Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) Page 9

  “Honey, this is what ‘on sale’ looks like.” Rose pulled out the tag and held it up to his face.

  His eyes widened. “I sold my last car for less than that.”

  He’d sold it to April, who was grateful to have any car at all. “That’s not saying much,” April said.

  The large group at the front of the store was migrating toward the back to get measured. “I’ll wait for you two outside,” April said, starting to walk away.

  “Hold it,” Mark said. “We were talking, weren’t we?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” April gave him a big hug, kissed Rose on the cheek, and left them to enjoy their bubble of happiness.

  * * *

  The following Thursday evening, April was wiping baby vomit off her fingers with an aloe-scented wipe when Liam stuck his head in through the bedroom doorway.

  “Zack Fain will be here in ten minutes,” he said. “Actually, next door. Mom’s cooking lasagna.”

  April stared at him. He didn’t look drunk. “Who?”

  She hadn’t talked to Zack since that quick lunch before Christmas. In fact, he’d been keeping such a low profile, she might’ve thought he’d left the company if Bev and Liam hadn’t mentioned the reports he’d given them.

  Ten minutes? She caught her breath.

  As Liam’s harried gaze moved to Merry, a smile broke out across his face. “Hello, sunshine.” He strode over, unclasped the changing table belt, and lifted a naked, delighted Merry into his arms. Probably because of all the lessons April had given him about staying mellow, Merry didn’t burst into tears, not even when he lifted her up and made a deafening raspberry on her baby potbelly.

  Still finding it difficult to breathe properly, April plucked another wipe out of the box. It was amazing how much nastiness could come out of such a tiny, adorable creature. Although at four months, her niece wasn’t so tiny anymore. She had Bev’s dark hair but Liam’s size, topping the growth charts at the pediatrician’s office.

  “That’s my girl,” Liam said, bouncing her in his arms. “What do you think, April? Wrestling? Basketball? Look at the muscles she’s got. She’s cut.”

  “Careful with the bouncing,” she said, wondering if she’d heard wrong, if the vomit fumes had pickled her brains. “She was covered in spit-up a minute ago.” She rubbed away the white muck that had gotten under her rings. She swallowed. “Did you say Zack Fain?”

  His smile didn’t fade, but he did move Merry away from his face. “Yeah. Should be here any minute.” He gently bounced Merry up and down. “Did you have a big burp? What a special girl you are!”

  “Very special. Check out the wall,” April said. “Projectile. She let loose when I sat her up.”

  He made a face at the spatter spreading three feet. “She did that?”

  “Gold medal spitter you got there,” April said.

  “Gold medal spitter,” he repeated, laughing, nuzzling Merry to his chest for a moment before laying her down on the table. “Such a special girl.”

  April reached for a fresh diaper. She didn’t appreciate how stimulated she got at the thought of seeing Zack again—and, bonus, he’d be out of his habitat, a suit released from captivity, like a tiger out of the zoo.

  Please—a tiger? What was the matter with her? Not a sexy, dangerous predator. No way. More like… an owl. Or a ferret.

  Still, she’d be happy to sit this one out. Creating her first pattern-matched sketches for impatient designers that morning had worn her out, and Merry had skipped both of her naps. She unfolded the diaper, lifted Merry’s legs, and wiggled it under her little bottom. “I’ll do this. You have to get ready for dinner.”

  He bent over and kissed Merry’s forehead. “I’m fine. You might wear something a little less terrifying, though.”

  April started to defend her Buddha-in-a-bikini T-shirt before she realized what he was saying. “I’m not coming to your corporate dinner.”

  “Sorry, but you are. Rose and Mark will be there, and they don’t even work at Fite. You do work at Fite, don’t you?” He looked around the bedroom. “I put some clean baby onesie things in the dresser. Are any of them left?”

  “Hold on, no. I can’t go. I won’t go.”

  “Mom already told him you’d be there,” Liam said. “The whole family, she said. You know how she is. Somehow, she came by the office with Merry, met Zack in hallway, and one thing led to another.”

  “When? Merry’s been with me all afternoon.”

