Life, Love, and a Polar Bear Tattoo Page 3

  "Does your mother like him?"

  "She does," I lied.

  He shook his head and gave me a wry smile. "Lucky guy. She never liked me."

  "Yeah, right. She loved you."

  Of all the words I could have chosen, I had to pick 'love'. It seemed to hang in the air above us.

  "Did she? I didn't know that," he said after a moment. "She's sure good at hiding it."

  She'd loved that Kegan was going to be a lawyer, loved how polished and outgoing he was. Quiet Ian, and his carpentry career which had meant he didn't need to go to college or university, had been a shock. She still talked about Kegan on a regular basis, but I didn't feel the need to pass along that particular piece of information.

  "And your dad likes him," Kegan went on, "because he likes everyone."

  I couldn't help smiling. "Very true."

  "What do his parents think of you?"

  "They liked me."

  As soon as the words came out, I realized he'd pick up on the past tense. Sure enough, he raised an eyebrow. "Liked?"

  "They were killed in a car accident Christmas Eve. Going out to get a last-minute present for... well, for me. Drunk driver."

  "Candy, you poor thing. I'm so sorry," he said, and the sympathy, and the beautiful lack of blame, in his voice brought unexpected tears to my eyes.

  Horrified, I bit my lip. I would not cry in front of Kegan. I'd rather bite my lip clean through. I wasn't usually so easily upset, but the last few weeks had taken a lot out of me. "Thanks. It's been hard to deal with. They were great. Really nice people." I stared at the back of the taxi driver's slightly scruffy head, fighting for control.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kegan reach to touch my hand, but he stopped inches away then pulled his hand back and cleared his throat. "Do... you don't have to, but do you want to hear about my restaurant now?"

  I pulled in a deep shuddering breath and let it out slowly. "Good idea." Work would help. Anything that kept me from thinking about any part of my past would help.

  He handed me a blueprint. "How much do you know about these things?"

  "A fair bit," I said, feeling my emotions begin to recede as I focused on the task at hand. "Three years with Lou has taught me a lot."

  "He's a great guy," he agreed, and then he frowned. "Look, Candy, I can't quite figure out what you're doing there. You ended up getting your psychology degree, I assume?"

  I nodded.

  "And you're working at a design firm?"

  I nodded again. "All you can really do with a psych degree is grad school, and I didn't want to. I was doing secretarial work with an agency, just for the money. Ian's boss did some construction on one of Lou's jobs back when we were dating, and Lou happened to tell him he needed an assistant. He knew I was looking for a job and suggested me, and I've been there ever since."

  "Any plans to move up?"

  I pushed back a stray strand of hair that had escaped from my clip. "There really isn't anywhere to go unless I become a designer myself."

  "Would you like that?"

  "I've thought about it. I guess I'm just not sure what I want to be when I grow up," I said, trying to make a joke out of it. Everyone else I knew seemed to have a career. I had a job. I could see the difference between the two, but I didn't know how to get from where I was to there.

  Wanting to get off the subject, I said, "I know you always wanted to do the restaurant thing, but how'd you get out of law school?"

  "I graduated."

  "You actually went?" Kegan had hated the very thought of it, but his parents had been insistent that he go. Neither of them had any education past high school, and their only son was going to do better than they had. Regardless of what he wanted.

  "Went, focused on commercial law, worked in restaurants every chance I got."

  "Are your parents happy with what you're doing now?"

  He ran a hand through his hair. "Let's talk about the plans, okay?"

  I got the hint.

  *****

  I followed Kegan into the restaurant, stopping just inside the door for a look around. The place was a shambles, with workers and equipment and materials everywhere. The old restaurant had been all thick carpet and hushed lighting; he was ripping everything away and punching skylights into the vaulted ceiling.

  Kegan stood beside me. He seemed taller than I remembered, or maybe it was just that he was a few inches taller than Ian. Either way, I felt small beside him. "What do you think?"

  "Those skylights are going to be amazing," I said.

