then they were returning to The Tides tomorrow, just in time for the weekend.
Tick tock. His time with Scarlet was slipping away.
They didn’t talk about the inevitable end anymore, apparently deciding separately not to bring it up. Sometime soon they would have to, though. Only twelve days until Summer’s return.
He’d had lunch delivered before he and Scarlet arrived—corned-beef sandwiches and coleslaw. They sat at his kitchen counter to eat.
Scarlet held a dill pickle aloft. “Make sure you bag your old clothes and leave them with your doorman tomorrow. They’ll be picked up around ten o’clock.”
He was grateful he didn’t have his new suits yet so he didn’t have to donate his old ones. They were good suits, with life left.
“And when your new suits are ready, you’ll give your old ones away,” she added, using her pickle as a pointer.
“Who appointed you queen of my closet?”
She grinned. “Trust me. Once you’ve worn the new suits and gotten a hundred compliments in five days, you won’t miss the old ones a bit.”
“If you say so.” He had no intention of getting rid of them, but she didn’t have to know that. He was taking back a few of the things she’d tossed onto his closet floor today, too.
“Do you have plans for the weekend?” he asked. They rarely planned ahead, usually not even a day, as if they were afraid to. Afraid that they would plan then something would prevent it, which would be worse than not making plans at all.
“I have to make an appearance at JoJo Dawson’s party Friday night,” she said, “which starts at eight. How about you?”
“I have to be seen at Shari Alexander’s opening at the Liz Barnard Gallery.”
She frowned. “I didn’t get an invitation to that.”
“Maybe because at the last opening, you stole Liz’s boyfriend.”
She met his gaze directly then studied her sandwich for a few seconds as she held it near her face. “I didn’t know he was hers. He sure didn’t act like he belonged to anyone.
Not to mention he’s twenty years younger than she is. Anyway, I wasn’t doing anything but flirting a little, after he made moves on me. Besides, he was too fussy.”
“Fussy?”
“And full of himself.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant, except they weren’t compliments. “I take it I’m not fussy.”
She almost snorted. “Hardly.”
He wanted her to explain what she meant, but left it alone. They only had a few minutes left before they had to return to their offices. “Want to get together after our respective appearances tomorrow night?”
“Sure.” She picked up their plates and carried them to the sink.
He stuck his hand in his pocket, toying with the item he’d dropped in there earlier. After a few seconds, he pulled it out and passed it to her. “In case you’re done before I am tomorrow night.”
She stared at the gleaming object while she dried her hands, which seemed to take an extraordinarily long time. Then she folded the towel precisely into thirds and hung it on the oven door handle.
“It’s a key, Scarlet, not a branding iron.”
She took it from him without comment as she edged around him, heading toward the living room. He would love to know what was going on in that head of hers.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he said as she opened the front door. He wanted her to come back and kiss him goodbye. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, waiting.
She stopped at the door. Her expression seemed to say she wanted to give back the key. A key was symbolic of a relationship deepening in trust and intent, a sign there was a future. It wasn’t true here, which obviously confused her, and apparently upset her.
“It’s just a key,” he repeated to her. “I’m trying to make things more convenient for both of us.”
“You keep on thinking that, John, if it makes it easier for you,” she said, then she left, closing the door quietly.
So, he really didn’t have a clue about how her mind worked. She hadn’t been focusing on the same issue at all.
But she was wrong about one thing.
Nothing was making this relationship easier. Absolutely nothing.
Although Scarlet had been taken—dragged—to the symphony and the opera since childhood, she’d never developed an ear for it, nor could she easily distinguish one composer from another. Except for Wagner, that is, especially his Tristan und Isolde. Selections from it were on the program tonight.
Still, she would’ve rather been at a jazz festival or enjoying the pounding beat of a rock concert.
Just before the lights went down she spotted her aunt Finny sitting a few rows ahead with Georges Caron, a French designer old enough to be her father. From their vantage point her real father and mother had a perfect view of their emotionally estranged daughter. Scarlet didn’t catch her grandfather looking, but Gram’s gaze returned again and again. Scarlet wondered if Fin would ever forgive her parents for forcing her to give up her baby long ago. She’d rarely spoken to them through the years, Charisma having become her baby.
On the other hand, Scarlet was glad to see Fin out and about, a rarity for her. Undoubtedly it was a work night for her, an attempt to woo Georges Caron into giving Charisma exclusive coverage of his next collection or something. At least it got her out of the office.
Woo. The word stuck in Scarlet’s head, along with the other dilemmas crammed in there like a Pandora’s box. John had given her a key to his apartment. He was falling for her, beyond sex, beyond their stated intent at the beginning of their relationship. She knew she had to give him up at the end of the month, because of Summer and family image and other things that separately didn’t matter a whole lot, but together made it impossible for them to be together.
So … her big dilemma now was whether to end things early with him, before he got hurt, too. She would suffer at the loss of him, but she’d gone into the relationship with her eyes open to that potential. He hadn’t. He’d thought it would be a purely sexual relationship, that his heart wouldn’t be in danger. She sensed that was changing. Maybe he wasn’t in love with her, but he liked her a lot. They had become friends as well as lovers.
It was a dangerous situation for both of them. How had he put it at the beginning—a game with potentially disastrous outcomes? She’d been led by her heart. His mind had presented a more realistic view of the future—then, anyway.
Could she give him up before she had to?
Applause erupted around her as the lights came up. Intermission already?
Georges stopped beside her grandfather’s aisle seat and chatted for a moment. Fin stood behind him, expressionless. She wouldn’t make
