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“He’s worried about Wamba.”
“Who is Wamba?” I ask, working on the buttons of my blouse. When I slip it off, I glance at my closed door, feeling a little bit funny standing there in my panties and bra, knowing Gideon could arrive home at any time.
“The guy who owns The Hep Cat. He and Gideon have been friends for years. Wamba’s wife died last year. Hence the possible sale and move and Gideon maybe taking over.”
“Taking—? What? I thought Gideon was just applying for a job here.”
“Nah. Wamba’s kids live in Arizona. He’s looking to retire and move out there. He wants Gideon to take the store.”
“Oh.”
My belly flips again, a little bit excited at the thought that Gideon might be in St. Louis long term. Then again, he’s not going to live here long term, and I know he’s not into me, so it’s not like we’d ever really have to see each other even if he does settle down here.
“Anyway, he didn’t want to get home too early.”
“He came in just as Brandi and the girls were asking if I slept with Mel.”
Chloe hoots with laughter. “Ouch.”
“Yeah, so when the meeting was over, he let me know he’s totally okay with it if I want to have an overnight guest. I thought he was going to tell me to put a necktie on my door if I was getting sexy with someone.”
“A bra.”
“What?”
“A bra,” Chloe repeats. “You don’t have any neckties. You could just hook a bra on your doorknob.” I laugh, but part of me wonders what Gideon would do if he ever came home and found my door closed and a black lace bra hooked on the doorknob.
Nothing. After all, he was in my room last week, and my bra was in sight, and it didn’t drive him to make a move.
Not that I would want him to.
Would I?
“Can I come and visit you guys soon?”
“Yes!” I feel twenty pounds lighter at the thought. Just what I need! A fun visit with my bestie. Some TV show binge-watching. Some drinking—hardcore drinking. Some girl talk.
The thought turns my stomach a bit. Well, I can’t gush to her about the latest guy I’m crushing on.
Wait.
Am I crushing on Gideon Reece? Really? I mean, it’s one thing to think he’s hot. Something totally different to crush on him. I picture his face when we talked about the Arch. The way he yelled at me from across the room to ask if I was sexually frustrated. Okay, that’s sort of out of context, but still.
Oh boy. I’m so crushing on my best friend’s brother. And the hell of it is, we’re all way too old to do this. We’re adults. We should be finding a partner. Mature love—whatever that is. We should be thinking about mortgages and children and minivans. Not crushes.
I’m not too old to recognize the giddy feeling bubbling inside my chest. And I like that feeling so much more than thinking about paychecks and mortgages and 401K plans.
“Awesome!” Chloe sounds as excited as I was before this revelation. When I thought I was just excited about seeing her. Feeling guilty again, I perch on the edge of my bed and take a deep breath. “I can’t do this coming weekend. I have a cocktail thing for work Saturday night. But maybe the weekend after that?”
“Perfect!”
When we end the call, I wonder if I sounded too eager, too okay with that. Should I have groaned a little, like I was frustrated that Gideon might still be staying here then? Gideon. Hmm. I close my eyes and think about that stroke of his thumb on my hand again. The tingly sensation under my skin. I wonder what his hand would feel like on my belly. Around my breast?
I hear a car horn outside, and though odds are it’s not him, I scramble off the bed and grab for something to put on just in case he does come home soon. Barefoot, in my soft pajama shorts and tank, I leave my phone on my dresser and head back to my reading corner. His book is on the apothecary table. I don’t know when he finds so much time to read, but he’s already finished the Dave Grohl book and moved on toTo Kill a Mockingbird. I study it for a second, recognizing the tear in the corner of the paper cover and the black ink scribbled on the spine. A glance at my bookshelf confirms it; the book is mine. More interested in the fact that his hands touched the book last than Harper Lee’s words—I used to reread this book every year—I get comfortable on the loveseat and start at the beginning. When I come to the page he has marked, I spend too much time studying the receipt he has tucked in the pages. It’s from a bakery; I’m guessing it’s close to The Hep Cat, based on the address.
Looks like he has a thing for bear claws with his soulless coffee. That thought drags me back to Saturday at the Farmers’ Market. Maybe when Chloe is here, we can all go together. Deciding that mooning over my best friend’s brother like this is pathetic, I put the book back on the table, careful to put it in the same spot, same position. Back on the loveseat, I open my book, order all thoughts of Gideon out of my head, and start reading.
I must doze off, because when I wake up, the apartment is mostly dark. There’s a strip of light under the bathroom door, and the lamp in Gideon’s room is on. I did have the presence of mind to mark my page before I fell asleep. With a yawn, I stretch my arms up over my head. My book falls to the floor, but I don’t grab for it immediately.
