Page 40 of An Unfinished Story
For God’s sake, what if Lisa had somehow come to her senses and returned to him? Opening his front door, he’d say, “Oh, hi, Lisa, it’s been so long!”
She’d open her arms. “Whitaker, I miss you. Please take me back. Make love to me. No, not here. Take me to the kitchen floor.”
“No, Lisa. You don’t want to see my kitchen. Or the living room, or the bathroom. Not even the bedroom. Can we make love in the backyard? Hold on, the tall grass and the crickets. How about the Land Rover? No. Let’s do it on the front steps!”
By the time Claire knocked, he’d decided there was absolutely no way she was coming inside. He opened the door, and her beauty shot a pulse of nerves through him. He’d been so concerned about her seeing his house that he hadn’t mentally prepared himself for the fact that he was about to take a woman out—not on a date, but still.
“Hey.” He smiled and worked hard to appear confident. “Give me just a minute. I’ll grab my computer.”
“Where are we going?”
“I thought we’d sit outside somewhere.” He looked past her to the sky. “It’s so ... nice out. I tried to call you, by the way.”
Claire raised an empty hand. “Sorry, I was in such a rush that I left my phone.”
“That explains it. Anyway, give me a moment.”
“Can I use your restroom, please?”
Whitaker froze. Oh boy, there was the question he hadn’t seen coming. Not much of a knight in shining armor if he couldn’t lead her to the bathroom. He opened his mouth to say no, but stammered. Then he thought he’d suggest she use the backyard.Though it’s not ideal for making love, the grass is tall, so you’ll have plenty of privacy.Not the most chivalrous suggestion, he decided.
It occurred to him that he had forgotten to clean the bathroom. He felt like punching himself in the face. What an idiot! Still, he couldn’t tell her no. Not unless ...
Not unless he told her the plumbing was broken.
Hmm, then she’d ask about the second bathroom.Oh, Matteo, what do I do now?
With tremendous trepidation, the knight in severely tarnished armor nodded and opened the door wider. “Come on in. Please excuse the mess.”
Chapter 17
TWODAMAGEDSOULS
While driving into Gulfport on the way to Whitaker’s house, distracted by her thoughts, Claire had slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid a muscular man in a sleeveless shirt and flip-flops, walking a German shepherd. It was a few minutes before nine, a mild blue glow to the night sky.
Claire was desperate to hear what Whitaker had to say. He was now the only other person on earth who had read the manuscript. And he liked it! The fact that he’d read it in a day and invited her over immediately said it all. He’d been desperate to ask her about other copies and drafts. Her stalking had apparently paid off.
When she entered his house for the first time, a strong citrus scent attacked her nostrils. The walls were bare and furniture sparse, as if he’d just moved in. A surprisingly fancy houndstooth sofa stood out in the center of the living room like a giant wedding ring in a dark alley. She’d heard he had been married, so this house was obviously his post-divorce bachelor pad.
Pointing to his left, Whitaker said, “The bathroom is down the hall there. First door on the right.”
Claire thanked him and followed his direction. She could see a laptop resting on a folding desk in a room at the far end. Had to be his office. No wonder he was having difficulties writing.
Finding the guest bathroom, she flipped the switch. She saw the Poo-Pourri spray and figured that was what he’d used to spray the house. How bachelor of him.
When she returned to the living room, he sprang from the sofa. “Please don’t judge me too much by my mess. But I guess you now get an idea of where my head is these days. A proper midlife crisis.”
“No judgment here.” At least, she wastryingnot to pass judgment.
He crossed his arms. “I want to say again how sorry I am for lying. As you can see, I’m in even worse shape than Kevin is in the beginning of the story, as far as midlife crises go. But that doesn’t excuse me lying to you.”
Claire totally agreed but chose not to respond.
Whitaker sighed. “Frankly, I’m so embarrassed by this place I suggest we go somewhere else.”
Back outside, she moved her purse from the passenger seat of the convertible, and he climbed in with a messenger bag. He gave her directions to a wine bar only a half mile away, and they shared small talk as they made the short drive south.
“I can’t imagine running a restaurant,” he said, glancing at her, “especially a successful one. What’s your secret?”
