Northwest Romantic Comedies: Boxed Set Books 1-6

by Lia London

“Will this table be all right for you?” asked the hostess, smiling now.

  “It will have to do,” he replied. When she flinched, he added, “Is there a proper wine concierge, or will you be doing the honors?”

  “Oh!” Did the woman squeak all the time?

  Amaya lowered her brows at him for the briefest moment before beaming up at the hostess. “I’ll actually be drinking water tonight. Don’t want to get tipsy and trip over my feet out there on the floor.”

  The hostess laughed weakly. “Right.”

  “Well?” demanded Frank.

  Amaya’s pointed heel found his calf. It wasn’t the sensuous gesture of their last date, but rather a menacing effort to silence him.

  He pressed his lips together, willing himself to remain calm. If he got flustered now, he’d blow his persona. Without speaking, he folded his hands on the table and stared at the hostess significantly.

  She drew a deep breath and rattled off the names of four or five wines the house recommended with their specialties, and concluded with a hurried, “Shall I get you one of those, sir?”

  “I’ll try the Chablis.” The flinty taste would keep him from drinking too much. Fruity flavors weren’t compatible with his severe act.

  When the hostess departed, Amaya leaned on her elbows, fire in her eyes. “What’s with you tonight? You’ve gone back to terrorizing the staff. I thought we talked about this.”

  “Amaya, we did talk about this. It’s my job.”

  She retreated a few inches, her lips curved downward. “You aren’t allowed to be friendly in your job?”

  He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “My editor called. She demands I stay in character.”

  “But she’s not here.”

  Frank’s eyes darted around the room. He wondered if Becki had any informants in this establishment, too.

  Amaya sat back, her arms folded. “Frank, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he snapped. He caught himself and smiled an apology. “I’m just doing my job.”

  “So you said.”

  “And I need you to do yours.”

  “I see.” Her eyes clouded with obvious bitterness.

  Frank’s stomach clenched. How he hated Becki for her stupid demands.

  How he hated himself for being too much of an insecure coward to defy her.

  Mostly, though, he hated the way Amaya had looked at him, and wondered if he could ever win back her smile.

  Apparently, they’d traveled back in time to day one, and Frank Judd wanted to be Frank Grumbleygut again. What a fool she’d been to think he actually liked her. He’d simply taken advantage of her employee status to get some hot kissing in. Well, she wouldn’t fall for that again.

  “Are you all right?” His voice hinted at concern, though his eyes remained on the menu.

  “I’m thinking about my job. My other job.” She scanned the entrée list without interest. “This is final dress tonight. I should be running Sandra’s second act numbers.”

  “You told me you were available tonight.” He placed the menu on the table and studied her.

  Amaya withered. “Jenelle said I didn’t need to be there tonight.” Everyone knew what that meant. She’d never get to perform during this run. She’d have to wait until the new season to be worked into the main cast. “It’s the perk of being new, I guess. No one actually needs you.”

  “I do.”

  His tone sent a rush of hope through her. Maybe Frank Judd would make an appearance tonight. “Really? What purpose do I serve? Besides making you look good out there.” She hooked a thumb behind her at the dance floor.

  After a pause, he asked, “Isn’t that the best part of the job?”

  Job. The word drove a salad fork into her gut. “Yes, I guess.”

  Frank rose, his hand extended. “Shall we?”

  She fanned the menu in front of her face. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

  He shrugged. “They haven’t come to ask yet. Slow service, remember?”

  “Right.” She accepted his hand and let him lead her to the dance floor.

  The ceiling above reached higher here than over the dining area, chilling the air a few degrees. Blue walls and tiny spotlights on the black floor created the illusion that they danced underwater.

  A version of “A-Train” piped into the space in such a way that all noise from the dining area disappeared, and the low, sassy horns enveloped them with music. Frank led her stiffly through the most rudimentary swing moves before tucking her closer. She was about to push him back when his chin grazed her forehead.

  “I’m sorry I was rude, Amaya.”

