“To…homeownership.” Rob tapped his champagne flute against Kari’s and her eyes smiled at him over the rim as she took her first sip. He wondered if she was smiling at the slight hesitation, the almost-stammer in the brief toast.
He had almost said, “To us.”
Because they were such a good team. They were becoming friends. Yes.
Kari raised her own flute. “To neighbors who make a great team.” He brought his glass against hers again, creating a brief, musical chink when they met. Her sentiment was a lot closer to the one he had almost voiced, but it managed to keep the necessary distance between them.
He’d made the right call. He knew it. Why did it feel so disappointing?
“Do you like it?” He pointed to the cocktail.
“I do.” She took another sip, looking around his kitchen. “Wow. This is inspiring and depressing all at the same time.”
“What is?”
“The cabinets. The countertop. The flooring. All of it. Mine is so shabby, but it will take me forever to save up for a renovation.”
“Don’t hurry. Living in a house without a kitchen is the worst. And I did most of it myself, so it took a while.”
Her eyes went wide. “How long?”
“A little over four weeks. Eating at restaurants all the time got old fast.”
“Expensive, too.”
“Yep.” He leaned his hip against the countertop, remembering how amazing it had felt when the countertop installers left and a final few tasks were all that stood between him and cooking in his own kitchen again.
“Maybe I’ll just be happy about my new faucet. For now. Until I get up the nerve and the cash for the renovation.”
“Solid plan,” he said. “So…what was with that look you gave me?”
“Look?” Kari’s face showed nothing but honest bafflement.
“The look before we dug into the chaos in my office. The silent one that, when combined with folded arms and serious eyes, made me want to dig a hole and bury myself?”
She colored, sipped her drink. “I call it ‘weaponized silence.’”
“Come again?”
“A specialty of the Halvorsen family. I don’t even know I’m doing it sometimes. We’re very comfortable with silence. When it’s used on someone who isn’t…” She gave a slight flourish with her hand, as if to say he could finish the thought for himself.
“I see. Noted. It is, indeed, a weapon. Now, how about that movie?”
She flinched. “You sure you still want me around?”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “You helped me yesterday. Then again today.”
“And you helped me.”
“I just don’t want to mess up any plans you might have had for the rest of today.”
“You’re not messing anything up.” In fact, the idea of her going back to her own place sounded lonely. Which was ridiculous. He was used to being alone. He mostly liked it, in fact. “Unless you have something you need to get back to and you’re just being polite?” He hoped it wasn’t the case. He’d hate it if it was.
She shook her head. “Nope. No plans. Watching paint dry, maybe.”
“Riveting stuff. I think you’ll enjoy the movie more.”
She followed him to the living room, sitting on one end of the sofa as he rummaged through his collection of discs to find Frozen. When he had it playing, he sat on the other end of the couch. It would have been weird and inappropriate to sit any closer to her. But he wanted to.
He wanted to very, very much.
He consoled himself by watching her reactions to the movie rather than the movie itself. After all, he’d seen it more than enough times. When it began, she watched with a sort of polite skepticism. But as the story unfolded, she grew more and more rapt. When Anna purchased her new clothes, Kari pointed at the screen and smiled.
“The motif on her dress!”
“Yeah. It’s kind of like the ones you drew.”
By the time the movie had swept to its conclusion, Kari was curled up on the sofa, her shoes off and her feet tucked under her, as at home as a cat might be, eyes riveted to the screen. Sighing and leaning back as the credits rolled, she said, “I can see why you wish this had been around for your daughter when she was a kid. I really thought it was going to be yet another ‘guy saves the girl’ story.”
Rob grabbed the remote and turned the tv off. “Yeah. But instead, she gets saved by her sister.”
“Girl power.” Kari briefly raised a fist into the air, then rubbed her hands across her face. She picked up her phone, which she had left on the coffee table. “Ugh. This girl has to take herself home and get ready for the week.”
“If you have to.” He hated the idea of her leaving. Which was silly. She was right next door. He could see her whenever he wanted, practically. “Thanks for everything today.”
“No, thank you.” She rose, pocketing her phone and giving him a weary smile. He saw her to the front door where they both stood, a slightly awkward silence stretching into fully, completely awkward as they looked at each other, then away. Kari’s eyes fixed on the door and he opened it, reaching past her to get to the doorknob. He was close enough to kiss her. Close enough to smell her shampoo or soap or whatever lingering sweetness that made him want to discover its source, trail his nose along the arch of her neck, sift her fine hair through his fingers.
She swallowed as he straightened, the open door an invitation and a rejection. “I guess I’ll see you around the back yard.”
