Chapter Two

As Ryan drove to Newport Friday morning, he reflected back upon the week that had flown by surprisingly quickly.

Work had been progressing steadily. He had finished the demolition of the kitchen Monday afternoon after Mari…. Mrs. Carnahan had run away from him in tears and he had started the actual remodel the next day. New floors were the first thing he put in, followed by the construction of the custom made cabinets. He thought he would enjoy working on those, because the plan was to build them outside, but, oh, had he been wrong.

Tuesday morning when he arrived at work he expected his day to be peaceful. Assuming that he had pushed her too far and that Mrs. Carnahan would give up on being his friend, he let himself into the house for a relaxing, stress free, manual labor intensive day of tiling and grouting. Twenty minutes into the day his expectations were turned upside down.

Moving to pick up another large tile, his eyes at just about waist level came in direct contact with Mrs. Carnahan. He had never heard her come in, because although the room was quiet, she was obviously not talking to him. Instead, it became apparent, she had decided to leave her mental badgering and torture for a new, more painful type of cruelty for him: physical.

She was in the family, which one could see directly into from the kitchen due the homes modern, open floor-plan, dusting away, ipod on, and dancing along to the music slightly as she worked. This would have been amusing, entertaining even, but the problem was not her activities but rather the outfit she was wearing…..if you could call it that…..while she pranced about the room.

Ryan did not know if he had ever seen anything as cute and flirty, sexy yet innocent on a woman before, and the sight of her was driving him mad. Really it was just a simple sundress, but it was short, showing her toned, tanned, and taunt legs which were like water in the dessert to his starved and thirsty eyes. It was tight at the top, perfectly forming to her plump and round, perky breasts, and then loosening below her waist to flow out so that while she twirled around with the music, the dress would lift slightly and reveal more of her supple thighs.

He tried to work as diligently as possible, but he found that he had to reposition his body so that he could see her whenever he looked up. There were a few times when particular moves or positions of her body affected him so much he dropped the tile he was holding, breaking a few in the process. If he could have seen her face, smiling in pleasure at his reaction, he would have known she noticed.

Although he was, without a doubt, attracted to her, the fact that she was using her body like that annoyed him. It was not the first time a bored, Newport housewife had decided to flirt audaciously with him in order to amuse herself, and most of the time they were very blunt about what they wanted: a quick, no strings, easy, hot affair that their husbands would never find out about. He had thought there was more to Mrs. Carnahan after she had talked to him the first day, but obviously, he thought to himself, he was wrong. All she wanted to do was use him, too, and that was something Ryan Atwood would not allow…. although it would be fun….

When he arrived at work on Wednesday morning, knowing that he would be working outside on the custom cabinets, he assumed he would be distraction free, that Mrs. Carnahan would do her erotic cleaning dances inside while he could blissfully go back to thoughts that did not revolve around her enchanting body. Wrong….again.

As soon as he rounded the corner into the backyard, he almost dropped his tool box. There, on her knees and bent over, was Mrs. Carnahan working on her flower gardens, pulling weeds and planting new annuals for the late summer months and early fall. She wasn't in the sundress again, but compared to her outfit that day, the sundress looked like a habit for a nun. Today, to torment him she was wearing cut off daisy dukes, the shortest jean shorts he thought he had ever seen and a skin tight, black tube top that did not even come close to meeting the waist line of her very low rise shorts. Instead of listening to her ipod, she had the satellite radio going in the backyard and was singing along, quite badly and yet it was endearing. Absolutely adorable, he thought to himself before shaking his head to clear the distracting thoughts away.

Turning to him, she flashed him a large, happy, content smile. "I hope you don't mind the music. I hate working outside in the quiet, so I always listen, but if it bothers you…."

"It's fine," he said as fast as he could while swallowing thickly, his poor communication skills effortlessly failing him even more so than normal as he was confronted with the sight she made before him. Words had never been his forte, but as he looked at the barely dressed, gorgeous woman in front of him, English seemed like an utterly foreign language.

"Okay," she said over her shoulder as she turned back to continue her gardening, "but if it gets on your nerves….or my terrible, off key voice bothers you, let me know and I'll shut it off and suffer through the silence."

Returning her smile, he just nodded to her and went to work, stealing glances in her direction every time he could. Although she was still flaunting her body at him, he was confused as to what she wanted. While he had been positive the day before that she wanted him, now he thought that perhaps she just wanted some positive attention, an acknowledgement that she looked good and that taking care of herself had paid off. She even seemed to be making an effort to be nice and yet not talk to him too much because she thought it bothered him. Unfortunately, for Ryan though, he realized, once it was too late and he had scared her off, that he didn't mind her constant chatter and that he did want to know more about her. He wanted to know everything about her.