  His smile lit up his face. "I think so too. Well, let's get to work. I thought I'd show you around, make sure you know what I want, and then you can tell me what I can have."

  "You can have whatever you want," I said without thinking, and then felt the blood flooding my cheeks.

  He raised his eyebrows and gave me the sexiest smile I'd ever seen. "Good. Glad to hear it."

  Other than that, he was all business. We walked through every inch of the restaurant, he explained what he was envisioning, and I made copious notes. I usually had to pry a client's ideas out one tiny fragment at a time, but Kegan had obviously been planning this for a long time.

  "I've already ordered tiles for the front foyer. Granite."

  He reached into a cardboard box on the half-demolished bar we were using as a desk and handed me a small square. The granite was a rich blue-grey with silver flakes buried deep inside. I tilted it and the light caught the flakes, making them seem alive.

  Kegan said, "That's why I picked it. I did the same thing and it just seemed perfect."

  The tile was beautiful, but I didn't like that we were seeing things the same way. "Can I give this to Lou?"

  "That's why I gave it to you," Kegan said, flashing me the kind of smile that once made me melt. I remained resolutely frozen.

  We carried on for nearly two hours. The workers occasionally asked him questions about the demolition project, and he always knew exactly what should be removed and what saved. I was impressed with his focus and clarity, even though I didn't want to be impressed with anything about him.

  Just after noon, Kegan sent several of the workers out to bring back pizza. Everyone gathered in the middle of the room, sitting on crates or their toolboxes, and chatted as they ate. Not knowing anyone but Kegan, and barely knowing him any more, I just sat and listened. Kegan had made sure I was sitting beside him, but he wasn't paying any attention to me, busy instead with a few workers.

  The woman beside me called, "How's your mother doing?" across the group at a young man.

  "Not so great," he said.

  The woman shook her head. "There's nothing they can do?"

  "There doesn't seem to be. They say it won't be long now."

  She made a sympathetic noise. "That's so tragic." Turning to me, she said, "She went in for a routine checkup, and a few tests came back strange. Turns out she's got cancer nearly everywhere."

  I needed to hear that story even less than I needed to have Kegan back in my life. Goose bumps rose on my arms as the story sank into my mind. That could be me.

  "That's terrible," I managed to get out. She nodded and went back to her pizza. I tried, but had lost my appetite. As I got up to throw out my leftovers, I saw Kegan turn and look at me. I looked away.

  *****

  We continued working after lunch, and my list of things to do, investigate, or order grew until it was nearly seven pages long. We didn't take any real breaks, but I slipped outside and called Lou at four o'clock so he'd know what was going on.

  "Sounds like you've got it under control, Candice. Good job."

  Before I could say anything, he went on. "Are you okay working with Kegan? You looked surprised to see him."

  I nearly admitted that I'd far rather not work with him, but I knew Lou didn't have the time to take it all over. "No, it's fine. It was a bit of a surprise, but it's okay."

  "Good stuff," he said, sounding so relieved that I knew I'd done the right thing. "
You're going straight home from there, I assume?"

  "I think so, unless you need me to come back?"

  Please say no, please say no. I just wanted to go home and relax.

  "No need, I don't think. Come in sometime tomorrow though, okay?"

  Thank you. "Of course. Bye."

  *****

  Kegan's workers began packing up just after five, but he showed no signs of planning to let me go. I was not going to be there alone with him. I was starting to get used to his presence but I didn't want it to be just us.

  I practiced the words in my head to make sure I wouldn't sound like an idiot. After a few adjustments, I said, "Well, I think we got a lot accomplished today. I can be back here tomorrow morning if you'd like, but I should place these orders tomorrow afternoon at the latest."

  His eyes searched my face. "You look different, you know."

  "I should, it's been ten years."

  Still staring at me, he shook his head. "It's not that. There's something wrong, isn't there?"

  A wave of panic swept me. How could he tell? I fought it down. I certainly wasn't going to tell Kegan about my test result. "No, nothing. It's probably just that Ian's away for the month. That must be it."

