—from 107 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire
Julia imagined saying, "Sorry, you have to go to a hotel.' But it was too late; Lance already had the bags out of the ; trunk and sitting on her front porch. He stood behind her, waiting for her to unlock the door.
Cool, damp air blew in from the creek, carrying the aroma of dogwoods in bloom, but the porch light didn't reach the! creek bank, so the delicate white flowers stayed eclipsed by the] night. She wished Lance could see the way the house settled in the low, rolling hills. Visitors always commented on the serenity of the land—the ultimate first impression.
Not this time.
"Love what you've done with the place," he said once they'd stepped inside.
Sarcasm? Julia wondered, looking around at the chipped paint and sagging floors of the foyer and the living room, studying Lance with fresh eyes. I can respect sarcasm, she decided.
The floors creaked as Lance and Julia walked through her home—her one romantic notion. Built by a district court judge in the days of Indian Territory, the white two-story house deserved better than rot and decay. She'd remodeled the kitchen and master bath in order to make the house livable. Those rooms alone had taken a full year of worrying over every pull, knob, and tile. Nina had quit the project, saying no self-respecting interior decorator would work with someone like Julia, best friend or not. In the back of her mind, Julia realized that Nina was right, and if she completed only one room every two years, she'd finish the house just in time for Cassie and Nick to inherit it from her. Still, she didn't have the fortitude to tackle any more, and she'd grown accustomed to the sparse surroundings.
Standing there with Lance Collins, however, made Julia regret not making more of an effort. As she looked at his nearly perfect face, she couldn't help but imagine that he lived in a nearly perfect home. She saw the layers of dust that hadn't bothered her before, and she wished she'd at least cleaned the floor before going on tour.
"I'm sorry it's not..." she began, but Lance held out a hand to stop her.
"It's fine. Really, it's got a lot of . . ." "Charm?" she guessed. "Potential."
"You may not be a bad actor after all," she answered his lie.
"That's what I keep trying to tell everyone!" he exclaimed, and Julia welcomed the moment of levity. "What's that beeping noise?" he asked, and Julia bolted to the kitchen where she punched a code into an alarm box on the wall by the back door. When she turned, she saw him leaning against the island.
"Do you really need that out here?" he asked.
Julia could see his point. Aside from the hum of the refrigerator, there wasn't a solitary sound. She remembered the honking and sirens that filled even the most peaceful New York night. Her old house must seem like the middle of nowhere to him, the kind of place where people were fighting to get out, not trying to break in. She shrugged and said, "Too much silence can be scarier than too much noise."
To her relief, he nodded and said, "Yeah, I know what you mean."
His quiet smile threw her suddenly off guard. She nervously threw open the refrigerator door. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, lapsing into hostess mode. "Maybe a pop, some cheese? I have some excellent cheese."
"No," he said quietly, stepping closer, forcing Julia toward the open refrigerator. The cold blasted her from behind. "Bed."
"Excuse me?"
"I think I need to go to bed. For tonight, Julia, I'm going to have to pass on the cheese."
"So does he still respect you this morning?" Nina said instead of hello.
Julia hung up on her.
While waiting for Nina to call back, she realized she hadn't even seen Lance yet. She'd overslept. . . again. Cursing insomnia .. . again. By the time she'd undergone a little obligatory primping, it was after ten, and he was nowhere to be seen.
"Okay, okay. Point taken," Nina said as soon as Julia answered. "You're touchy. I can empathize. So, really, how's it going?"
"The truth is, I don't know. I haven't seen him." Then she saw the empty hook by the back door. "My keys are gone!" She jogged to the living room and looked out the window. "My car is gone!" she said, and began running through the house. "Where's my purse? Did he steal my purse?"
"Julia, calm down," Nina said through the phone. "Do you really think someone would fly halfway across the country to steal your purse? I have seen your purse, and frankly, you could use an upgrade."
"Nina," Julia started. Then, through the front windows, she saw her car crest the hill and proceed slowly down the long, winding driveway. She followed it, watching as it circled around to the back of the house and parked by the kitchen door. "I'm gonna have to call you back."
"Hey," Lance said a moment later when he walked through the back door carrying two brown paper bags. "Good morning. I borrowed your car. Hope you don't mind. You didn't have much in the fridge, and I wanted to ..."
His voice trailed off as Julia's gaze went to the black tips ol his fingers—newsprint. He took a slight step toward her and said, "How about breakfast? I got—"
She finished for him. "You got some newspapers."
He didn't reply.