Northwest Romantic Comedies: Boxed Set Books 1-6

by Lia London

  Frank hesitated. “I understand you’re giving up dance rehearsal time to be here, but … is there anyone else who gave you up so you could dine with me?”

  Amaya sat taller and washed the bite down with a sip of water. “You mean a boyfriend?”

  Frank rested back in his chair with practiced disinterest. “Yes, I wouldn’t want to put you in an awkward situation where—”

  She waved his concern away with her hand, and his heart jumped like a toddler splashing in puddles. “No, no. There’s no jealous beau about to bust in here and beat you up.” She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin, her gaze dropping. “No one’s ever jealous for me.”

  Frank bit his tongue and counted to three before answering. He didn’t want to sound unprofessional … or desperate. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  Her mouth twisted into a frown. “Guys don’t usually get jealous about their back-up girl stepping out.”

  “Back-up girl? Like a singer?”

  Amaya’s body shook with a single silent laugh. “I mean their crush number two or three or five or ten. Guys only worry about their number one girl, right?”

  Frank studied her. “I suppose. But haven’t you been anyone’s number one girl?”

  The features of her face seemed to flare for a second. “Now that is a personal question, Mr. Judd.”

  “I’m sorry.” He watched her in profile as she surveyed the restaurant and the other diners, her body rigid. What fool of a man had hurt or ignored her? He wished he could throw aside the review assignment and focus on unraveling the mystery.

  She turned back with an exaggerated sigh and a tight smile. “It’s all right. I’m busy pursuing my career. There isn’t any room for romance, you know. I don’t have time to be anyone’s number one.” She sniffed. “It’s a moot point.”

  Frank’s cheeks flushed with shame for having embarrassed her. Clearly, she’d experienced mishaps in the dating department. Patting the tabletop between them, he said, “Let’s pick a different personal question then. Why don’t you tell me about your Grammy?”

  “Grammy MarLee?” The tension in her body vanished, and she tilted her head like a puppy. “You remembered.”

  “I have my lucid moments.” With a half grin, he held out his hand. “Want to dance while you tell me? You know how long the main courses take to prepare in these places.”

  She stood before he could reach for her chair, and a moment later, he sank into the sensation of her closeness and the sound of her laughing descriptions of her rotund, wise old grandmother.

  He’d only sought a dining companion and dance partner, but as they moved together across the floor in a simple foxtrot, her presence answered needs he never spoke aloud. Needs he denied existed but that left him empty. Now, with Amaya pressed to his chest, each slow-slow, quick-quick pattern took him in a wider circle, opening his heart to new possibilities.

  As Frank placed the wrap on her shoulders, Amaya wished he’d leave his hands there for a moment longer. It surprised her that she didn’t want the night to be over.

  “So, no Saturday night, right?” Frank held the door open for her, and the chill night air assaulted her cheeks.

  “Oh. Right.” Why had she told him that?

  He answered as if he’d heard her thoughts. “Church in the morning with Grammy MarLee.”

  “Yes. I always go.”

  He nodded, shuddering at a sharp gust of wind. Walking beside her in the direction of her parking space, he sighed. “Then we shall have to wait until Monday.”

  Amaya frowned.

  “Oh.” He hesitated, squinting up at the ornate old street lamp. “I guess I failed to plan that far in advance.”

  “Eat and sleep at home.”

  “Right.”

  Amaya bit her lip, startled by the idea that jumped into her head. “You could always come for Sunday dinner with me. Grammy MarLee’s home cooking may not be posh gourmet, but it’ll fill you up with happiness.” Why had she said that? What would this fancy white boy want with simple comfort food?

  “Really?”

  She waved her arms in a backtracking gesture. “I mean, if—”

  “That would be … very nice of you.” His eyes shone with genuine appreciation. “If it isn’t too weird to bring your boss home with you.”

  Amaya breathed out a laugh and shouldered him playfully. “As long as you don’t boss me around while we’re there, we can pretend we’re real live friends.”

  “As if we know each other.”

  She giggled. “And as if we like each other, even.” Her breath hitched. How would he react to that?

