All That Charm: (A Morning Glory Novel Book 3)

by Liz Talley

  “I can’t stay,” she said finally, wrapping her arms around herself so she could hold herself together. “I want to be with you, Nick, but not like this. Not as an ultimatum.”

  “I wasn’t trying to make this an ultimatum. I just wanted you to know where I stand, but I can see you’re not interested.” He walked toward the door.

  “That’s a lie,” she said, anger once again edging out the pain hovering nearby. “You don’t even realize what you’re asking me to do. It’s grossly unfair to lay down this choice. You’re not even trying to make this work . . . based on what happened with your ex-wife. I’m not her.”

  He turned to her, his face so disappointed. “I know you’re not. But you’re leaving me anyway.”

  Eden didn’t say anything. She watched him put his hand on the doorknob. Watched him turn it. Watched him open the door. Her heart crumbled as he stepped over the threshold onto the flaking balcony.

  But she didn’t stop him.

  Because she couldn’t start a future with him by cutting away part of herself.

  Before he walked away, he turned and pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket. “Your last check. Don’t worry about finishing out. Caro’s handling business so I can take Sophie to Disney World. Probably the only thing that will make this easier is Minnie Mouse ears and Cinderella’s castle.”

  Eden swallowed her tears. “I’m sorry.”

  Then she remembered. Sophie’s birthday party on Saturday. Oh God. “My flight leaves Friday night. I have a gift for Sophie. Will you take it to her?”

  He didn’t say anything. Just waited.

  Eden hurried to her room, praying she could keep it together for a few more seconds. A minute at most. Then she could sink down on the now-clean carpet and bawl her eyes out. She retrieved the package wrapped in purple with bright pink stripes and bow. She’d bought Sophie a vintage Mystery Date game. She’d told her stories about her, Lacy, Jess, and Rosemary playing it at their sleepovers, and Sophie had been intrigued by the game. Eden had planned on teaching her how to play, but now . . .

  She walked back into the living room where Nick waited. He looked so hard, so resigned. She wanted to throw her arms around him and beg him not to leave it this way between them. Why did she have to choose? Why couldn’t she have it all? He was being stupid. Obtuse. Arrogant. And fifty other adjectives she couldn’t think of at the moment.

  Nick took the gift. “Bye, Eden.”

  She didn’t say goodbye. Instead, she stood there and watched the question appear in his eyes. Would she stop him from walking out of her life?

  Eden couldn’t.

  So she watched him walk away.

  And then she left New Orleans without ever having spoken to Nick again.

  Eden rose from her table in the Marriott Starbucks and smiled at the woman carrying a briefcase, eyeing her table. Dropping her empty cup into the trash, Eden gave the barista a wave before pushing out into the madness that was Times Square. Then she went to her crappy job much happier than she’d been to leave it. Rosemary meeting her for dinner was almost as good as going home.

  Rosemary picked at her halibut and eyed Eden across the table of the SoHo restaurant featured in The New Yorker that past weekend. “So you’ve told me all about this equity and nonequity stuff and about the casting director who propositioned you, but you haven’t mentioned Nick at all.”

  “I don’t want to mention Nick. Let’s talk about you. When are you going to have a baby?” Eden asked, sipping her watermelon margarita.

  Rosemary made a face. “Okay, point made.”

  Eden laughed. She didn’t want to talk about how much her heart ached over Nick. It was bad enough to recount her failures as a nonequity actress whose agent had pulled strings and it still hadn’t worked. She needed more experience the casting directors all said. They all said to “Do summer stock. Take some classes. Jackson, Mississippi? Um, where’s that exactly?”

  “What have you done in the city so far?” Rosemary asked.

  “Let’s see. I took the ferry over to Staten Island and saw the Statue of Liberty. Took a few walks in Central Park. Went to Top of the Rock. And the M&M’s store.”

  “The M&M’s store?”

  “I like M&M’s,” Eden said with a half shrug. The entire time she’d been in the multilevel Times Square tourist trap, she kept imagining how much Sophie would like to make her own mix with the pink, teal, and seafoam candies. She started to send the child some but was afraid they’d melt in the mail. June was already hot. “Tell me about home. Have you seen Sunny?”