  “Monday, I think. I only found out an hour ago when she called me to find out if Zack was a vegetarian.”

  “No,” April said, “I can’t go. It’ll be too weird. You’ll hate me for something or other—I’ll say something, I’ll do something—I can’t handle the pressure.”

  “He’s just a consultant, Ape. He works for Fite, not the other way around.”

  “You already told me to change my shirt,” she said.

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Wear whatever you want. Just help me find something for Merry, will you? Please? Bev seems to think I have no style, which is pretty hilarious considering I’ve been running that garment company of hers for a few years.”

  “I think we’ve got some baby yoga pants around here somewhere,” April said, wondering why she was overcome with nerves. So a guy she met at work was coming to dinner, so what?

  Her mind lingered over the memory of him sitting at the desk behind her, scribbling in his little notebook. She wondered if he’d bring it with him to dinner, take notes on the food, their conversation, the decor.

  Liam was right. Why should she go out of her way to avoid him? She didn’t care what he thought. Her name was April Keep Rita Happy Johnson, not April Impress Zack the Hot Anal Retentive Suit Happy Johnson.

  Muttering the long name under her breath, she picked out Merry’s outfit—yoga pants and matching hoodie—and threw it on the changing table for Liam on her way out the door.

  “See you over there,” she said. “I’ve got to wash off the rest of this baby yuck before dinner.”

  And maybe find something else to wear.

  Maybe.

  * * *

  Zack’s finger hovered over the doorbell.

  The whole family, Liam’s mother had said. How had he been lassoed into that one? One minute he was congratulating her on becoming a grandmother, the next she was giving him directions to the house.

  She looked like April. That might’ve been it. The shape of the face; the sharp, laughing eyes; the eccentric fashion sense. To visit Fite Fitness, Trixie Johnson had worn lime-green Crocs, bike shorts, and a floral sundress under a red-and-white ski jacket.

  “I hate winter,” Trixie had said. “I fight it with all I’ve got.”

  Then she’d smiled at him, broad and warm and fearless, and he’d seen April’s face.

  “When should I arrive?” he’d asked.

  With a glance at his watch—waiting until the 6:29 p.m. turned into 6:30—he pressed the doorbell.

  He heard little dogs barking, a long pause, and then he was standing directly in front of April in the open doorway.

  He’d managed to avoid her for weeks. Now she was two feet away, unadorned with pink lipstick or silver headbands or tight, pink dresses. Tonight she was casual in a long-sleeved black T-shirt and faded jeans, no hint of the wild child he’d met at work.

  The natural April was even more disarming than the decorated one.

  “Hi,” he said, holding up the bottle of wine he carried. “I brought this.”

  She ushered him inside and closed the door. “I’m surprised you drink. Thanks.”

  His upbringing had created hundreds, if not thousands, of awkward encounters over the years. It bothered him to think those years still showed on the outside, after years of effort to blend in. “Why wouldn’t I drink?” he asked, slipping out of his jacket.

  “I don’t know. I just got the impression you might not.” She took his jacket and looked him over head-to-toe.

  Her gaze felt lik
e fingers. He froze, concentrating on keeping a blank face.

  She looked away. “Come on, everyone’s in the kitchen.” She flung his jacket on a sofa and walked into the dining room.

  He waited a second to calm his pulse. In spite of himself, he grinned. It felt good to be alive again, even if it hurt.

  Even if she’d just looked at him as if he’d given her a quote on life insurance.

  Liam, striding out of the kitchen, met him in the dining room. “Zack, thanks for coming.” Liam, like Zack, wore a blue button-down shirt and khakis. Possibly the same brand.

  No wonder April had looked at him like that. Zack looked just like her big brother.

  As they shook hands, another tall guy and a large, stunning blonde woman came in the front door. Zack found himself staring at the woman—would his new found sex drive kick into gear with every female in this family?—but as beautiful as she was, in some clingy black dress that showed off her amazing chest, he knew the statuesque blonde wasn’t the woman who’d be haunting his dreams tonight.

  Liam herded them together. “Zack, this is my brother, Mark, and his fiancée Rose. Guys, this is Zack Fain, the consultant we brought in at Fite.”

