Northwest Romantic Comedies: Boxed Set Books 1-6

by Lia London

  “You look great,” said Emilio from the door. “Very handsome.”

  The boy’s solemn tone made Antonio smile despite his nerves. He chucked Emilio’s jaw playfully. “You’re the good-looking one in this family. You’ve got mamita’s eyes.”

  Emilio shrugged sadly. “I guess so. I don’t remember. I wish we had a picture of her.”

  “Me, too. I didn’t think of it.”

  “It’s okay, Tono.” Emilio hugged him around the waist. “You did everything else right.”

  Tears welled in Antonio’s eyes. His sweet little brother had used Gabi’s nickname for him and said he’d done things right. Could that be a sign that Zaira was waiting for him across the street after all? “Thanks, Emi. I love you more than anything. You know that, right?”

  Emilio nodded. “I know. But if you want to love Z and Gabi, too, I think you’ve got a big enough heart.”

  Overcome by the boy’s beautiful goodness, Antonio swept him up into his arms and squeezed him tightly.

  “Man, what’s going on in here?” asked Carlos, stopping in the hall to gawk at them.

  “Just a little love fest,” said Antonio lightly, lowering Emilio and tousling his hair. “You want a hug, Carlos?”

  Carlos snickered. “No thanks, you can give mine to Z. Hurry up, man. We can’t start the movie until you leave.”

  “All right. All right.”

  Antonio headed for the front door as the boys plopped down on the couch.

  “I wish we could come and see the Halseys,” said Emilio wistfully.

  “Yeah,” mumbled Antonio. “See you guys later. I’ll be home… I don’t know.”

  “Midnight,” said Emilio. “That’s your curfew.”

  “Okay.” Antonio stepped out into the night, aware that his suit did nothing to keep him warm. At least it wasn’t raining. He squinted past the pools of light cast by the streetlamps and shrank with discouragement. Zaira’s car was gone. With the last shreds of hope, he plodded across the street just in case she’d parked in a different spot than usual. But no. When he rapped on the front door and listened, there was no sound of movement inside.

  She was gone. Gone from the apartment, and most likely gone from his life except as an acquaintance he’d see in passing at La Casa. How ironic that sight of the beautiful nurse would probably make him feel sick from now on.

  He trudged back to his home and opened the door. “Hey, Emilio. Wishes come true.”

  Emilio tore his eyes from the TV screen. “Huh?”

  “You wished you could come to the Halseys, didn’t you? Grab your coats. We’re going to be late.”

  Zaira awoke from a hyper-focused fog to hear the GPS voice warn her to turn left. “Wait, when? How far away?” She scanned the road for signs of an intersection. On the left, low, forested hills rose, and to her right, the Willamette River nudged against the highway every few hundred yards.

  “Left. Left. Which left?” She peered ahead as an actual streetlamp appeared in the distance, illuminating a few squatty buildings she couldn’t identify. Traffic was light, and she saw the road in time. The turn took her bounding up a steep and poorly lit incline, and almost immediately, the GPS lady announced she needed to recalibrate the route.

  “Crap. Did I take a wrong turn?” She glanced down in time to see her screen flip to black with a graphic of a battery charged at only 3%. “What? Noooo! You can’t die on me now!”

  To her relief, the road deposited her in front of a large home with natural wood siding and a wrap-around deck. She frowned. There seemed to be an enormous amount of room for parking, though only a handful of cars were parked outside. Antonio’s Subaru was not among them.

  Zaira got out of the car and pulled the coat tighter around herself, examining the building. The front door was not readily apparent, but she figured if she walked around it long enough, she’d see signs of the party. She followed the slope of the walk which unexpectedly took her up to the second-floor deck. Rounding the first corner, she began to doubt herself. This strange house had no windows. Celebrities wanted their privacy, but wasn’t this a bit ridiculous?

  Suddenly, a door burst open, previously hidden by the siding, and a man and a woman stepped out, laughing. They paused when they saw her, and she buckled at their scrutiny.

  “Hello,” she said meekly. “Is … um, I’m looking for Antonio Seneca.”

