Page 53 of Idle

“Hey.” I hold up the box. “Pizza’s here.”

“Great.” Her hand sweeps toward the dining area. “I’m ready.”

As if adding its agreement, her stomach emits a loud noise, causing us both to laugh. Placing the box on the island, I say, “Better get you fed before that thing tries to eat me.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize my mistake.

“Save that for later, stud.”

My eyes close. “I deserved that.” Opening them, I choose to move on. I grab my pizza and take my seat at the table. On a chair the judges liked.

She devours her first slice faster than me.Impressive. Picking up her next one, she curls the two sides in to face each other but holds it away from her mouth. Swallowing my last bite, I remark, “This is good.”

She places her pizza down on her plate and wipes her hands. “All pizza in the city is varying degrees of great, in my opinion. We don’t live in some Podunk town.”

“You’re right there. Although, I’m sure the fine citizens of Podunk might take issue.”

Shrugging, her talented hands bring her wine to her lips. Even though I prefer draft, I’ll take a canned Guinness over any other label, any day. As our meal continues, we talk about mundane things such as the weather and sports teams. Safe topics. I can’t help myself, though. I want to know more about my intriguing partner. “I already know your brother and Xander, obviously. I think you have two other brothers, right?”

Her empty wine glass lands on the table. “You’re right. Kiefer’s the oldest of us. I’m proud of him,” she pours herself another glass of wine. “He got his medical license about a year ago and has started his own plastic surgery practice.”

Theo’s mentioned him a few times. “I heard. It’s a hard slog, but he seems to be starting out well.” I stand. “Excuse me. I need another beer. Do you want me to get you anything?”

“No. I’m good.” I pick up the pizza box, together with our plates, and go toward the kitchen. “Thanks for cleaning up,” she calls.

“Don’t mention it.” Why did her expression of gratitude sound like a sultry siren song? The mermaid she asked me to whittle for her seems appropriate.Stop it, Jesse. Keep things platonic.

I place the empty pizza box into the recycle bin and grab another beer. When I return to the table and crack it open, Paige continues, “Then there’s Ryder. He’s just nine months older than me, but light years ahead in terms of his career path. He’s the catcher for the NY Aces.”

I sit back. “Let me see if I got this right. Your parents are raising a plastic surgeon—”

“Dr. Kiefer.”

“A best-selling author—”

“Theo.”

“A baseball phenom—”

“Ryder.” Before I can continue, she says, “And a house flipper.” She snaps her fingers. “Which one of us doesn’t belong?”

“I was going to say, ‘and a fabulous interior designer.’”

She rolls her eyes.

The need to end her self-doubt rolls into me like a ball on an unlevel floor. I suppose being lumped in with a doctor, an author, and a pro-ball player can seem intimidating, but she has a special gift. “You are very good at what you do. Who else would’ve thought of designing unique window dressings for the bedroom, and then could actually create them with such attention to detail?” When she doesn’t respond, I say, “I know the answer to that. No one but you.”

“Whatever.” She waves her hand. “It’s not like I’m changing someone’s fucked up nose or telling the world about an unsung hero.” She pauses. “Or even winning a pennant for the city.”

“True. Your brothers all have their own gifts. But don’t belittle yours because it’s different. Your designs can change people’s lives. Enhance the beauty around them. Inspire them to dream bigger. These are worthy goals, different from what your brothers do, but as important.”

She brings her wineglass to her mouth. “I’ve never considered it like that before.”

“You should.” Standing, I say, “Let’s go to the living room. It’s more comfortable in there.”

“What? I didn’t make this room inviting enough?”

I smile at her petulant tone. “It’s wonderful in here. I should’ve said let’s get a change in scenery.” Reality is, I need to have more distance between us. Not about to admit that, though. Grabbing my beer, I stride over to the sofa we designed, facing what should be a real television. Too bad it’s only a prop.

Taking off my shoes, I stretch my legs and let my feet rest on the coffee table I built. I raise and lower my heel on it. Sturdy. When she finally enters the room, I say, “See. This is strong. Like the woman who designed it.”

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