  His hand touched her elbow gently, and his eyes were earnest. “I would enjoy that. Are you sure MarLee won’t mind?”

  Amaya’s heart pounded faster. “Oh, Grammy’s always bringing in strays off the street to feed. She’ll be happy to have an extra plate to fill.” His surprised expression made her laugh outright, and she tugged at his tie. “You don’t need to dress up or anything. Just come in your comfies.”

  “Comfies?” His hand still touched her elbow, and hers still rested on his chest.

  “You know. Stuff you don’t mind spilling gravy on.”

  “Gravy.” He gave her a skeptical smile. “Am I required to stain myself?”

  She made a show of loosening his tie. “You’re required to enjoy yourself and relax a little. Want to try it?”

  Frank’s hand caught hers where it lingered near his neck. “I’ll be there. Tell me when and where.”

  Chapter 6 ~ “A Tango Type of Kid”

  Frank second-guessed himself all the way home from the date.

  Review assignment. Not date.

  He sighed. It felt like a date with Amaya.

  What was it about her that tore down his inner walls and melted his spine into a puddle of acquiescence? She wasn’t an outrageous flirt. She gave no overt sign of being attracted to him. But he was starting to worry more about meeting Amaya’s approval than impressing Becki.

  It made no sense.

  Neither did the forty-five minutes it took for him to select something suitably casual to wear to Sunday dinner with Amaya’s Grammy.

  “What am I doing?” He dragged his hands down his face and leaned his forehead against the full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door. The pressure swung the door shut with a click, and he opened his eyes to stare blearily at his reflection.

  Jeans. Loose jeans and a white Hanes undershirt. A James Dean wannabe? He lacked the swag to pull it off. Aristocratic and aloof, he could pull off. Casual Sunday dinner with the family baffled and terrified him.

  Frank rifled through his drawers and found a dark green hoodie with a big yellow “Oregon Ducks” printed on it, complete with the Donald Duck-esque mascot quacking in fury. His mother had purchased it for him his freshman year in college several years ago, and he had worn it precisely once, during the first day of orientation to the campus.

  He pulled it out now and tugged it on. Shoving the sleeves up to three-quarter length, he examined the look in the mirror. Maybe he could pass for a man comfortable with strangers, casual, nonchalant.

  If he managed not to die of nerves first. He had never done well under pressure or in situations where he didn’t know what would be thrown at him.

  This whole Amaya mess was Jenelle’s fault. She’d shoved this crazy match on him.

  Match?

  He and Amaya weren’t a match. They were unwitting business partners.

  But she had invited him into her personal life. The chance to spend more time with Amaya unbraided his common sense. Something about her …

  But why had he consented to a gathering with a bunch of strangers instead of time alone with her? How was she going to explain him to her family? Was he supposed to act as if they were friends outside of their dance/date contract? What was that supposed to look like? What if the famed Grammy MarLee didn’t like him? What if he didn’t like the food? What if he did something to offend Amay
a, and she told Jenelle, or backed out of their remaining three dates?

  Restaurant reviews.

  “Aaaaaugh!” He sat heavily on the edge of his bed. From this position, he could see half of his reflection slouching in jeans and a sweatshirt like an undergrad. How would Amaya and her family respect him if he came dressed like this? He grunted and changed one more time.

  ***

  Frank pulled up three minutes early and stared at the simple ranch home in front of him. It had the shoebox quality of all the housing developments built in the seventies, and the well-kept yard brightly boasted a line of carpet rose bushes just turning out their first buds along the sidewalk. This was the kind of home his parents had dreamed of owning. The kind he had always told himself he would never buy because he would aim higher.

  Looking at its welcoming yard, he opinion loosened. There was a beauty in this simplicity. A feeling. Home?

  He stepped out, still hesitating, and rebuttoned his short-sleeved, pale blue dress shirt.

  With mixed emotions, he watched as the front door swung open, and Amaya bounded out, her arms stretched wide. She wore jeans rolled up to her mid calves and an asymmetrically-cut tunic blouse with gray and maroon swirls that shimmered as she moved. He suddenly felt horribly overdressed.