  The woman, beautiful in a long dress, but overly made-up, squinted for a moment while she lit a cigarette. “Antonio Seneca?” She barked a laugh. “Ha! Aren’t we all?”

  Zaira hesitated. “He’s not here yet?”

  The man looked surprised. “Wait, you mean the guy from that Soap Star show last year?”

  “Y-yes.” Zaira couldn’t understand their confusion. Hadn’t this been a gathering of celebrity friends?

  “Is he doing live theater now?” the man asked the woman, ignoring Zaira.

  The woman shrugged. “I don’t know. But sign me up to play opposite him.” She chuckled and turned to Zaira. “Why would he be here?”

  “Isn’t this where the party is?”

  “Party?” The man waved away the smoke from the woman’s cigarette, and Zaira noticed he wore make-up, too. “This is a dress rehearsal for The Great Gatsby.”

  Zaira faltered. “It’s not…” She frowned down at her phone, now completely lifeless.

  “This is the Pentacle Theater,” said the woman. “You probably took a wrong turn trying to get up into West Salem. It’s another mile or two down the way.” She leaned closer. “Is Antonio Seneca supposed to be there?” With a wink at the man, she added, “I would totally skip the second act to go meet him!”

  Even in her desperation, Zaira knew better than to encourage party crashing a celebrity function, but she had to call Antonio, and her phone was dead. If she borrowed a cell phone from a starstruck fan, they’d have his personal number. She couldn’t do that to him.

  “Is there, by any chance, a land line where I could make a call?”

  Antonio tried to be happy. The Halsey home was inviting, but as he looked around the room, humiliation consumed him. To his left, stashed in a cozy corner away from the commotion, Daisy Parker, the barky director of Team Northwest, sat on the lap of a lean bearded man and cooed into his ear. To anyone else, they would be a completely unassuming couple, but he had known her commanding, no-nonsense side that didn’t seem to fit with mushy romance.

  He sank deeper into his shoes when he saw Crawford Andrews and his new model gorgeous bride warming themselves by the fireplace. Because of Crawford’s indiscretions with one of the judges, he’d been disqualified from competing in the show, yet Jill and Milo still included him in these festivities. It made the whole fiasco even more embarrassing because everyone suspected Crawford would have gone on to win instead of Antonio if circumstances had never come to light.

  Jill poked her head in from the kitchen with wide eyes. “Where’s your date?”

  Antonio shrugged miserably. “She didn’t come.”

  Jill rushed forward, her belly plumped a little with the baby, and wrapped Antonio in a tight embrace. “Oh Antonio, I’m so sorry.” She tugged him into a corner. “Oh my gosh, this totally sucks for you. And the cake is…Oh, Antonio!” She hugged him harder.

  “I brought the boys. I hope that was okay.” His voice was muffled in her hair.

  “Of course, it is. Are they downstairs already?”

  He nodded. “We probably won’t stay as long, considering.”

  “I totally get it.” Her hand slid into his for a sympathetic squeeze. “Well, your cake is going to be a big hit either way. Barth has been drooling on it since he got here.”

  “Barth?”

  Jill led him through the kitchen into the formal dining room and pointed at an attractive black man who was loading up a plate of hors d’oeuvres. “Barth is Amaya’s cousin, who is now dating Chieko. Can you believe those two and Parker came down all the way from Orcas Island for this?”

  Antoni
o gave a half-hearted look of surprise because it seemed the appropriate reaction. Where was Orcas Island, anyway? Did it matter?

  Jill’s smile did little to cheer him. “It’s going to work out. Worst case scenario, we turn this into an announcement of my baby’s due date.”

  Without enthusiasm, Antonio let Jill embrace the breath out of him one more time.

  “Oooh! You’re buzzing!” she said, pulling back.

  “Huh?”

  She tapped his chest where an interior pocket in his suit hid his phone.

  “Right.” He pulled it out and stared at the number. “What’s Pentacle Theater?”

  Jill’s eyebrow shot up. “It’s a community theater not far from here. They do pretty good stuff. I wonder how they got your number.”

  “Whatever.” He sniffed and slid his thumb to decline the call.

  “Hold on.” Amaya Jefferson came up behind him and rested her arm on his back. “Did I hear something about Pentacle?”