Wednesday morning and afternoon passed by without a single, noteworthy occurrence. She would occasionally take breaks, go for drinks for the both of them and offer his to him without a word. The day was hot, so the cool refreshments, whether lemonade, iced tea, or water, were very much appreciated. Despite his initial qualms, Ryan knew that he was getting along with her in his own, silent, brooding way and the thought was somewhat frightening.

Thursday morning brought anticipation for Ryan as he wondered just exactly how he would be finding his boss dressed. He had to finish the rest of the cabinets that day, so he was afraid, since she had finished her planting the day before, that she would be back inside where he couldn't watch her to help pass the time. Moving into the backyard with a lazy grin already on his face, he didn't see her anywhere so he quietly, dejectedly went to work. As he turned his back, her voice startled him.

"There you are. I didn't hear you come in." When he turned around he saw her walking gracefully out of the pool, bikini clad. He did not speak, but she didn't seem to mind or notice and just continued on her own. "How was your ride up this morning? I hope traffic wasn't that bad."

"It was fine," he choked out before averting his eyes away from her afraid she would notice that he was quite forwardly staring.

Smiling at him, she moved to the pool vacuum as she continued to talk. "Good. There's nothing worse than starting your day in a traffic jam….or cleaning out a swimming pool." Laughing wryly, she explained further. "I don't know what it is about it, but I hate cleaning the pool. I put it off all the time, but it's hot out today, I have nothing else to really work on, and I don't want to harass you constantly….we both know how well that went before….so I decided to bite the bullet and just, literally, dive in.

Ask me to help, ask me to help, Ryan's mind chanted as she continued to talk even though he knew he would never offer his services or oblige her if she did ask. If he wanted to keep this professional, he could not cross that boundary, because, he knew, once he did, there would be no turning back.

"Normally I get my boys to help me with it. I'll sit at the edge of the pool and dip my feet in while I give them instructions on how to do it, but if I wait until they come home, I'll have a swamp and not a pool in my back yard by the end of August." As he continues to watch her as she talks about her kids, her smile fades off her face, she stops moving in the pool, and within a matter of seconds it looks as if she is about to cry.

Surprising himself, Ryan asked, "Are you alright?"

Plastering a fake smile on her face and wiping away the tears that had been forming, she went back to work and dismissed his concerns with a wave of her delicate hand. "I'm fine. Don't mind me; I'm just being overly sentimental. I just ….. miss them, you know?"

Wanting to comfort her, he spoke hesitantly. "I'm sure they miss you, too," and his efforts were rewarded when she smiled, this time genuinely, at him. She would probably never believe him, but he preferred this side of her personality, the honest, caring, emotionally available woman compared to the flirtatious, closed off, tease she had been the previous two days. It was obvious that she was still up to something, because the bikini was….the hottest thing ever….attractive when she could have cleaned the pool in a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt, but secretly he was enjoying the view she made. His thoughts were interrupted when her voice, once again, filled the air.

"I'm sorry, I'm doing it again. I told myself I wouldn't bug you and here I am not shutting up and you probably want to get to work so you can get home at a decent hour."

"No, it's…." but that's as far as he got as she went under the water, almost as if she was afraid to hear his response. Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the day until they shared brief, self-conscious goodbyes.

So, here he was, pulling into her driveway on Friday morning, curious and eager to see what the day and Mrs. Carnahan's wardrobe choices had in store for him. He wasn't quite sure if it would be possible for her to reveal more of her body while still technically being dressed, but he was game for whatever she thought of. Whistling as he entered the house, he was back inside now to install the cabinets, he never even noticed that there was a car in the driveway that he had never seen before.

Marissa's plan for Friday was to not even get dressed, to parade around the house, leisurely, in her cutest, most innocent, tiny pair of pajamas that she owned, pajamas she had gone out the night before and searched South Coast Plaza for three hours after Ryan had left in order to find just the right pair. She hoped Ryan liked them, because he was the only guy who would ever see them.

Bounding down the stairs to brew some tea and make herself some breakfast, still wearing her normal, everyday, conservative pajamas, a baggy t-shirt and Capri sweatpants, Marissa practically ran into the one thing she did not expect, her husband.

"Wh….wha….what are you doing here," she finally managed to stutter out, the shock and surprise clearly written across her flawless face.

"What do you think I'm doing here? I live here, don't I," her husband asked annoyed with her for interrupting him. He was on the phone and had to cover it to reply back to her. Holding up his finger to signal that she had to wait until he was finished with his conversation to say anything further, he turned his back to her and she left him alone to muddle her way through the disaster zone that was now their kitchen….her favorite room of the house now…..to find what she had left the comfortable confines of her bed for in the first place, sustenance.