  "Must be," he said, but he didn't sound convinced.

  "Anyhow, I should get going."

  "Of course," he said. "I'd give you a ride but my car's in the shop until tomorrow morning. Where are you going? I'll walk you there."

  "No, that's okay, really. I'll just see you... did we say when?"

  He shook his head. "Around nine?"

  "That's fine. See you then."

  And I walked out as fast as I could go.

  I couldn't help wondering what he'd thought of me. Did he think I looked good? Had he noticed my extra weight? It wasn't much, only ten pounds or so, but it made me feel awkward and uncomfortable. It doesn't matter, I told myself. It didn't, of course. Why would it matter what Kegan thought of me?

  On the way to the subway station, I passed the gym I'd been considering joining for ages. My doctor had suggested that losing a few pounds would be good for me. This was probably the perfect time to start; I could keep it secret from Ian and impress him when he got back. I turned around, went in, and signed up, promising myself that I'd go every day. Well, maybe not Sunday. But every other day.

  *****

  Safely alone in my house, I made myself some scrambled eggs for dinner, and Ninja and I watched television and I crocheted until it was time for me to go to bed. But first, my email to Ian.

  I hadn't told Ian about working with Kegan because I'd thought it might worry him. Now, though, I felt more like I was hiding it. Since there was nothing to hide, it just seemed like the right thing to do.

  As did dragging myself to the gym tomorrow morning. I reset my alarm clock to the right time and set the alarm for far too early. It would be worth it if it gave me the strength to deal with Kegan.

  To: ianw@buildaid.com

  From: ninjacatrocks@hotmail.com

  Subject: Hallooo out there!

  You haven't answered yesterday's email. Are you okay? I hope so. I hope it got to you. I don't understand all this computer stuff. :)

  You'll never guess who's the newest client at work... Kegan. You know, the one you hate even though you've never met him. I plan to pick very ugly furniture. ;)

  Candice

  Wednesday, August 3rd

  I walked through the brightly lit gym, past far too many people exercising (I'd thought the place would be deserted at seven in the morning, but apparently not), and into the change room.

  Trying to avert my eyes, difficult when there was a woman in some state of undress everywhere, I put my jacket and backpack into a locker, gathered up my water bottle and MP3 player and headed back out.

  As I filled my bottle from the fountain near the change room door, I took a long, slow look around the place. Everyone else seemed to know what they were doing, but I had no idea where to start. Some of the machines looked vaguely familiar, some looked rather frightening, and a few looked pornographic. Opening my legs wide and then squeezing them shut over and over again was not something I was likely to do in private, never mind in public. I finally decided to start on a treadmill, because I had actually used one before. Once.

  Just as I gathered enough courage to move over to the treadmills, a huge man took the last one. A few muscle groups had probably been invented just for this guy. Muscles on muscles on.... more muscles. He was seriously solid.

  Denied, I decided on the next best thing, a machine that seemed to resemble cross-country skiing. I'd been skiing once and enjoyed it, so I thought it would be a good choice.

  Huge mistake. Huger than the guy who'd stolen my treadmill. Big huge elephant-sized mistake. From the moment I climbed on board, I was like a cat on a hot tin roof. Wearing roller skates. Blindfolded.

  When I hit myself in the face the first time with the pole, I stunned myself for a second, but after the fifth collision I hardly noticed. I kept going, fighting the machine, until I was sweaty and panting. How long had I been putting myself through this torture? I checked the machine's demonically glowing red display.

  Three minutes.

  While I didn't know a lot about exercise, I was pretty sure three minutes wasn't really long enough. I managed to stick it out for two more minutes. The elliptical machine (I heard two girls decide to "go elliptical" and then they got on two machines just like mine, so it must have been an elliptical) reported that I'd burned thirty-seven calories. Didn't seem worth it, somehow.

