“Once you buy your new appliances, we’ll come out and take care of the programming for you.” Coop grins. “At no additional charge, of course. In the meantime, your cell phone is now hooked up to the system, so you can turn on the lights and open the garage door from the car on your way home, among other things.”
Impressed, I scan the interface screen. There are boxes for the garage door, lighting, A/C, appliances, and audio and security systems. “What if I get a voice-command device like Alexa?”
“No problem. It’ll integrate with the system seamlessly. All you have to do is say your command, like ‘Alexa, turn on the master bedroom lights,’ and you’re good to go.”
“Wow. This is fantastic, Coop, but I didn’t see this in the quote. How much extra is all this?”
Coop slow-blinks. “Nothing. It’s included. Theo wanted you to have the best, so…you do.”
Theo—who faked an illness to avoid seeing me—wanted me to have the best. And didn’t charge me for it. I suppose that makes about as much sense as anything else.
The smile I give Coop is brittle. “All righty, then. Pleasure doing business with you, Coop. Hang on a second, I’ll write you a check.” I head upstairs to get my checkbook from my bag.
It’s Friday afternoon, the guys are done with the rewiring project, and I’ve got an hour until Superego Craig picks me up for dinner. I’ve been ruthless with myself and haven’t allowed my mind to linger in Theoland even for one minute, keeping busy with interviewing interior designers and researching their websites for inspiration. Because I felt awkward going out with Craig without telling Suzanne, I called her this morning to let her know.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she’d said, sighing. “I should’ve known. The only guys who are ever interested in me are either married, mama’s boys, or in prison.”
I didn’t ask for details.
We hung up after she failed to finagle a promise from me that I’d call her with every dirty detail in the morning. Vicarious sex was better than no sex, she’d said, to which I’d responded that no sex would be had tonight. Period.
To which she’d responded that I’m dumber than I look.
I pay Coop, the guys leave, then I hit the shower. My wardrobe is lacking in date-night ensembles, so I wear the same dress I wore to dinner at Booger’s with Suzanne. Craig’s already seen me in it, but it’s the only one I own. I dress it up with heels and a pretty scarf, swipe on a few coats of mascara, dab a drop of organic vanilla oil behind each of my ears, and call it a day.
Frankly, if the night doesn’t end in tears, I’ll consider it a success.
When Craig pulls up at the curb in an expensive-looking silver sports car, I pretend like I wasn’t watching from the front window and hustle into the kitchen so he can’t see me as he walks up the path to the front door. After a minute, the doorbell rings. Though I know no one’s listening, I say a little prayer, asking for strength to get me through the evening.
I open the door to find Craig standing there, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. I’m surprised to see him in black dress slacks and a stylish wool blazer. He looks like he’s going on a job interview. In a way, I suppose he is.
He looks me up and down and whistles low. “You sure know how to wear that dress, Megan.”
“You’re not half-bad yourself.”
“I’m glad you think so. I spent two hours fussing in front of the mirror before driving over here.”
I have a sneaking suspicion he spends hours in front of the mirror whether he has a date or not, but I smile at him pleasantly, admiring the sheen of his freshly shaven jaw and his golden hair, which probably took a lot of coaxing to achieve that artfully tousled effect.
The man could teach me a thing or two about personal grooming. If I’m not mistaken, he even gets his eyebrows waxed. Those arches of his are suspiciously perfect.
“Are you ready to go?”
I nod, happy he didn’t ask to come inside, and turn the bolt on the new door lock Theo installed. He did it without me asking, a small kindness I’m grateful for.
And am not thinking about because he’s banned from my mind.
Great. Not even two minutes with Craig and already your thoughts are wandering back toward He Who Shall Not Be Named.
I turn back to Craig with a big, fake smile, already knowing the night is going to be a disaster.
* * *
Craig takes me to what is probably the best restaurant in the area. It’s one town south of Seaside and obviously expensive, with waiters in tuxedos gliding around silently and a pianist discreetly playing a baby grand on one side of the dining room. We’re seated at a candlelit table by a window with a view of the ocean, while I try not to be overly disturbed by Craig’s taste in music, which I was introduced to on the drive over.