  “No. She’s been keeping a low profile, but she raised a lot for the animal rescue. Now Sunny and her volunteers are looking for property so they can build a kennel.”

  “Sunny won’t stay,” Eden said.

  Rosemary paused mid-bite. “Maybe she will, and if she doesn’t, she’ll have left something good in her wake.”

  “True.”

  “So what’s next for you?” Rosemary waved at the waitress and pointed to her empty water glass.

  “Same thing as yesterday. Work. Audition.”

  Rosemary nodded. “And that’s enough?”

  Eden stared at the couples sitting at the bar, smiling, drinking, involved in conversations that drew smiles or smoldering looks. “Sure. This is what I’ve always wanted. It’s not easy, but it’s the only shot I’m going to get to be more than what I am.”

  Rosemary didn’t respond. Instead she studied Eden, sipping her glass of merlot. Rosemary had grown to love red wine thanks to her husband. In fact, Eden’s friend had changed a lot since marrying Sal. Rosemary was more confident, less ruffled when things went wrong, more willing to try new experiences. Maybe it wasn’t Sal who had changed Rosemary. Maybe it was coming here. Or selling her pillow line to Trevor Lindley, HGTV designer extraordinaire, who would sell them in his exclusive East and West Coast boutiques.

  Finally Rosemary lifted a shoulder. “There was nothing wrong with who you were, E, but I’m glad you’re getting this opportunity.”

  “I never thought it could happen. Maybe Lacy did have something to do with it. She always told me I had to get out of Morning Glory. She believed I could make it here.”

  Rosemary released a deep breath. “I don’t want to speak ill of Lacy because she was my oldest friend, but Lacy wanted out. Traveling, leaving Morning Glory, chasing rainbows—that was what she wanted. She thought you were as trapped as she was.”

  “She wasn’t trapped.”

  “Yeah, she was. She came home from college after spending six years there to study for the LSAT, but she never made it into law school. Then she thought she would marry Jonathan, but he dumped her. Then she got cancer and she thought she would beat it, but she didn’t.” Rosemary swallowed the obvious emotion.

  “So she didn’t do what she said she would do. Lots of people take detours . . . and lots of people have bad things happen they can’t control. But you’re wrong about one thing—I was trapped too, Rose,” Eden said, wondering where her friend was going with the conversation. “You know how trapped I was.”

  “Yeah, you were. But then you weren’t. You went to New Orleans and you were happy. When I saw you in Morning Glory, after you got over the embarrassment of Betty showing her ass, you looked like a woman in love. Not to mention Jess said she’d never seen you more fulfilled as when you were performing at Gatsby’s.”

  Eden started to see the picture a bit more clearly. Rosemary liked a neatly wrapped happily-ever-after with a fluffy coordinating bow atop. “I was happy there, but this is New York City. This is Broadway. You can’t turn that down for being a nanny or for dancing with ostrich fans at a Bourbon Street speakeasy.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  “Because. Just because,” Eden said, her voice rising. She couldn’t believe Rosemary questioned what she was doing. So she wasn’t happy in Manhattan. Yet. Things would get better. She’d get a gig and she’d get to know Clair and Lauren better. Paying her dues. That’s what she was d
oing. That’s what everyone had to do to make it.

  “I’m not saying what you’re doing is wrong. You’re your own woman, and you have to make your own mistakes, but if you’re staying here because you think you have to, then you need to seriously consider what you want.” Rosemary imparted the advice easily. Yet there was nothing easy about what she’d said. In one breath, Rosemary questioned everything Eden was . . . or thought she was.

  “This is what I want.” Eden set her fork down and stared at the half-eaten shrimp taco. “I’m doing this for me. It’s the career I’ve always wanted.”

  And it was. Rosemary’s words weren’t going to change her determination to make it in this business. Eden would make it on Broadway. Even if it took years.

  Years.

