Wrapped Up in a Beau

by Angelita Gill

She put her hand on the door handle. “Nightcap?”

  “One more drink and I might have to spend the night.”

  She leaned over the console, so close to his face the barest trace of her perfume tickled his nose. Warmth. Roses. The heat from her lips, a mere inch away. Kiss me, damn it. You know you want to.

  Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “One more drink…and I might have to do more than kiss you.”

  He heard her laugh as he scrambled out of the car. He felt like a teenager sneaking his girlfriend into the house. Once they were inside, he showed her to the den. “The good stuff is in here.”

  Greta removed her coat and flipped on the light. She gasped with a smile. “And so is your grandfather.”

  Christopher, who’d nodded off in his chair with a photo album in his lap, woke with a start, frowning. “Huh? Oh, you scared me. What are you two up to? Sneakin’ around like cat burglars.”

  “Sorry, Grandpa. I came in for Dad’s secret bourbon stash. A stash that’s obviously not that secret,” he added seeing the opened bottle sitting on the desk.

  “I only had a sip!”

  Mason gave him an amused, skeptical glance, fitting the plug back in the bottle. “If Mom catches you—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Save your breath. She went to bed hours ago.”

  “Do you want me to take you to your room?”

  “I’d rather sleep in here.”

  He gave a half-smile, and turned for the door. “Suit yourself. We’ll leave you alone…”

  Instead of following him, Greta took a seat on the leather sofa close to his grandfather’s wheelchair. “What’s this?” she asked, gesturing to the album.

  “Some old pictures.”

  “May I?” At his nod, she picked up the heavy book and opened it. A very old pamphlet was laminated on the first page. She was immediately intrigued.

  His grandfather pointed a crooked, arthritic finger to the brochure. “World’s Fair, 1940. The World of Tomorrow,” Christopher explained, watching her interest. “In New York.”

  “You were there?” she exclaimed.

  “Yes, sugar. I was nineteen, joined the army, and some buddies talked me into driving to New York City for the fair.” His eyes crinkled at the memories. “We thought we were such men back then, but we were nothing but stupid kids from the Georgia back country. The things we saw, wow. And the girls! We hadn’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  Greta’s eyes lit up. “Tell me! I’d love to hear about New York in 1940.”

  Well, it was easy to conclude he wasn’t going to have Greta to himself for a while. If at all. Besides, he never knew his grandfather had been to a world’s fair, and clearly the old man had a rapt audience in Greta.

  Christopher laughed at something she said, which caused him to cough and wheeze. When he tried to reach for the bourbon, Mason slid it away, shaking his head. His grandpa shooed him, then gave his attention back to Greta. “They called it ‘Dawn of a New Day’. The whole theme was based on the future. Not flying cars and cell phones or any of that riffraff, but bigger ideas about what it could be. The first day it opened, it was hot as the devil, but I got to see Roosevelt’s speech. Made it worth sweatin’ in my uniform.”

  Mason shrugged out of his coat and sat down in one of the chairs. “You saw Franklin Roosevelt?”

  “Eh, I was too far away to actually see him, but I was there. I did see Einstein though. His speech wasn’t nearly as interestin’. Not to me anyway. I was a soldier, not a scientist.”

  One by one, Greta turned through the pages, smiling and pointing at old photographs of Christopher, who told her each and every name, rank and job of the men photographed. Mason watched as his grandfather came to life talking about his youth. Even at his old age, he remembered a remarkable amount of details.

  “Look at those shoulders!” Christopher pointed to a picture of himself. “I was a lady-killer. Now look at me, shoulders caved right in.”

  “You were very handsome. Still are,” Greta commented, smiling. “You look like Mason in this picture. The hair, the stance. It’s uncanny.”

  Christopher squinted down at the photo. “Let me see that.” She held up the book. He lifted his glasses to his face and peered close.

  Mason came up beside the old man, studying the picture of his grandfather dressed to the nines in a suit, one hand in his pocket, profile averted. Proud, confident, maybe even a little arrogant. They were definitely related. “Mm. I don’t see it.” He winked at Greta.

