Nothing In Common Read online

  CHAPTER 11

  Tom couldn’t believe the week had flown by so fast. The grand opening of The Gallery on Second was tomorrow night. Not only did he not have a costume prepared, he had no idea of how he was going to prove to Lila he really loved her.

  He wished he could use his lack of interest in work as proof of his change in priorities, but that hardly seemed enough. Tonight was the third night this week he’d left the restaurant early, something he rarely did even though Frank Philips was a top-notch manager. Tom liked to mingle with the customers. He had worked hard to make The Foxfire the success it had become, and nothing gave him more satisfaction than finishing the night knowing all had gone well. Since the blowup with Lila, however, he found he couldn’t care less whether the new appetizers were well-received, or anything else. Only about Lila.

  Now he was sitting at the bar in Malley’s Pub, sucking down a pint of warm beer and waiting to hear Mick’s band play. The Roving Ramblers had gone through one set already, their lively mix of traditional Celtic music and Cajun Zydeco surprisingly well-blended. They had taken a break, amid groans of protest from the people in the packed bar. The Ramblers were a huge draw for Malley’s, and ordinarily Tom would have considered hitting Mick up to play a night or two at The Foxfire. Tonight, though, he just didn’t feel like talking shop. He only wanted to think about Lila.

  His suggestions about a skywriter and an ad in the newspaper didn’t seem so crazy now. They seemed easier than the alternative, which was to talk to her face-to-face. Tom hadn’t wanted to admit it to Emma, but the thought of confronting Lila scared him. Emma had been right about him never having to work for anything before. Women had always flocked around him like seagulls fighting over a French fry. He’d never had to face rejection. Then again, he’d never cared so much about anyone before.

  "Our next set’s up in five, Tom." Pint of Guinness in hand, Mick appeared beside him at the bar. Rivka’s husband winked and clapped Tom on the shoulder. "Next round’s on me. Sure and you look like you be needin’ it. I’ve seen happier faces on a flea-bit dog."

  Tom smiled half-heartedly. "Can’t you talk some sense into your sister-in-law?"

  "Ah, and if I could sing the birdies down from the trees, would you be after havin’ me do that as well?" Clearly Mick had no illusions about his ability to affect Lila. "'Tis my Rivka you need to be talkin’ to."

  Tom tossed back the last half of his pint. "She won’t talk to me. Says it’s not her place."

  "Now that would be a first." Mick shook his head and grinned. "When my Rivka leaves her pretty nose out of her sister’s business—"

  "What about my nose?" Rivka appeared suddenly beside him. Mick smiled shamefacedly and kissed her. "The rest of the boys are waiting for you, Mickey."

  Mick took the pointed hint and tipped an imaginary hat toward Tom. Rivka watched her black-haired husband weave his way through the crowd to the small stage area and sighed. She turned and signaled to the bartender.

  "I’ll have a white wine." She pointed to Tom. "He’s paying."

  Obligingly, Tom pulled out his wallet and paid for her drink. They sat in mutual silence for a few minutes. From behind them, The Roving Ramblers began their next set. Mick had forsaken his guitar for a set of uillean pipes, and the haunting melody seemed to squeeze Tom’s throat until he could hardly breathe.

  "This is one of my favorites," Rivka remarked off-handedly. "It’s so sad, though. Don’t you just feel like crying?"

  Tom looked at her sternly. "Don’t play games with me, Rivka. You said you weren’t going to talk to me about Lila, so I haven’t said anything. Yes, I’m upset about losing her, but what can I do? I’ve wracked my brains to think of a way to prove I love her, and I just can’t come up with one. It really burns me up that she didn’t just trust me."

  Rivka clicked her tongue against her teeth. "You know about William, of course."

  Tom growled and finished the rest of his pint. "I’d like to punch that bastard right in the face. It’s all his fault."

  Rivka rolled her eyes and looked so much like Lila his heart hurt again. "It’s not William’s fault, Tom. It’s yours, and Lila’s, too. Poor Billy is only an excuse."

  Without asking, the bartender took Tom’s mug and refilled it. Tom stared at the thick, creamy head of foam atop the dark brew. He knew Rivka was right. It was just easier to blame things on William Darcy.

  "So what can I do about it?"

  Rivka rolled her eyes again and added a sigh so deep it had to have come from her toes. "Men!"

  "What?" Tom’s defenses rose. "Rivka, I feel bad enough, so if you’re going to man bash.…"

  "I’m not going to bash anyone." Rivka finished the last of her wine. She stood up and tugged his shoulder. "C’mon."

  He looked at her warily. The Roving Ramblers weren’t even close to finishing their gig. Rivka’s grin made him nervous.

  Suspicion filled him. "What do you want?"

  "Come with me to the Gallery. To the studio. I want to paint you."

  "Oh, no." Tom shook his head. "No way."

  She frowned. "C’mon. You need this."

  "I need this?"

  "Yeah. You need this."

  "Like I need a hole in my head." Tom grumbled, but he got off the stool. Rivka had a way about her that didn’t make her easy to deny. For one moment, Tom both envied and pitied Mick Delaney, who had made this wacky woman his wife.

  "I’ll give you a hole in your head if you don’t move your butt." Rivka laughed. "C’mon, Tom, I need another X-Man."

  Even though he was already on his feet and following her out of the bar, Tom stopped. "The X-Men again. What am I, just a face?"

  Rivka didn’t wait for him, instead pushing open the door to the parking lot. She called over her shoulder to him. "God gives us certain things in life. It’s stupid to deny them."

  Like he was being sucked along in the wake of an avalanche, Tom followed her to the lot. The frigid night air swept away some of the cobwebs he’d been allowing to cover him. He couldn’t believe he was actually going along with this.

  The drive to The Gallery on Second was too short. He groaned to himself as he followed Rivka inside and to the small studio in the back. He watched as she flicked on lights and busied herself with pots of paint, brushes, and canvas.

  "Rivka, I really don’t think I want to do this. I don’t see the point."

  Rivka turned toward him, no longer teasing. "The point is it will make you feel better."

  He barked out something that was supposed to be a laugh, but didn’t quite make it. "This whole issue with Lila is because she says I’m too good looking to fall in love with her. How can having my portrait painted make me feel any better about that? Are you going to show me with warts or something? A hunchback?"

  Rivka was busy scraping her short curls away from her face and pinning them. "You don’t have any warts. And your back looks fine to me."

  "I wish I did have warts! Or a whole bunch of scars."

  "Chicks dig scars." Rivka pointed. "Sit."

  Despite his misgivings, he sat. Stiff. Like a board. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so self-conscious. He’d never had his picture painted before, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. Something to do with berets maybe, or Rivka standing in front of him holding up her thumb. French accents. Oh, hell, what did he know about painting?

  Rivka’s silence didn’t make things any more comfortable. She worked in silence, unbroken except for the scratch of her brush against the canvas. Her pretty face was furrowed in concentration, and he had time to study her.

  "Lila says you’re the pretty one and she’s the smart one." He wanted to break the silence with something, even lame conversation. "Some kind of family joke?"

  "Yeah. Our parents refused to compare us, so we had to do it for ourselves."

  "So why did Lila get the short end of the stick?" The whole idea suddenly irritated him. He still wanted to lay blame, to ease the ache inside him.

  Rivka bit her l