by Susan Ward
“Do you think you might want to do this again?” he asks out of the blue.
I tense. “Breakfast?”
His lips quirk in a sexy half grin. “It can be breakfast, if you want, but I was thinking along the lines of other things as well.”
“Are you asking me if I want to date you?” I blurt out.
“Something like that.” He looks calm, amused, in control, and I’m panicking. “You don’t have to decide now, but I’d like to do this again. Be prepared for me asking you.”
My pulse jumps, and I don’t know why I’m not shooting him down. I watch as he stands and holds out a hand for me.
“This has been wonderful, but I can’t eat another bite. Are you done?” he asks.
I can’t do anything but nod. It all happens so fast—one minute he’s asking if he can date me and the next ending our breakfast.
“I should probably get to work,” I say, putting down my napkin.
“Then I should get this packed up and me out of your way.” His fingers slip around mine and I’m being assisted to my feet.
He’s close to the booth so when I stand I’m practically on him and his fingers tighten around mine. My nostrils fill with his scent. It’s clean and lightly fragranced of laundered clothes and subtle masculine body wash. It’s intoxicating.
“Are you free for dinner tonight?” he whispers.
My mind reels.
Somehow his arm has come around me, holding me to him while his fingers softly trace on my back. He’s staring into my eyes and for a moment, or maybe minutes, I can’t tear my gaze from his beautiful mouth. Like that, I want him to kiss me.
One of his hands moves to my chin.
“I warned you to be prepared I was going to ask you out again.”
My mouth is dry. “Yes, but I didn’t think today.”
He laughs. “Neither did I.”
His breathing is harder than usual, and I’ve stopped breathing altogether.
“I should probably let you go,” he says quickly, but his body doesn’t move and neither does mine.
“Probably.”
There is something intense between us. Real. Almost tangible. And I don’t know where this pulling current between us came from. It’s a tether holding me to him, and I wonder if it feels the same to EJ.
His eyes burn into me, then his mouth closes over mine, mine trembling and his supple and tender. I tell myself to slap him or jerk back, but neither happens. I melt into his body, my hand slipping behind his neck.
“EJ,” I implore, but my lips don’t leave his. “Please…”
Our kiss deepens, the mold so effortless it locks us together with delicious perfection. It feels wonderful, familiar, almost as if it’s something I’ve missed.
He eases his mouth back and I pull away, my body shaky from unsated want.
He leans his forehead against mine. “Willow, I’ll pick you up at seven. Is that OK?”
“No, but come anyway.”
I don’t wait for his soft, husky laughter to fade.
I slip around him and hurry toward the back office.
Chapter Ten
Willow
“OH MY GOD, JADE, do we have to talk about this now? I’ve told you I’m sorry. Can we finish this later? I’m working.”
I make a misstep, ram my hip into the corner of a vacant table, nearly drop the tray in my hands, and swallow down the fuck! that rockets to my mouth. Damn, I shouldn’t have left the house without my sensible sneakers in my tote. Trying to work the lunch rush in the stylish heels Ivy forced me to wear to breakfast; not a good thing.
“You’re always working, Willow,” she says, exasperated and annoyed. “Exactly when are we supposed to talk about this?”
“The lunch rush is over in an hour. I’ll call you back then.”
“No, you won’t. You never do. You’re very passive-aggressive when you don’t want to deal with things.”
I’m passive-aggressive?
Oh really?
I blow the straggling hair from my eyes. “What I am is overworked and under-loved.”
Heat rushes my face when I realize what I said.
“Don’t make it sound like that’s my fault,” she says petulantly, and inwardly I groan. “Gary would have helped you sell the bar a long time ago. And I’ve been trying to set you up with my friend for weeks. You can correct both being overworked and under-loved if you want to.”
“It’s no one’s fault. It’s just how it is.” With my phone pinned between my ear and shoulder, I lean around customers to set plates before them.
