Page 34 of Too Hot to Sleep
Concerned, she set down her purse and the soup, then jogged up the staircase and to the right of the landing into the master suite. Not only was he not in his bed, but the massive four-poster king looked as if it hadn't been slept in recently. Robwas nothing if not neat. She'd only been in the suite a handful of times, usually when Rob wanted to show her a new book in his collection of first editions or to retrieve a Band-Aid from the bathroom vanity, but everything appeared to be in place—not even signs of sickness, like medications or boxes of tissues. As always, his surroundings were impeccable.
She checked the other upstairs bedrooms, then descended to the first floor, once again calling his name. Moving quickly from room to room, she scoured the first level, then walked down into the daylight basement, which had been turned into a gaming area and bar, and finally opened the door from the mud room leading to the garage.
A little laugh escaped her. Why hadn't she checked here first? His black Lexus was missing—he'd probably gone to the office, or maybe even driven himself to the drugstore. Relieved, but disappointed to have missed him, she found a pen and a piece of paper to leave a note.
Rob,
I came by to cheer you up with chicken soup and TLC. Sorry I missed you—hope this means you're feeling better. Left soup in the refrigerator.
Georgia chewed on her lip, conjuring up the nerve to write something more provocative. She inhaled deeply. After what they'd shared together, she could be brave.
Call me tonight if you feel like having a little X-rated fun on the phone. See you at the wedding tomorrow.
Georgia
She propped up the note on the black granite counter against a state-of-the-art combination coffee grinder and brewer, movedthe newspapers to a table inside the foyer, then locked the door behind her. On the way back to the bus stop, she rubbed the area just beneath her breastbone—that spicy hot dog wouldn't allow her to forget about the little tête-à-tête with Ken Medlock. Everything about the man was an inconvenience.
His face continued to haunt her as she shopped for a wedding gift from Stacey's twenty-seven-page registry at a housewares specialty shop. But she attributed the pesky vision to his wholly improper line of questioning at the park.
Have you ever been married?
No. You?
Absolutely not.
After hearing a response like that, any woman looking for a serious relationship would avoid Ken Medlock at all costs. Why even entertain the thought of being attracted to a man who was cocky enough to issue a warning up front about his commitment capacity?
From the endless selection of delicate china patterns, ringing crystal and mirror-shiny silver services, she chose a large pewter platter with a raised grapevine pattern. She'd read somewhere that people always gave the gifts they wanted for themselves, which was true in this case, she admitted. To her, platters connoted family gatherings and memories made, a blessing she wanted for her friend Stacey... and someday, for herself.
In her mind she pictured a Thanksgiving table featuring a perfectly browned turkey, a dazzling array of impossibly delicious side dishes, and dozens of sweatered arms reaching for more than their share. In-laws, friends... children.
She panned the smiling faces around the table, basking in the warmth of their love. Then she stopped and frowned. What the devil was Ken Medlock doing sitting at the head of her table?
He winked and lifted his hand in a little wave. Presumptuous sod.
She bought the platter and jockeyed it home via the bus, walking into her sauna of an apartment around seven o'clock. She deposited her bags in the living room with a sigh, then smiled at the flashing light on her message machine. Rob had probably called to thank her for the soup. She pressed the Play button.
"Thank you for buying this Temeteck product! This is a test message to allow you to adjust the volume. Press1 if you don't want this message to play again."
Georgia pressed the "1" button five, ten, twenty times, each time faster and harder than the last. She broke a nail and her promise to stop cursing aloud. The owner's manual yielded nothing other than a headache and a dent in the wall when she threw it. First thing tomorrow, the blankety-blank phone system was going back to the place where she'd bought it.
She was still grumbling under her breath when the object of her consternation rang. Hoping it was her super telling her the month's rent would be waived due to the unbearable conditions, she snatched it up.
"Hello?"
"Georgia, dear, must you always answer the phone as if you just finished running a marathon?"
Georgia sat on the coffee table, which, she noticed, was more comfortable than the couch. "Nice to hear your voice, too, Mom. Are you having a good time with Fannie?"
"Of course. Her home issoluxurious, I feel like I'm on vacation."
"That's nice. How are the girls?"
"Precious."
"And Fannie?"
"Missing Albert—he's traveling for business. They adore each other, you know."
