Better Homes and Hauntings

10 You Only Snark the Ones You Love

JAKE KNEW THAT a gentleman would probably take Cindy’s rejection at face value and give up. But Jake couldn’t stand the idea that she didn’t like him. Something about her compelled him to prove that he was a good guy. Although he would have to do it without tampering with Nina’s flowers again, because she seemed pretty serious about that mini-rake thing.

So here he was, seeking out Cindy to surprise her with what he considered his most brilliant romantic gesture yet, something that would entice her into agreeing to a genuine date, one that would involve actually leaving the island and spending some time in the real world. He found her supervising her cleaning crew as they meticulously cleaned out a storage closet on the second floor in the master wing. He was surprised that she would go anywhere near this part of the house after her experience on the stairs. But then again, Cindy was too obstinate to give up, even when it could put her in danger. He tried to find that charming, but mostly, he was just annoyed that she would venture up there on her own just to spite the house.

“Jake,” she said, with her usual amount of warmth toward him, which meant little to none.

“Hey, Cindy, I want to show you something,” Jake told her.

“If this is about the satyr murals in the men’s steam room, trust me, I’m aware,” Cindy groused, dusting her hands off on her pants.

“No, come on.”

Pulling her to her feet, he led her into the grand ballroom. It hardly resembled the grimy, decayed mess they’d walked into weeks before. The walls were spotless, scrubbed down to the plaster. The windows shone, even in the full glare of the midday sun. The floor had been ruthlessly swept and polished to a glossy shine. Her crews had worked with Anthony’s to create the best possible strategy for restoring the floor. There was buffing, lots and lots of buffing. This was the first time Cindy had seen the whole picture.

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed, turning in a circle so she could take in the full effect. “I’m sorry we got into such a fuss over it. I just get so focused on my goals and timelines that occasionally I get tunnel vision. Also, you drive me nuts sometimes.”

Jake rolled his eyes heavenward. “It was almost a nice apology. You were so close.”

Cindy blushed. “Well, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t shared this with me.”

“You really get a lot out of your work, don’t you?”

Cindy was flushed with pride. “This is why I was hired. This is the sort of difference I love seeing in a home when I work. This house, for all its history and historical complexity, will be a better place after I leave it. And that means something to me.”

“Hold on, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Jake yanked on a rope, and several heavy canvas drapes dropped from the ceiling, puddling on the floor with a soft whump. Cindy covered her mouth with her hands, gasping as golden, ethereal light flooded the room. The ballroom ceiling was made up of massive stained-glass panels. The repeating Venetian floral patterns in their jewel tones created a garden effect that was both dizzying and beautiful, leading to a dome that featured several alternating floral motifs.

“In case you’re interested, that’s Tiffany glass,” he said. “Mrs. Whitney happened to be a friend of Louis Comfort Tiffany, so old Louis was happy to doodle her a little design for the dome and windows. We only had to replace a few panels, which is sort of remarkable given the time that’s passed.”

“It’s a shame that you lose this effect at night.” She sighed, rubbing her arms. It was lovely to have goose bumps for a positive reason for once. “It would have been such a beautiful setting for a fancy midnight ball.”

“Actually, Mrs. Whitney thought of that,” Jake said. “She had Jack Donovan install curved mobile metal panels around the exterior of the dome, and gaslights would shine through the stained glass at night, giving it this really cool, sunlit glow.”

“Will you be able to do the same?” she asked.

“We install new gas lines in the morning. We’re even backlighting the ceiling panels to give them the same effect. This is the one room in the house where Regina showed some sense in her design. She’s keeping the walls stark white, bringing in a little warmth with the color of the flooring, but the main color element in the room will be the windows. But before she could put her ‘signature touch’ on the space, Deacon and I were able to convince her that whiting out the stained glass would be a violation of the National Historic Mansion Registry’s rules on antique windows.”

“Is there such a thing as the National Historic Mansion Registry?”

He shook his head. “Nope. And they definitely don’t have rules about antique windows.”

She snickered. “Very clever.”

“Now.” He bowed over her hand, making her wish that she’d washed up before entering this cathedral-like space. “May I have this dance, milady?”