That was right. Next door. Disaster. Focus.
“Yeah. Or I could really teach you how to paint a room instead of just doing it for you.”
Her face brightened. “You’d do that?”
And just like that, all his resolve crumbled. “Sure. Next weekend? Saturday?”
“You’re on.” Kari’s heart gave a little hop-skip in her chest. She knew she could see Rob whenever. They lived literal yards from one another. But having an actual date on the calendar made her happy somehow.
“I’m just angling for another one of those amazing breakfasts,” he said, a sly smile crinkling the skin around his eyes.
“You get all the breakfasts. For all time.” The words were out of Kari’s mouth before she realized what they implied. Her face flamed. “I mean…”
“I know what you meant.” Was that a tiny hint of disappointment on his face because she hadn’t intended a double entendre? Or was it her overactive imagination?
“Anyway. Thanks again.” Kari bit her lip, unsure of how to retrieve the moment.
“No, thank you.” Rob’s returning smile was warm.
Kari gave an awkward little wave and stepped through the doorway, self-consciousness coursing through her as she walked the short distance to her own front door. Letting herself in, the self-consciousness dropped away as she saw the motif over the entrance to the dining room, and the sunny walls beyond and smelled the sharp scent of curing paint. She wrapped her arms around herself, doing a little dance of glee, sneakers squeaking on the hardwood.
She was doing it. She was making this place her own. Just like she’d imagined when she had first toured it with the realtor.
In the midst of her little celebration, her phone chimed in her back pocket. Pulling it out, she saw a text from Sam.
Dinner—next Sunday work for you?
Kari swallowed hard and sat on the sofa, stroking a finger over the phone’s screen. Sunday. Her chance to repair her relationship with Sam. Meet her new boyfriend. Make a new start.
No pressure on one dinner at all.
Swallowing hard, Kari tapped out: Absolutely. Anything the new guy doesn’t eat? Allergies?
A pause. Then dots pulsing on the screen. Nope.
Great. Come at 6. I’ll serve him lutefisk. Kari chuckled as Sam responded with a swift “vomit” emoji.
Come on, Kari typed. How often does a guy get offered fish preserved with lye?
Sam’s response was a pithy, Never. And he never will.
You must really like him, Kari typed, a wistful smile stealing over her face.
I do.
Good. See you Sunday at 6.
Kari set her phone on the table and glanced at the motif again, hoping it would give her that same zing of joy it had when she entered. But its power had leached away. In place of the giddy joy was pure nervousness now.
After Kari left, Rob busied himself with putting away the Blu-Ray disc, washing up the champagne flutes they’d had their cocktails in, and other small, non-urgent tasks.
None of them served to erase the memory of Kari’s blush. What was it about the wash of pink across her cheeks that reminded him that he wasn’t just Rob a handy neighbor, or Rob a dad, but Rob a man with a definite appreciation for a pretty woman?
Whatever it was, it sure worked. He’d had to slam the lid on the urge to kiss her so hard, he was pretty sure the urge had a concussion.
He should be backpedaling away from any more home improvement projects, cozy breakfasts, and movie showings. He should be putting some polite distance so they could continue to coexist next to each other.
Instead, he was looking forward to Saturday already. In fact, if they were going to paint another room, she should really pick out the color and get the paint sometime this week. He should go with her, make sure she got the right thing.
He shoved the last wet load of laundry into the dryer and started the machine going. It was a more productive thing to do than sinking to the floor and lying there until someone with more of a brain told him off for having so little self-control.
While he was having these useful thoughts, his phone rang. Mia’s ringtone. Digging the phone out of his pocket, he didn’t try to hide the smile in his voice. “How’s my grandpuppy?”
“Daddy.” Mia’s mock-exasperated voice rang in his voice. “You used to ask how I was doing.”
He paced into the living room. “That’s what happens when you become a parent. You get kicked to the curb for the offspring. Ask me how I know.”
“Well, that’s actually why I’m calling…” Mia’s voice trailed into a coaxing note he was all too familiar with.
“How long does Hugo need to stay with me?”
A sigh gusted into his ear. “Can I drop him off on Tuesday evening and pick him up on Saturday afternoon?”
“Sure.” He remembered his plans for Saturday. “I might be next door on Saturday, though.”
“Next door?”
“Yeah. My new neighbor. I’ve been helping…her with some home improvement stuff.” Shit. He shouldn’t have paused. Mia jumped into the breach with both feet.
“Her? Is she nice? Is she pretty? Is she good enough for my dad?”
