the notebook he kept for possible ideas to explore in his newspaper columns, he wrote a suggestion—parental favoritism, long-term effects?
After reading for an hour, he closed the computer, got up and stretched. His muscles were tense despite the run. It wasn’t the articles ramping up the stress; he was worried about his sister. While Chelsea hadn’t been seriously injured in the car accident, the whole thing was mixed up with her skunk of a boyfriend. The other driver had been at fault, but it had complicated her breakup with Ron.
His other sister, Terri, was trying to convince Chelsea to fly up to Seattle from Los Angeles for a visit. Jordan had already gotten her a ticket, hoping she’d decide to come.
In the meantime, he had a job to do. Jumping to his feet, he grinned. Maybe Nicole could use some help painting the interior of her house.
* * *
WHEN THE DOORBELL rang Nicole thought it was her pizza being delivered. And it was, except a clean-shaven Jordan was holding the box as the delivery guy walked back to his car.
He’d looked good with the beard, but without it he was strikingly handsome.
“Hello,” she said, taking the box. “You probably cost that pizza joint any future business from me. A delivery person shouldn’t just hand a pizza to a stranger on the street.”
“Aren’t you being harsh?” Jordan protested.
“No. You aren’t a woman who needs to feel secure about food being delivered to her door. And the person making the delivery. Ask your sisters how they’d feel in the same situation.”
He frowned. “I never thought of it that way. I offered the guy a good tip, but for all he knew, I was a stalker or something.”
“Exactly.”
“I apologize. Look, I didn’t know you’d ordered a pizza, so I got takeout on the way over. How about a potluck dinner?”
“I told you I was painting.”
“But you’re obviously stopping to eat, and I came set to help.” He held up a new paint roller with one hand and a large bag with the other.
Nicole eyed him. Even as a kid, Jordan could always find an angle to work. The high school science teacher had thought he’d make an innovative researcher because of it. The soccer coach had proclaimed him the next star because he was so clever and agile. Everyone had liked Jordan, saying he’d be great, whatever he decided to do.
They hadn’t said the same thing about her. The assumption had been that she would use her appearance to make money until she married rich or something. Perhaps she’d been too sensitive about it, but that was the impression everyone had given.
Lord. What was that line from the Jane Austen Book Club movie...about high school never being over? Nicole didn’t believe it had to be that way, but it was a challenge not to remember adolescent growing pains when one of the ghosts of high school past was writing about her current life.
“How about it?” Jordan coaxed.
“For serious labor, okay,” she agreed, deciding it was time to exorcise this particular ghost, once and for all.
“I’m here until it’s done,” he promised.
“Or until I throw you out,” she corrected him.
“Okay.”
Nicole led the way to her breakfast bar and Jordan glanced around. “You weren’t kidding about liking modern kitchens. This one is top-notch. Are you interested in cooking?”
“I’ve never had much time for it, but I’ll do more once my schedule isn’t as crazy. You know kitchens?” she asked.
He put the take-out bag on the counter next to the pizza. “I enjoy cooking, especially the dishes I’ve encountered on my travels.”
“That’s right, I saw your column about the subtleties of Thai and Indian curry.”
“You read my work?”
“Occasionally. I don’t look for it, but I don’t avoid it, either,” she said truthfully. From what she’d read, she had concluded Jordan’s columns were often cynical, yet could also be sharp observations on society and the world, and occasionally funny. At least his humor was no longer cruel.
“Hey.” Jordan waved a hand in front of her. “Where did you go?”
“To the land of mean jokes.”
“I didn’t tell one.”
“You used to, especially your senior year.” She knew because she’d been one of his targets.
“I was a teenaged boy. That isn’t an excuse, but...” Jordan stopped and a shadow seemed to crowd his eyes. “I was angry because of my parents’ divorce and taking it out on every person available. I’m not proud of the memory. Now I dislike gags that laugh at people instead of with them.”
He seemed sincere and Nicole decided to take him at his word. Lots of kids were rotten during high school, and, hopefully, most of them got over it.
She pulled out paper plates and found plastic silverware. “My apologies for the inelegant dinnerware. My kitchen stuff is still in boxes. I only moved in a few weeks ago.”
The food he’d brought was from the local Chinese restaurant and Nicole ate quickly, enjoying the Szechuan dishes alongside the vegetarian pizza she’d ordered.
“I’ll leave you to finish eating,” she said. “I want to get going with the painting.”
Jordan joined her in the living room a few minutes later and crouched briefly in front of Toby, ruffling his ears. “Hey, girl. How are you doing?”
“He’s fine,” Nicole corrected. “His name is Toby.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean to offend you, Toby.”
With both of them working, the primer went on quickly, and it dried while they did the dining room. But once the top coat was on all the walls, Nicole stared in disgust. It was streaky and she wondered how the professionals got it to look good.
“I thought it would be better than this,” she muttered, “but at least it isn’t green any longer.”
“It should be okay once it’s dried overnight. What made you decide to do your own painting?” Jordan asked.
“Is there something wrong with wanting to handle it myself?”
“No, but it seems unusual. For you, that is.”
“Why me?”
He snorted. “Come on, Nicole, don’t pretend you don’t understand what I mean.”
“I’m not a model any longer. Can’t I do normal things the same as any other person?”
His lips twisted. “Oh, that’s right, poor Nicole couldn’t live a real life because of her supermodel status.
