by Nina Lindsey
Despite her explanation, the six male professors, all of whom would vote at the end of the month whether or not she deserved tenure, had been waiting with evident disapproval and impatience when she’d hurried into the conference room.
Not the impression she’d wanted to make, especially when she was still fighting to be taken seriously as a young, female professor in an academic discipline that had long been a bastion of male superiority.
“Your father would be so proud of you.” Her mother approached and rested a hand on Callie’s arm.
An ache of love nudged at Callie’s heart. Her father had been a tenured professor of Greek and Latin at the University of California, Santa Cruz for many years. But rather than languages, it had been his passion for mythology that sparked Callie’s own career path. Some of her favorite childhood memories were of her father telling her about Zeus, Hera, Apollo, Demeter…the gods, goddesses, and mortals whose exciting stories still resonated through time.
“You’ll be awarded tenure, honey.” Eleanor patted her daughter’s arm with certainty.
Callie wasn’t convinced. She was only thirty-two, had just reached the six years of teaching required to even be considered for tenure, and she didn’t have a huge body of research yet like so many of the older professors.
But Professor Farnsworth, her mentor who had retired the previous year, had encouraged her to apply on the basis of her outstanding credentials, promise, and teaching skills. Despite her strictness, her students always gave her overwhelmingly excellent evaluations, and several grad students had asked her to advise their thesis and dissertation topics.
So Callie had taken her mentor’s advice and applied—though now that the department was less than a month away from the vote, she was second-guessing her decision at every turn.
Her proposal for a book on Greek goddesses and heroines was under consideration with an editor at Cambridge Press’s new Fire imprint. If the prestigious publisher accepted it, she’d have much more leverage with the tenure board.
But if it was rejected…
The department was sure to turn down her tenure application and deny promoting her to full professor. She’d be out of a job and need to look for a position elsewhere. Which also meant she’d likely need to leave Bliss Cove—a concept she couldn’t even fully grasp. She’d grown up here, commuted to Stanford for her undergrad work, and aside from a few years at Harvard earning her PhD, she’d never lived anywhere else.
After everything her family had been through in recent months, and with Aria back home and hopefully on the right track, Callie couldn’t possibly leave her mother and sisters alone. Just the thought caused an icy ball to form in her throat.
As if sensing her daughter’s sudden dismay, Eleanor wrapped her in a warm embrace. Callie closed her eyes and breathed in her mother’s familiar sugar-and-chocolate scent.
Though it might have been a cliché to have a mother who smelled like home-baked cookies, in Eleanor’s case, it was the truth. The owner of the Sugar Joy Bakery in downtown Bliss Cove, she did most of the baking herself and was well-known for her exceptional cakes and pastries.
Having been raised by a classics-loving father and a baker mother, Callie suspected she was the only woman in the world who was most at home with a Greek lexicon in one hand and a chocolate-chip cookie in the other.
“Anyone home?” her sister called from the foyer. “I’m starving, Hunter is in New York, and my fridge is broken again.”
“We’re in the kitchen, honey,” Eleanor called.
Callie detached herself from her mother. The youngest Prescott sister, Ariadne, entered the kitchen, her multiple silver bangles clinking to further announce her arrival. With her pierced nose, paisley maxi dress, and mass of blond hair, Aria was like a little butterfly.
Until recently, Callie had believed that her sister also had as much sense as a butterfly, having spent her twenty-eight years flitting around and never landing in one place. But after extracting herself from a bad relationship and returning home several months ago, Aria had opened the Meow and Then cat café on Mariposa Street, the historic neighborhood of Bliss Cove.
Callie hadn’t approved of her sister’s business decision or the rundown location, but Aria had stood her ground—even against a multi-billion-dollar property company that had threatened to take over Mariposa Street. Callie had developed a newfound respect for her sister, even though she was still wary of Aria’s whirlwind romance with developer Hunter Armstrong, who had committed to a restoration of the district. Callie had a hard time believing that a high-level executive could be loyal so quickly to the graffiti-laden neighborhood he’d wanted to tear down. Still, she was trying hard to be supportive.
“How’s business?” Callie took a tray of crudités from the fridge and set them in front of her sister.
“Much better, thanks to all the attention we’re getting.” Aria bit into a carrot stick and perched on a stool at the counter. “I also took out an ad in The Bliss Cove Gazette and included a coupon for a free coffee, so that brought in customers. A lot of people have told me they hadn’t been to Mariposa Street in ages. I’m hoping to get some more chairs for the Cat Lounge.”
“Did Rory bring you the sofa she found on sale?” Eleanor poured a glass of wine and set it in front of Aria.
“Yes, though I tried to convince her to keep it. She needs one for her place, but you know her and clutter.” Aria made air quotes.
“It makes sense for her not to get anything new, if she plans to move back to the Bay Area,” Eleanor said. “Much as I’ve appreciated her help, she’s been working at the bakery for far too long. She needs to get back into her field.”
Callie opened a drawer to take out potholders. After their father died, Rory had left her high-tech computer job in San Jose and returned to Bliss Cove to help out. Knowing that her sister would likely leave again, sooner rather than later, strengthened Callie’s own resolve to stay. After Rory left, their mother would need her more than ever.