“Mia. She’s a friend.” He could just as easily have said, Yes, she’s nice. And oh, yes she’s pretty. But your old man isn’t good enough for her. I’m terrible at relationships and unfortunately you almost had a ringside seat for most of the evidence.
“Friend is a good place to start…” Mia’s voice held the same coaxing note it had when she thought she needed to talk Rob into taking Hugo for a few days.
Rob’s hand sliced through the air, even though Mia wouldn’t see the gesture. “And that’s where it’s going to stay. You know my history.”
“I know you’ve never found the right woman for you. That’s what I know.”
Her optimism was as heartwarming as it was maddening. “How is it that I raised a daughter who thinks that Hallmark Christmas movies are instruction manuals? Some people just aren’t cut out for relationships, kiddo.”
“Da-ad.”
“Nope. End of conversation about Dad. I’m happy to take Hugo. Stay for dinner on Tuesday when you drop him off.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t. Rain check?”
Rob refrained from asking what her plans were. Just like he needed his boundaries, she needed hers. Her space. But damn, it was hard seeing her all grown up sometimes. He missed being needed for more than dog sitting. Missed the way she’d unconsciously lift her hand for him to grab when they went places years ago, relying on him to take care of anything and everything. “Rain check, sweetie. See you Tuesday for grandpup drop-off.”
“You got it. Thanks, Dad.”
“You owe me.”
“I’ll never even make the interest payments.”
“No, you won’t. But that’s what being a parent is. I love you, kiddo.”
“I love you too. Bye.”
Rob stuffed his phone in his pocket and stared at nothing for a while, wondering what his life would be like if he could just be the guy his daughter thought he was.
On Monday morning, Kari stared at the pile of invoices on her desk and her list of auxiliary tasks for the week. The pile that wasn’t going anywhere until she paid them and the list was…the list. Usually, she dove right into tasks like this, not because they were fun or interesting, but because they were finite. Something you could draw a satisfying, straight line through when they were complete.
This morning, though, her job just seemed dreary. Or maybe it was the blank walls of her tiny little office. She spent almost as much time here as she did at home—why had it never occurred to her to do more than put a couple of framed snapshots of her and Sam on her desk and call it a day? Maybe, like with the anonymous apartments she had always lived in, she just didn’t see the opportunity.
“Daydreaming already?” Sapna, one of the company copyeditors, stood in the doorway, her dark eyes glowing with humor.
“You caught me.” Kari pushed her hair back from her forehead.
“Ambitious. I usually wait until at least Wednesday afternoon to let my brain drift. But I suppose you get a pass. You’re always doing everything. What’s on deck now?”
Sam consulted her list. “I have to corral people to bring in treats for the quarterly coffee social. I’m trying to come up with someone who hasn’t done it in a while.”
Sapna’s dark brown eyes glinted. “I can only imagine. Trying to get anyone outside the usual suspects is probably a big pain. Especially the guys.”
Kari winced. Sapna was way too perceptive. “I was also thinking about how painting a couple of the rooms in my house this weekend kick-started me into thinking I should have decorated here a little more.
Sapna looked at the walls. “Our cubicles are decorated like mad, but I think that’s because the cloth walls invite pushpins.” She waved at Kari’s office, bracelets tinkling down her arm. “This, not so much. But you probably shouldn’t try to paint your office. The Man wouldn’t be pleased.”
“No.” Fred Logan, President of Monocle Press and otherwise known as The Man, wasn’t the kind of person to appreciate a painted office wall. “But I could at least get some art posters in frames or something. Anything to jazz this up.” Kari waved at the white blankness surrounding her, unrelieved by even a window.
“True.” Sapna looked from the walls to Kari. “So, big fun in the new house. Painting walls.” She gave a sarcastic “woo-hoo” and made crowd-cheering noises, pumping her palms toward the ceiling, bracelets sliding down her wrists.
“It was fun, actually. My neighbor helped out. He fixed my kitchen sink too.” And how on earth could just remembering a man with his head stuffed under her sink make her feel tingly?
Sapna arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “You’re smiling. Is ‘fixing a sink’ a euphemism for something?”
Kari groaned. “Not you, too.”
“Am I being unoriginal?” Sapna grinned.
“Sam—my niece—made references to my…personal plumbing when I told her about it.” Reminded of Sunday’s dinner, she bit her lip. “Speaking of which, when you brought Raj to meet the family, what was it like?”
Sapna looked confused. “Are we talking about you bringing your plumber to meet Sam or something else?”
“Something else. Sam has a boyfriend. The first one in a long time and it’s apparently serious. I’m having them over for dinner on Sunday. I’m…nervous.”
“Ah. You need a bozo buffer,” Sapna said, folding her arms across her chest and leaning on the doorframe.
