#IfYouBuildItHeWillCome
Out of sight of both Joe and Gib, Kylie leaned back against the workshop door and put her hands to her hot face. Good going. Way to be cool.
“What’s wrong?” asked Morgan, a new hire and a part-time apprentice to Gib. After a few missteps with the law, Morgan had recently turned her life around, and though she had no woodworking experience, she seemed eager enough to learn.
“Nothing,” Kylie muttered. “I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you moaned a little.”
Kylie sighed and poured herself a huge mug of coffee from a sideboard against one wall where they kept caffeine and, if they were very, very lucky, sometimes snacks. “You want to know what’s wrong? Men. Men are what’s wrong with life.”
Morgan’s laugh said she agreed as she went back to hand-sanding some teak for a project of Gib’s. Other than that, the shop was quiet. There were two other woodworkers who were employed here as well, but neither was in today, leaving the big, cavernous workshop feeling peaceful and calm.
Typically, Kylie spent long stretches of hours at a time in here. For her, it represented home and comfort in more ways than one. But even standing at her workbench in front of several ongoing projects and her tools, with Vinnie asleep clutching his ball at her feet, she was short on comfort today. Shaking it off, she started up her joiner and went to work on the mahogany slab she was making into a tabletop.
Gib stepped through the doorway, looking big and brawny from all the physical labor of his work. He had a handsome face that made women sigh and Kylie had never been immune, not even when they’d been young. He gestured for her to turn off the machine. “What was that about?” he asked.
“What was what about?”
“That vibe out there,” he said with a jerk of his chin to the front room. “Something going on between you and Joe?”
“No. No, of course not,” she said. Flustered and needing something to do with her hands, she poured herself yet another mug of coffee while Gib studied her.
Having known him since she was in middle school, she could interpret his every expression. He was male, which meant he had only a few. Happy-mode, hungry-mode, sports-mode, work-mode, and pissed-off-mode. That was it, his entire repertoire. She knew he had a lust-mode as well, although she’d never seen it aimed at her. But at the moment, his expression was new and completely unreadable to her.
“I’m barbecuing after work,” he finally said. “You should come.”
She stared at him in shock. “You want me to come over to your house for dinner?”
“Why not?”
Yeah, why not? She’d waited so long for him to ask her out, she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. She glanced at Morgan, who sent her a surreptitious thumbs-up.
“So?” Gib asked. “You’ll be there?”
“Sure,” she said, trying for his same casual tone. “Sounds nice, thanks.”
He nodded and moved off to his workstation, where he was making a shelving unit that looked like an actual oak tree. His creations were gorgeous and becoming more and more sought after. He was living his dream, just as Kylie’s grandpa had taught him when Gib had apprenticed under him.
Trying to do the same thing, she turned away and busied herself with her tabletop. She was making it for one of Gib’s clients, since he’d been kind enough to refer the customer to her. Hours later, she resurfaced and realized it was six o’clock and she was the last one in the shop. She vaguely recalled Gib and Morgan leaving an hour earlier and waving them off.
Alone, she went through the end-of-the-day routine, locking up, tucking Vinnie and his toys back into his carrier to lug everything up front. Her last stop on the way out the door was the shelf beneath the front counter to grab her purse, which had somehow tipped over and spilled onto the floor. Crouching low, she scooped everything back into the bag, freezing when she realized something was missing.
Her penguin. It was a three-inch-high wood carving that had been beautifully and lovingly handmade by her grandpa years ago, and was in fact the only thing she had of him. She kept it with her at all times because, silly as it felt to admit, it was her good luck charm. As long as she had the penguin, the last tie to her grandpa, everything would be okay.
But it was gone. Even just thinking it had her breath hitching as she searched the entire shop, top to bottom. Nothing. With an odd sense of panic clogging her throat, she called Gib. He hadn’t seen it. She called Morgan. She called Greg and Ramon, the other two artists who worked at the shop. No one had seen her penguin. She called Gib again. “It’s nowhere.”
“Maybe you just set it down somewhere and forgot,” he said in a rational tone.
“No. I know where I left it,” she insisted. “I had it in my purse, but now it’s gone.”
“It’ll show up tomorrow,” he said. “Maybe with that slide ruler of mine you lost last week.”
Frustration choked her. “You’re not taking me seriously.”
“I am,” he insisted. “I’m just in the middle of getting things ready for the barbecue, making my world-famous kabobs. For you. So get your cute ass over here.”
Okay, now this should have made her day. He thought her ass was cute????? But she’d have to obsess over that later. Much later. “Gib, I think someone stole the penguin.”
“I’ll help you look in the morning, okay? We’ll find it. Now move it.”
“But—”
But nothing, as he’d disconnected. Kylie looked down at Vinnie. “He’s not taking me seriously.”
Vinnie, as comfortable in the shop as he was at home—or anywhere, really—just yawned.