“What are you doing?” she asked, pulling her hand out of his grip, although she did it without her usual vehemence.

“You told me that I could have one date with you, but we had to stay on the island. So I’m taking you dancing—dancing. Ah! Knew I forgot something!” He jogged over to a heavy shrouded chair. If he had a violinist hidden under that tarp, Cindy would be deeply concerned. Instead, he pulled out an MP3 player and a docking station, cueing up a lilting, woodwind-heavy waltz.

“You couldn’t have warned me about this quote-unquote date so I could clean up a little?” she asked sourly, glancing down at her dusty T-shirt and jeans.

“I was afraid you would find some reason to back out if I told you ahead of time,” he said, holding his hand out to her.

A flash of guilt tugged at Cindy’s chest. She hadn’t been very nice to Jake. OK, sure, he’d been a jerk to her. But name one college-age boy who didn’t go through a jerk phase. It wasn’t like her to hold grudges. And it was beneath her to continually treat this man with contempt and an oversensitive, fault-finding eye.

She couldn’t fault Jake for being unpleasant, really. In fact, other than their argument about the memorabilia room—which she was willing to admit she’d provoked on purpose because it amused her to see him wring his hands through his hair—he’d been pretty sweet. He was funny and kind and considerate, particularly of Nina, whom he seemed to have adopted like a kid sister or a stray kitten. If he was a blue-collar guy who worked down at the marina, she probably would have agreed to move in with him immediately and have a dozen of his beautiful blue-eyed babies. She supposed this was a shameful example of reverse classism, and she would take the time to feel bad about it at a later date.

“Look, it can’t be a proper ballroom until Cinderella dances here. You’re doing Deacon a favor. So may I have this dance, miss?”

Cindy nodded, curtsying the way she’d seen Keira Knightley do in that Jane Austen movie. Jake beamed and slid his arms around her waist, holding his hand at an angle so she could slip hers over his. His left hand remained at a completely respectful area near her waist. He stepped forward, leading her into a simple box step that eventually circulated into the waltz. He wasn’t even counting under his breath.

“You took lessons for this, didn’t you?” she asked, her snicker barely held in check.

Jake grimaced. “Might have, when I was a kid. My mom insisted that if I was going to play baseball or soccer, she wanted me to dance, too. She said it made me a well-rounded person. But then, when I was seventeen or so, I figured out that she just didn’t want to be left without a partner at weddings or parties when my dad was off in the den drinking with the other masters of the universe.”

Cindy frowned. She remembered Jake making a few comments about his parents on their first date. They’d talked about their families, and Jake had said his “hadn’t spent enough time with him to be worth mentioning,” then asked her another question about her beloved father.

They hadn’t danced on that first date. And now Cindy regretted it. Jake moved smoothly, without being conscious about it. She tried to remember any time she’d seemed that comfortable in her skin and came up short. Nor could she remember the last time a man had bothered leading her in a dance that involved steps and not just grinding up on her or doing the standard “stand and sway.”

She tried not to let it go to her head. The colors, the beautiful lush light, the smell and feel of the man in her arms. She had to keep herself grounded, remind herself why a real relationship between the two of them would never work out—like aversion therapy, only with skanky interior designers.

As they completed a circuit around the dance floor, Cindy peered up at Jake through her lashes and asked, “So, Regina, huh?”

“Let’s not talk about that,” he said. “That is definitely not good first-date conversation.”

“If you want there to be a second date, I’d like to know where that stands.”

“That was a long time ago,” he assured her, his face flushed. “Regina’s parents are friends with mine. We were thrown together a lot when we were kids.”

“So she’s not your type?” Cindy asked.

Jake smiled at her, somehow brightening the room even more. “Until recently, I was into women who were really driven, career-oriented. But now I’ve come to realize that I want something different. I want you.”

Cindy’s brow furrowed while she contemplated what the hell he meant by that. “So I’m not driven?”

He grinned at her. “No, you’re happy with where you are. That’s not a bad thing!”

She skidded to a halt, mindful of not leaving shoe marks on the gleaming floor. “Well, since I’ve settled into my place right here, why don’t you go back to your friend Regina? She’s made it pretty clear that she’s ready to take you or Deacon on as fixer-uppers.”

