Page 59 of Just Come Over
“Never mind. I knew I shouldn’t have asked you. I’m hanging up. I’m not going to be ready no matter what I do. At least I don’t have Casey, because Rhys collected her from school. He only rang me a few hours ago, though, and it’s my busy day, so I only got home forty-five minutes ago, and there was Isaiah’s dinner and getting him ready to go and taking a shower, and... Also, you realize he cheated on Victoria.”
“Did he?” Hayden wasn’t laughing anymore, at least. “You sure?”
“Well, obviously. Casey.”
“They weren’t... taking a break, or something?”
“No. They were engaged.”
“Oh. Huh.”
“Right. So what I want to know is—what in my closet is appropriate for not being a date, but going someplace flash? A trouser suit, obviously, but I don’t own a trouser suit. I haven’t done my makeup, even. Tone it down, right? Pink lipstick. No, peach. No, nude.”
“You don’t own a suit at all,” Hayden said. “Which is oddly fortunate. I can see you marching out there in your navy trouser suit and sensible court shoes, hair pinned up in a French twist and peach lipstick on, killing his buzz stone dead. Also, I’m looking up The Grove, since nobody’s ever takenmethere, and it’s not sisterly. Not possible. Seven-course degustation with premium wine pairing? Five hundred thirty dollars for two. I’m telling you that, because I’ll bet youtwentydollars that he’s not going to let you look at the menu to see. He’ll be wearing a suit, though, I’ll bet. What is it about a hard man in a suit that’s so hot? No tie, the shirt won’t be white, and the top two buttons will be unbuttoned. He’s putting a jacket on for you, though. I’ll give you another tip—he doesn’t do that for his sister. A straight man wears a suit to dinner because he’s hoping to get laid.”
“Oh, God.” She sank down on the bed and buried her head in her hand. “See, that’s exactly what I can’t do. He’s not the right man, he’s my brother-in-law, he’s Casey’s dad, I’m caring for her, he’s paying me...” She wished she had a paper bag to blow into. “And everybody in Auckland will see. Tell me not to drink wine. I’ll offer to be the designated driver.”
“About forty people in Auckland will see. It’s a small restaurant. I’d ask you how he got a booking with no notice, but I know how. He’s Rhys Fletcher. He’s not going to let you be the designated driver, either. He’s going to turn up in a taxi, and he’s going to give you that smoldery look over his wine glass and tell you you’re beautiful. You’ll be lucky if you make it into the house and aren’t doing it against the wall. If you want to send a message, tell him you’d rather go out for a kebab. Otherwise, you’re never going to hold out. And, no, you cannot wear the red dress. How long do you have now?”
She looked at her watch. “Twenty-five minutes.”
“Right. Switch to your camera, open up your closet, and let’s go.”
Rhys headed up the walk in the slanting shadows of late evening, holding Casey’s hand, and told himself,Slow down, boy.
He hadn’t meant to do it like this. He’d meant to be casual about it. When he’d rung Zora and told her the sleepover idea, she’d been on the road, making her deliveries, and had sounded startled, or distracted, or something. He’d needed to go down to Queen Street and buy Casey the thing he had in mind, pick up the parenting book before he collected her from school, and then spend some rabbit-intensive time with her. He’d needed to pack for the trip and change his sheets for Zora, too. Instead, he’d been going online and checking out restaurants. And, somehow, choosing a flash one had rattled her again.
It made perfect sense. They needed some quiet time together to talk about the things Jenna had said today, about his schedule for the next couple weeks, about anything she might need him to do for her around her house before he left. You needed a quiet place for that, not to be screaming at each other in some Viaduct bar, before you downed a hamburger at a table half a meter from your neighbor. And if he wanted to give her a better night than the plastic surgeon had? He was a competitive bloke. That wasn’t news. Besides, she didn’t get much pampering these days, from what he could see, and he’d swear she’d given up on expecting it. The plastic surgeon had been her first date, and she hadn’t seemed to know exactly how to go about it. He was giving her some practice.Safepractice.
Isaiah answered the door. “Hi,” he said. “Mum’s still getting ready. She kind of screamed when you knocked, and slammed the bathroom door, so I don’t think she’s very close.”
“No worries,” Rhys said. “We’ll wait for her. Hang on, and I’ll pop out and tell the driver.”
“We came in a different car,” Casey told Isaiah, “even though our real car isn’t even broken down.”
When Rhys got back, Zora still wasn’t out of the bathroom, and Isaiah and Casey were sitting on the couch. Isaiah was shuffling a pack of cards with a deceptive lack of expertise, like an octopus blending into the sea floor, making itself look harmless to its unsuspecting prey. “D’you want to play poker while we wait?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” Rhys said. “I want to board the plane tomorrow with money in my wallet. What other games do you know?”
“We could play Go Fish,” Isaiah said. “That’s a kid’s game, though.”
“Well, as you’re a kid, that works.”
Ten minutes later, Casey was asking, “Do you have any fours?” and Isaiah was saying, “You asked that two times ago, and you know Uncle Rhys probably doesn’t, because there are only four fours in the whole deck, and he only took two cards since you asked him. Ask him if he has any twos or sevens, if you have any of those. That’s what he asked for the last two times.”
“Oh,” Casey said. “Do you have any twos?” she asked Rhys. He handed them over with a sigh, and she smiled happily, set down her four twos with a flourish, and said, “I’m beating you so far.” And Zora came out of the bathroom.
She wasn’t wearing the red dress, but she was wearing the chocolate-brown shoes again, with a blue dress this time. High in the neck, but the sleeves barely covered her shoulders, it nipped in very nicely indeed at the waist, the skirt ended in a couple layers of flounce and was short, and her lipstick was a deep, pinky red. All of which worked for him.
He wondered what color her toes were tonight. Her toenail varnish, he was beginning to suspect, was a signal to her state of mind. And, possibly, the state of her heart.
“Hi,” he said, and stood up.
“Hi,” she said. “Sorry I’m late.” Her cheeks were flushed, or she was wearing makeup so they looked that way, but he thought they were flushed. Because she was rushed, or because she knew she was beautiful. Her eyes were shaded with smoky brown, and her hair had that rumpled-bed look he loved.
“Never mind,” he said. “It was your busy day, and my easy one. I like your dress.”
“It’s one I wear to weddings. You look very nice. Suit, eh. You shaved, too.”