  Ashamed at her own unkind thoughts, she melted a little nearer and rested the side of her head on his cheek. “It’s okay, Frank. Just unexpected.”

  “I thought you knew I was a boorish snob.”

  She chuckled and their eyes locked in a dance of their own. “What am I supposed to think of you, Frank?”

  His hand on her back shifted in the slightest caress. “That depends on where you’re coming from. What do you think now?”

  Relishing the shivers his touch gave her, she shook her head. “Nuh-uh. I asked you first. What’s your goal in all of this?”

  He spun her a quarter turn as they navigated around another couple. “All of this, the review assignment, or all of this something else?”

  “Is there something else?” Did she want there to be?

  “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  “What do your feelings tell you?” Even as she asked it, the subtle scent of his cologne ignited sensations she needed to extinguish.

  He hesitated. “I’ve never been very successful with feelings.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Feelings. I mean, what are they?” His eyes moved around the room, scanning the various couples. “Happy, sad. Love or loneliness. What are they?”

  Amaya stopped moving her feet, forcing them to be still for a moment. When he did not respond, she raised a fingertip to his cheek and gently pushed his head around to face her.

  He blinked slowly, the faintest sad smile playing on his lips. His confession came as a whisper. “I suppose I often feel alone.”

  “I know lonely, too, Frank,” she said. She resumed the dance, moving at his lead, her mind drifting back to Milo and all the others who had found her second best.

  The last refrain faded into a selection she recognized by Duke Ellington.

  “Shall we go order now?” he asked without enthusiasm.

  She nodded and followed him back to the table. Dancing in the arms of a man who didn’t love her worked fine onstage while she told a story and imagined she belonged in another world. On a date with an attractive man in a five-star restaurant, it just felt cold and depressing. She shivered involuntarily.

  “The air-conditioner seemed a bit high, don’t you think?” he said, holding her seat for her. “No wrap this time?”

  She shook her head, rubbing her palms down her arms. “No, it was warmer outside, so I assumed I’d be all right without it. Why do they even use AC? It’s Oregon. We only need it for two weeks in summer.”

  Before they could peruse the menu, a handsome, confident waiter appeared beside them. “Ah, you’ve returned. I hope you had a good time out there. My name is Marlin, and I’ll be your server tonight.”

  “Marlin, like Nemo’s dad?” Amaya grinned, thinking of the Pixar movie about clown fish.

  “Right!” Marlin smiled, pointing a finger at her. “And my girlfriend’s name is Dory.”

  “Get out! It is not!” Amaya’s mouth formed an O.

  Marlin gave her a sheepish wink. “No, it isn’t, but I tease her about it all the time.”

  Amaya chuckled until she caught Frank’s stern frown. She bit her lip and placed her hands in her lap.

  “If you’re quite through discussing animated personae, I’d appreciate your recommendation. I’m considering either the Pacific salmon or the Dungeness crab.”

  W
hile Marlin touted the qualities of each, Amaya stole a quick glance at the menu. Everything looked too fancy for her mood, so she closed her eyes, swung her finger subtly behind the menu, and pointed.

  “And you, miss?”

  She glanced down to see what chance had chosen for her. “I’ll have the … Gnocchi al Nero di Seppia.”

  “Very good.” Marlin took her menu with a small bow. He nodded to Frank. “I’ll have those salads out for you shortly, sir.”

  “Salads?” asked Amaya, unaware he’d ordered her first course for her.

  He mimicked her inflections. “Squid-ink gnocchi?”

  Amaya’s eyes widened with a gasp. “What?”

  Frank stifled a laugh. “Isn’t that what you ordered?”

  “Oh, dear heaven. Is it?” She covered her mouth. “I thought gnocchi was gnocchi. I’ve eaten it before.”

  “The ones here apparently come with ingredients you haven’t tried yet.”

  She shuddered, and then a giggle overtook her. “Frank, what am I going to do? Is it gross?”

  He reached across and patted her hand. “Maybe you should fill up on salad?”

