They walked around the monstrosity, weaved through the empty maze of tension ribbon to the registration desk, and got her checked in. After a walk through the smoky casino and a ride up an elevator, they found her room. She hesitated at the door, holding her key card.
Should I invite him in? He might think that means something I’m not offering. But she didn’t want to say good-bye yet either.
“Let’s grab a bite to eat,” Mac said as if he’d read her mind.
“We already had dinner,” Tristan said, then mentally slapped herself. He’d handed her the perfect excuse to spend more time with him, and she’d almost declined it. “But I’m totally up for dessert.”
“I know a few places in the hotel that you might like,” Mac said. “I’ll show you around.”
“That would be great. I’ll just put my bags in my room first.” Tristan opened the door.
The room was gorgeous. To her left was a massive bathroom with a jetted tub, a shower, a double vanity, a toilet room with a door — and a mounted TV so you could watch it from the tub.
Past the bathroom was a king-size bed with drapes on either side of floor-to-ceiling dark wood headboard, lights shining from above. A couple of carpeted steps led to a sitting area with a sectional, coffee table, entertainment center, and two desks with lamps. She’d never been in such a large suite before.
“How does Hӓagen-Dazs sound?” Mac asked, settling the suitcase and carry-on near a long dresser, across from the foot of the bed. “The food court on the Venetian side used to have one; we can check to see if it’s still there. In the Grand Canal’s courtyard, you can almost always find gelato. Or, if you’re in the mood for a shake, there’s a Johnny Rockets in the food court. We could go across the street to the mall to get something else — I think there’s a See’s. Oh, and a Walgreens, if you want something really fancy, like Oreos.”
“Sure,” Tristan said, admiring the view through the sheers of the big windows that covered the far wall. She turned around. “Any of those sound great. Lead the way.”
They left her room and returned to the elevator. After reaching the right floor, they headed into the casino area. Her phone buzzed with another text. Tristan paused and held it up so Mac could see read it over her shoulder. He leaned in to read, bringing his face close enough for her to kiss. Suddenly, Alyssa’s text might as well have been written in Sanskrit.
“We so win.” Mac held up a fist for a bump.
Tristan blinked and focused on the message.
He sent me a picture of you KISSING. What is going on?!
“We sure fooled her,” Tristan said, but her voice sounded wobbly. She held up her fist and managed to bump knuckles with him.
As they continued walking, her eyes stung. She’d stopped pretending hours ago. Granted, she hardly knew Mac, but she’d connected with him on a level she’d never reached with any other guy, even ones she’d known for years. And while she didn’t believe she was necessarily walking beside her soul mate, she wanted to explore where things could go with him. But if he’d been pretending all along, then she was the only one feeling a connection.
“The cigarette smoke’s getting to my eyes,” she said, blinking rapidly and hoping that her excuse would be enough to explain her watery eyes.
Mac reached for her hand and pulled her quickly through the casino. She clung to his hand. At last they reached the Grand Canal, which looked, at first appearance, for all the world like it was outside. Buildings flanked a canal with gondolas, and a dim sky with clouds showed above the buildings.
“The sky always looks like whatever time of day it is outside,” Mac said, looking up. “It’s pretty trippy.”
He led her along the canal, which was basically a glorified mall made to feel like Venice. They passed several luxury stores selling leather, clothing, souvenirs, and jewelry. A number of fine restaurants were scattered among the shops. She even recognized some of the chefs’ names from TV.
Mac’s step slowed. When she looked up to see why, Tristan found herself looking at a jeweler’s shop. His mischievous smile was back as he nodded toward the glittering glass cases. “I know how to reply to Alyssa.”
“Oh?” Tristan said casually, but her insides dropped even more — through the floor, maybe. She guessed what he was thinking and reluctantly followed him inside. The long, sparkling cases held necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. One side of the store held row after row of engagement rings.
“Try one on,” Mac said, leading her that direction.
Tristan filled in the blanks. “Then we’ll take a picture of one on my finger, and we’ll make Alyssa think we’re eloping... because… Vegas.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded lifeless.
Mac gently held her by the shoulders. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
If he only knew that his touch makes this whole thing worse... But she didn’t want him to stop holding her, either.
“I’m... just tired,” she lied. “Travel wears me out.”
His gaze darted to the jewelry cases then back to her. “It was just an idea.” After a beat, he let go — to her simultaneous relief and regret — and ran a hand down his face. He stepped closer so he could speak softly without being overheard. His nearness was almost as bad — and as good — as his touch. She could hardly breathe as she kept her eyes trained on a spot on the floor.
“Tristan, I’m sorry I crossed a line earlier. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I just—”
Even though he didn’t finish his thought, she didn’t look up. Instead, she pushed her cuticles back to keep her hands busy. She couldn’t find a single word to say that wouldn’t be either embarrassing — No, I’m glad you kissed me… It was amazing… Kiss me again… or a lie — Oh, it’s all good… This was all just one big joke anyway.