  “Hi Amaya.” Antonio couldn’t keep a smile from blooming on his lips. Amaya was a dark beauty like no other, gracious and elegant whether in sweats or a ballgown. “You look stunning as always.”

  “You’re one to talk,” she said with a wink. “Did you say Pentacle? Maybe they’re handing out tickets for the new show to random callers. If you don’t want them, Frank and I will take them.”

  “I already hung up.”

  “Call back.” She flashed her bright smile. “What’s to lose? If you get an automated call center, you say you made a mistake.”

  Antonio had no desire to fumble through a sales pitch, but denying Amaya’s lovely brown eyes went against his nature. He compromised. “Why don’t you call them back?” He handed her the phone and wandered into the kitchen.

  The Halseys had set up a long table next to the bar counter, so the spread extended in layers. “Wow, Mama Halsey, this looks like a wedding reception or something.” A knot tightened in his throat. It was just the kind of lovely, intimate setting he would have chosen, but now it would go to waste.

  Mabel looked up from stirring a crockpot of fancy meatballs and winked. “I hire out cheap. Where’s your girl?”

  “She didn’t come.”

  Mabel’s face darkened, and the stirring stopped. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. With too much perkiness, she jerked her shoulder towards the corner of the dining room. “I’m trying to convince Chieko and Barth to let me plan their elopement.”

  Antonio snickered and glanced at the petite Japanese-American woman who stood enveloped in the arms of the muscular, smiling black man.

  “He’s a doll. Or a giant puppy,” said Mabel. “You’ll love him. Go meet him.”

  Antonio’s heart sank, the small velvet box in his pocket burning into his palm. With a polite wave, he snatched up a cracker covered in some kind of crab and cream cheese concoction and made his way over to meet Chieko’s fiancé.

  “Hey, it’s Antonio!” Barth greeted him as he arrived. “I am so happy to finally meet you. Man, you were awesome on the show.” He elbowed Antonio conspiratorially. “I heard you got another reality show moment planned. When do we go live?”

  Antonio’s eyes flickered to the four-tiered cake frosted in red, pink, and white with a pearly heart standing atop it. “I uh…”

  “Leave him alone, Barth,” teased Chieko. She patted Antonio’s arm. “You nervous?”

  Did everyone know? Antonio blinked slowly. This was going to be more embarrassing than ever. “The whole cast hasn’t arrived, if you know what I mean.”

  “Well, late entrances don’t matter if she gets her line right,” said Chieko.

  Antonio grimaced, wishing he didn’t have to keep repeating his bad news.

  “Man, if you’re nervous, you should get some energy out.” Barth cupped his hands and called back to Mabel. “Mrs. Halsey, did your husband get the game set up yet?”

  Mabel waved a spoon at him. “Downstairs in the den. You can start the dance now if you want.”

  Barth nuzzled his nose into Chieko’s forehead, his broad shoulders shimmying. “Let’s get this party started. We’ve got a dance game rigged up, and everyone can play.”

  Before Antonio could protest that he had no partner, Barth rallied the guests to head downstairs. Antonio’s eyes connected with Amaya, and she lingered at the rear of the crowd. Handing him back his phone, she said, “I sure am glad you came.”

  “That’s your cousin?”

  “Barth? He’s everybody’s cousin, if they’ll have him.”

  His eyes found the corner where Parker and Guy still curled together in an overstuffed chair whispering to each other. “They look like they want privacy.”

  Amaya nodded and whispered. “He doesn’t do crowds well, but he’s super nice. Come on, let’s go on downstairs.”

  “Do I have to dance?”

  Amaya flipped her thick, glossy curls back and grinned. “Frank had to step out. I’ll be your partner for the first round, okay?”

  “Excuse me, are you Zaira Vasquez?”

  Zaira turned from staring over the railings into the dark woods to see a tall, slender man with a gracious air. Was he another actor from the show?

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I’m Frank Judd. We spoke on the phone a few minutes ago.”

  Zaira’s mouth dropped open. “I thought you’d send Antonio to guide me in.”

  Frank dipped his head apologetically. “We—Amaya and I—thought it would be easier if I came and got you.”

