“What are you going to use then?”
“I’ll just keep everything in my suitcase. Not a big deal.” She watches as I place my suitcase on her bed and begin unloading. “Do you really need all that stuff for two days?”
“I hate being unprepared,” I say. “That’s why I have Marta overpack.”
Mari takes a seat on the side of the bed, her leg bent underneath her. “Speaking of Marta … when you told her what we were doing, did she act weird about it?”
I glance to the left. “No. Not at all. Why?”
“No reason.”
“Did she say something to you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you asking?” I ask.
“It’s nothing. I was just curious if she was on board or not with this,” she says. I call bullshit.
“Does it matter what Marta thinks?” I ask. “She’s my employee. I’m sure she has a lot of opinions about me, but it’s her job to keep them to herself. You let me know if she’s ever conducting herself in an unprofessional manner.”
“Marta is great.” Mari forces a smile. “Anyway, dinner’s probably going to be ready soon. We stay in here much longer they’re going to think we’re messing around, and then dinner’s going to be just as awkward as the ride home was.”
“It wasn’t awkward.”
“It was so awkward. I don’t think my dad knows what to make of it all. Can’t say I blame him.” Mari moves toward the door, her hand clutched around the knob. “Come on. We can’t hide in here the whole weekend. Let’s show them how over-the-moon in love we are. Babe.”
I smirk, making my way to her. I’m loving this playful side of her and whatever it is she’s bringing out in me. In a weird way, while I’ve orchestrated this entire situation, it kind of feels like it’s us against the world.
We have this secret, she and I. And the trust between us, while it’s still sort of gelling, it’s actually kind of hot.
Slipping my hand around hers, I lead her down the hall toward her mother’s kitchen, which smells of frying ground beef and fresh vegetables. Halfway, I stop to admire the childhood school pictures that line the hall in grade-order. As a kindergartener, Mari had a chubby face and a smattering of light freckles that have since faded. In first grade, her front two teeth were missing, but it didn’t keep her from smiling her heart out. From the looks of her second grade picture, she must have attempted an at-home perm.
“Stop.” Mari yanks on my hand. “Come on.”
“You were a cute kid,” I say.
She turns to me, her eyes smiling. “See, you already have something in common with my parents. They were convinced I was the cutest kid ever to walk the face of the earth. They even got me a talent agent. They were convinced I was going to be the next Hilary Duff.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“I was in a JC Penney catalog. Once.”
“Adorable,” I say as she pulls me into the kitchen. My stomach rumbles as I breathe in another whiff of her mother’s cooking. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed home-style fare.
“There they are,” Margo announces over a sizzling pan on the stove. “Have a seat, guys. Food’ll be done shortly.”
I take a spot next to Abel, who’s still looking me over with a blank expression on his face. I like to think I’m good at reading people, but this man is stone-like, unmoving.
“Dad,” Mari says, grabbing his attention. “How are things at the shop? Staying busy?”
Margo brings a plate of biscuits and deposits them in the center of the oak table. Abel steals one, shoving half of it in his mouth.
“My dad owns a repair shop,” Mari says. “He can restore just about anything. People are always bringing in their clocks and lawnmowers and weed-eaters and bread makers. Random things. Not much he can’t fix.”
“Is that so?” I ask, turning to Abel. “I’ve always believed some people were just born with a natural inclination to take things apart and put them back together the right way. There’s some inherent curiosity in there, too, to see how things work. I find those sorts of things fascinating myself. I love to look at things from a very basic level, all their parts and pieces, and fit them together.”
“Hudson, what do you do for a living?” Margo calls from the kitchen.
“I’m an architect,” I say.
Abel’s eyes move from me to his daughter, and he points as he chews. “Weren’t you working for some asshole architect in the city? This isn’t him, is it?”
I watch the color drain from Mari’s face.
“No, no,” she says, her tone almost frantic. “This isn’t him. This is a different architect. We met at a … work thing … I was there. And he was there. And we met.”
“Good,” Abel says with a huff. “If you brought that jerk here, I’d be kicking him to the curb.”
“Dad.” Mari tilts her head, releasing a nervous chuckle. “I’ve been ranting and raving about how nice we are here in Nebraska. Don’t make a liar out of me.”
“Here we are,” Margo interrupts, bringing over a skillet of what appears to be noodles and hamburger drowning in some kind of cheesy sauce. “I hope cheeseburger pasta’s okay with you, Hudson? You don’t have any allergies, do you?”
“None,” I say, placing a paper napkin over my lap. “Smells wonderful, Mrs. Collins.”
“Please, call me Margo,” she says. “Dig in. I can’t wait to hear more about how you two lovebirds met!”
Mari and I exchange looks.
“You want to tell them?” I ask her.
“Maybe you should?” She bats her lashes, resting her chin on the top of her hands. “You tell the story so well.”
Chuffing, I smirk as I dish up a couple ladles of cheeseburger pasta. “Okay, well, it was a snowy day in January. I was headed to an architectural conference at this hotel on the Lower East Side. I walked in, dusted the snow off my jacket, and glanced around to get my bearings. Only I found myself distracted by this blonde woman holding an armful of blueprint tubes as she chased after her boss, who clearly didn’t appreciate her hard work—I could tell that just by looking at the schmuck,” I add. “Anyway, I watched her. I was captivated, really. She carried herself with such poise and grace. I saw her chatting with someone she knew, maybe another co-worker? I’m not sure. Anyway, she smiled, and I was a goner.”
I place my hand over my chest.
“I knew then and there that I had to meet her,” I say. “I had to get to know her. I wanted that beautiful smile of hers all to myself. So I introduced myself.”
Abel watches me, unmoving, and Margo is clearly entranced by my story.
Reaching my hand across the table, I place it over Mari’s.
“When the moment was right, I approached her,” I say. “I told her my name. Asked hers. She wasn’t interested. Not at first. It wasn’t easy. I can’t say it was love at first sight, at least not on her end. But we talked a bit more, and we were able to find some common ground. After that, we began spending time together. And now here we are.”