My tray empty, I turn to go back to the kitchen and pause, my gaze straying to the sidewalk in front of Mel’s. It’s so odd to see it vacant. After breakfast, EJ hasn’t been back today. I don’t know what to make of that.
“I don’t want you going through Dad’s things without me,” I hear Jade admonish then sniff in her trademark close to crying alert.
“I’m almost broke, sis. I need to rent it out.”
“That doesn’t mean you have a right to get rid of everything without my input. We’re sorting through Dad’s possessions together. And that’s it. He left you the building but not his personal possessions. You didn’t even consider I may want a keepsake of him. He was my dad, too, Willow. I don’t want you going inside the apartment and touching so much as a single item again without me.”
For a second time in the five-minute call she makes me feel awful. Six months and this hasn’t been an issue. Why today? “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have asked you before I started clearing out Dad’s place. I wasn’t thinking. We’ll do it together.”
There’s a loud sigh of relief through the phone. “Thank you. I’m not trying to be difficult. I just want to be there for you when we do this.”
“You’re right. We need to be there for each other.”
“Now, hold on. Let me check my calendar. Hmm…my schedule’s packed for the rest of the week with party planning. I won’t have any time until after this weekend.”
Of course you won’t. I snort to myself.
“Then we’ll figure something out next week. I’ve got another order up. I’ve got to go.”
“But I’m not finished yet. There’s something else we need to discuss,” Jade announces. “I’m going to be at Tracy’s in two hours. Meet me there.”
I start loading plates onto my tray. “Tracy’s Salon? Is that a joke? Even if I did get pedicures, I wouldn’t in the middle of the workday.”
“It’s the only free time I have for us to talk.”
I stifle the urge to laugh. “You could drop by the bar after you’re done. We could go up to Dad’s then and talk about whatever it is you want to.”
“My next appointment is in the other direction or I would.”
I hoist the tray up to be held by one hand. “Then we’ll do it another day.”
“Pedicures?”
I roll my eyes. “No, talk.”
There’s a prolonged silence through the phone.
“Meet me today, Willow. It’s important. There’s something you need to know before the party Saturday and I don’t want to tell you by phone.”
I don’t like how she says that. Alarm shoots through me. “Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Not by phone, Willow. See you at Tracy’s, OK?”
Worry obliterates my resistance. “OK.”
“See you then!” she chirrups cheerfully and hangs up quickly.
I’M BREATHLESS FROM hurrying across town when I plop down in the massage chair beside Jade.
“OK, what’s so urgent I had to leave work to come here to have a face-to-face with you?” I gush, hanging my bag on the hook on the arm of the chair.
Jade slowly opens her eyes and turns to face me. “This is a stress-free zone. Can you lower your voice? Why don’t you pick a color and then we’ll talk?”
A color?
Not happening
.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t have time for a spa pedi. The only reason I came here is you sounded as if it were something very important.”
“It is.” Jade’s expression turns serious and her gaze darts around the shop as if she wants me to take notice of how crowded it is. Or maybe it’s because she thinks I’ve caused a scene or something. “I’d really feel better discussing this if you were a bit calmer. Pick a color. Put your feet in the tub. Unwind a bit, otherwise I don’t know if I can tell you.”
I frown. “Is something wrong with Gary or the kids?”
She shakes her head, lightly touching her eyebrow with two fingers. A gesture that warns she is going to tell me something I don’t want to hear.
I lean closer to her chair and take her hand. “It’s OK, sweetie. Just tell me.”
The pedicurist sitting on the stool at Jade’s feet lifts her face, scowls at me, and points. “You pick color.”
I look over my shoulder to see what her angry finger is gesturing toward. A sign. Massage chairs are for customers only.
Oh, for Pete’s sake.
“Just get French tips,” Jade suggests. “You have such long toes. It makes them look daintier than a solid color.”
“You want French tips or this? Pink. Look very beautiful on you,” the nail tech adds. “You want basic pedicure or salon?”