  When his hand lingered a moment longer, she blushed. Frank Judd had returned. “I’ll try not to spew on your shiny shoes.”

  Frank tried not to find too much entertainment in Amaya’s reactions to her gnocchi, but her facial expressions prompted scathing descriptions in his mind, and he knew Becki would be pleased with his write-up this time.

  “Do you want some help ordering dessert,” he offered, suppressing a smile.

  “Can’t I just have a stick of mint gum?”

  “But aren’t you famished?” he teased. “You hardly touched your squid chunks.”

  Amaya laughed. “Oh, that sounds appetizing! Why don’t they call it that in the menu? They’d get twice the orders.”

  “I offered you some of my salmon.”

  “It smells funny.” She wrinkled her nose. “Besides. This isn’t the sort of place where you can eat off your date’s plate without getting some dirty looks.”

  “No, I suppose not.” He sighed. With one more dinner date on the schedule, their time together was almost over, and he couldn’t hold out hope for another invitation to Grammy MarLee’s house.

  “Sad again, Frank? I’ll eat dessert if I have to, but honestly, I’d rather go to Dairy Queen or something.”

  Her candor charmed him, and he stretched his legs to relax. At the touch of his ankle, Amaya folded her legs smoothly beneath her without acknowledging the contact. It was just as well. He couldn’t play footsies with a beautiful woman and expect to keep his head. Respect never came to hormonal neophytes. “I believe they have a simple scoop of French vanilla topped with a seasonal fruit compote.”

  Amaya snickered. “For a second, I thought you said compost. That’d be so very high class.”

  “With Oregon’s fervor for organic food alternatives, I wouldn’t put it entirely past them.”

  She dropped heavy eyelids. “If the stuff on top is green, you get to eat it.”

  Frank wheezed with mirth before exhaling a sigh. “Amaya, I shall miss you when I’m gone.”

  She nodded, her lips pursing in a slight frown. “Back down to Eugene.”

  “Yes.”

  “For good, this time.”

  “Alas, for better or worse, it is my home.” He coughed at himself when he realized he’d used a wedding phrase.

  Amaya shrugged. “It’s a nice town. I’ve danced there.”

  “Oh?”

  “At the Hult Center.”

  He bobbed his head. “Of course.” Many traveling concerts and competitions rented the space, the largest live theater stage in the state. “I thought you meant dance clubs.”

  “I don’t know any there.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Their words came clipped, distant. Even without ice cream, he felt cold inside. Empty.

  “One last dance before we go, Miss Amaya?”

  Her shoulders rose and fell without commitment. “I guess.”

  “You don’t like it here?” He feared it more probable she didn’t like him. “I can order the dessert quickly, to sample it for my review.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “Do what you need to do. Mind if I go to the little ladies’ room?”

  “Go right ahead.” He lifted himself halfway from his seat, but she had already stood to go. Sinking back, he smiled. “I’ll be here when you get back.” His eyes followed her as she glided through the tables, with a soft sway in her hips. Despite her stunning beauty, he ached for her, not like some beast conquering a co-ed on campus but for the way she made him feel: free to be himself instead of what others expected him to be.

  And yet here he was playing Grumbleygut on Becki’s orders. If he failed, he could lose his job.

  All his adult life, he’d yearned for respect and admiration. Now he just wished Amaya Jefferson could love him for the broken fool he was.

  “Blue toilet paper?” Amaya rolled her eyes at the elaborate décor. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She stood alone in the single-serve restroom, staring at the color-coordinated soaps and twinkling lights. “Is there anything more ridiculous than this?”

  She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the ambient light and frowned. “Yes, there is, Amaya Jefferson. It’s you thinking you mean anything to that boy out there. He’s going home to forget you, and you’re going back to the dance company.”

  Her stomach churned, but not because of the squid gnocchi. Even it couldn’t taste as bad as rejection.

  Taking her phone from her silk clutch, she saw a text from Charlene. Wish you were here. You are sooooo much better than Sandra in the finale. Hope your date is hot to make up for it.

