Page 15 of First Date: Divorce
“I told you not to wait,” he said.“Told you we were going to Far Hills Ranch, and you should go home at your regular time because I didn’t know—”
“Had to make sure you got this information and—” She frowned at him.“—paid attention to it.I knew you were back and getting nothing done from the pacing in your office.But I wanted to meet K.D.— or should I call you Deputy Hamilton?”
“K.D., please.May I call you Pauline?”
“Of course.”A queen might use that tone to invite a subject to kiss her ring.“You two better get a good night’s rest.We have lots to cover in the next few days.Go on, both of you.”
He picked up the suitcase and tipped his head toward the stairs, inviting K.D.to precede him.
“Sure, this time you don’t argue,” he muttered from behind her.
“Think I’m stupid?”she muttered back.
Giving no sign of having heard this exchange, Pauline said good night and departed.
“Just so you know, the idea of her waiting around to meet you?Don’t feel any guilt over that.Her apartment’s the lower level.And don’t let her tell you it’s in the basement, either.It’s walkout levelandshe’s taken possession of the garden.”
“You two appear to have an unusual relationship.”
“You can say that again.Feel like an emotionally battered employer more often than not.And I wouldn’t want to try functioning without her.”
Now at the landing, Eric turned and caught the tail end of K.D.’s smile.
“Your room is there on the right,” he said.He sounded a little hoarse.
“I can take my suitcase from here.Pauline’s gone.”
“She’d know.She has radar or Spidey sense or both.Besides, I have to make the bed.”
“I can—”
“My house, my job.Though you don’t have to turn in this early just because Pauline gave us homework.”
“I don’t mind.It’s been a busy day.”
“Yeah.”
He’d be an idiot to be disappointed at that.He’d spend enough time with this woman.He should do cartwheels for time to himself.
He got sheets from the linen closet, pulled back the comforter, and got to work.
From the far side of the bed, she said, “Toss the other side of that sheet over here.”
“I’m no domestic god, but I do know how to make a bed.”
“I didn’t offer help because I think you can’t make a bed.I need to know how you do it.Hospital corners?Yank a bedspread up to hide the mess?Something in between?That’s something a woman would know — unless she made all the beds.”
He met her gaze across the bed, saw challenge in her face.Beneath it, though, a flicker of vulnerability he hadn’t seen before.He snapped the sheet across the bed to let the far side float to her.“I should let you make it yourself.So you’d make your own bed and lie in it.”
She groaned.
They continued the task in quick order, the efficient movements not perfectly in sync, but companionable.The corners qualified as casual hospital.Each dropped a case-enclosed pillow on the bed to finish at the same time.
He looked across the expanse of comforter at her, and she looked back.
He cleared his throat.“I’ll say good night then.The closet’s behind you.Extra blanket if you want it.”
She turned to look in that direction, as if it might be tough to spot a closet door in the middle of a wall … or as if she wanted an excuse to stop looking back at him.