After voiding the idea of tea in favor of something handy and quick, she grabbed an orange juice, an English muffin with peanut butter, and a drinkable yogurt and made her way back up the stairs not even bothering to look to see if her husband was still on the phone; she knew he was. She ate her food, dejectedly, her plan now ruined, and went into her bathroom to shower. Emerging 15 minutes later, she threw on a loose tank top and a pair of track pants while tossing her still wet hair up in a sloppy bun and went back down stairs sans makeup. So depressed that her husband was home, she hadn't even bothered to wipe the tear stains off of her face from crying while she was getting dressed.

Settling into the couch, she flipped on the TV and put it on CNN, knowing that she could watch the fairly reliable news channel for hour upon hour. No matter what, she did not intend upon doing anything that day. Her husband finished with his phone call and joined her in the family room, sitting down on the chair furthest away from her and not even bothering to look at her, instead focusing on the large screen, plasma TV.

"The cabinets look nice," he said absently, to which she only nodded. "And the floors are wonderful, exactly what I wanted."

"As long as you're happy," she mumbled to herself, not even sure if he would hear her if she screamed it at the top of her lungs. They sat in silence for several, awkward moments before he stood up and went to leave. She didn't bother to follow him.

"I'm going to the office to catch up on work there, but I have another business trip that I have to leave for tonight, so I'll see you sometime in a couple of weeks. Tell the boys I say hi the next time you….," but before he could finish, he was interrupted.

"Mrs. Carnahan," Ryan called out loudly, oblivious to the extra person in the room, as he waltzed through the front door. "I'm here."

As soon as Ryan came face to face with the man in front of him, he stopped dead in his tracks. How did he ever catch her, he thought sullenly as he felt jealousy start to eat away at him. Gerald was small in stature, not short but practically under developed. He had a pasty appearance to him, no doubt from spending all his time indoors in offices and boardrooms, and his dark hair was starting to recede. He had bland, hazel eyes and, to be frank, a forgettable face.

As soon as she heard him enter the house, Marissa jumped off the couch and joined her husband and her….Ryan….in the foyer.

"Who the hell are you, what are you doing in my house, and how do you know my wife" Gerry's voice rang out testily. He did not like it when people interrupted him even if it was unintentional.

Taken aback by the man's rude behavior, Ryan was instantly set on edge and knew he would not like Mr. Carnahan, his boss. "You hired me to remodel your kitchen," he said with a slight hint of disdain in his voice.

"Oh, you're…..Marissa told me your name….what is it again?" Even though it appeared as if he was trying to remember the name, Marissa knew him well enough to know that he was just putting on a front, that he really didn't care what Ryan's name was, and that it was all for his reputation's sake. After all, he couldn't let those who worked for him not respect him.

"God, Gerry," Marissa exploded, "are you that selfish that you can't even remember a man's name that you chose yourself to do work for us! How rude can you get? His name is R….Mr. Atwood!" She refused to let Gerry know or use Ryan's first name.

Gerry turned and glared at Marissa before confronting Ryan again. "Sorry about that….great work by the way. The kitchen is really coming along nicely."

"Thanks," was all Ryan offered in return. The man might have not said or done anything physical to his wife, but he knew that look he had given her; he had seen it before from other men to their wives and it always meant the same thing. They were abusive. The thought of someone hitting or even yelling at her made his skin crawl. Marissa seemed to pick up on this, because she sent him a pleading look, begging him with her eyes not to say or do anything they both would come to regret. He did as she wished.

"So, do you have your next job lined up after this one," Gerry continued to interrogate him, as if his sudden interest in Ryan's career meant anything to him.

Answering honestly, Ryan said, "not yet, but I normally don't until closer to the end of the project so that I don't have to postpone the starting date of the next one if the job runs over."

This was her chance, Marissa thought, so she moved forward, standing slightly closer to Ryan than she was her husband. "So if no one wants you at the moment……to work for them, that means you're free and I want you….to do some more work….for me." She turns to her husband to check with him. "I thought perhaps he could redo my bathroom. It needs some updating, and you know bathrooms are important to a home's retail value, Gerry."

"Do whatever you want," he, once again, dismissed her. "I'm running late, so I have to go." Fiddling with his phone, he didn't even bother to look up at either Ryan or Marissa when he said goodbye. "It was nice meeting you……and I'll see you around, Marissa." With that, he left.

"I'm sorry about that….about how Gerry treated you. It's just….I don't want you to think that I feel the same way that he does, that you don't matter, because that's not true…..I…uh….," she stumbled, unsure of how to finish her statement, but luckily he didn't need her to.

"It's fine," Ryan consoled, leading her back towards the family room. "Come on. Why don't we sit down for a minute? No offense, but you don't look like you've had the best morning."

Sitting, Marissa laughed, "it's that obvious?" He went to protest, but she cut him off. "No, it's alright, I was upset earlier, and when I cry my face gets puffy and my eyes get red, but I'm okay now."