  Of course, it might take longer. She’d met women in the cattle call auditions—standing in line since four a.m. just to read for a part—who’d been auditioning for ten years without ever being listed in a playbill. The thought of being nearly forty years old without any measureable success sounded depressing. At that age, Eden would almost be out of childbearing years. Not that she was set on having children. Okay, maybe in the fuzzy distant future with a faceless man and a neatly painted white house. Of course now she couldn’t even imagine that without that face being Nick’s and her house being on the lake in New Orleans.

  “Well, you know what you want. I thought maybe you were making yourself do this. Like perhaps you had to do it because you always said you would. Like my dad and the Corvette. You remember?” Rosemary lifted her eyebrows.

  Eden narrowed her eyes.

  “That’s all he talked about, and when Mama finally surprised him with one for his birthday, Lord, he whooped and carried on. Even bought a fedora to wear when he drove it. Had it one month before he told me he secretly hated it. Couldn’t swallow his pride and admit he was happier with his old truck. Remember when he ‘accidently’ ran over a stump with it?”

  “Kinda.”

  “The stubborn man drove that Vette for a year before he figured out how to get rid of it.”

  “This isn’t a Corvette, Rose. It’s my life.”

  “I know. That was just an example. Look, I want you to be happy. When I first saw you this evening—beyond being happy to see me—you seemed . . . kind of sad. But if you’re truly good with things, then I won’t bug you about your decision. Just don’t think you have to do this because people expect it. Dreams change. And that’s okay.” Rosemary took her hand, gave it a squeeze, and picked up the leather jacket containing the bill. “My treat. Got my first check from Trevor.”

  “In that case, I’ll let you,” Eden said, trying not to be defensive. She wanted to yell at Rosemary for putting doubt in her head. She’d clung so long to the notion she’d live in New York and work on Broadway, maybe do a movie if the money or part was right. She’d have things—a car, a nice apartment with a view. She’d date handsome ad execs and have loads of friends with which to spend Saturdays shopping at Barneys and having dinner at the Polo Bar. As a child she’d known it was far-fetched, but a kid had to have dreams, whether it was curing cancer, accepting the Heisman Trophy or becoming president. So how could this opportunity not feel right?

  Because you fell in love.

  The whispered voice she couldn’t silence. Rosemary’s words had only allowed the whisper to grow louder. But Eden wasn’t a crybaby or a quitter. She’d only been in Manhattan a short time. How could she know anything for sure?

  But you do know.

  There would be time for love, relationships, and happiness . . . after she did what she’d set out to do. If she didn’t give it a go, she’d be disappointed in herself for the rest of her life. How could she go back to New Orleans defeated? What would everyone think about a woman who has her dream within reach but passes it up because she had feelings for the first guy she’d ever been with? That would be stupid.

  Or it could lead to . . . happiness.

  “Is Sal happy?” Eden asked.

  Rosemary looked up. “We’re both happy. I never knew it could be like this. I mean, we fight sometimes. I nag him too much and he hates that. But yeah, we’re doing exactly what we want to be doing. Nothing’s passing either one of us up. Is this about he-who-must-not-be-named?”

  “He asked me to stay. He told me he loved me.”

  “Wow,” Rosemary said, her face softening in the low light. “That’s heavy stuff.”

  “Yeah.” Eden gave a flashbulb smile to the waiter who took the ticket and stalked away. “I didn’t know what to say. It felt like he said it to keep me there. Because I made life easier for him.”

  Rosemary paused for a moment. “I make life easier for Sal.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about Sophie and stuff.”

  “You think Nick told you he loved you to keep you as his nanny? That doesn’t sound like a man you would fall for, E.”

  “Who says I fell for him?” Eden snapped a little too quickly.

  “No one. And when I said I make life easier for Sal, I meant that I’m there for him. He has someone to go through life with, to support him and love him no matter what. It’s not about the material things or even the attributes I bring to the relationship. It’s about loving him. By doing that, his life is better, more meaningful . . . easier.”

  “So I’m supposed to give up what I want?”

  Rosemary shook her head and stood. “No, sugar. I didn’t suggest you have to give up what makes you happy. I’m suggesting you don’t look happy.”

