by Jenny Jacobs
“Ooh,” Tess said, eyes shining. She was bouncing on the bed again. “That’ll be fun! I wonder what he’s got — ”
Greta would bet good money that his collection included a fine selection of dashboard hula girls and at least one object made of coconut shells. Tess caught Greta’s look and said more soberly, “I’ll give him a call and make arrangements.”
“Find out what his purpose is,” Greta said. That was usually Greta’s job, but it meant spending time with the client discussing his or her vision and planning how to achieve it, and Greta had no intention of being in Mr. Blake’s company for that amount of time. A vision of succumbing to temptation rose in her mind.
Stop that.
“I’m not very good at client relations,” Tess said doubtfully.
“Nonsense,” said Greta, giving her an encouraging smile and patting her hand. Tess could hardly balk now that Greta had capitulated. “It will be excellent practice for you.”
“Uh huh,” Tess said, then brightened. “So I guess I can tell Michael everything’s all set.” She paused and added, “Do you want me to let Colonel Blake know, too?”
“Yes,” Greta said before Tess had even finished the sentence. She was not now, nor ever, going to be eager to let him know he had won.
“I appreciate your doing this,” Tess said, dropping a kiss on her cheek.
“I’ll try to suffer through somehow,” Greta agreed. “But between this and that maid of honor thing, you and Michael will be indebted to me for life.”
“That’s just the way you like it,” Tess said. She glanced at her watch, made a sound of frustration, then scrambled off the bed. “I have an appointment with the florist.”
Greta watched as Tess scrounged through her bag for her keys. Every bride needed someone to restrain her when it came to floral arrangements. But Michael was busy, Greta knew, trying to get enough work done that he could take off two weeks for the honeymoon that he and Tess — not to mention Belinda — were planning, to celebrate the creation of their new family. She eyed her sister. She was not to be trusted buying flowers on her own.
“Great!” Tess said when Greta pointed this out. “You can help me decide about boutonnieres.”
“Terrific,” Greta murmured, sliding off the bed. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Chapter Two
Ian looked at the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who was standing in the middle of his living room. Tess, Michael’s fiancée and, as it turned out, Greta’s sister. It didn’t seem possible — she was the complete opposite of Greta. She sort of looked like she might read his fortune. Maybe she could tell him how things would turn out with Greta. Somehow he doubted anyone could guess the answer to that.
She wasn’t at all what he had expected when Michael said he had a fiancée. Someone like Greta would have made more sense. But then Ian would have had to steal Greta from Michael, and that was the kind of thing that tended to cause bad feelings all around, so it was a good thing Michael had done the unexpected.
Just an hour ago, she, Tess, had called him to share the good news, giving him a convoluted story about Greta finding room in her schedule to decorate his house after all. He suspected the sudden opening had to do with Michael and Tess convincing Greta to make the opening. When he’d asked to talk to Greta, Tess had hesitated and said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” which was as maddening as it was intriguing. When did an interior decorator decline to talk to a newly acquired client?
And because he’d obviously lost his mind in his transition to the civilian world, he’d said, “Oh, okay.” But that was only until he could regroup, determine the reason for Greta’s change of heart, and develop a new strategy for dealing with her.
Tess, standing in his living room, pushed her dark curls away from her face, her armful of silver bracelets chiming musically at the movement. “I’m just going to take measurements and check out the furniture you have in storage.” She dug a sketchbook out of her bag and flipped open the book. She began to work, asking him occasional questions about the house’s construction but mostly chattering about Michael, and how Michael talked a lot about Ian, and she was glad she had a chance to get to know Ian. Unlike Greta, Tess appreciated him.
Ian followed her from room to room and helped her take measurements that she meticulously noted in her book. She sketched the placement of the windows and doors, recording all the features — ceiling and wall fixtures, even the placement of light switches and electrical outlets. Then she took a digital camera from her bag and took photos, too. Finally, she put all her possessions away in the bag, which he regarded with some awe (how did everything fit in there?). Then she pulled her car keys from the bag and gave him an expectant look.
He looked back at her, puzzled. Now what?
“Part two of my reason for being here,” she reminded him. “Furniture in storage?”
Right. Furniture. “I’m storing the stuff at the Public Storage building on 23rd Street,” he said.
“I’ll meet you over there,” she said, heading for the door.
“Sure,” he said, realizing she was done here. “You bet. Meet you over there.” His fault for not noticing how efficient she was despite her appearance. A man expected Greta to be efficient, but not Tess. He wondered if, in addition to efficiency, Greta shared her sister’s warmth. He wanted to find out. It might be dangerous.
Ian rubbed his hands together briskly. Just what he needed to make the transition to civilian life interesting.
He realized he was alone in his living room. He grabbed his keys, then ran to catch up with Tess as she swayed down the sidewalk. In a few strides, he was at her side. “I can drive, save you the trip,” he said, indicating his sedan parked in the driveway.
“Sure,” she answered, putting her keys away.
If only it would be that easy to get Greta to go along with him.