  They exchanged greetings. Knowing Mark Johnson’s success at starting up tech companies, Zack shook his hand eagerly. He quickly pegged Mark as a geeky introvert, in high contrast to his ebullient fiancée, who smiled and made chitchat easily.

  Zack, also uneasy in social settings, made as much cheerful small talk as he could, fighting his disappointment that April had disappeared somewhere.

  “I can’t believe Liam let Bev hire an outsider to poke around,” Mark said. “He’s never even given me a tour.”

  “Bev didn’t ‘let’ me do anything,” Liam said.

  “Uh-oh, hear that, Rose?” Mark asked. “That’s what happens when you get married. You don’t get to do anything.”

  Rose kissed Mark’s cheek. “You never want to do anything anyway. My big, handsome homebody.”

  Liam looked at Zack. “I agreed it was time to get a candid outside perspective. Zack made a convincing case.”

  Mark frowned. “Didn’t Bev have to talk you into it, though? That’s what I heard.”

  Rose elbowed him. “How about a drink, guys? I make a mean martini.”

  “Oh,” Mark said. “I’m supposed to be sneaky about that stuff, aren’t I? Sorry.” He looked at the floor.

  Zack smiled at Rose. “I’d love a martini.” He’d planned on taking a cab to the BART station, where he could catch a train back to San Francisco. Where the hell was April?

  No. He shouldn’t be looking for the sexy little sister; he should be schmoozing with his clients. “Will Bev be able to join us tonight?” he asked.

  “She’s around here somewhere,” Liam said. “My mother’s up to something. Whatever it is, I apologize.”

  April appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, sending Zack’s body temperature up a few degrees. “Liam? Can I talk to you for a minute?” She glanced at Zack. “In here?”

  Groaning, Liam nodded. “Excuse me,” he said, joining April. They conferred with their heads together, too quietly to hear.

  “Uh-oh,” Mark said.

  Rose hooked her arm in his. “Hush. Help me make the drinks.”

  Moving to a quiet corner, Zack clasped his hands behind his back and wondered how many minutes had passed since he’d walked through the front door. A 6:30 arrival, perhaps thirteen minutes of conversation accomplished so far, an estimated two hours seventeen minutes of faux camaraderie remaining.

  April split away from Liam, who went into the kitchen, and she came over to Zack. He stared at her as she approached, told himself not to stare, stared anyway. Without the makeup and the crazy clothes, she was adorable. Well, she was adorable in the makeup and crazy clothes, too.

  And he was just crazy.

  “We’re having a picnic,” April said.

  “Picnic?” Zack asked. January in California was still January. And it was dark.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll be inside. We have a sun porch behind the kitchen. It’s”—she twisted a curly strand of hair between her fingers—“it’s usually where the dogs hang out, but tonight’s something special.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Any back problems? We’ll be sitting on the floor.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?” She gave him a hopeful look. “Even just a twinge? Because if you did, then we’d get to sit on chairs.” She caressed the sturdy-looking oak chair at the head of the dining table.

  Sitting on the floor didn’t sound so bad. It might be more casual than a formal setting. “Will there be a red-checkered tablecloth?” he asked.

  “Damn,” she said. “You saw it already?”

  “No, just hoping.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You got your wish. Red. Checkered. Tablecloth.”

  “What kind of dogs?”

  “Do you like dogs?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Well, hopefully you’ll like these anyway,” she said. “Come on. The party’s back here.”

  “Martini for you, April?” Rose called from the bar built into the wall.

  “Nope, staying sober tonight,” April said. “I’m no fool.”

  Not sure he wasn’t one, Zack accepted his own drink and brought it immediately to his lips, unable to break his gaze away from April as she moved through the warm, cozy dining room to the well-lit kitchen beyond.

  Chapter 10

  SMILING HIS THANKS TO ROSE, he followed April into the kitchen as he took another sip, then another. He had only a second to take in the bright walls and savory smells of the Johnson family kitchen before April led him down a step into a walled-in porch overlooking the side yard and vast, twinkling night view of the San Francisco Bay.