  “Well, I’m definitely not happy now,” Eden grumbled, pushing back her chair and standing.

  “Hey, I bought you dinner.” Rosemary grinned.

  “And made me doubt everything I thought I was,” Eden said.

  Rosemary gave her a soft smile as her eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and love. “Eden, that’s what friends are for.”

  Nick climbed aboard the Learjet and sank down next to his sister. His parents shared the cost of the plane with a few other businesspeople. Made for travel with fewer restrictions and hassles at short notice. He and Caro were flying to Destin for a few days to consider a partnership with a former chef who wanted to open a restaurant along 30A. With Sophie off at camp and, for once, everything going well at all the restaurants, Nick was pleased to have a few days to stare at the emerald waters and read a Tom Clancy novel.

  “You barely made it,” Caro said, handing him a fishing magazine.

  “Traffic.”

  “Can I get you a drink, Mr. Zeringue?” a pretty flight attendant asked. She wore a smart navy skirt, white blouse, and a bright smile.

  “He’ll have the Pappy on the rocks, splash of water,” Caro answered for him.

  “Any particular year?” the woman whose name tag read Kelsey asked, her eyes dropping to take him in. He’d grown a beard and lost a little weight. He blamed his moroseness and lack of appetite directly on Eden.

  “The twelve is fine.”

  “I’ll see what I can do for you,” she said as she moved to the back of the plane, disappearing behind a retractable door.

  “I bet she will,” Caro quipped. “And maybe you should take her up on it. I’m tired of this mopey-recluse thing you’ve got going on. Like the beard. What’s with the beard?”

  “I like the beard, and I’m not interested in joining the mile-high club with Kelsey.”

  “Maybe I’ll join the mile-high club with Kelsey. I’m thinking about going gay. It’s gotta be easier.”

  Nick snorted. “I’m thinking it’s not easier and not really a choice. But if you think it will work for you . . .”

  “Probably not. I don’t want to fight over hair spray, tampons, and who ate the last of the Dove chocolate. Better stick to stupid men.”

  “Yes, stupid men.” He’d said it like it was a joke, but the thing was, he had been stupid. Like an idiot, he’d tumbled into love with the same kind of woman who’d stomped all over his heart years before—a woman who picked ambitio
n over love. Sure, it had been two and a half months since he walked out Eden’s apartment door, but it didn’t hurt any less. He really sucked at getting over a broken heart.

  “You’re all stupid. Easily led by your dicks but really useful when it comes to getting things off a high shelf or killing mice.”

  He gave her a flat look, took the whiskey glass Kelsey brought him, and opened the saltwater fishing magazine in his lap. He hadn’t thought about going fishing, but maybe he would. Dining on fresh fish sounded perfect. Or maybe he’d lie on the beach and exist on beer and potato chips. “I’m actually scared of mice.”

  Caro smiled as she killed her own drink. “I’m going to take a nap. I’m a heavy sleeper, so if you want to wash the taste of that nanny from your mouth with the hot flight attendant, I won’t wake up. Just don’t fall in love with her, okay?”

  Nick rolled his eyes as his sister pulled out a satin sleep mask. “I’ll try.”

  The pilot came on the speaker, told him about aeronautical things he didn’t care about, and then they rolled down the runway. Seconds later, they were in the air heading southeast . . . and Nick was left with that last thought.

  Washing the taste of Eden from his mouth.

  How could he? She seemed to surround him even now. He’d find a note she’d made about Sophie’s doctor’s appointment pinned to the corkboard by the garage or discover a barrette she’d left in the bedside drawer. Sometimes he thought he caught her smell on the air. All of it hurt like a bitch. If he’d been able to wash the taste out, it would have been done by now.

  She’d taken the gift he’d given her and tossed it out the window . . . all so she could go wait tables, audition for crappy off-Broadway plays, and pursue something that seemed lonely and . . . just wrong for her. Or maybe he thought that because he wanted to be so right for her. Maybe he really didn’t know her like he thought he did.