  Unable to reply, Amaya stuffed the phone back into her purse and turned on the faucet. She splashed cold water on her face, patting it around her eyes to cool the swelling of tears she knew formed there. Drawing a few deep, calming breaths, she searched her mind for some way to end the date on a positive note. The dancing had been mediocre, the food bland when not disgusting, and Frank had been a million miles away, leaving a melancholy cloud in his place for most of the night.

  “Ice cream, Amaya. Just a couple of bites of ice cream, and it’s over.” She touched up her lipstick and mascara, then strode back out to find Frank.

  Ever the gentleman, he stood when he saw her coming and held out her chair.

  “I never told you about my good news,” she said with forced cheer.

  “That’s right. What happened?”

  “Two things, actually. I’ve been nominated for Teacher of the Year, and—”

  “That’s wonderful! You are very good. I saw you, remember?”

  She blushed at his words. “And Jenelle told me she wants to feature me as the lead in three of the pieces for our next concert.”

  “Wow!” Frank’s face shone for the first time all night. “Then I’ll have to come up and see your show.”

  “Really? Even if I’m only in three out of the ten pieces?”

  “I’d come watch you dance if you were only in one.” He stated it so matter-of-factly that she believed him.

  “That’s awfully nice of you to say.”

  “I told you last night you were the best one up there.”

  She swallowed a smile with a shy dip of her head. “You had to say that. You were holding my hand.”

  He tilted his head to one side, pulling his hands to the edge of the table. “I’m not holding your hand now, and I still say you were the best.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  “You have a tremendously promising career ahead of you, Amaya. I’m proud to know you. I hope you’ll remember me when you’re a famous star.”

  Her lips curved upward even as her heart sank. They would be strangers again after the last date.

  Marlin arrived with two tiny scoops of vanilla ice cream placed in elaborate silver serving cups and sprinkled with red and blue pieces of fresh fr
uit. As Frank slipped him the voucher and a credit card, Amaya tucked her linen napkin onto her lap for the last time.

  Before she could spoon a bite, Frank leaned over and touched her hand. “Amaya.”

  She wondered why the sparks flying between their hands didn’t melt the ice cream. “Yes?”

  “Would you think it forward or inappropriate of me if I picked you up at your home for our last review? I mean, rather than meeting somewhere?”

  The background music grew fuzzy in Amaya’s ears. “My place? Why?”

  “I hoped you could point out places of interest to you along the way. A personal tour, so to speak. It would maybe be a way to spend some time together … off the clock, so to speak.”

  Amaya grinned. “So to speak,” she teased. Tilting her head to one side, she folded her arms. “You mean time with Frank Judd, not Grumbleygut?”

  He answered by chewing his bottom lip shyly.

  “How much time?” Her heart beat faster.

  “You tell me. I’ll drive wherever you tell me to.” His gaze became intense. “I want to see the city through your eyes.”

  She reminded herself to exhale. “All right. It’ll have to be Friday because tomorrow’s opening night, and I need to be there.”

  “I understand.” He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb before letting go to pick up his spoon.

  Amaya’s muscles relaxed, as if melting her in his direction. “I hope the traffic won’t make you grouchy.” She winked and tasted the ice cream, rich and creamy on her tongue.

  “Your company will compensate.” He lifted a spoon of fruit-covered ice cream as if toasting her. “Now shall we taste this and get out of here as soon as possible?”

  She shook her head. “This is the first thing that tastes good. I’m going to savor every bit of it.”

  Frank gave her a wry smile. “All right, then. Take your time.” He waited for her to take another bite before gently brushing her ankle with his. This time, she didn’t pull away.

  “I forgot to mention Barth and Garold say hello.” Amaya nestled under Frank’s arm as they strolled to the street where she’d parked their car. Maybe she’d been wrong about being wrong, so she was right all along. As soon as they’d ordered dessert, he’d become a different man, and that reminded her of something Barth had said. “Barth says you’re the best writing tutor he’s ever had.”