Mac’s feet shifted uneasily. “Okay, so here’s the thing.” He swallowed, and his hands raked through his hair before he sighed. “I expected... I mean, I was doing a favor for Alyssa and didn’t...”
She waited for him to finish, her brain feeling ready to burst. “You didn’t...?” This time, she managed to look up. Their eyes locked, and she felt the zing between them again. The world dropped away — the jeweler, the canal, the shops, the tourists, the noise. All she noticed or cared about was Mac. Her universe seemed to hang on this moment.
“I didn’t expect Alyssa’s friend to be smart, funny... and, well, hot.” He shifted his feet, and his neck went red. “I didn’t expect to fall for her.”
Was the room suddenly spinning? Because she felt light-headed in the best way possible.
“And I didn’t expect her friend to be a man,” Tristan countered, “a hot man who’s also smart and funny.” Somehow, their hands had found one another, and both sets were clasped between them. “I didn’t expect to fall for him, either.”
“Really?” He sounded stunned, as if that was the last thing he’d expected to hear.
“Really,” she said, stepping closer. “I’m glad you kissed me, even if it was for Alyssa’s benefit.” Tristan tilted her head one way and then the other as if deliberating. “But, to be honest, I’m going to need a few more kisses for my benefit.”
“A few?” Worry melted away from his face — a face even better than Loki’s.
“Yeah. A few,” she said. “A few hundred... thousand. I’ll let you know when you’re off the hook.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug.
He laughed and squeezed her hand. They headed for the door without having tried on a single diamond ring. After crossing the threshold, Tristan looked back over her shoulder. “We can always come back later.”
Later to play the joke on Alyssa. And perhaps much later still — months or years, maybe — to pick out an actual ring, if her gut could be trusted.
“Yeah,” Mac said, as if he understood exactly what she was thinking. Maybe he did.
“Do you like grasshopper shakes?” Tristan asked.
“Any self-respecting man does. Johnny Rockets it is.” He led the way out of the canal area to t
he food court.
Soon they sat side by side at a table with their giant shakes. They already had each other’s cell numbers, so they exchanged email and snail mail addresses. They talked about their schedules and when they’d be able to see each other again.
Both mentioned that they could relocate because each of them largely worked online, so the where didn’t matter much. Maybe they could even travel together for work sometimes.
“Just so we’re on the same page,” Mac said, scooping a spoonful of his shake, “we’re going to give the long-distance relationship thing a try?”
“Absolutely.” Tristan cleaned her spoon then waved it as she added, “You owe me about two hundred thousand kisses, after all.” She scooped some of his shake and ate it. “So I’m afraid you’re kind of stuck with the arrangement.” She was being so much bolder than she was used to. She blushed, hoping her teasing had landed.
Mac bobbed his head as if music were playing. “I’m happy to be stuck with you.”
Huey Lewis and the News, she thought. How perfect is he?
He reached over, scooped some of her shake, and touched her nose with his spoon, leaving a dot of ice cream. She wiped it off with a finger, laughing as his brow furrowed.
“I do see a possible problem,” Mac said.
A small worry twisted in Tristan’s chest. She licked the melting shake off her fingers. “Oh?”
“Your magazine may have to shift focus if you’re not, you know, single.”
Tristan shrugged. “I’ll either fake it or come up with a new magazine.”
He leaned in and kissed her, slow, long, and so deep that her toes curled in her shoes. A flash went off near them. They jumped apart and saw a middle-aged woman with an iPhone, grinning sheepishly.
“Sorry,” she said. “You two are adorable. I couldn’t resist.”
Tristan thought for a moment. “Could you send me that picture?”
“Sure,” the woman said. “But you’ll have to show me how. I feel really dumb with my new smartphone.”
With a few taps, Tristan texted the photo to herself. “Thanks.”
“Is that for Alyssa?” Mac asked.
“Nope. Instagram.” She returned the phone to the woman and thanked her.
“Don’t you have thousands of followers?”
Tristan went on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Hundreds of thousands. I want the world to know.”
“What about Alyssa?”
“She’ll think we’re kidding. Then she’ll freak out. And then she’ll claim to have planned this all along and take credit for it.” She gazed into his eyes, and the world dropped away again in the way she was coming to love. “I’m oddly okay with that.”
He kissed her briefly, making her heart soar. “Let’s take a gondola ride.”
“When in Rome,” Tristan said, referring to the Italian theme throughout the resort. “Or Venice, I guess.”
“Or Vegas. Whichever.”
As they maneuvered down the corridors through the crowds and entered the Grand Canal, one of Tristan’s favorite 80s songs popped into her head. She squeezed Mac’s hand and decided to sing, not caring if anyone thought she was weird. This was Vegas, after all.
“Up for a little Tears for Fears?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
“Always,” Mac said. She leaned closer, and he put his arm around her shoulders.
She decided to begin the line and let him finish it. “Something happens...”
Mac stopped in the middle of the crowded canal, but instead of singing, he looked into her eyes, his gaze intense. Her insides turned to jelly. He reached forward and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before saying — not singing — the words.
