Page 66 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

I couldn’t believe he didn’t see the difference. “A speeding ticket would be for something Idid.But a parking ticket? Excuse me! Who owns city property? The taxpayers, that’s who. Am I the only person who thinks it doesn’t make sense for someone to be charged for parking ontheir own property,and then fined if they park too long? That’s un-American. That’s downright…downrightfascist—”

He didn’t use his hand to shut me up, that time. He used his mouth.

Chapter

Twenty-nine

The weather turned chilly again overnight, and rain had started by morning. Normally I would be going to work early on Saturday, because it was a busy day, but when I talked to Lynn she said that JoAnn was working out great and she suggested offering the job full-time. I agreed, because otherwise these next three weeks would kill me.

Wyatt slept late, sprawled across the bed, and I entertained myself that morning by writing his list of transgressions. Like I would forget something that important? No way. I sat curled in his big chair with a throw over my feet and legs, perfectly content to laze away the morning. The rain seemed to do away with any sense of urgency. I love listening to rain anyway, and seldom get the chance to because I’m usually too busy. I felt safe and happy, cocooned with Wyatt, letting the detectives do the legwork in tracking down my stalker. They were on the right track with the rental cars, I just knew it.

I could talk. To my delight, I could actually talk. My voice was very raspy, but at at least it worked. I never could have been one of those nuns who took vows of silence. Come to think of it, I couldn’t have been a nun, period.

I called Mom and talked to her. She had talked to Sally and was greatly relieved; Sally had already called Jazz and apologized, and they were supposed to meet this morning and talk in person. I wondered if maybe I should wait until tomorrow to take my fabric over, and Mom said yes. I got the picture, having gone through something of a reconciliation with Wyatt.

Then I called Siana and we chatted for a while. After hanging up with her, I took all of my new clothes upstairs and laid them out on the bed in the guest bedroom. I tried on all my new shoes again, walking in them to make certain they didn’t rub my toes. By then Wyatt was up; I heard him go downstairs for a cup of coffee, then he came back upstairs and leaned in the doorway while he drank it, watching me with a sleepy sort of half smile on his face.

My shoes perplexed him, for some reason. I’d bought what I considered the basics: athletic shoes for the gym—three pairs—plus high-heeled boots, plus some clogs, plus some black pumps, a pair of black flats, and, well, the list goes on.

“Just how many pairs of black shoes do you need?” he finally asked, staring at them lined up on the floor.

Okay, shoes aren’t a laughing matter. I gave him a cool stare. “One pair more than I have.”

“Then why didn’t you get them?”

“Because I would still needone pair more than I have.”

He said, “Hmmm,” and wisely let the subject drop.

Over breakfast I told him I thought the Sally/Jazz situation was resolved. He looked a little stunned. “How did you do that? You’ve been evading a stalker and getting burned out of your home. When did you have time?”

“I made time. Desperation is a great motivator.” I was a little stunned myself. He truly had no idea how desperate I’d been.

After breakfast I went back upstairs and puttered with my new clothes, cutting off tags, washing what needed to be washed before I wore it, pressing out stubborn wrinkles, then rearranging Wyatt’s closet and hanging my clothes in there. Except it wasn’t Wyatt’s closet now, it was our closet, which meant three-quarters of it was mine. That was okay for now, with my sparse wardrobe that was just for the fall months, but by the time I bought winter clothes, then spring clothes, then summer clothes—well, there would have to be more rearranging.

The dresser drawers had to be cleaned out and rearranged, too. And the bathroom vanity space. Again he leaned in the doorway and watched me while I emptied all the dresser drawers, piling all the stuff on the bed for now. He kept smiling a little as if the sight of me working my ass off while he just watched was somehow satisfying to him. Why his conscience didn’t kill him, I don’t know.

“What’s so funny?” I finally asked, a little irritably.

“Nothing’sfunny.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Yeah.”

I put my hands on my hips and scowled at him. “So why are you smiling?”

“I’m watching you nest—inmyhouse.” He gave me a heavy-lidded look as he sipped his coffee. “God knows I’ve tried long enough to get you here.”

“Two months,” I said, scoffing. “Big deal.”

“Seventy-four days to be exact, since Nicole Goodwin was shot and I thought it was you. Seventy-four long, frustrating days.”

Now Ireallyscoffed. “There’s no way a man who’s had as much sex as you’ve had could be frustrated.”

“It wasn’t sex. Okay, so part of it was sex. It was still frustrating, for you to be living somewhere else.”

“Well, I’m here now. Enjoy. Life as you knew it is over.”

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