Page 53 of Geordie

I stop painting for a heartbeat, thinking the lie was true while I was talking to the women. “I had to, or it would have been a different conversation, if I'd have told them it was for me.”

“I'm glad I helped you from an embarrassing situation,” resting her head back and closing her eyes.

“I told them I would like to give you a pedicure. They took me to the nail salon and asked their operators if I could watch them work. The pedicurists and their clients agreed. We sat for an hour while I watched, chatted, and was instructed by these two wonderful women.” I laugh and shake my head. “I'm glad I told them I was doing this for my girlfriend because the operators said if I didn't have anyone in my life, they were both going to give me their phone numbers, and I saw wedding rings on their fingers.”

Lily throws her head back and gives an uninhibited laugh, the kind that has residual giggles at the end.

All the way through applying base coat, color twice, then top coat, we talk and laugh like friends and I'm even more fond of her. At the end, I grab a hair dryer and start drying the nail polish on her toes.

I check the clock on the wall and note that I've been drying the Blue Moon Midnight polish on her toes for almost thirty minutes. The polish is a dark blue with specks of silver. I never thought that she would pick this color. The two women at the store advised me that my girlfriend would choose either pink or red. I was drawn to the blue and placed it in the cart on a whim. “There,” I say, “it's dry enough for you to move around, but I'd wait for another hour before you go to bed to make sure it's completely dry.”

Pulling the pink separators from her toes, I accidentally brush the heel of her right foot and she jerks back, giggling. “I guess you weren't lying when you said your feet are ticklish.”

Her feet drop from my lap and a bit of the intimacy we built is now slipping away. She draws her knees to her chest, her arms circling them, looking down at her toes. “Thank you,” she beams. “This is the best evening I've had in a long time.”

“I'm glad you liked it. Is there anything that I can get you?”

“I know it's late. Could you stay and talk to me until my toes dry?”

“I will, under two conditions. If we move our conversation to the couch and if you don't mind me having a dram of whiskey.”

“Sounds good, and I'll join you in that whiskey.”

She trails to the couch, sitting gingerly, her feet perched on the coffee table, still admiring her toes as she wiggles them. I'm watching her the whole time as I pull the bottle from the cabinet and find two tumblers to splash in a bit of whiskey. When I come back, I hand her a glass. I sit at the other end of the couch drinking deeply, happy that what I planned was well received. “How was your day? Was the restaurant busy tonight?”

Her chin jerks up, and she slides her gaze over to me as if on alert. “It was a normal evening. We had a packed house, the crew performed well, nothing unusual happened.”

Her response makes me think something happened, but she doesn't want to discuss it. Maybe it was a run-in with her staff that she doesn't want to recount. No matter, I was making idle chatter.

Her attention turns back to her newly painted blue toes flecked with silver. “When I got your text, I was ready to come home. I left Harv to supervise the cleanup.”

We talk and Lily does her best to contribute to the conversation, but in the end her lashes flutter and a soft snore replaces any words. I could cradle her in my arms and carry her to my bed, but she's not mine. I find a wool throw in a nearby closet and gently place it over her, avoiding her blue toes. Before I leave for my bed, I scribble a note and place it where she can find it, turn the lights to the lowest setting in case she wakes up in the middle of the night, then trail off to the primary bedroom to find my bed.

Chapter twenty-five

Mo Chridhe

Lily

Irollontomy stomach and pop one eye open. It takes me a few moments to realize I'm not in my bedroom, but in the living room covered by a gray throw and bathed in soft yellow light. Rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand, enjoying an epic yawn, I decide to travel to my bed for a real sleep. The flameless candle on the table with a note leaned against it is begging for a read. I snatch it up, waiting for the words to make sense.Lily, the wine, whiskey, and the bath finally did you in. I can't help but notice that something is bothering you that you need to talk about. I'm your friend; I hope I've proved that. You can tell me anything and I'll listen without judgement. Come to me anytime when you're ready. Geordie.

P.S. The headache medication is in the kitchen. Look for it in the cabinet above the coffee machine.

My head pounds with the mix of wine and whiskey swirling in my stomach, or at least that's what I tell myself. The kitchen seems to be the next logical place to go to find a Tylenol and water. I push the note into my pocket when I enter the dark-gray marble and steel kitchen. This and the rest of the apartment are a testament to his ultra-masculinity. No woman needs to hang lacy white curtains here; we can't lessen the male dominance of this place.

I fill a water glass from the tap and find his stash of over-the-counter medication. Why does he keep meds that are past their sell-by date? I find one that hasn’t expired, twist open the red top of the acetaminophen, and shake out two oblong white tablets, which I pop into my mouth, followed by the tap water. I swallow hard to convince the pills to move into my stomach, but no luck. Gulping another mouthful of water, it travels down my gullet.

I perch on a stool at the counter, pull the note from my pocket, and drop it on the counter.I'm your friend; I hope I've proved that,jumps out at me. I’m yawning again. Has he really? He has, I decide. What man would go to Pretty Girl Beauty to learn how to give a pedicure?

I deposit the glass in the dishwasher, walk through the living room, and wonder where the nice, warm gray throw came from. He must use it; his scent is on it and now it's on me.

Reaching the dark hall, at the end is a faint light coming from under his door. It's got to be 2 a.m., and he's still up. I walk past my door to his bedroom. I hold up my hand to knock, then stop, letting it fall to my side. This is crazy. I've got work tomorrow; he's just being nice, giving an invitation to talk. He didn't mean in the wee hours of the morning. I pivot, stop, then swing back, my fist making a light tapping.

Something shuts with a bang on the other side of the door. “Come in,” he says.

I hesitate, then lean into the door; it gives way. Geordie sits against the headboard, gray sheets smoothed around him, chest bare, clutching a paper. “What is it lass, are you alright?” He glances at the note in my hand. “I see you found my message.”

I drag a chair beside the bed, sit, and pull my knees to my chest. “I hope I haven't kept you from a dream.”

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