“Pick one or she’ll yank you from the chair,” Jade warns. “They’re very strict on their rules here. And I don’t want to have to rush this conversation.”
Great. I can’t win against both of them.
“Basic pedi. Clear color. No French tips.” I say, not even knowing what a basic pedicure is. I don’t do salons. Who has time? This is Jade’s sinful indulgence.
I slip off my heels and drop my feet in the water.
Jade smiles and closes her eyes.
She exhales loudly. “Relax, Willow. Everything feels less awful when you’re doing something nice for yourself.”
“Exactly what do I have to feel less awful about?”
Jade’s serene face scrunches up. “My anniversary party Saturday.”
I frown. “Why would your party make me feel awful? I’m happy for you and Gary.”
“I know. That’s what makes what I have to tell you so horrible.” She sniffs loudly, dramatically. Her lids lift and her eyes lock like a laser on my face. “Tell me you have a date for my party. That you won’t be there alone. It will make it so much easier for me to tell you what I have to.”
I haven’t got a clue what to say to that, and in all honesty, I don’t want to answer since I can’t figure out how all those incongruities fit together—her anniversary party, my having a date, and that making her feel less awful about something Jade thinks I don’t want to know.
I attempt to maintain an indifferent expression but I can feel the scowl threatening. “I don’t have a date for your party. I told you. I don’t need one.”
“It’s not too late. I can arrange for my friend to be your escort.”
“No, Jade. I’m perfectly fine going alone. Are you going to tell me what’s up or not?”
She takes her champagne from the side table, downs half, and stares at me over the rim. She lets out a ragged, tortured breath as if she’s bracing herself. “Dean’s making an announcement at my party.”
An announcement?
So? I shrug.
“He and Sasha got married last weekend in Tahoe—”
My hearing starts to hum at the word married. Not because I care what Dean does, because I don’t, but I’m confident there’s no escaping some sort of reaction when your ex marries the woman he cheated on you with. A normal auto-response to someone getting a happy ending at the cost of you being screwed over. Nothing more.
I shake my head and run my fingers through my hair. “That’s what you dragged me down here to tell me? That Dean got married. I couldn’t care less. He’s been living with Sasha for two years. It’s not surprising they got married. I’m happy for him.”
Jade’s mouth twists up. “No, that’s not the bad part.” She lifts my complimentary flute from the drinks table and forces the champagne into my hand. “He wants to announce their marriage at my anniversary party because all their friends and colleagues will be in one spot. I told Gary no way. But they’re friends.”
What?
I must have heard her wrong.
Even Dean isn’t insensitive enough to do that.
My breathing becomes slightly irregular. “Let me see if I heard you correctly, Jade. My brother-in-law is going to allow my ex-husband to announce his marriage to the woman he cheated on me with, at my sister’s party while I’m there in attendance. Is that the serious something you wanted to tell me? What I left work to hear?”
Jade’s eyes are as large as saucers as she nods. “Now do you see why I had to tell you this in person and why I didn’t want you at my party alone? Why I’ve been pushing you to bring a date. The only thing more awful than what Dean’s got planned is you looking alone while he does it.”
Oh fuck, she’s right.
PEDICURES TURNED INTO manicures and now we’re shopping. Jade probably couldn’t have dragged me along if I wasn’t in a semi-fog over Dean and Sasha’s impending announcement.
I stare at myself in the full-length mirror outside the fitting room in the trendy downtown boutique that’s Jade’s favorite.
“I don’t need this dress, Jade. It’s Versace. Even if I had someplace to wear it, I can’t afford it.”
She squeezes my shoulders, putting her cheek close to mine as she stares at my reflection. “You look gorgeous. It’s my treat. I told you it’s my apology for Gary letting Dean do something so heartless to my sister. Let me do this so I won’t feel so terrible about this.”
I scan the mountain of clothes in the buying it stack.
“Really, I don’t need it. I’ll be fine. It’s no big deal. It’s not like I’m hurt or anything. Divorcing Dean was the best thing I did.”