“What’s for dinner?” Aria took a sip of wine and glanced at the oven.
“It’s the third Wednesday of the month. Casserole, of course.” Callie opened the oven to check on the baked vegetarian casserole she’d brought over along with a mixed green salad.
“Right.” Aria rolled her eyes. “Heaven forbid we should have something besides casserole on the third Wednesday of the month.”
“Why don’t you go check your fridge for dinner, then?” Callie replied tartly.
“Girls.” Eleanor narrowed her eyes.
Aria made a face at Callie and asked, “Is Rory joining us?”
“No, she said she has some coding to do after she closes up the bakery.” Eleanor took silver forks and knives from a drawer.
Callie closed the oven with a frown. “Mom, this oven doesn’t feel like it’s three hundred fifty degrees.”
“It’s fine, dear.”
“It’s at least fifteen years old, isn’t it?” Callie picked up her phone from the counter and searched for ovens. “We’d better get you a new one soon. Maybe one of those with the induction ranges.”
“I don’t need a new oven.”
“This one probably has faulty wiring by now.” Callie typed in a search for local appliance stores. “I’ll check a few out this weekend and see what kind of sales are going on. A bakery owner should have a high-end oven at home, don’t you think?”
“No, I do not.”
Callie glanced up at the tight note in her mother’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, honey.” Eleanor let out a sigh. “But you don’t have to constantly be worrying about plumbing and ovens. I’m almost sixty-five years old. I assure you I can handle these things on my own.”
“I know you can. I just don’t want you to have to.”
Eleanor set the silverware on the table, her brow furrowing. “And I want you to focus on your life instead of mine. You know how much I’ve appreciated your support and help, but things are sm
oothing out for us now, and it’s time for you to enjoy yourself a bit. When you’re not on campus, you’re either here or at the bakery. Don’t you ever go out with your friends? When was the last time you went on a date?”
Aria snickered. “When Homer wrote The Odyssey.”
Callie threw her sister an annoyed frown, even though the remark was valid. “I don’t have time to date.”
“But you do have time to maintain a calendar of Mom’s bill deadlines and doctor’s appointments,” Aria muttered.
Callie’s spine tensed. She poured herself a glass of wine and took a long swallow, appreciating the full-bodied red. Could anyone blame her for being worried about their mother, especially after Dad’s shocking car accident and a health crisis?
Eleanor had been subsumed by grief following her husband’s death, to the point where she’d wanted to close the bakery she’d spent years building. Thankfully they’d been able to rely on their friend Kate Rochester, who’d also been their employee at the time, but weeks had passed before Eleanor was ready to return to work.
Callie’s concern had intensified tenfold during Eleanor’s cancer scare and surgery. She’d known her mother would be devastated all over again not to have her husband at her side. Eleanor and Gordon had been high-school sweethearts and married when they were in their early twenties. The past year and a half had been the first time in her life that Eleanor was alone.
But Callie refused to let her mother be alone. If that meant making sure she had her doctors’ appointments in order and her faucet repaired, then so be it. She didn’t mind being a bit of a nag if she could ensure her mother’s well-being.
“Dinner’s ready. Sit down, both of you.” Unable to keep the tight note from her voice, she took the casserole out of the oven. “Given the state of the oven, the casserole might not be fully warmed, but I guess we’ll just have to live with it.”
“I could set you up, you know.” Aria sat down, tapping her fingers against the stem of her glass.
“With a guitar-playing hippie who pays his bills with money from a donation jar?” Callie rolled her eyes and placed the casserole on the table before sitting.
“Hey, no need to be elitist.” Unmistakable irritation flashed in Aria’s eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with using one’s talent to pay bills.”
Callie experienced a rush of shame. “All right, I’m sorry. But I do not want to be set up.”
“There’s no harm in a little matchmaking.” Eleanor handed Aria a serving spoon and joined them at the table.
“When I was helping out at the florist a few years back, a lot of businessmen came in to get arrangements for their wives and girlfriends.” Aria portioned out a large serving of casserole, her bracelets sliding up her slender arms.
“I especially don’t want to be set up with a man who has a wife or a girlfriend.” Callie snapped her napkin open and spread it on her lap.
“I mean, I can ask about their friends and brothers,” Aria clarified. “At the very least, you could go out and have some fun.”
“I don’t have time for fun.”
“You don’t want to have time for fun,” Aria corrected.
“Because I happen to be an adult with a professional career.”
“Which doesn’t preclude fun. Oh, I almost forgot.” Aria reached into her pocket and removed a smooth, glossy pink stone about the size of an egg. She passed it across the table to Callie. “Destiny asked me to give this to you. It’s rose quartz, also known as the heart stone. She says it attracts love and romance, and it’s also a powerful aphrodisiac.”
“Maybe I should get one.” Eleanor pursed her lips in thought.
“Mom.” Callie shook her head and studied the stone, which glinted with different shades of pink in the light.
“At least Mom is open to the idea of romance,” Aria pointed out. “Seriously, Callie, you’re thirty-two going on eighty.”
Callie tossed the stone on the table. “As I said, at least I’m an adult.”
