Sugar and Spice: 3 Contemporary Romances

by Jenny Jacobs

  “I know why you wear them,” Tess said, rolling her eyes. “I’m just saying I don’t want to see one at my wedding.” She looked up and appealed to Ian. “Isn’t that a pretty color for her?”

  “She looks beautiful in anything,” he said. Greta’s head snapped up and her jaw dropped. She stared at him for a moment. The warm sensation on her skin started again. But she had been down that road before … She rearranged her expression and raised an elegant eyebrow. His remark sounded totally sincere. Paul had thought she was beautiful, too. In the beginning. She’d been suckered in before by an Army man who sounded totally sincere. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Ian clamped his mouth shut as if he didn’t dare let another syllable escape. She supposed she should accept his compliment gracefully but she wasn’t sure she knew how.

  “Aha,” Tess said, a speculative gleam in her eyes as she looked from one to the other. “But Greta would look even lovelier in this color, right?” she asked, touching the blue fabric. Greta gave her a wary look. She’d seen that gleam in Tess’s eyes before and usually it didn’t bode well for the recipient. “The fabric has given me an idea, Greta. I could make a lovely elegant sheath for you.” Tess was, of course, still talking about her wedding despite her claim that she wasn’t wedding obsessed. “I’m wearing lace and ribbons, all frou frou and furbelows, but a simple elegant sheath for you would be perfect. Forget the bridesmaids’ dresses and their dreadful necklines and bows. I can make you something gorgeous.” She said the words like a fairy godmother sprinkling magic dust and Greta had to dig her heels in hard not to believe in it.

  “I don’t think — ”

  “All you have to do is stand still for the fitting.”

  “Ian doesn’t want — ”

  “Ian, would you accept $200 for this yardage?”

  “Tess, he’s a client.”

  “He’s my friend,” Tess said tranquilly, despite the fact that she had complained unremittingly to Greta about his friendship. “And you’re not really treating him like your other clients, are you?”

  “He is getting special consideration,” Greta said, narrowing her eyes at Tess, whom she was going to have to strangle when they got home. Michael would never forgive her for it but then without him Tess wouldn’t have become wedding-obsessed and insane. If Tess thought Greta was going to ask a favor of Ian — oh, no, that was how trouble started.

  “Unless it has special meaning for you?” Tess added guiltily, looking up at Ian. “You may not want to part with it.”

  “I’m happy to part with it,” Ian said. “And $200 is fine. That’s probably three times what I paid for it.”

  “Get your checkbook, Greta,” Tess said happily, proving that not only Army men were masters of manipulation.

  • • •

  Ian noticed that Greta didn’t immediately reach for her checkbook the way she had insisted that he do so. He smiled and said, “You can credit my account.”

  “Perfect,” Tess said. She folded up the sari and set it on top of her bag. “What else have you got?” she asked, reaching for another box.

  “Tess — ” Greta said, a warning in her voice, but even Ian knew you couldn’t stop Tess.

  He was right. Tess had already opened another box. She plunged her hands in and came up with a photo album.

  Ian started at the sight. He’d forgotten that he’d packed that away.

  “That looks like personal belongings,” Greta said to Tess. She gave Ian a glance out of the corner of her eye but he didn’t say anything. It was personal, certainly, but it wasn’t private. Plenty of people had looked through the photo album, just as Tess was doing now.

  “Is that your dad?” Tess chewed the corner of her thumb as she looked down at the black-and-white photo. Ian knew it by heart: the faded image, the worn corners, the crease across the middle where his mother had folded it to keep it safe in her pocket on a long and harrowing flight from Southeast Asia.

  “Yes,” he said, his throat a little dry, his voice cracking a bit. He cleared his throat.

  Greta bent over Tess’s shoulder, her curiosity apparently overcoming her scruples. When she looked up at him, her face was composed but he could see the tears glistening in her eyes.

  “He died in Vietnam,” she said, and cleared her throat, too.