  “You made it! I’m so glad you found the place. There’s a lot of turns to get into the neighborhood.”

  Frank smiled, taken aback by the hug she gave him in greeting. “Oh, I trusted the navigation to the GPS.”

  “How’d we ever get anywhere before those things came standard, huh?” She patted the back of his shoulder, gently moving him down the path. “Come on. The gang’s all here and eager to meet you.”

  “Gang?” He swallowed. “How many people are we talking about?”

  “Who counts?” She waved her hand over her head. “We’re all friends and family, so we make room.”

  Frank grasped her arm. “Amaya, what did you tell them about me?”

  Her smiling eyes turned to his. “You nervous?”

  “Would you think less of me if I said yes? More than a little?”

  “Because we’re a big, black family?”

  Frank smiled. “I don’t care what color. I just don’t want to offend your family by doing something really stupid.”

  Amaya’s brows shot up, and he realized too late that he had completely revealed himself. Frank Grumbleygut never did anything stupid, but now she would see how flawed Frank Judd was. How utterly useless in a friendly social gathering because he hadn’t learned to make friends like normal people.

  Her gaze took on a tenderness that bewitched him, and he wondered why she had never looked at him like that before. If she had, he would have lost all composure in the restaurant, but now he wanted to stand like this for hours.

  “I told them we met through Jenelle, and you don’t know another soul in Portland but me.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry. They don’t bite unless you bark.” Pulling open the screen door, she called in, “He’s here, Grammy. We can say grace whenever you’re ready!”

  Despite Amaya’s assurances, Frank’s throat tightened as he entered the cramped entryway. To his right, a narrow kitchen showed signs of recent intense activity, and the scents wafting toward him warmed the spring chill from his skin.

  In the living room directly in front of him, two brown velour sectional couches lined the four walls, leaving gaps at the two points of entry. Spread out on these were multi-colored, crocheted afghans and six massive, muscular, black men ranging in probable age from late teens to Yoda’s uncle. Three of them wore University of Oregon sweatshirts exactly like the one he’d left at home. He cringed inwardly at himself for triple-guessing what to wear. What points of favor might he have scored if he’d worn the stupid sweatshirt?

  At the very end of the couch next to him, sat a tiny Asian-looking woman in business attire. They exchanged curt smiles, as if to acknowledge mutually that they were both out of place in their polished buttons and shiny shoes.

  “Everybody, this is Frank Judd, my friend,” said Amaya. “Frank, this is everybody.” She pointed at each in turn. “My cousins Barth and Garold—they will make it their life’s mission to annoy you if they can, so pay them no mind.”

  Frank nodded vaguely, mouthing the names of the young men who surveyed him with a glint of mischief.

  Amaya continued down the line. “My Uncle Erv and his buddy, Morie—both sports nuts, so brace yourself.”

  “Go, Ducks?” ventured Frank.

  The room rippled with laughter, and Amaya pointed to the next man. “Pappy—he can’t hear a word we’re saying—and little Shepard, named for the Good Shepherd, of course.”

  “Of course.” Frank’s mouth flopped for a moment. “Hi.” He couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say with the whole room staring at him expectantly. “I’m most likely going to forget all of your names, but I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  They all chuckled and nodded in return, and a knot loosened in Frank’s stomach. He glanced at the tiny woman. “I’m almost 100% sure you aren’t Grammy MarLee.”

  Her mouth split into a beautiful grin. “Chieko Makiguchi. I’m a friend of Amaya’s, too.”

  Amaya piped in. “You might recognize her from KGW news. She’s one of their roving reporters and a weekend anchor.”

  Frank’s eyes widened. “Really? A journalistic celebrity here among us!” If the gathering became awkward, maybe he could sneak off to the side and talk shop with Chieko.

  “Grammy? Where’d you go?” hollered Amaya, peering through the door that led down a hallway.

  “I’m right here!”