  “Me either!” Christopher scoffed, then also winked at her.

  She shook her head with a smile. While his grandfather started telling stories to Greta about his time at the fair and in the military, Mason lounged in a chair, watching the two.

  He’d never been bested by his elder for a woman’s attention before, but he could admit defeat when he saw it. There was no way he was going to seduce her tonight. He wished his parents were there to see the old man so happy, so engaged. All because of Greta.

  She really did have a way with the Renclair men.

  The next day, late Sunday morning, Greta tightened the silver bow around Sophie’s Christmas present and tucked it in among the pile of gifts under the tree in the main house’s family room.

  “Ready to go?” Sophie asked in the doorway.

  “Ready. Let me grab my coat.”

  Greta planned to accompany Sophie while she ran some errands, and then they were having lunch. She wouldn’t see Mason until later, as he claimed he had some shopping to do. Had Christopher not been in the den last night…well, who knows how the night would’ve ended? She might have kissed Mason and one thing could’ve led to a very intimate other. Instead, she sobered up listening to Christopher’s stories, wheeled him up to his room and found Mason snoozing in the chair when she got back.

  She left him there, not wanting to disturb him for an awkward good-bye. In any case, she needed to think.

  He told her he would keep things simple. But the more time she spent with him, the more her emotions tangled with her desire.

  And she didn’t like that.

  On the way to the florist, the radio announced a snowstorm could be headed to Swan’s Crossing. It wasn’t anything to worry about yet, according to the deejay, who warned it would blow through town during the night and be gone by mid-morning.

  “Just what we need,” Sophie groaned. “More snow. Get ready to be trapped in the guesthouse. You won’t be able to climb over the mountain in front of your door.”

  “Should I store canned goods?” Greta joked.

  “Ben will make sure the plows clear the driveway for you.”

  “I don’t mind being snowed in. Would be the perfect time to catch up on some reading. By the way, let’s stop at the market. I’ll pick up some comfort food. I would hate for Ben to feel obligated to shovel his way to the guesthouse just to bring me soup and crackers.”

  Sophie laughed. “He would, too! That sweet old soul. I’ll tell you a story. Mason and I had built a fort in the woods behind the house. My mother hated it. Even though you couldn’t even see it from the house, she thought it was an eyesore. She wanted to hire a carpenter to design a new one! She couldn’t understand why we wanted something we built. No matter how shoddy it was.”

  “Building a fort with your brother. How adorable.”

  She smiled, keeping her eyes on the road. “So, one night during the summer it started to rain. Mason and I thought we would brave it out in our fort. Then we saw Ben coming. I can remember him fast-walking with his umbrella across the backyard and we thought we were in trouble! It wouldn’t be the first time our mother sent him to come get us. But he walked up to our fort, pulled out some sandwiches and a walkie-talkie then went back in the house and called us. Pretended we were spies, reporting on my parents’ whereabouts. It was so fun! Ben’s the best.”

  Greta’s heart
squeezed. She wished she had fun memories of her childhood to share, but none with any significance came to mind. Her youth included a lot of books, plenty of time by herself and no children her age to play with. Though she made up for all that alone time when she grew up. She had many friends now, and was so glad Sophie was one of them.

  They’d arrived at the florist, and Greta helped pack several elaborate gift baskets in the backseat. They were stuffed with wine, cheeses, fruit, jam and chocolate. “Who are these for?” she asked as she got back in the passenger seat.

  “Our tenants on Fourth Street. We own a small apartment building near the park. Six units. They all live alone but they’re like a little family. Every year I bring them a basket. My mother used to do it, but I took over a few years ago. She wanted to sell the building, but I wouldn’t let her. Who knows what kind of landlord would take her place? So I told her I would do it.”

  When they pulled up to the brick apartment building, Greta couldn’t help but smile. They each carried a basket and started at Apartment A.