  At their feet, the checkered tablecloth was spread out on the floor and dotted with seven plates, bowls covered with cloths, a jug overflowing with silverware, and a half-dozen squat LED candles.

  Trixie Johnson, her short white hair slightly mussed and standing up like she was ’80s rock star, spun around with a bouquet of huge sunflowers in her hands. “Zack! I didn’t realize you were here already.” She handed April the flowers and reached out to him with both hands.

  He wasn’t sure if she wanted a hug or a shake. Feeling the buzz of the martini starting to hit him, he put his half-empty glass down on an end table, took both of her hands in his, and squeezed gently. “Thank you for inviting me. This looks fun.”

  “Fun!” She beamed. “It is, don’t you think? I’m so glad you like it. My kids are pretending I’m crazy. I’m not. I’m a genius.”

  Her hands were soft but strong, holding him in place. He looked past her friendly face to the distant skyline of San Francisco, the small rocky island of Alcatraz, the lights of the sprawling Bay Area freeways circling and crisscrossing the water. “Quite a view,” he said.

  Trixie gave his hands another squeeze. “It’s so nice you could come. Where do you usually eat? I was worried about that.”

  “In dark alleys and parking lots, I’m sure,” April said, thrusting the flowers back at her mother. “You know, scrounging in Dumpsters. Isn’t that right, Zack?”

  “Too close to the truth to be funny,” he said.

  Trixie nodded. “I thought so. I’ll send you home with some freezer jelly. Do you have a kitchen where you’re staying?”

  “Sure. It’s a condo. A regular home.”

  “Well,” Trixie said. “Some homemade jelly will help.”

  He smiled at her. She reminded him of his own mom a little bit. A different kind of nonconventional from his mother’s pious eccentricities, but it put him at ease. For no good reason, he found himself comparing her to Meg’s mother, who’d always been as nice as anyone could be but had a stylish, wealthy demeanor both in her dress and her home that made him feel like he dragged mud over the floor whenever he moved. “What kind?”

  “I only make str
awberry,” Trixie said. “Don’t really see the point of other kinds, honestly.”

  His smile broadened. “My mom preserves strawberries every year. She always gets them from the same patch. Says they’re the best.”

  Trixie looked delighted. “And where is she, then? Back in New York?”

  “Oh, no. I grew up in Bakersfield. My folks are still there.”

  April made a surprised sound at his elbow. “You’re from California?”

  “Yup,” he said.

  “Huh,” April said. “You seem so…”

  He retrieved his martini and sucked down another mouthful. Ridiculously sexy? He looked at her. Without makeup, her face seemed vulnerable, sweet, inviting. Those big gray eyes…

  He took another drink. “What?” he asked.

  “Eastern,” April said.

  “Bakersfield is east of here. A little.”

  “Maybe it’s because you’ve been living on the East Coast for so long,” April said.

  He tipped back his glass, discovered it was empty. “Maybe.”

  Trixie patted his arm. “You’ve run out. April, show him the bar, will you? I’m going to kick you two out of here while I get the lasagna plated up.” She rotated him and pushed him toward the door. “The others are in the living room. Tell them it’s time to dig in. No point standing around feeling uncomfortable beforehand.”

  “Nah,” April said, walking up the stairs to the kitchen, “we’ll save it for dinner.”

  “Give my little guys their dinner first, please,” Trixie called after them. “They’re in my bedroom.”

  “I better feed Stool again, too, before he eats something he shouldn’t.” April stopped and reached down to pick up a stainless steel bowl on the floor. “Stool is my dog. My mom has three Chihuahuas. Well, two are actually Chihuahuas. We don’t know what Zeus is.”

  “A Greek god?” Zack asked.

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen him. He’s pretty ugly. In a good way.” She held up the metal bowl and turned. “This will take me a minute. The bar is right over—”

  “I remember,” he said, and returned the way he’d come, through the warm kitchen to the dining room. Maybe another martini would be too much, at least the kind Rose made. In the neighboring room, he heard more voices, a baby, and a piano. He took his time pouring a glass of Pinot Gris, in no hurry to dive into another conversation just yet.