Sighing, she carried him out the shop and through the courtyard. Here, she felt herself relax a little bit. She loved this building. The cobblestones were worn beneath her feet, as was the glorious old architecture of the structure around her: the corbeled brick and exposed iron trusses, the big windows.
It was a wet evening. Not raining exactly, but the moisture hung in the air. Night was falling, so the strings of lights wrapped around the wrought-iron benches lining the fountain were shining and sparkling with raindrops.
Kylie walked past The Canvas Shop and then the coffee shop, which was closed. Most of the other places were too, including the newest one—Pinot’s Palette, a wine and painting shop.
But the pub was open and she decided to make a quick stop. Most nights any of her friends from the building might be found here. Tonight it was the building manager, Elle, Joe’s sister, Molly, and Haley, who worked as an optometrist on the second floor.
Sean, bartender and also co-owner of the pub, tan from a recent trip to Cabo with his new girlfriend, Lotti, slid Vinnie a doggy biscuit from the jar he kept beneath the counter.
Vinnie practically swallowed it whole.
“Your usual?” Sean asked Kylie.
“Not tonight. I’m not staying. But . . . maybe just a quick coffee?”
Elle and Molly were dressed in sharp business attire. Elle because she ran the world, Molly because she ran the front office of Hunt Investigations, where Joe worked. Haley was in a doctor’s lab coat—she often forgot to take it off before leaving her office—and adorable specs.
Kylie, the fashion outcast, was in jeans, a Golden State Warriors sweatshirt, and some residual wood shavings. The fact that she had more clothes to sleep in than to go out in said a lot about her.
Haley was talking about her recent date, which had apparently gone all sorts of bad. The woman she’d gone out with had spread a rumor that they’d slept together in order to get back at an old girlfriend. Haley sighed. “Women suck.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not all that great on the other side of the fence either,” Molly said.
“Gib finally asked me out,” Kylie blurted.
Everyone gasped dramatically, which made her laugh. She’d been waxing poetic about him the entire year she’d been working for him. “He’s barbecuing for me at his place tonight.”
Another dramatic,
collective gasp, and she knew they were happy for her. And she was happy too.
Wasn’t she?
Of course she was. She’d wanted this for a long time. So then why couldn’t she stop thinking about Joe and that damn kiss? How he’d slid one arm low on her hips, his other hand sinking into her hair to slowly fist it, holding her in place as he’d kissed her slow and deep, easily the hottest, most erotic kiss of her entire life . . .
Because she self-sabotaged, that’s why. She’d inherited that particular trait from her mom, who was a professional self-sabotager. Her drug of choice was men. The wrong men. And Kylie was absolutely not going to follow in her footsteps.
A woman strode through the pub and up to the bar. She had jet black hair with a few purple streaks, most of it piled on top of her head and held there with a pencil. She wore a pretty flowy top that said Keep Calm and Kiss My Ass, skin-tight jeans, and some seriously kickass ankle boots that had both Elle and Molly nearly drooling.
Her name was Sadie and she worked as a tattoo artist at The Canvas. She nodded at Sean. “I need an order of buffalo wings, crispy fries, and whatever you have for dessert,” she said. “And you know what? Double all of that.” She slid a look over at Kylie and the girls. “When you gotta take a minute to compose yourself at work because violence is frowned upon.”
“Amen to that,” Molly said. “Nice outfit, by the way.”
Kylie sighed. “I need to make fashion my hobby.”
“My only hobby is trying to close the elevator door before someone else gets on,” Sadie said.
Elle high-fived her. “Hey, so if someone said you’d slept with them when you hadn’t, what would you do? Haley here has a situation.”
“First of all, don’t bother to deny anything. It won’t work,” Sadie said. “Instead, use it. Tell everyone how bad he—or she—was, and make up weird fetishes too, like . . . they called out their mom’s name in the throes or something. Destroy ’em, I say.”
“Damn, that’s good,” Haley said.
“Not my first rodeo,” Sadie said.
Kylie gulped down her coffee and stood up with Vinnie. “Okay, well, we’re off to Joe’s.”
Everyone blinked in shock at her and she quickly rewound and replayed her words in her own head and—Oh shit. “Gib’s,” she said quickly. “I meant we’re off to Gib’s.”
Elle pointed at her. “She said Joe’s.”
Haley nodded. “She totally did.”
“Wait. Like, Joe my brother?” Molly asked.
“I don’t know any other Joe, do you?” Elle asked.
“And it’s not like he isn’t really hot,” Haley said. “What?” she asked when they all just stared at her. “I’m gay. I’m not dead.”
Molly grimaced and put her fingers in her ears. “Guys, please. He’s my brother.”
Kylie desperately waved down Sean. “I’m going to need another shot of caffeine.”
Molly tapped her on the shoulder. “And I’m going to need you to tell me what’s going on with you and Joe.”