  Zaira nodded, disappointment seeping in with the cold night air. “Right. So, he’s…?”

  “At the ball.” He swept his hand toward the parking area. “If your chariot is ready, you can follow me. It’s a bit tricky without a guide.”

  Blinking back tears, Zaira considered the irony that both Tia Julia and this Frank Judd man used the analogy of a ball. She debated the pros and cons of returning home. If Antonio couldn’t even be bothered to come get her …

  “This way, please.” Frank extended a hand with such an elegant flair that Zaira took it, as if hypnotized by his charm.

  A few moments later, she wiped fog from her windshield with the cuff of her coat sleeve as she trailed after Frank’s black Lexus, barely visible on the tree-shrouded road. At the base of the hill, she considered turning right and driving back to Lincoln City. Who needed Valentine’s Day?

  She pressed her lips together, studying the shadowy outline of the man, Frank Judd, in the car in front of her. If she went the wrong way, would he try to follow her? She couldn’t ruin his night at the party of celebrities just because she was afraid and humiliated. Snapping her radio off, she hit the gas and followed Frank left into West Salem.

  Several minutes and dozens of winding turns later, Frank pulled into a long driveway that led to a century-old home with a huge porch and interesting gables on the third floor.

  “Thank you. I doubt I would have found this even with the GPS working,” said Zaira, stepping out of her car. “I’m so sorry to have been a trouble to you.”

  “Not at all.” He bowed with a suppressed smile. “You are most welcome.”

  Zaira managed not to scoff. She was a nobody, but he was treating her like a guest of honor.

  They walked up the steps of the brightly lit porch, and Frank whisked right in. “She’s here!” he called.

  Zaira hesitated at the door. The front room, toasty with a fire and festively decorated, was empty.

  Rapid footsteps sounded, and a pleasantly rotund woman with a flushed face entered. Over a maroon dress, she wore an apron with a black-and-white jersey cow pattern complete with udders on the front pocket. She gasped and clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh my goodness, are you Zaira? You’re even prettier than I imagined. Carlos and Emilio didn’t do you justice!”

  Zaira narrowed her eyes. “What?” Where were the celebrities? Why did this look like a family party?

  “Here, let me take your coat and purse.” The woman bustled up an
d helped Zaira to free herself from her jacket. “Oh, and that dress! You are absolutely lovely, dear!” She gently reached and patted Zaira’s French roll with her fingertips. “Just the right amount of tendrils. Oh!”

  “Mabel, I think you’re scaring her,” said Frank with a soft laugh. “Let me take her downstairs to meet everyone and see Antonio.”

  The woman held up a finger. “But—”

  “Don’t worry,” said Frank, taking Zaira by the elbow and leading her towards a staircase. “We’ll be back for the fun stuff.”

  Zaira’s stomach bubbled with nerves. “Who was that?” she hissed as they descended a staircase.

  “Milo Halsey’s mom,” said Frank. “Jill Ripley-Halsey’s mother-in-law.”

  Zaira gaped. “Jill Ripley!”

  “Believe it or not,” said Frank with a wink.

  Swing music blasted out as they reached the bottom steps, and a moment later, they entered a huge room, obviously a converted basement. Couches had been pushed back against the walls, and a large TV screen showed a dance video game Zaira didn’t recognize. A few couples moved around the space, laughing and trying to take their cues from the screen.

  “Do you dance?” asked Frank.

  Zaira shook her head, mouth agape. “That’s the model for…”

  “Crawford Andrews, yes,” said Frank. “And his beautiful bride, Maris.”

  “And isn’t that Chieko Makiguchi from the news?”

  “That’s the one. Her partner there is Bartholomew Jefferson, former star of the Oregon Ducks defensive line.”

  Zaira stepped closer, eyes wide. In the center of the room, Jill Ripley in the flesh swayed her hips with a handsome young man she remembered from the earliest shows of Who Wants to Be a Soap Star.

  “There’s my partner!” A lithe black woman in a velvety blue dress approached with open arms and kissed Frank on the cheek. “I’m glad you made it back!” She turned a beaming smile on Zaira. “I’m Amaya. You talked to me before you talked to him,” she said pointing to Frank.