  “Come in, sweetheart! I’ve been waiting all day for you!” hollered the plump Mrs. Larkin. “Who have you brought with you, Sophie? She looks like a movie star.”

  Greta smiled at the old woman. “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Larkin,” Sophie spoke in a loud voice so the woman could hear her. “Remember? Greta the nanny.”

  The woman laughed. “Oh yes! Sophie’s told me all about you. Mainly because I’m an old, boring woman who likes to live vicariously through young people.”

  “From what I can see,” Greta noted, reflecting in the cozy apartment that was wall-to-wall with ornate frames and antiques, “there’s nothing old or boring about you at all.”

  “Sweet girl! She’s a good liar too.”

  Sophie and Greta laughed.

  In apartment B resided Mr. Matsumoto, a Japanese man who showed off his refurbished cuckoo clock, and pictures of his new grandson, who’d been born on his birthday. He thought this was a good omen and convinced Greta to have a shot of sake with him to celebrate.

  Lively Mr. Marshall on the second floor in apartment C had a shocking head of silver hair and a true love of classical music. He insisted on putting on a quick concert for them, playing several fanciful songs on his violin, bowing deep at their standing ovation. Greta hadn’t known delivering gift baskets could be such an adventure.

  Once they picked up a few things at the supermarket, they decided to stop by Galore to say hello to Leo. When Greta saw the closed sign hours before the shop really shut down for business, she turned to Sophie, who appeared equally baffled.

  When Mr. Thompson came out to salt the sidewalk in front of his camera store, Sophie called out to him. “Why is Galore closed?”

  Mr. Thompson’s face was grim. “Leo collapsed this morning and got sent to the hospital. Think he had a heart attack or something.”

  “Oh my God.” Greta’s hand went to her chest. “Is he okay?”

  The balding man shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s at Saint Anne’s. With no one there to run the place, I took the liberty of locking it up for him for now.”

  “Oh, poor Mr. Rossi,” Sophie sympathized, squeezing Greta’s forearm. “We should go to the hospital.”

  When they arrived at Saint Anne’s emergency room, Sophie knew the attending doctor, and they were told Leo was resting. Though she wasn’t allowed to go in, Greta saw him through the hospital room window with several loved ones at his side. Her eyes filled, devastated for them as well as her friend.

  Sophie came up beside her, linking her arms in Greta’s. “He had a mild heart attack. He’s out of the woods, don’t worry. The doctor said he’ll be okay. That’s his daughter and son-in-law in there.”

  Greta’s smile was weak. “He’ll be happy to see her.”

  Leo’s daughter, Lena, and Sophie had gone to high school together. Sophie introduced Greta to her. Lena explained how her father had talked about Greta and Mason, and thanked her for helping out. “My husband and I will stay as long as we can. My brother should be here next week. We’re going to take turns taking care of Galore while Papa gets better.”

  “I would love to help any way I can,” Greta offered.

  Lena smiled and squeezed her hand in appreciation. “That would be wonderful.”

  That night, Greta lit a candle, got down on her knees and said a prayer for Mr. Rossi. Her heart broke as she thought of him sick, days before Christmas. It wasn’t fair. He deserved better. Her little vigil might not make a whole lot of difference, but she’d always been a believer in prayer.

  Tears threatened, and she sighed heavily, rising to stand.

  It was too easy to get attached. Especially in a place like Swan’s Crossing with its quaint surroundings…a place that had delighted her from the beginning. It would be harder to break away from the people she was growing to care for.

  Like Leo, Christopher, Anne…

  And Mason.

  Especially him.

  He had her so tied up in knots, she didn’t know where she began and ended. Which was so unlike her—to be this emotional, this careless.

  Maybe I should go, she thought. Before I get in too deep.

  What about Sophie? She’d be crushed if she left without a good explanation. How could she explain leaving so abruptly? Sophie wouldn’t understand her true reasons. In a way, even I don’t.

  In the end, she knew Sophie would be disappointed, but would accept her decision.