  “Yes,” he said. Pasted next to the photo was a yellowing newspaper clipping that he’d lifted from the newspaper morgue when he was a kid.

  “1968,” Tess said as she read the obituary. “The Tet offensive.”

  She was young enough that she said the phrase hesitantly, as if it were a little unfamiliar in her mouth. She looked up. “You never knew him, did you?”

  He didn’t have to answer that. All he’d ever known about his father was how impossibly young he looked in the photo and that he wore his Army uniform well.

  “Your mother is beautiful,” Tess said. “Is she Vietnamese?”

  “She was Thai,” Ian said. “She died when I was in high school.”

  Tess gave him a considering look. Ian saw Greta pinch her shoulder and he had to smile. Tess would ask anything but Greta had more tender sensibilities.

  “I take after my father,” he said, to satisfy Tess’s curiosity.

  “I can see her around your eyes,” Tess said, tapping the photo of his mother. “And of course your hair is so dark. You’re not as tall as your dad, either. Ow!” This in reaction to another pinch from Greta.

  “My mother didn’t know him very well,” Ian said. “So I never knew much about him. He married her, though.”

  A lot of G.I.s hadn’t. Tess turned the page. On the next one, there would be the marriage license that had mattered so much to his mother, signed by the Army chaplain, witnessed by a couple of enlisted men.

  Greta gave a betraying glance at the table she hated, as if she understood it better now. His mother had shaped him and he couldn’t help but be curious about — and partial to — the culture that had made her.

  “How old were you when you came to the US?” Tess asked. “Do you remember much about Thailand?”

  Ian shook his head. “I was about four years old. It was hard for women with biracial children in Southeast Asia then. She was able to find a missionary group affiliated with a US church to sponsor us.” That barely summarized what his mother had gone through in those days, for him, so he could have a future.

  “She must have been quite a woman,” Greta said. Tess closed the book but kept it on her lap.

  “She was,” he said.

  Greta raised her eyes to meet his. “You’re not half bad yourself,” she said softly, and if she’d flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, he would not have been more surprised.

  • • •

  An hour later, Ian found himself in his office, staring at his computer. His head snapped up when his administrative assistant knocked on the frame of his open door. The open door was something he’d learned in the Army and he did it to encourage communication. He usually remembered to shut it in time to yell at subordinates. But he was pretty sure making employees do pushups was frowned on in this organization.

  He wondered how long Stella had been trying to get his attention. He’d advised her that she needed to be direct and wave her hand in front of his face when he was preoccupied but she insisted on using discretion and decorum. Eventually she would learn the futility of that approach.

  “Yes?” he asked. The screen saver, which he knew she could see from the doorway, was showing fish swimming in slow motion across the screen so he couldn’t even pretend he’d been absorbed in his work.

  “Joel from Martin and Associates was wondering when he could see a copy of the curriculum.”

  Ian gave a guilty start. That was the workshop he was supposed to put on next month, custom-tailored to the company�
�s needs. He had a list of the company’s needs but he hadn’t done anything about them yet.

  “Uh,” he said brilliantly. “I’m brainstorming it right now.” Which was technically true, although he hadn’t been doing anything of the sort before she’d alerted him to the fact that he was staring into space, thinking about Greta.

  That didn’t get rid of Stella. She still stood quietly in the doorway. In her own way, she was as effective as an Army general, even though she didn’t have rank or authority.

  “I’ll email a tentative syllabus to them by close of business,” he promised, and then she nodded and left the room.

  He sighed and turned back to the computer, nudging the mouse to close the screen saver. The blank document he had opened earlier waited for him, still as blank as it had been when he’d arrived at his office.