Kari blinked. “A who and a what now?”
“Someone to break up the dynamic.” Sapna held up one index finger. “You and Sam know each other really well.” She brought her other index finger up to meet the first. “Sam and new guy know each other really well.” She drew her fingers down and away from each other, then stopped. “That leaves a weak side to the triangle: you and the new guy. You need someone else to balance things out. Make the triangle into a square.”
Kari almost winced at how fast her mind flew to Rob. “Is that fair to the other person—what did you call it?”
“Bozo buffer. Don’t ask me why. It’s my mom’s term for it. But it does help defuse that weird dynamic, so it’s not like it’s unfair to the bozo in question. You just end up with a nice, normal gathering. Got anyone in mind?” Sapna’s eyes grew sly and her lips, painted with a bright matte magenta lipstick, drew into a wide grin. “The plumber?”
“He’s not really a plumber.” Kari said, her brain whirring. “Just a guy who’s good with his hands.”
Sapna hooted and Kari’s face heated. “Not like that,” she mumbled, propping her elbows on her desk and dropping her flaming cheeks into her palms.
“Or not that you know yet. Right?”
Kari lifted her head from her hands and pointed at Sapna. “No. And I don’t plan on knowing. He’s nice. He lives next door. He has a life. I have a life.” And he’s not interested in me.
“Fine. But nice and lives next door sounds like a great recipe for someone who can be a perfect bozo buffer.”
Kari considered Sapna’s words. She wasn’t wrong necessarily. But actually asking Rob was a whole other consideration. She could imagine the awkward conversation. Remember that embarrassing and stressful thing I told you about? It’s gathered steam and become a potentially embarrassing and stressful dinner with the only remaining member of my family and the guy she’s apparently really serious about but I had never heard of before.
There had to be a better way. A different person. An entirely different bozo buffer.
“Ready for me?” Rob’s help desk manager, Sandra, stood in his doorway.
Rob glanced at his computer and nearly smacked his forehead. He’d been dreamy and distracted all morning, even missing the little calendar notice that should have alerted him of his biweekly meeting. “Absolutely. Come in.” He waved at the little round conference table at the other end of his office and got to his feet. “Have a seat. How’s the general status?”
Sandra nodded. “General status is good. We’re reducing our response times on average, closing tickets out faster.”
“Excellent,” Rob said as they both settled into chairs. “And how are the new hires settling in?” The company had recently hired three new help desk technicians, which meant a lot of training for Sandra and her more senior staff who mentored them.
“Seem to be okay.” But Sandra’s dark skin creased between her eyebrows.
“And…”
Sandra shook her head. “Nothing I can put my finger on yet. Just an intuition. You know I’ve had my fair share of nitwits who didn’t take either me or the job seriously at first.”
Rob nodded. Sandra was his best manager. And she was a Black woman in charge of a sometimes fractious, often immature team of mostly young, mostly male, mostly white employees.
“You let me know the instant something doesn’t feel right. I have your back. Whatever you need.”
“I know. I can handle it. Maybe it’s nothing.”
Knowing Sandra wouldn’t thank him if he pushed the issue, Rob decided to move on. “How are Brenda and Trin’s teams doing?” he asked, naming her subordinates who managed the Los Angeles and Austin teams, respectively.
Sandra nodded, her usual brisk, no-nonsense demeanor returning. “Good. Their weekly numbers are on track. Good response times, good feedback. There was a little malware incident in L.A., but Brenda’s team has got that under control.”
A strange, hectic noise was rising outside Rob’s closed office door. “What the heck is going on out there?”
Sandra got to her feet, opening the door, then glancing over her shoulder at Rob. “Nerf battle. Time to play bad cop.”
Rob saw a bright orange foam projectile sail past his door. “Let me see if there’s tickets waiting.” He got to his feet and went to his computer. Only one trouble ticket was open, and it was assigned to one of their most senior employees. Rob had no doubt the guy was off taking care of it, but he walked to the doorway to be sure. Yup, that particular help desk employee was nowhere in sight, probably in the office of the employee with the issue.
“Do what you think is best, but there’s nothing really going on right now. If you don’t mind them goofing around a little, I don’t care. Just as long as it settles down when another ticket comes in.”
Sandra shrugged and shut the door, moving back to the table to sit again. “If they want to act like fools for a few minutes, that’s on them. But they better be back at their desks by the time our meeting is over.”
Rob nodded. He had no doubt that if the help desk bullpen wasn’t quiet by the time he and Sandra finished their meeting, there would be a whole different kind of hell being raised. And he would have Sandra’s back if that hell needed raising.