They sat in awkward silence for a moment, Ryan unsure if he should push her to explain why she was upset and Marissa unsure if he wanted her to tell him. Finally, she decided to just let it go and focus on making the day the best she could. After all, Gerry was leaving for another two weeks; that was definitely something to celebrate.

"So, about my bathroom, do you mind remodeling it for me," she asked. "I don't want to be pushy, but I hate it. Not that I don't love what you're doing in the kitchen, it's gorgeous, but that was Gerry's idea. I've wanted my bathroom remodeled since he moved out of my room and into his own. It's just too masculine. I want a peaceful, soft, soothing oasis, someplace I can escape to after a stressful day or a fight and just calm down."

Standing up, Ryan went to move to the kitchen, his mind completely void of thought as it kept repeating one line over and over again that Marissa had said, since he moved out of my room and into his own, since he moved out of my room and into his own, since he moved out of my room and into his own…. He only snapped out of his stupor when he realized Marissa was not following him. Turning around to face her, he smiled and went back to stand in front of her, offering his hand to help her up from her sitting position.

"Aren't you coming with me," he teased. "If we're going to remodel this bathroom, I'm going to have to hear everything you want and in exact detail."

"You don't mind," she asked timidly. "I know the last time I talked to you I annoyed you."

Making her giggle, a sound that was magical to his ears, he said, "I was being an ass." Finally she conceded, and as she put her hand in his and looked up into his eyes, he could see the simple trust behind them. What am I doing, he silently chided himself, his conscious kicking in only to be ignored, for even after she was standing, he never let go of her hand. Holding onto it gently, he led her into the kitchen and continued to tease her. "And if you're really nice to me," he joked, "I just might take you up on the offer for lunch I so stupidly turned down on Monday."

"Well," Marissa played along, all the sorrow vanishing from her eyes as they spoke, "only if you help. You see I might be a decent cook, but I can't do anything on the grill."

"I'm your man then," Ryan agreed, not even realizing what he said.

You're my man, his words echoed through Marissa's mind. Only his voice broke through that pleasant thought.

"Now, tell me about this dream bathroom….."

It had been a nearly perfect Friday for both Ryan and Marissa once they were left alone. He worked on installing the cabinets, while she talked to him about what she wanted done to her bathroom, even going so far as to pull out her laptop and get online, sitting amongst the rubble of the kitchen and not caring if she got dirty, to search for pictures to help explain what she wanted. Her childish enthusiasm was a delight for Ryan to watch, and he just seemed to egg her on by asking more and more questions about her ideas. She seemed to just like someone taking an interest in what she had to say.

Taking a break at 12:00, Ryan grilled chicken breasts and the vegetables Marissa had cut up and seasoned for them. They sat outside under an umbrella eating and talking, actually enjoying each other's company. He still insisted upon calling her Mrs. Carnahan, but she decided to not push the issue and let it go. Maybe eventually…she thought.

After they finished their lunch, he went back to work and she begged leave, claiming she had a very important errand to run. She wasn't lying, she did have someplace she wanted to go, but it was a spur of the moment, impulsive idea. Deciding they needed dessert, Marissa drove the few miles it took to go to her favorite, little, family owned ice cream parlor and bought several different kids of homemade ice cream for she and Ryan. Not knowing what kind he liked, she just guessed, figuring that she'd eat it eventually. When it came to ice cream, she wasn't too picky.

Pulling into her driveway, she took the bags of ice cream and made a mad dash for the house. She had gone as fast as she could on her way home, but, like it had been all week, it was hot, and the ice cream was already starting to melt. Not paying attention to where she was going, she ran smack dab into Ryan who flew out of the house at a dangerous clip.

"I'm sorry," he said stopping dead still to make sure she was alright and to help her pick up the bags he had, inadvertently, made her drop by running into her.

"Where are you going," she queried, confused. "Are you done for the day?"

"I….um…," he struggled, clearly upset. "There was a phone call…..Q…..she somehow got out and……there was a truck…."

"Wait, Ryan," she took hold of his hands and pulled him away from the bags of ice cream, their treat already forgotten in her mind. "Slow down. Who's Q?"

"My dog," he replied while edging his way towards his truck, but she wouldn't let him. Pushing him gently towards her SUV, she opened the door and ushered for him to get inside. He just stared at her confused.

"Do you really think I'd let you drive when you're this upset." Going to protest, she cut him off effortlessly. "Ryan, shut up, get in the car, and I'll drive you." Nodding to signal he agreed, she rounded the front of the vehicle, climbed in, and within seconds they were flying down the road on their way to a Long Beach Veterinary office as the forgotten ice cream melted into a sticky path down the driveway.