With the afternoon sun blazing down on him, James killed the ignition. He climbed out of the Alfa and patted the door twice before easing it shut. Should he be concerned that his longest-standing relationship these days was with his car? Other than his friendship with Sam, of course. Man, they hadn’t seen each other in eighteen months. Time to prod Sam into negotiating with his wife for another guys’ weekend.
That was a good distraction to cling to. He needed the tonic of a well-worn friendship, even if Sam’s advice never varied: Get your shit together, buddy. Stop hustling the smart women and chase after the hot babes with big tits and no brains. Breast size James didn’t care about, IQ he did. Sam knew this, but now he was married with three kids, he liked to imagine the life of a bachelor was all firm breasts and lacy panties. But that had never been James’s fantasy, even when he had, briefly, endured the bar scene. No, the one thing James dreamed of was the one thing he’d proved himself incapable of sustaining—a family life. But with two kids, obviously, not three.
James stared at the garden that blurred his anxiety better than a tumbler of bourbon. He had come here to remind himself that his relationship with Tilly was about fighting fear. For that he needed absolute focus. But…he had driven down this very driveway and seen her for the first time. A tiny, barefoot woman with freckles and hacked hair who had looked him in the eye and said no. A woman whose love he wanted to earn, even though she deserved better, so much better.
Tilly’s garden, baking in the Carolina heat, was a riot of yellow, purple, red and orange. He couldn’t imagine Tilly doing anything in pastels. His mother had loved bright garden colors, too. Not that she had been a gardener of Tilly’s caliber, but she’d definitely had the gift.
He glanced down at his black watch, his black T-shirt, his black pants, his black sneakers. How would it feel to live a life splashed with color, with spontaneity and laissez-faire? Maybe he should go to University Mall on his way back to the apartment and find a new watch. Splurge and buy something with color. A red watch. Tilly liked red, didn’t she? Fuck. This was getting worse. He dragged his hands through his hair. Already, he was making assumptions about her taste. Already, he was acting as if he were her lover. James shivered at the possibility.
The day after tomorrow he could call her. He had lasted five days without talking to her, without hearing her beautiful English accent bastardized by the occasional American phrase. He missed her voice so much that he had developed a new habit—as if he, obsessive-compulsive James, needed one—of listening to the BBC World Service every morning. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.
Not checking with her had been exhausting, but they had made a deal, and he had forced himself to stick with it. Fear of cheating could be convenient, even though the OCD twisted it, tried to con him into believing he had lied when he hadn’t. As it was doing right now, telling him Tilly wouldn’t speak with him tomorrow since he had lied to her. But he hadn’t, had he? When had he lied to her about anything?
Boss back the thought, James, boss it back.
He had used the last week wisely, creating a virtual tour of his property to share with her after she agreed to take him on. Unfortunately, that had placed him at his unfinished house more than usual. He was pushing the contractor to the edge, driving him too hard on every detail. Poor bastard was close to quitting, and who could blame him? Tomorrow James would give the guy a break and stay away.
A hawk screeched, and James spotted the huge bird with the rust-colored belly sitting guard in the ancient oak, the tree that made his insides itch with its lack of symmetry. Were hawks territorial? Was this the same bird he had seen the first time he came here? The hawk screeched again, and its cry resonated in his gut.
James yanked off his sunglasses. “I know, my friend. I miss her, too.”