  I saw a treadmill become available and lunged for it. My balance was a little better on the treadmill, so I looked around the gym as I walked. The place was all golden wood and pale ocean colors, and the rest of the exercisers looked just as sleek and elegant. Me and my t-shirt with a cartoon polar bear on it didn't exactly fit in. Nobody seemed to be looking at me, though, so I walked for fifteen minutes. Having achieved a total of twenty minutes of exercise, I felt I could now go and float in the whirlpool with a clear conscience.

  I got off the treadmill, walking funny at first because it felt strange to no longer have the ground moving beneath my feet, and headed back to the change room. I put my water bottle and MP3 player back in my locker and quickly stripped off my clothes, wrapped myself up in my towel, and went to the whirlpool.

  I had it all to myself, and it was glorious. I simmered gently for nearly ten minutes, then climbed out and sat on the edge for a moment or two until I felt less like a poached chicken. A shower followed, in which I partook liberally of the free and gorgeously scented shampoo and body wash, and then I dressed and headed to McDonald's for breakfast, making a mental note to go grocery shopping soon.

  *****

  Kegan and I stood in the middle of the huge warehouse. As soon as I'd arrived, he'd whisked me off to help him choose tiles for the bathrooms and kitchen area, but this place seemed filled with enough tiles to redecorate every restaurant in Toronto. Just a bit overwhelming.

  "Okay," I said, trying to be the calm professional I needed to be, "Lou needs to approve of whatever we come up with, but naturally it's mostly up to you. What were you thinking of for the bathrooms?"

  "I don't have any particular color in mind, but I definitely want them to look clean. Not too fussy."

  Shiny then, probably, or at least not heavily textured. Absorbed in the design puzzle, I found it much easier to talk to Kegan. "What about glass tile?"

  He frowned. "I've only ever seen them in clear or frosted glass. I want color."

  "That's glass block. I'm talking tiles. Over here." I led him to the glass tile display. "See? Lots of colors."

  The tiles were indeed in every color I could imagine. Beautiful iridescent silver ones caught my eye and I moved in for a closer look. "What about these?"

  His shoulder brushed mine as he leaned in to examine the tiles, and I pulled away. "Yeah, I like those. I don't think I want just one color though."

  I scanned the tiles
again and spotted the same iridescence in a watery blue tile and a rich teal, one on each side of the display. Pointing them out, I said, "These would work with the silver."

  Kegan looked back and forth between the tiles. "Does that blue go with the teal?"

  "You don't see it?" It was so obvious to me. "Wait here a second."

  I ducked off to the reception desk and returned with a sample of each tile, holding them out on a blank page of my notebook for his perusal. "The teal has the same blue in it, and the silver has a bit of both, so they work."

  Kegan nodded his head slowly. "I didn't think so before, but you're right. I like it, but I still feel like it would need an accent of something, to offset all the glass."

  I shut my eyes for a second, picturing a wall with the tiles. He was right. I opened my eyes and turned to him. "What about a thin row of stainless steel?"

  He blinked, obviously taken aback.

  "They do make stainless steel tiles," I said.

  "I don't doubt it. It's not that." He gave me a considering look. "I didn't tell you, did I?"

  "Tell me what?"

  "I finally decided last night what to name the restaurant. I'm calling it Steel."

  "Really? Then they'd be perfect."

  "They would." He smiled. "You're good at this."

  "I like design and color and things," I said. "But I have to close my eyes to see them and it makes me feel silly." Stop talking, Candice.

  "Hey, if you get ideas like that when you close your eyes, keep closing them," he said, his eyes warm. "Clients won't care. I know I don't." He smiled at me again.

  I was suddenly uncomfortably aware that we were all alone in the end of the warehouse, with only tiles for chaperones. Tiles, and my wedding rings. "Let's go find stainless steel tiles and make sure they look right."

  *****

  About an hour later, tiles ordered and samples collected for Lou, I braced myself for the taxi ride back to the newly named Steel, but was saved by the ringing of Kegan's cell phone as soon as we got into the car. From the side of the conversation I could hear, the painter he'd hired had overbooked himself and wasn't going to be in when he'd promised.