“To go,” Kylie said to Sean.
He eyed her undoubtedly crazed expression. “How much have you already had today?”
“Oh, not much.” She took a grateful sip as he poured her more. Her hands were shaking. She could hear colors. But that wasn’t the point right now. She looked at Molly. “The answer to your question is nothing. Nothing’s going on with me and Joe, although I’m pretty sure we don’t like each other very much—no offense intended.”
Molly shrugged. “He’s an acquired taste, so no offense taken.”
“Not only don’t we like each other,” Kylie said, “we irritate each other. Just by breathing. Like, all the time.”
“Huh,” Molly said and looked at Elle. “You hearing what I’m hearing?”
“Yep. It’s a classic case of protesting too much.”
“No,” Kylie said. “Really.”
“Definite denial,” Elle said.
“See, that’s why you don’t ever deny,” Sadie said calmly.
“I’m denying because it’s not true!” Kylie said. “The Joe thing is nothing.”
“And now there’s a Joe ‘thing,’” Haley said, using air quotes. “Fascinating.”
“Okay, we’re out,” Kylie said, lifting Vinnie’s carrier. “We’re going to the barbecue now.”
Vinnie perked up at this. Vinnie loved food.
“Which is at . . . whose house again?” Haley asked innocently.
“Joe’s.” Shit. Kylie slapped a hand over her mouth. “What the hell is that?” she asked around her fingers.
Her so-called friends grinned.
“Gah. I’m going to Gib’s,” she corrected herself, horrified, enunciating his name carefully. “G-I-B, Gib’s.” Then, before she could make anything worse, she left.
She dropped Vinnie off at home with a hug and his dinner. Then, thirty minutes later, she stood on Gib’s front porch. He’d inherited a tiny Victorian on the edge of Pacific Heights. It was a cute, little old lady place, and everyone who came here made fun of Gib for keeping it.
He couldn’t care less. Property in San Francisco was priced out of the atmosphere and so he made this house work for him. He’d added some modern touches, such as an eighty-inch LED TV and an extra fridge, and called it good.
Kylie knocked but he didn’t answer. Probably because his music was on loud and there were people inside. As in lots of them.
This wasn’t a date. It was a party.
Feeling stupid, she turned to go just as Gib finally opened the front door. “Hey!” he said, smiling at the sight of her. “You came! Listen,” he said more quietly, taking a quick peek over his shoulder. “A few friends showed up unexpectedly and brought—”
From behind him, two arms wrapped around his waist and then the smiling face of Rena, his beautiful, perfect ex-girlfriend, appeared over his shoulder. “Hey, Kylie,” she said sweetly. She squeezed Gib affectionately, resting her chin against him. “How you doing?”
“Good,” Kylie said automatically, eyes still locked in on Gib, who winced and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
But Kylie was the sorry one, sorry that she felt like a complete idiot. “I can’t stay. Something’s come up and I’ve gotta—”
Gib tugged her inside, shook off Rena, and put a glass of wine in Kylie’s hand. “Stay. Drink. Be merry.” He lowered his voice. “Seriously, I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect her. Stay? Please?”
Mostly Kylie preferred to eat her carbs but tonight she downed the glass and, bolstered by liquid courage, even danced with Gib. Twice. And she stepped on his toes only one of those times.
When it became clear Rena wasn’t going to leave before she did, she finally headed home just before midnight, because like Cinderella, she had to work in the morning.
And because she was also a little frustrated and very tired, she didn’t notice the manila envelope that had been shoved through the mail flap on her front door. It wasn’t until she’d greeted a sleepy, adorable Vinnie and then gone straight to the kitchen for the ice cream in her freezer that she looked back as she leaned against the counter to inhale her dessert.
On the floor, just inside her front door, lay the envelope. Odd, as she’d gotten all her mail the first time she’d been home, but she set down the ice cream and picked it up. Inside was an instant Polaroid and it stopped her heart.
It was a close-up of her missing penguin in mortal danger, staged to look like it was falling off the Golden Gate Bridge into the bay.
What. The. Hell.
Someone had stolen her statue. And worse, was now taunting her with it. Why? She couldn’t think of one good reason and knew she needed to confide in someone. But who? Not Gib. You didn’t go running to your crush to play the damsel-in-distress in the twenty-first century. Or at least, she didn’t. She could try the police but she could already see how that would go. “Hello, someone stole my beloved but worthless penguin carving and is pretending to knock it off the bridge.”
; They’d laugh her out of town.
She could also do absolutely nothing, but whoever had done this knew her, or at least knew where she lived. Suitably creeped out, she double-checked all the locks on her windows and doors. Then she tucked Vinnie into his crate, turned out the light, and climbed into bed.
And lay there, jumping at every creak.
Two minutes later, she got out of bed, retrieved Vinnie, and climbed back beneath the covers. Excited to be where he wasn’t