  He was supposed to be brainstorming. Why was he spending even ten seconds thinking about an interior decorator? As long as she did the job, he had no complaints. And what had been the point of all that sharing this morning? He wanted Greta to see past her automatic rejection, to recognize that he was a real man with a real past, someone she could get to know, and in the process discover that he was not what she supposed. But surely there was a way to do that kind of thing without looking at old photos and making everyone all misty-eyed. For example, he could —

  He tossed a pencil at the computer screen. Why was he trying to think of various strategies and tactics he could use to get her to succumb to his very considerable charm? He didn’t understand it. He had never had to use strategies and tactics on a woman before. In the past, all he’d had to do was put on his uniform and smile. Very restful, the kind of woman who needed nothing more than a uniform and a smile.

  So what was he doing? Even though they did have their moments of connection — she was fighting hard. What was the point of trying to convince her to change her mind? Maybe it was the novelty of the situation. The reason he was thinking about her was because of the thrill of the chase. It would wear off. The danger was it might take about forty years to do so.

  Chapter Five

  “Ian’s the best man?” Greta demanded. It was bad enough that she had to deal with him for work reasons. But to have to try not to succumb during a social occasion wasn’t something she was prepared to do. If she’d known Tess would demand that, she would have reconsidered being her maid — or was it matron? — of honor.

  This morning’s visit to his storage unit had been bad enough. Especially when she found herself weakening, relating to him like she might to anyone, coming perilously close to actually admiring him. That was very dangerous. No, it was more than dangerous, worse than dangerous. It was stupid.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked Tess. That came out more like a whine than she intended. She winced. She willed herself to stand still and not stamp a foot in irritation. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to make a scene — they were in her bedroom where she could make all the scenes she wanted — but Tess was on the floor, pinning up Greta’s hem, and she wasn’t above sticking Greta with one of the pins. Besides, it was Greta’s own fault for letting most of Tess’s wedding chatter flow in one ear and out the other. Maybe if she’d paid attention, she could have avoided this. She didn’t quite see how, but surely something would have come to her. Maybe another skiing accident.

  “I told you an old buddy of Michael’s was going to stand up for him,” Tess said mildly, around a mouthful of pins. She’d been a seamstress for so long she could have a screaming argument with someone and not swallow a pin. Greta had seen this happen. She had even been on the receiving end of such a tirade once. Everyone had their talents. Greta had many talents, and that knowledge certainly kept her warm at night. She did not understand why she wanted to burst into tears.

  “All you have to do is walk down the aisle with him, resisting the urge to trip him,” Tess said, spitting the pins into the palm of her hand and getting to her feet. She circled around Greta, eyeing the hem critically and making minute adjustments that only she was capable of noticing needed to be made.

  “There. That’s even,” she said, smoothing the fabric at Greta’s waist. “Finally. You know, it would’ve gone a lot faster if you weren’t fidgeting so much.” She took a step back and made a twirling motion with her hand. Obediently, Greta turned around in a complete circle. Tess nodded in satisfaction, then sighed and said, “You’re going to outshine the bride. You’re so lovely. Especially in this dress, if I may say so myself.”

  “Nonsense,” Greta said, though privately she agreed the dress was beautiful. She reached for the zipper in back. “Look at you. You’re young, you’re sweet, you’re full of life. I’m a middle aged crone fighting a losing battle against the gray.”

  Tess helped her slip the dress off, then tossed it over her arm. Greta knew she’d bring it home to finish it. Where she found the time to work, take care of her daughter, spend quality time with Michael, plan a wedding — it gave Greta a headache just thinking about it. But that was how Tess liked her life, crammed full of activities and people — and dogs. Greta repressed a delicate shudder. You couldn’t forget the dogs.

  “Fine,” Tess said, rolling her eyes at Greta’s comments. “If you’re middle aged, I want to look like you when I get there. Listen, I was paying a compliment. You’re supposed to say, ‘Thank you, Tess.’”

  “Thank you, Tess,” Greta said. She really was an ungrateful wretch. Tess deserved every good thing and if she liked to cram her life full, then that was her privilege. Just because Greta’s looked a little empty by comparison was not Tess’s fault. “I do appreciate your making that dress for me. It’s much better than the other options we considered.” She grimaced at the thought of the pink dress she’d almost purchased. At least she’d been spared that. The blue dress Tess was making was a little slinky — not a look Greta usually cultivated — but at least there was nary a bow in sight.

