her cash register beeping filtered through. “Thanks, and you have a great day. Mabel, honey, can you take over?”
“I thought Mabel quit?”
Naomi lowered her voice. “Girl’s as flighty as they come. She quits every month, then comes begging for her job back.”
“Yeah, but you always hire her back.”
“I know! She’s just so good with the customers. And she has crazy cake decorating skills.”
I laughed. “But her spelling is suspect.”
“Hey, that only happened once. Okay, twice.” When Mabel misspelled something on a cake, it was always a doozy. “But you know as long as I write detailed instructions for her, it comes out right the first time.”
“Happy birdhday? How does anyone mess that up?”