  However, Mason was another story. He’d make her explain. Gazing out the window, she knew if she was going to leave Swan’s Crossing, she had to do it now, before the storm. She pulled out her suitcases, flipping them open.

  She’d call Sophie in the morning.

  As for Mason, well, perhaps she would send him a text message while at the airport. Coward. A text message? She had no idea what she would say. I had a lovely time. Please understand I had to leave early for personal reasons?

  It all sounded ridiculous. But she didn’t have time to articulate a good-bye now.

  A half hour later, her luggage thrown in the rental car, she tucked the key to the guesthouse under the mat. As she backed out of the guest driveway, and turned into the main drive, her chest tightened with swift regret. The main house in her rearview mirror, she avoided looking back. This was best.

  Good-bye, Swan’s Crossing.

  Chapter Nine

  By the time she made it down the winding road from the estate to the main drag out of town, the inside of the windshield had fogged up, making it difficult to see. And the roads were icy. Frustrated, she wiped the glass with her gloved hand.

  When an oncoming car’s headlights beamed straight in her eyes—zooming past her like a bat out of hell—she swerved a little too much to avoid a collision, and her rental started to do a tailspin. “Oh no!” Steering a panicked left, then a hard right, Greta held her breath while physics took over and the vehicle turned 180 degrees, then forced the Mustang straight into a ditch, the nose of the car buried. Recovering, realizing she was okay, she fell back in her seat with a groan.

  Brilliant. Now she was stuck in a ditch with a storm approaching. So much for her quick getaway.

  She shifted the gear to reverse, but her tires only spun. And she definitely couldn’t go forward, unless the vehicle was mysteriously equipped to tunnel through snow.

  Lights shone through her rear window and she brightened. A good Samaritan!

  She pushed open her door and climbed out, trying to find her footing on the awkward slope, her eyes on her feet. “Oh, thank God. I thought I’d be stuck out here—” Only to be hauled up with strong hands nearly nose to nose with a very handsome, very familiar face.

  Mason.

  “Are you hurt?” he cried.

  Her mouth dropped open. Out of all the people, it had to be him?

  She started t
o speak, but nothing would come out.

  His eyes assessed her with fast concern. “Greta, I asked if you’re hurt. Are you all right?” He gave her a little shake, as if to snap her out of shock. He couldn’t know that she’d had rougher rides on the teacups at Euro Disney.

  “I-I’m fine. Was that you I just passed?”

  “Damn straight it was me. I turned around as soon as I saw it was you. What the hell are you doing driving this beachmobile when a storm is about to hit? And how come you were heading away from town?”

  She pushed him off, needing space, and feeling guilty she got caught running away. His concern and care for her well-being blazed a new guilt inside her. Defense was her first instinct. “Obviously I’m not the only one out on the road. If you weren’t driving like a demon, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Do you always drive like that on precarious roads?”

  “I know these roads blindfolded.”

  “Well, it certainly appeared you were driving that way.”

  “You’re avoiding my question. Where were you going this time of night?”

  She floundered for a lie, but the truth insisted on coming out. “The airport.”

  He blinked, confused. “You’re supposed to stay until Christmas. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. I want to go back to England.” She grabbed her cell out of her pocket, wishing she could improvise a more articulate excuse. “I need someone to pull me out of the ditch.”

  “Wait. Talk to me.” He took her by the shoulders, stilling her. “What happened? Don’t push me out. I need to know what brought this on. I don’t understand why you’d leave without telling me.”

  Even with his gorgeous eyes pleading for an explanation, Greta didn’t respond.

  He sighed, dropping his hands. “Sophie told me about Mr. Rossi, and how you two went to visit him this afternoon. I would’ve gone myself but I was taking care of a few things. I was on my way to see you. To see if you wanted to help his family at Galore while he’s recovering.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” She stomped away from him. “I can’t! I shouldn’t be any more involved. I have no right to intrude in people’s lives when I’m leaving in a week.”