This was getting too close to the restaurant scene. May fought her fatigue to find a topic to change.
“Wait. What does Joki do for team-building?”
“What do you think? We play videogames. And go snowshoeing in the woods.”
“That sounds fun.”
“If you’re a reindeer. I think the best way to build a team is to build the best product together that we can. Seems to work for us.”
“And stay off the phone when you’re drunk.”
“Just so.” He looked toward what used to be the sunroom. When May had bought the place, she had had the wall torn down so now the sunroom was part of the living area. The tile floor remained, though. She used the space for her computer setup and her painting.
“That’s why this place smells of solvent.” He gestured to her big easel.
“Yes. I’m using oils this year. I’m sorry about the smell.”
“I grew up over a gas station. Smells like home.” He drained his glass. “You did the walls, too? The sunshine kitchen, dissolving to day and then blue night over there?”
She nodded. No one had ever seen the colors for what they were.
He lurched forward to pour another drink out. “Will hurt your resale value.”
“It’s acrylic.”
He sat quiet a moment, and then leaned sideways toward her. “Where do your parents live?”
Talk about a non sequitur. May sipped her drink, composing her story. “Here, in DC. My birth mother came here pregnant, but didn’t survive the trip. I was a preemie. The Reeds had lost their boy, and I believe they loved me twice as much to make up for it.”
“There is no twice as much in love. It’s all or nothing.”
“Then it was all. Is all. They’re both hale and hearty. In the summer they like to travel. They’re exploring the West coast this month. They still camp in tents.”
He chuckled. Not bitter at all. She relaxed into the sound; it was almost mesmerizing. “How do you camp?
“I camp with room service.”
He set his glass down and suddenly looked serious. “Camp with me. No pressure, I mean I have an extra room. You might actually get seven hours of sleep.”
May’s heart skipped thrillingly up, and then crashingly down. “But aren’t you going home now, what with the, um, wrong resolution to the meeting with the senator?”
“You want me to give up on the penguin expedition?”
“No! I mean, lord, please, no. But I thought.” She frowned. What did she think?
“You thought it was quid pro quo, and rightly, since that was what I’d said. But truly, May in June, I am excited about this expedition. There’s a reason I picked penguins for my game. I think they’re really—what is the word?—exciting.”
“Cool?”
“Better, cool.”
May smiled. “Well, that’s great to hear. Sadie will be so pleased.” She stopped, seeing his look harden. “Sorry, I mean Markus will be pleased. And me, too.”
“And you, too, little May?” His eyes were a bit blurry, but still too sharp for her liking. The blush was rising again, and even her crotch was blushing. Was that possible?
She tried to harden her heart against him. What had she called him yesterday? Mr. Big-pants bossy-head. But tonight he didn’t seem so bad. In fact, he looked downright delicious.
She frowned hard enough to hurt her cheeks. She shouldn’t be thinking this way. Traitorous body, with its unhelpful thoughts. Time to flee the danger.
“I’ll get the bedding.”
“You do that.” He leaned back, hands behind his gorgeous head, and closed his eyes.
****
May woke to the delicious smell of coffee, and for a moment she wasn’t sure where she was. This couldn’t be her house, could it?
But the bed was right, and her little pile of clothes from last night beside it on the floor. Then she remembered. She had a guest.
She rummaged in her overstuffed closet and finally found the terry bathrobe her parents had given her years ago. Barefoot, hair surely aircraft-carrier-ish, she opened the bedroom door and peeked out.
“Sleepy heads only get the dregs.” Beau Kurck, impossibly perky, lorded over her little breakfast counter. He held up one of her mugs.
She came closer. “Where did you get the coffee?”
“Ordered in.”
“From where?”
He waved a hand, and she saw the big box of coffee on the counter. “You ordered a box of coffee?”
“Two. I had to reach the minimum for delivery. That, and a French press, since you so kindly loaned me yours.”
“And a selection of croissants.”
“Not a one of them fattening.” He waved her mug at her. “Do artists really do it with flair?”