Jake frowned, not quite understanding why this conversation seemed to be rolling downhill so quickly. “I don’t want Regina. She’s just like every other girl I’ve ever dated. All polish and prospects. No fun. You’re together. You know what you want, but you don’t let it get in the way of having a good time. You don’t let worrying about success or money drag you down. You don’t have your whole life planned out.”

Cindy was missing the part in this monologue of her virtues that was an actual compliment. Because so far, he was making her out to be some sort of freewheeling, bubble-headed hippie type.

“Ambition. That’s what it is,” he said, grinning at her. “You don’t let ambition run your life.”

Cindy’s eyebrows shot up so fast and so high she was surprised she didn’t strain a muscle in her forehead. “So you’re saying I don’t having any ambition?”

“You’re happy the way you are,” he said, shrugging.

Cindy’s eyes narrowed, flame-blue with fury. Gritting her teeth, she snatched up her cleaning tote and did her best to avoid flouncing as she stormed across the dance floor. She lacked ambition? Was that really what he thought of her? Did he even realize how insulting that was, to claim that she was somehow virtuous because he thought she wanted less from life? She didn’t know what was worse, the smug elitist classism of it all or the fact that he’d misjudged her so badly. Of all the stupid, shallow, jackass things to say, that was what came out of his mouth?

She knew what her father would do in this situation. He would shove his foot up Jake’s butt until the smarmy jerk tasted shoe leather. But this was—for all intents and purposes—her office, and she couldn’t go around turning her coworkers into human penny loafers. And it singed her working-class, nonambitious sensibilities to the quick that he was going to get away with thinking that of her.

So really, it shouldn’t have surprised her when her fingers wrapped around an empty can of floor polish and threw it across the room, beaning Jake’s head with a solid thunk.

“Ow!” he yelped, clutching at his head. “What was that for?”

She almost let it go. She almost walked out of the room, letting the thrown household cleaners do the talking for her. But she’d held back for too long. She’d let him toddle along in blissful ignorance while she carried the burden of their past connection. And she was tired of doing all the heavy lifting. So she raced back across the dance floor on nimble feet, burying her finger in his chest and poking for all she was worth.

“For one thing, if you don’t think I have any ambition, you’ve completely misunderstood every single conversation we’ve had, ever,” she growled. “And that includes the ones you can’t remember!”

Still rubbing at the side of his head, he spluttered, “OK, clearly, we got off on the wrong foot at some point along the way. Because I don’t know about you, but most of my conversations don’t end with someone getting a can of floor polish lobbed at his head. Why don’t you like me?” Jake exclaimed. “I shouldn’t have made that comment about your ambitions. That hurt your feelings, and I apologize. But this started way before that conversation. You’ve had your hate on for me ever since we stepped onto that boat. You like Anthony. You like Deacon. I expect you and Dotty and Nina to make one another friendship bracelets at any minute. I don’t get it. Most people like me. But you treat me like I’m trying to sell you a time-share.”

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Cindy scoffed. “I mean, at first, I was willing to cut you some slack. But after a while, I thought maybe you remembered me but were too embarrassed to admit it after we’d been here for weeks. But you honestly do not remember me at all, do you?”

“If I say no, are you going to bean me with another can of floor polish?”

“Eight years ago. You took me to see a symphony concert at the park. There was a windstorm a few days before. I was wearing these really cute wedge sandals, and I was having trouble stepping around these big fallen limbs—”

Jake’s mouth fell open, and he blurted out. “I picked you up and carried you over to the amphitheater. A little old lady told you to hold on to me because there weren’t a lot of gentlemen left in the world.”

Somehow, hearing the words come out of his mouth made a wave of pain rush through her chest. “Yeah.”

“And then she pinched my butt,” Jake said. “Really hard.”

“I didn’t know that part,” she admitted, swiping at the tears gathering in her eyes. Why was she crying now? She hadn’t cried over him in years. Maybe it was embarrassment, knowing that he was aware of their connection now and she would have to deal with his reaction. Or maybe living through the “abandonment” all over again was just playing with her already frayed nerves. Either way, it was a balm over whatever wounds were left on her heart when Jake offered her a handkerchief from his pocket. Manners, she thought; no matter what, the man had pretty manners.