Jade juts her chin. “Don’t pretend to me. It’s going to be awkward and painful when they make their announcement, and I could just spit nails that Gary’s letting him do it. But we don’t care. We rise above, don’t we, Willow? And the best armor a woman can have in life is being beautiful and feeling beautiful. Screw Dean. Look beautiful. Feel wonderful. That’s what I say.”
“I’m not like you, Jade. I don’t need expensive clothes to feel better about myself.”
She pouts. “But you do look beautiful in the Versace, sis. Like that dress was designed for you. I’ve already told you, my party is going to be very chic. You need something spectacular to wear.”
I’m about to beg off again on Jade buying me a new wardrobe, then stop. If Jade wants to do this for me, I should let her. “All right,” I concede, not sure that I should. “I’ll say yes to the dress and the other things, but nothing more. This is more clothes than I’ve bought probably in my entire life.”
Jade claps, ecstatic. “Now all you need is a date for my anniversary party. Let me call my friend and set you up with him. He’s exactly the guy you want to be seen with.”
“No, not necessary.” I’m shaking my head so forcefully I’m near dizzy. “No blind dates. Please. The dress is all the armor I need.”
“Why? You don’t want to be standing alone when Dean makes his boorish announcement. Have some pride, Willow.”
I meet her gaze directly. “I don’t want you to fix me up because I’m already seeing someone, Jade. In fact, I need to go. He’s picking me up at seven.”
Jade gapes. “What? You’re dating someone and didn’t tell me? How serious is it? Have you invited him to the party?”
“It’s not like that.”
Her green eyes turn sparkly. “You like him. I can always tell when you play it cool.”
Like him? I do like EJ. But Jade’s runaway romantic optimism needs to be nixed this second. She has no idea how complicated my relationship with
EJ is.
“We had breakfast together and we’re having dinner tonight. We’re still at the getting-to-know-each-other stage. That’s all, Jade.”
She beams. “Are you blind? Two dates in one day. He must really like you, Willow. I’m so happy for you. And I know just the outfit you should wear out of the store for your date. We’ll have the clerk cut the tags and you’ll be ready to wow him. There’s nothing wrong with looking like you’re interested in a guy. In fact, it helps.”
Groaning, I watch my sister rummage through the stack of clothes we selected. Oh crud: sheer lacy bra with matching thong; skinny jeans that accentuate my full backside; a tight long-sleeve, low V-neck shimmering metallic gray woven top; and open-toe ankle boots.
She shoves them at me. “Bring him to my party, Willow. Let it drop tonight that you need a date for it. And let how hot you look do the rest. I can feel it. This is going to work out perfectly.”
Jade grabs my hand and drags me into the fitting room.
Chapter Eleven
Eric
I CALL FOR AN Uber and have it take me to the Seattle Coalition for the Arts instead of the hotel, even though today isn’t my regular volunteer day.
I’d read about the charity in Emerald Beat my first week in Capitol Hill. Seeing that its major corporate sponsor was Tilman/Howard Technology was enough to stir my curiosity to check it out. I couldn’t imagine cold fish Dean as a philanthropist, even for a worthy program that helps underprivileged kids.
My opinion was confirmed when I stepped through the front doors and on the donor wall saw a giant photo of Jade and Gary. It was their cause, not Dean’s. And because Jade was important to Willow, that was enough to get me to sign up to help with the children’s music program.
The program manager wasn’t thrilled with my offer—not initially. But once the directors could see I knew my stuff, I was quickly assigned my own slot every Saturday. I mentor an incredible assortment of gifted artists K through fourth grade.
Staring out the window at the passing streets, I laugh as I remember how out of my element I was when I began working with the kids. That was some learning curve, an entire room full of brilliant musicians who still behaved like grade schoolers. But despite the rocky start—them getting used to me, and me figuring out them—being their mentor has been good for my recovery.