“What, you’re implying I’m not?”
“You know, Margie’s daughter found a successful match on one of those dating websites.” Eleanor’s overly bright voice broke the sudden tension. “We could put up a profile for you and see what happens.”
“No.” Callie poured herself another glass of wine. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t want to be set up with a businessman’s friend or on a dating website. I don’t have time to date. I don’t want to date. I’m too busy with work and my book proposal right now.”
“And one day you’re going to look up and wonder where time went.” Tenderness darkened Eleanor’s eyes as she studied her eldest daughter. “I’m so proud of all you’ve accomplished, honey, but don’t let life pass you by. Your father wouldn’t want that either.”
Callie’s heart constricted. “Low blow, Mom.”
“No. Just the truth.”
“You know what Dad would have wanted?” Aria reached over the table to grab a basket of rolls. “A cat. And if you know of anyone looking to adopt a feline friend, I can introduce them to a purrfect companion.”
Both Callie and Eleanor obliged her with a laugh. Callie gave her sister a grateful look for changing the subject before she turned her attention to her food.
Though she was accustomed to her mother and Aria harping on her lack of a love life, she was usually able to brush off their remarks with a shrug and a laugh.
But today, for some reason—likely having to do with a tall, broad-shouldered man whose warm grip she still felt around her ankle—Callie couldn’t dismiss the idea quite so easily.
While she’d had a steady boyfriend in grad school, after starting her position at Skyline six years ago, she’d been so focused on her career track and research that she’d put any thoughts of a relationship on the back burner. She’d gone out on a few dates, but either the chemistry was off or the men just didn’t interest her enough that she wanted to pursue anything serious with them.
She wouldn’t admit this to her mother and sisters, but the truth was that for much of her life, Callie hadn’t wanted to settle. Though Greek myths often involved tragic love, when she was younger, she’d also enjoyed romance novels and their inevitable happy endings.
Combined with the model of her parents’ marriage, she’d dreamed of a lot from a relationship. She’d wanted the kind of long-lasting, deep devotion her parents had shared, but also everything else—zinging excitement, intense passion, the kind of starry-eyed love that she’d only read about.
But now that she was pushing thirty-three, she was both too old and too practical to believe that kind of love even existed. Tingles of pleasure, hot shivers, butterflies? Pshaw. That silliness was reserved for storybooks. Not the life of a tenure-track Classics professor who structured her life around planners, calendars, and schedules.
Never mind that she’d experienced a chaos of pleasure, shivers, and butterflies in an elevator encounter that very afternoon. Never mind that her heart sped up at the mere thought of the man whose grin made his strikingly blue eyes crinkle at the corners.
Never mind the hollow ache inside at the knowledge that she would likely never see him again.
Chapter 3
Jake Ryan stopped at the window of his rented beach cottage, his grip tight on his cell phone.
“You are dangerously close to destroying your career.” His agent’s voice rose over the bad signal and background noise of Los Angeles traffic. “And mine along with it. Do you have any idea how much money is on the table? A goddamned fortune. No way am I letting you throw it away. You need to lie low for a few weeks and let this shitshow die down.”
“You mean let people believe a fucking lie.” Tension shot down Jake’s spine. “I didn’t assault that asshole. Well, I did, but not because I was drunk. I’d do it again, too.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Richard snapped. “I don’t care. He’s threatening to press charges, and all of his cronies are jumping on the Big Bad Jake Ryan story. They love t
he idea of taking down one of the biggest action stars in the country…and the Fatal Glory franchise right along with it. Why you assaulted him makes no difference. You need to do whatever it takes to save your reputation, your career, and the franchise that provides a living for countless industry people and their children.”
Goddammit.
Guilt clawed up Jake’s throat. His agent knew exactly where to hit him where it hurt the most. Released five months ago, the sixth Fatal Glory movie was supposed to be the last one in the blockbuster franchise—until the studio, wanting to cash in on its continued success, green-lighted a seventh movie. The director of the previous five movies—a man who had been an excellent collaborator and friend to Jake—had opted out of directing Fatal Glory 7.
Jake was less than thrilled with the new director. The brash young kid had also insisted on co-writing the screenplay, which took the Blaze Ripley story on an outlandish and implausible trek that Jake found entirely ridiculous.
His agent and the studio execs didn’t care. Richard also knew that Jake wouldn’t abandon Fatal Glory for fear of putting so many people out of work. Directors, production crews, producers, marketing, advertising, even an amusement park ride…hundreds of professionals relied on the Fatal Glory franchise for a paycheck. Jake couldn’t be the one to tear the rug out from under them.
Yeah, there were always other jobs and opportunities—it was Los Angeles, after all—but Fatal Glory was as close to “a sure thing” as one could get in the unpredictable, insane world of Hollywood. Jake didn’t want to take that away from anyone, no matter how frustrated he was getting.
“You still there?” his agent shouted.
“The latest script is ridiculous.” Jake couldn’t prevent the edge to his voice. “Blaze abducted by aliens? He’s a Navy SEAL who rescues people kidnapped by drug cartels and terrorists. The movies aren’t space operas. The script is turning the whole story into a farce.”