The man was also shaking his head vehemently. “I thought your name was Cassie.”

“Oh, you—What is wrong with you?” she exclaimed, turning on her heel and walking out of the room.

“Wait,” he said, nimbly catching up to her in a few steps. He caught her arm and gently tugged at the elastic in her hair, pulling it out of its carefully woven French braid. He fluffed it out, arranging the golden waves around her shoulders. His eyes went wide. “Oh, my God, it is you.”

She buried her face in her hands. “You didn’t remember me because my hair was up? I’m going to murder you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want to be the one who reminded you. I wanted you to remember me on your own.”

“But I never went out with that girl again.”

“Would you please stop calling me ‘that girl’? I am a person. A person who is standing right here and can hear you!” she exclaimed.

“I never went out with you again. What happened?” he asked. “Why didn’t you return my calls?”

“You tell me. You never called me again.”

“There’s no way I wouldn’t call you again!” He gasped, his eyes bugging out. “Wait, wait, that was, what, June 2005, right? Oh, no. Oh, no no no no.”

“That had better be Jake-speak for ‘That’s the month I was abducted by aliens and unspeakably probed.’ ”

He ran his hands through his hair, leaving it in Einstein-level disarray. “I’m an idiot. June of 2005. I was here for the summer with my parents. I’d just broken off with Madeline Taylor—again. It was the fourth or fifth time we’d broken things off, and that girl was just pure relationship evil. She kept pulling me back in, and no matter how many times I said no or told her I wasn’t interested, she managed to convince me that even if I wasn’t sure about her intentions, I should at least date her while I figured it out.”

“None of this explains why you failed to call me.”

“Right after our second date—I remember now, it was the second date, and I was just about to call you to set up the third—Madeline heard that I’d gone out on a few dates. She called me, trying to ‘fix things’ between us. And when that didn’t work, she showed up at my parents’ house, and the next thing I knew, we were dating again.”

“So she destroyed your phone and your basic sense of courtesy?” Cindy asked.

“Actually, she did destroy my phone that year,” Jake said. “But only a few months later, after we’d gone back to school.”

“She sounds like a charmer.”

“Well, what happened to you?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I had some personal problems,” she said. “I got distracted.”

She could practically see the panic spread across his face as he scanned his memory banks to determine whether her personal business could have included bearing his love child.

“My father got sick,” she said indignantly. “I had to defer college and take care of him.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear about that. Is he better?”

She shook her head. “He’s been gone for about four years.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you again. I’m sorry I didn’t get to take you out again. And I’m sorry I didn’t remember you. I was young and stupid, not that it’s any excuse. Forgive me?”

“I think there will be more groveling involved,” she told him.

“You want more groveling?” he asked.

“I think a little extra groveling is called for.”

He dropped to his knees, clasping her hands between his. “Please! Lady Cynthia! Forgive me for my grievous error!”

“Get up.” She sighed, her cheeks turning red. “I did bean you in the head with floor polish. I’d say that probably makes us even.”

“I really am sorry that I didn’t call you again,” he said. “And for forgetting you. That was a stupid, thoughtless thing to do. You’ll be glad to know that I have matured into a wiser, less douchey person.”

She tilted his head toward her, inspecting the respectable lump forming on his crown. “I’m sorry for hitting you in the head with a blunt object.”

He grimaced. “I had it coming. And I’m sorry that I hurt your feelings with that ‘ambition’ comment. I really meant it to be a compliment. I like that you care about more than just your job. I just put it badly.”

“You’re forgiven. Mostly,” she said. “And I overreacted. Can we start over?”

“Does starting over involve getting some ice for my head?”

“I’ll wrap it in a towel and everything,” she said, offering him her arm and leading him out of the ballroom. “So when was the last time you heard from Madeline?”

“Uh, she sent me an EyeContact request a few months ago,” Jake said. “I declined it, but she sent it a few more times. And then she hired a private investigator to find my address and parked outside of my apartment building for a few nights running. I had to move in with Deacon for a while and change all the contact information on my accounts to a PO box. Other than that, nothing.”

“Have you noticed that you tend to bring the crazy out in a girl?”