  Frank turned around to see the famous Grammy MarLee and found he couldn’t stop himself from smiling so wide it hurt his cheeks. She was the most spherical human he’d ever seen, and she came half-way up his chest in height. Her thick glasses made her eyes comically large, and her red, waxy lips framed the most kindly grin he’d ever seen. Dimples creased her coal-black skin, and her hands splayed wide like little, pudgy stars.

  Frank realized with astonishment that she intended to embrace him, and a moment later, he folded over her awkwardly as she tackled the breath out of him. “Frank Judd, so good to meet you!” she said, her voice almost musical. She clapped her hands. “Everybody ready for eats?”

  The men rumbled their approval, and MarLee squinted over at the old man. “Pappy, you awake over there?” she shouted, her voice still hinting at a melody. “Pappy?”

  Pappy grunted and nodded, rolling his lips over each other.

  “You ready to say grace, Pappy?” chimed MarLee.

  “Mm-hm. Ain’t I always?” He leaned forward, grasping the knees of the men who flanked him and using them for leverage to stand. Once on his feet, he lifted his gnarled hands in a gesture of supplication and closed his eyes.

  Frank watched as the others in the room followed suit. He was about to bow his head, too, when he felt Amaya’s hand on his back, and the tingling sensation it sent through him made his eyes pop wide. A sideways glance showed she stood ready for prayer, but her gesture to include him comforted his entire being. As foreign as was this experience, it felt wonderful. Tentatively, he lifted his hands a little and closed his eyes.

  Pappy seemed to sense everyone was ready and began at last. “Oh Lord God, we so happy to be here today with You …”

  As Pappy continued giving thanks for everything that had happened in the week, Frank marveled at the detail of the communication. Those in the room often added a “Praise You, Lord,” or an “Amen.” Frank became aware of a wavelike swelling of motion in the room, as the petitioners swayed to the cadence of Pappy’s gracious prayer.

  When Frank’s arms grew tired, he lowered them quietly. A moment later, he coughed with surprised when Amaya slipped her hand into one of his and rubbed a circle on his back.

  Frank’s focus no longer included the words of the prayer. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt connected
with someone in a way that transcended mere physical touch. She was speaking to him, sharing a piece of herself with him, and giving him encouragement to open up to something bigger than himself. Did she even know what she was doing?

  Amaya’s presence seeped past his skin to fill the empty corners of his heart, and it drove tears from his eyes.

  “Pappy used to be a preacher. He often has that effect on people,” murmured Amaya, standing close enough to Frank to shield him from the curious eyes of her cousins.

  Frank dabbed his cheeks with his thumb.

  Touched by his unexpected display of emotion, she reached up and unfastened his top button, leaning close enough to whisper. “Now loosen up a bit. You’re with family today.”

  She caught the way he froze when her fingers brushed the skin at his collarbone. With a blush, she said, “Ooops. Sorry. I went into Momma mode. Watch, I’ll be checking to see if you washed behind your ears next.”

  For some reason the sight of his unbuttoned collar made her heart flutter. How silly. He’d always been laced up so tightly for their dates that now he seemed exposed. And how odd when she, as a dancer, saw half-naked men in rehearsals all the time and never thought twice about it.

  Maybe it wasn’t the tiny patch of bare skin or the cologne, but the mystery in his eyes. Something had opened up in the wall behind them.

  Barth stood up and slapped Frank heavily on the back, giving a good-natured wink to Amaya. “Friends, huh? I see how it is.”

  Amaya punched at him. “Oh, Barth, what do you know?”

  He pointed at the door through which everyone crowded. “The food’s in there ’less you stayin’ out here to take your dessert first.”

  Amaya flushed with heat and tossed a playful kick at her cousin’s retreating backside. Inhaling a deep breath to mask her embarrassment, she reached a hand down to Chieko. “Come on, you two. This is going to be the best food you’ve ever eaten.”

  She nudged Frank with her elbow. “Even you.” She pressed them both in front of her as they filed into the dining room, biting her lip when she saw how flattering denim was to his rear end. Embarrassed by her own observation, she looked up to his face in time to see him bow graciously to Chieko and let her pass first.