  Tess leaned over and kissed Greta’s cheek, which made Greta feel unfortunately like an aged aunt. She preferred being a middle aged crone. “It was easy to make,” Tess said. “It’s a very simple design.”

  Greta doubted very much that it was that easy, but she didn’t say so. Tess liked doing things for people, and so long as Greta — or anyone else — didn’t take advantage of her, what was wrong with that? Tess had a generous nature, despite experience.

  “Two weeks,” Greta said meditatively as she slipped into her taupe pantsuit. “You’re marrying Michael in two weeks. I can hardly believe it. Seems like just yesterday, that barista — ”

  “Kevin,” Tess supplied helpfully, handing Greta the low heels she ordinarily wore.

  Greta put the pumps she would wear with the dress in a shoebox to protect them until the big day. Listen to her: the big day. She was an enabler, that was what she was. She couldn’t blame Tess for becoming a bridezilla if she so blatantly encouraged the behavior.

  “Right. Kevin.” Greta could picture him: reddish hair, bearded, cheerful round face, encouraging Tess on the path that had led to this. “He was giving you pointers about men. Wearing your hair down, letting your true self shine through. Did you ever thank him?” She straightened the suit jacket as she slipped into her shoes, a small sigh of relief slipping past her lips. There. Now she was her usual self. Ready to face the day. Even Ian couldn’t disturb her now. And he better not try.

  “Are you kidding? Kevin thinks he’s responsible for the blessed event.” Tess patted Greta’s arm. “But I know who the fairy godmother really was.”

  “Hmpf,” Greta said, repositioning the pins that held her hair in a smooth chignon. “Anything I can do to help with the festivities?” She meant but did not say “anything else.” She was already sacrificing a considerable amount of time, effort, and energy by agreeing to deal with Ian uncomplainingly. She glanced in the mirror over the dresser to assure herself the armor was in place and fully i
ntact. Everything was just as it should be.

  Tess shook her head. “I’ve got it all under control.” Greta met Tess’s eyes in the mirror. Tess’s definition of under control and Greta’s were entirely different, but this was Tess’s wedding, so Greta wouldn’t interfere unless — until — she was invited. “I’ve even found the perfect use for Michael’s mother,” Tess added, flashing with her trademark grin.

  “Oh dear.”

  “She’s not as bad as that. In fact,” Tess said with a mischievous glint in her eye, “she reminds me a lot of you.”

  “Oh, thank you.”

  “I mean it in a good way,” Tess said, her tone contradicting her words. “You know … blonde, elegant, freezingly polite, overencumbered with organizational abilities. I just shake my head and say, ‘How will I ever?’ and off she goes. She thinks her son is marrying an artistic ditz, but it could be worse.”

  Greta had met Mrs. Manning once during the course of wedding planning. The experience had resulted in a draw. Greta would bet good money Mrs. Manning believed she won her encounters with Tess when an observer would probably note that Tess seemed to come away victorious each time. One of Tess’s talents was making you think you were getting what you wanted.

  Glancing at her watch, Greta collected a folder from the bed and tucked it in her shoulder bag. She had several on-site meetings this afternoon, which would take her mind off — well, everything her mind needed to be taken off of.

  “I think Mrs. Manning does like you,” she said carefully to Tess. It was hard to say with Michael’s mother. Greta put her daily planner in the bag and glanced around the room to see if there was anything she’d forgotten.

  “Oh, sure, except for the part where I obviously bewitched her beloved only son senseless,” Tess said.

  Greta couldn’t really blame Mrs. Manning. Michael had acted in an entirely uncharacteristic manner when Tess came into his life. “I think when Michael’s father died, Mrs. Manning just boxed up that part of herself and put it away.” Tess gave a shrug that indicated resignation, understanding, and disbelief all at once. “I think she expected Michael to do the same after his wife died.”