• • •
Greta smoothed the pink silk dress over her flat tummy and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the dressing room wall. Refined. Polished. Sophisticated. Tess, staring over her shoulder, was a somewhat discordant element with her wayward curls and jangling bracelets, not to mention the brightly patterned outfit she was wearing. Greta sighed. She’d been shopping at the same clothing boutique for years. She wore the same size she always had. Her traditional, elegant style hadn’t changed much, either. Simple, classic, timeless.
She was sick of it. She wanted something tight-fitting, low-cut, and short. In electric blue.
She shook her head. She did not. That was merely an infantile response to a trying day.
“That looks nice,” Tess offered.
Nice. Greta resisted the impulse to shred the material with her bare hands. She repressed a low growl of frustration.
“I hate this color,” she said, despite the fact that she owned at least three outfits of the exact same shade. Or possibly because of it.
“At least I’m not asking you to wear a bow on your butt,” Tess soothed. Her attempt to be diplomatic brought an unwilling smile to Greta’s lips. It wasn’t something Tess attempted very often. “Since it’s just you and Belinda, I don’t care what you wear,” Tess went on to say, making a gesture with her hand that encompassed the shop — and possibly all of the shops in the entire city — outside the dressing room. “I really don’t care. Just try to avoid clashing with the bride.” She offered this last with her trademark grin. Since the bride was wearing an ivory confection she’d made herself, clashing with her would require a deliberate effort.
“Does Michael look gorgeous in his tux?” Greta asked wistfully, her mind moving automatically to the groom, who most definitely wasn’t going to clash with the bride. She could just imagine him, tall and lean, looking fit and handsome, smiling that devastating smile at Tess. Though Greta had always known she and Michael were destined
to be friends, she understood his romantic appeal perfectly. Michael had required Tess’s healing skill, not hers, but every now and then she wished — well, she wished there was a man who would wear a tux for her. An image of Ian rose in her mind.
She immediately crushed the thought as an unworthy aberration. She wished no such thing. Not at all. She was overtired and imagining things. Clearly she hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night. Fatigue, not loneliness, explained her out-of-sorts feeling this morning. Her life was perfect. She absolutely would not allow it to be otherwise.
“What is it, Greta?” Tess asked, putting a hand on Greta’s arm. It had been the two of them for so long, since they were children. Then they had both married badly, but they had seen each other through. Now Tess was getting married again and changing everything. Nothing would ever be the same —
To Greta’s horror, her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away as quickly as she could and sniffed discreetly. Really, she was being more ridiculous today than she’d been the last ten years combined. When had change ever bothered her? Life was change. Otherwise you grew stagnant and boring.
“Greta?” Tess asked again, squeezing her arm.
“It’s been just us for a long time,” Greta said, meeting Tess’s eyes in the mirror. “I think I’m trying to adjust.” It was hard to admit, but at least she was now under enough control not to burst into tears.
Tess understood, bless her. She nodded solemnly. Tess trying to be solemn was about as effective as Tess trying to be angry, but the fact that she tried made Greta’s spirits lift a little. “When I had Belinda, that didn’t mean you and I stopped being a team or a family. She added to us, she didn’t subtract or divide. Marrying Michael is the same. We’re still just one family. We have Michael now, that’s all.”
Tess spoke earnestly and despite her upset, Greta couldn’t help the smile that formed on her lips. “I wonder what Michael would say if I asked you to share.”
“Oh, come on, Greta,” said Tess, abandoning understanding compassion for give me a break, a transition that did not ordinarily take her this long to achieve. “You know he loves you. And you like him better than any other man in your life.”
There were no other men in her life, so that was easy enough. But it was true, Greta did like Michael. She always had. She’d known him for several years before Tess had detonated in his life and completely reorganized it for him, and in that time they had developed an affectionate, meaningful friendship. In some ways, Greta knew him better than Tess herself did. She probably loved him, or as close as made no difference.
“Still, it changes things,” Greta said, much as she hated to admit her unhappiness to Tess. She shouldn’t feel this way, when Tess was so happy. Or at least she should hide it better.
“I know it changes things.” The give me a break tone was still in evidence. Then Tess gave her a mischievous smile and said, “Now you don’t have to look after me anymore.”
“I never looked after you before.” This was one of their several long-standing arguments and bringing it up was a sign of how worried Tess was despite her teasing tone.
“Sure you did,” Tess said, making a minute adjustment to the neckline of the dress Greta was trying on. You should never try to pass off substandard workmanship when a seamstress was in the room, Greta thought, seeing Tess’s frown and knowing it was not for her but for the dress. “And now Michael looks after me,” Tess went on. She was perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation while offering a hands-on critique of a dress design but Greta found it distracting, so she flicked Tess’s fingers away.
“And you look after him,” Greta supplied.
Tess nodded. “And we all look after Belinda. Wait, I’m getting myself confused.”
“How hard is that?” Greta said, rolling her eyes and immediately feeling better. Tess didn’t take offense but started to laugh. At least one of them wasn’t a stuffy old curmudgeon.