“And I’m head over heels.”
<<<<>>>>
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Falling to Pieces
A Harvest Valley Romance
Chapter 1
Carter reached for one of the paint brushes held between his teeth. He dabbed a little burnt umber on the bristles then used the color to add highlights to the hair of the dancer on the canvas. She sat on a wooden floor, one knee up, the other tucked under her. Her head tilted to one side as she untied the ribbon of a battered pointe shoe. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a bun, but wisps had escaped it during her practice time.
He bit the end of the brush again — he had three in his mouth now — and sat back to study the painting. Not bad, but not quite right, either. The lines of the figure were good, and he liked how the play of light and shadow had turned out, but he could never quite get that face to look how he pictured it.
His back had grown stiff from two straight hours of working at the easel. He stretched as he removed the earphones he always wore while working. Sometimes he listened to white noise, but today he’d put on an instrumental playlist. With the headphones off, he heard his phone ringing on his desk on the other side of the room — a clip from “The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy.”
Toni’s ringtone. No sooner had he taken two steps toward his desk than the phone went still. Aw, well. She’d probably leave a message. Might as well tidy up and then call her back. He grabbed the brushes and headed over to the paint thinner on the counter. Maybe Toni wanted to hang out tonight. Get a video and eat popcorn. As he cleaned the paint from the tip of a brush, he pictured having Toni in his arms, smelling her faint perfume, resting his head on hers.
Too bad that even if he put his arm around her — as he often did — and even if she snuggled close — which she also often did — it wouldn’t mean anything beyond “friend” to her.
As he scrubbed the paint off the brush, the handle snapped between his fingers. He found his heart speeding up at the thought of her, of how long he’d waited for her to look at him as a man, not a buddy. He’d given up hope more times than he could count since he first noticed her in junior high when her locker was only two away from his. She didn’t remember him at all until their high-school algebra class sophomore year.
He’d always hated math, and that year, algebra almost did him in. “I don’t care what X equals,” he’d said under his breath one day when the marks on the board seemed nothing but a foreign code.
Toni, sitting in front of him, had smiled widely and turned her head just enough to whisper back, “I don’t care about X either. If it’s that important, I’ll have to marry someone who cares.”
Toni’s comment took Carter by surprise; a laugh escaped him before he realized it. Mr. Kerr turned around and peered at the class. Carter gazed studiously at the teacher, but he could feel his face heating up and more laughter building up inside him.
That was the first time she’d ever talked to him. She’d mentioned several times how that was her first memory of him. He still remembered how she’d lowered her chin as her shoulder shook — she was trying to hold back a chuckle.
He’d made her laugh. It was a triumph.
When Mr. Kerr turned back to the board, Carter leaned forward again and whispered, “Don’t you dare. I’d be bored stiff with anyone who actually cared about X.”
From that day, they were friends. Within a few months, Toni Harper called Carter Mackenzie her best friend. Eight years after high-school graduation, they were still at each other’s sides, having weathered the ups and downs of both high school and college. Their friendship remained as strong as ever.
He’d dated other women — had gotten serious several times. But he’d always broken it off. As great as Lauren and Angie and Sarah had all been, they’d never be Toni.
Grunting with frustration, he tossed the pieces of the useless paintbrush into th
e garbage can under the counter and left the other two by the sink. He grabbed a rag and wiped remaining paint thinner off his hands as he strode over to his phone, where there was indeed a message waiting for him. Then with trepidation, he sat at his desk to listen to the message. He tossed the rag aside and picked up his phone.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m in a bind and hope you can help me out. It’s the dance studio’s annual Valentine’s Day party, and my date bailed on me. Thing is, if I don’t bring a date, Allen will never let me hear the end of it. Party starts at eight thirty. I’d really appreciate it if you’d be my plus one. Call me back as soon as you get this, ’kay? Love ya.” With a click, the message ended.
Love ya. He heard that often. What he wanted to hear was I love you, Carter. I’m in love with you. Or something remotely in the ballpark.
His phone was silent, but he kept it against his ear, eyes closed, as he pressed the fingers of his other hand against his eyes.
He should tell her no, because at this rate, she’d start thinking that he was always the easy fallback. She needed to realize that he had a life outside of her. That...
Who was he kidding? He’d known the second he heard her ring that he’d do whatever she needed. He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it, willing it to send a text with the right words. Something. Anything.
He’d go tonight. And he’d pretend to enjoy himself, for her sake, and to get Allen, the studio owner, to back off from bugging her about being single.
But first, he’d clean up his pseudo studio — the corner of his office at the high school where he taught art. He spent a lot of evenings and weekends here, when he wasn’t home doing graphic design on the side for money to supplement his pathetic teacher’s salary. First get this place cleaned up and locked, and then he’d return her call after he’d gotten himself to stop thinking about her as the woman he loved. He needed to switch the gears in his brain back to best friend mode.
The clock on the wall read 7:30. He could get out of here, call her, take a quick shower, and pick her up in time to make it to the party. Barely.
Love Far from Home Box Set Page 15