ThisTimeNextDoor by Gretchen Galway Page B

palm one last time, Mark squared his shoulders and headed out the front door, duct tape slipped over the neck of a bottle of Shiraz. He felt good. The clothes made a difference, he realized, indulging in a grin as he tapped on Rose and Blair’s front door.
    The wait was longer than he expected, and after a long minute he heard the women arguing with each other inside.
    Maybe they were still getting dressed. That reminded him of Rose’s slinky robe from that morning.
    He tapped again. “I can come back later,” he called out.  
    The door flew open. Rose frowned at him. “Mark?”
    He glanced at his wrist, forgetting he never wore a watch anymore. “You said seven, right?”
    “But I told your mom we… there was a problem about tonight.” Then her gaze raked him head to toe and she flushed a remarkable shade of pink. Almost like a highlighter pen. “Oh, Mark. Look at you. I’m so sorry.”
    Her long, tight sweater was pink, too. Even the belt cinched tightly around her waist, under her… pink… breasts.
    Not the hair, though. That was pale gold.
    Blair appeared at her side. “Mark? Oh, Mark.” She let out a deep breath. “Nice to see you.”  
    He took a step back. He hadn’t even noticed she was there. Not wanting his sweaty palms to drop the wine, he thrust it at her. “But not expected. I’m sorry my mom and I screwed up. I’ll go. No problem.”
    “No, don’t,” Blair said quickly, reaching forward to clasp his arm. “We invited you.”
    “Actually, it was Rose, and it’s obviously a bad time, and really, it’s no problem.” He tried to take another step back, but he was paralyzed by the feel of Blair’s fingers wrapped around his bicep. Should he flex? Do a little muscle demo?
    “It’s a perfect time, actually,” Blair said, dragging him inside. He did his best to flex and follow at the same time without stumbling.
    “John will be here any minute.” Rose caught Mark’s alarmed glance and nodded. “Just called from the airport.”
    A righteous anger flooded through him. “Really. With no warning?”
    “None,” Rose said.
    They shared a look of barely contained condemnation.
    “Which is why you have to stay.” Blair kicked the door shut and tugged him into the living room. “Rose has made this fantastic meal and there won’t be anyone here to eat it.”
    “You won’t let him eat your food?” Mark asked Rose.
    Her lips pursed. “He’s a vegan.”
    “And I’m not feeling well,” Blair said, resting a hand on her stomach, looking down. “And we’ll probably go out.”
    Rose took the bottle of wine from her. “She only got sick when she heard John had landed in San Francisco.” She plucked off the roll of duct tape and offered Mark a small smile. “Thanks. I never did make it to the hardware store.”
    “I’ll go downstairs and put it on if you like.”
    Rose frowned at him for a moment, glanced at Blair. “That’s nice of you, really, but—it wouldn’t be fair.” Her look sharpened. “To you.”
    Mark knew what she was saying, that with John in the picture, there was no reason for Mark to be. “Sure. I understand.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll go. This is obviously a bad time.”
    “No, don’t go,” Blair said. “Please. I’ll bring you a glass of wine.” She went into the kitchen.
    Rose put a hand on his arm. “She’s right, Mark. Have a seat.” She fluffed a pillow on the couch, stared until he sat down. “I hope you like cheese,” she added.
    “I like cheese.”
    “Pasta?”
    “That too.”
    “Asparagus?”
    “Sure.”
    Rose tucked an errant strand of golden hair behind her ear. “Blair is right. It might make it easier, having you here.” She gave him a slow, intense once-over that made him shift in his seat. “You clean up nice.”
      He leaned back, crossed an ankle over his knee, trying to ignore the way his pulse raced when she looked at him like that. “Am I supposed to hold him down while you swing?”
    “Tempting, but not