dark granite kitchen island or waiting by the microwave. No matter. She probably had another plan. He yanked at the pantry door. A little bubbly would be nice. He scanned for the sparkling pear juice Karin favored. He’d grab goblets out of the china cabinet on his way through the dining room to find her.
“Karin! Where are you?”
No answer.
“Karin? I’m done. Let’s celebrate.” Wait until he told her the brilliant idea he’d used to end the book.
She’d had a project or something. Was this the week she said she was going to paint the back bedroom? No. Work related, right? Or what she called work. Best decision he ever made was to get her that storefront downtown. All the mess and that incessant whirring noise of the blender was miles away now. Sure, it cost him money he shouldn’t have had to spend. But it was either he rent an office or she did. And what she did with that homemade card place wasn’t completely without value.
“Babe,” he called into the silence. “Deadline week. You know it’s always like this. But it’s over now. I haven’t sent it off to Morris. I can do that after we pop the cork on this vintage pear juice. Two thousand seventeen. It was a very good year.” He held the bottle high, as if she could see it.
Sure, it was corny, but couldn’t she crack an I’m-disgusted-with-you-but-you’re-adorable smile? Laundry room. She probably can’t hear me because of the dryer.
After his last successfully met deadline, he’d made the same suggestion. “How about we make reservations at Russell’s for tomorrow night, Karin? An ocean-view table.”
She’d quirked an eyebrow at him, her dimples trying not to materialize. “We live in Cheese Curd Central, you lunatic. Totally landlocked. How do you propose we’ll find an ocean view?”
“The a-quar-i-um in the lobby?”
Considering how sequestered he’d had to be for the last couple of weeks, he should probably back off on the sarcasm this time. When he found her.
Josiah’s word-weary brain formed a question that refused to take itself seriously. He could feel his pulse in his temples, neck, and behind his eyeballs. The chill of the travertine foyer floor seeped through his cushioned socks. “Karin? Not funny anymore.”
His stomach rumbled. He was perfectly capable of fixing himself something to eat. But that wasn’t the point. Where was she? She knew he was near his deadline.
Josiah pulled out his phone and checked for messages from her. Nothing. He unmuted the phone from deadline mode, and punched in her number. No answer. Good. Probably on the road. Probably almost home. Doubt dialed the phone again. The Seedlings & Sentiments landline. Answering machine. He called Karin’s number and left a message this time, regretting his tone as soon as he ended the call. He was tired. She’d understand. She’d forgive him the small offense.
If not, I can slip her chapter 7 of the book I just finished.
The thought ricocheted through the empty house. “Don’t let the sun go down on your wrath” doesn’t apply if sunset was more than an hour ago, does it?
Not wrath. Something between disappointment and anger. Closer to disappointment. She should be here to help him celebrate. Like always. Her absence took some of the joy out of meeting his deadline. Who else did he want to tell? Even if his dad were alive, news like this would elicit anything but what Josiah needed.
“Couldn’t get a real job, boy?”
“Dad, this is a real job. I graduated magna cum laude, for Pete’s sake.”
“And what’s the level just above that? Oh, that’s right. Summa. Kind of like coming in second in a two-person race, isn’t it?”
Never enough. Never ever enough for the man.
Josiah set the goblets on the kitchen counter for the postponed celebration and dug into the refrigerator for leftovers. Not what he had in mind. Not at all.
What just happened?
Finished the book. Came downstairs to tell Karin. Yada yada, she’s gone.
Not the ending he’d written into this night. He actually thought the evening would end with a delicious drifting off to sleep, her body curled into his.
What an idiot.
No. That was his dad’s voice. His dad’s curse. Josiah mentally walked over to the garbage disposal, tossed the condemnatory phrase through its black rubber flaps, and flipped the switch to pulverize the thought.
Another round through the house to look for a note or something he might have overlooked. He’d overlooked too much lately. Time for a course correction.
He set the pear juice on the entry table, sans coaster, and opened the front door again. The street stood empty. And slick with sleet. Now you have me worried, Karin.
He called again. No answer. He tried Leah’s number, too, digging it out of his contacts list. Straight to voice mail. He hung up and found Wade’s contact info. Wade would know where Leah was. If Karin was with her business partner, Wade might know why and when Josiah could expect her home.
How hard would it have been for Karin to have left him a note? Or called before she left work? Even though he’d gone dark for the deadline, he would have gotten the message eventually. At least he’d know what was going on. She didn’t have a meeting somewhere, did she? Had she talked about a meeting? The one thing he could count on is that she hadn’t left him.
Working so intensely had side effects. The latest? His left eye twitched.
He’d wait another fifteen minutes and then he’d—
“Worry wrings all the fun out of a relationship.” Chapter 3, wasn’t it? A lot he knew. A shelf full of books—his books—and a nationally recognized reputation as the go-to guy for relationship maintenance and repair, and he couldn’t think of one good reason not to worry.
A serpent of concern slithered through his abdomen. It bit into the base of his lungs and drained them of air. The closed door whistled a dirge. Ah, something else he’d ignored. The door needed its weather stripping replaced. The winter had been hard on it, too. How fitting that the wind was picking up.
The pocket at his thigh vibrated. He reached for his cell phone and held it to his ear without moving the rest of his body. “Yeah?”
“Josiah, my boy.”
Morris. Not now.
“You are going to flip over what I’m about to tell you.”
“Morris, it’s not the best time.” And I’m already flipping out.
“For this kind of news, it is. Marketing handed you an award-winning, certain best-seller