“My point is, you feel like you’re on your own now because Michael and I are getting married.”
“I do have more free time now,” Greta admitted, trying to put a positive spin on the situation. “And I do worry less about you.” It was true, though not perhaps entirely fair, that she worried less about her sister now. But that hadn’t made Greta any happier, somehow. Because Tess no longer distracted Greta from her own difficulties, she was able to focus completely on her own life and not be entirely pleased with what she saw. Not to mention that now she saw the contrast between Tess’s life and her own more fully, if not painfully. Tess’s life was full, with plenty of love and laughter. And dogs. You couldn’t forget the dogs. People (and canines) needed Tess, but Tess didn’t need Greta anymore. No one needed Greta anymore. Not that Greta would have admitted under torture that her work was not enough to completely fulfill her.
“Maybe you should adopt a dog,” Tess suggested, as of course she would, laughing as Greta recoiled at the very thought. It was very well for Tess to have a menagerie. But a pet for Greta? Tess thought a pet was the solution to Greta’s problems? When Greta was lonely, it wasn’t a Shih Tzu that was going to help. “I know, I know, the filthy things track dirt all over and leave fur everywhere,” Tess said. “How about a cat?”
Greta’s outrage died. She had a vision of a fluffy, brilliantly white angora kitten curled up on the pillow next to her on the bed, purring while she worked, daintily eating an occasional treat from Greta’s fingers. The attractiveness of the vision alarmed her. She was turning into a cat lady.
“I don’t need a pet, for heaven’s sake. I’m not an aged aunt worried about outliving her usefulness.” That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Tess and her wedding stirred up all kinds of uncomfortable feelings that Greta had sensibly repressed for many years. She should never have started talking about it. The best way not to stir things up was to let them be.
“What about the dress?” Tess asked, wisely changing the subject.
Greta gave the pink dress a critical glance in the mirror. She would do — and had done — anything for Tess, but did that extend to wearing an elegant pink dress to her wedding? Did she look like a salmon swimming upstream to spawn? Or was that just her imagination, too?
“This dress is going to be fine,” she said firmly. She peeled it off and handed it to Tess, who carefully hung it up on the padded hanger. Greta stepped into her taupe pantsuit again and immediately felt better.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Tess said. When Tess was the sensible one, Greta knew she was in trouble. “You hated this dress ten minutes ago.”
And she’d hate it ten minutes from now, but that wasn’t the dress’s fault. “It’s just me,” Greta said with a sigh. “I loathe most things at the moment.” Weddings, pink dresses, men who wanted to hire her to design their new homes.
“You sound like you need a vacation.”
“I’ve had plenty of time off. I don’t need time off. And I don’t need a pet, either.” That seemed to cover everything.
“Then what do you need?” Tess asked, as if it were a simple question that could be answered with a simple solution.
Her treacherous brain responded with a flash of memory: Ian Blake’s gray eyes registering his approval of Greta. I’m not so old I couldn’t appreciate having someone think I’m beautiful and enchanting, too, she thought but absolutely refused to say out loud. She was thirty-five, and had been for several years, but she kept herself in good shape and though this college town was filled with gorgeous twenty-year-olds, she didn’t think she came off too badly in comparison. She knew her appeal wasn’t just physical. She was also intelligent and had interesting work that put her in touch with all kinds of people. All that had to count for something. But somehow men didn’t look at her the way they used to. The image of gray eyes with crinkles around them, cropped black hair, and an arrogant swagger returned to her mind. Sure, h
e found her attractive.
Grr.
“I need to get back to work,” she said lightly and hoped Tess would drop the subject. She checked her appearance in the mirror. Not a hair out of place. Of course not. She squared her shoulders and made her way out of the dressing room, Tess at her heels. Tess handed the dress to the shop assistant. “No decision,” she told the woman, and Greta didn’t correct her. Maybe she’d feel more kindly toward pink on another day. Or maybe she’d find something wonderful and surprising when she least expected it.
Right.
“Do you have anything planned for tonight?” Tess asked as they stepped out of the boutique into the crisp fall air. Crowds of shoppers milled along the sidewalk. No one was in much of a hurry and no one seemed to care that Greta had work that needed immediate attention. She still couldn’t quite grasp how Tess had shanghaied her from the command center and brought her here to try on dresses in the first place. Shouldn’t she have protested a little more effectively?
They joined the sauntering ranks. Saunter was Tess’s favorite speed, though it sometimes drove Greta mad. “Do you want to come over for dinner?” Tess asked, then added, “We could watch a movie afterwards,” as if that were an enticement.
“Finding Nemo?” Greta asked, knowing that was Belinda’s favorite movie. She knew Michael would come over too and he and Tess would snuggle on the sofa and look at each other with those revolting gazes of adoration that no non-participant should ever have to witness. Belinda would sit comfortably ensconced between them, belonging, beloved. Greta couldn’t quite see where she would fit. In the armchair across the room?