Duet in September (The Calendar Girls)

by Gina Ardito

  After two rings, a man announced, “Snug Harbor Police Department.”

  I tried to say something, but my tongue thickened in my mouth, and my brain shut down.

  “Hello?” the guy prompted.

  “Umm, hi,” I said stupidly. “May I speak to Chief Dillon, please?”

  “What’s this in reference to?”

  “It’s a personal call.”

  The man on the other end sighed. “Hold, please.”

  I used the ensuing quiet to get my breathing under control and reboot my overloaded brain.

  Too soon, Sam’s voice erupted through my stereo speakers. “This is Chief Dillon.”

  “Sam?” God, was that my croak? Frogs with head colds sounded silkier. I quickly gulped more water and tried again. “Hi, Sam. It’s Paige.” Not as smoothly confident as I’d hoped for, but better.

  “Paige? Is everything okay?” The question came out in an urgent rush. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I hurried to assure him. “I’m sorry to call you at work, but it’s the only number I have for you.”

  “Well, we’ll have to remedy that, won’t we? Got a pen?”

  “No, not now, I’m driving. And before you say something about my risking life and limb, I’m on my hands-free device.”

  “Still not a hundred percent safe, but okay. I’ll let it slide for now. So, what’s up?”

  “Umm…” The frog returned, and I slugged down the last of the water.

  “Paige? Are you okay? Where are you? What’s going on?”

  “I’m fine. Really. Just got something caught in my throat.” I gave a loud “ahem!” for effect. “Anyway, I was just calling because…” I stopped, started again. “I was wondering…” Get to it already, idiot. Do it for Nia. “I wanted to know if you have any plans for dinner tonight.”

  “Tonight? Well, I get off work at five—”

  “Perfect! How would you like to join a few of us for a barbecue? My house. Six o’clock. Marinated mako steaks, corn on the cob, salad, totally casual.”

  Silence greeted my invitation, and a rivulet of sweat ran down my back.

  “What’s the catch?” he asked at last.

  He had every right to be suspicious, I reminded myself. If he invited me to dinner, I’d be sniffing for arsenic in every course. Hoping to keep my tone light and sunny, I spoke through a forced smile. “No catch. New beginnings, remember? It’s my way of saying thank you for lunch yesterday.” I kept my fingers crossed he’d buy that lame story.

  “In that case, what can I bring?”

  Thank God.

  “Absolutely nothing but yourself,” I said. “This is all on me. You get the next date.” Oops. Before he could pick up on my slip, I added, “Don’t forget. Six o’clock, my house. See you later.”

  “Don’t you—”

  “Gotta go.” I quickly hit the disconnect button on my steering wheel, effectively cutting off whatever he planned to say.

  Next stop, Coffield’s Wharf for two mako steaks and the ideal complimentary bottle of wine. Maybe even some decadent chocolate goody for dessert. With the perfect meal in the perfect setting, I would push Sam and Nia firmly on the path toward true love.

  ~~~~

  Nia

  The most exciting part of my day was when the rental car agent showed up with the keys to a shiny silver two door Iota, or whatever that teeny box on wheels was called. Still, at least the car gave me back my independence. I’d no longer have to rely on Paige or anyone else to schlep me wherever I needed to go. That in itself made me happy.

  With sales slow all day, I sent Briana and Andrew home before four o’clock, much to their delight. Because the shop was only open until five on Sundays, Iggy wouldn’t be in at all. Not that it mattered. Absolutely no one had stepped inside in the last two hours. By 4:45 I was antsy to close up.

  I decided to busy myself by rearranging some of the shelves in the storeroom. Naturally, the minute I began wrestling with a crate of unwieldy felt hand puppets shaped like sharks and dolphins, the bells on the front door jangled.

  “Be right there,” I called out.

  “Take your time, Nia.”

  I froze. It couldn’t be. Leaving the crate balanced precariously on the top of a step stool, I sped out of the storeroom. There he stood near my counter.

  Aidan Coffield wore a collared, short-sleeve blue and black striped button-down shirt tucked into sleek black trousers. His hair gleamed under the row of high-intensity spotlights intended to showcase my glass art. Apparently, Aidan Coffield was an entirely different work of art. The lights definitely enhanced his star quality. He might as well have stepped off a magazine cover.

  “What…what are you doing here?” I lifted a hand to smooth my hair, but stopped in mid-air. Some touch-ups required a special effects crew.

  He grinned, his masculine features becoming youthful beneath the twinkle in his eyes. “A couple of things occurred to me after I left here yesterday.”

  My heart softened in my chest. “Oh? Like what?”

  “For starters, I underestimated you. A mistake you took full advantage of.”

  I bit back a smile of my own. Here I thought I’d gotten away scot-free. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do.” He pointed an index finger in my direction. “I can see it in your eyes, even if you’re doing your best to hide it. When I asked you out to dinner, you told me when you had the next day off. Now, unless your boss is a real slave driver, which I doubt because you’re your own boss, you don’t spend twelve hours a day here, six days a week. Since you open this shop every morning, you must have another employee to close up at night. Therefore, I don’t need you to tell me about your next day off for a casual dinner date. Any evening after work should be fine.”

  I tapped my temple. “Very clever.”

  His eyebrows arched, reflecting how pleased he was. “Yes, I know. But, wait. There’s more. Factor in the thought that your car is at the auto body shop for an undetermined amount of time.”

  “Yes, that’s true. So?”

  “So you’re relying on someone else to drive you back and forth to this store every day.”

  “That would be my sister. But I just got a rental this afternoon, so she’s off the hook. You’re two for three. Go for the bonus question and tell me why you’re here.” I folded my arms over my chest, projecting an image of stubborn defiance. At least I hoped that’s what I projected. My insides were quickly turning to Jell-O.

  “I also mentioned that you always seem to be alone in here.” He looked around to ascertain that yes, indeed, I was alone again. Receiving confirmation, he quirked a brow at me. “With a holiday weekend and a drawer full of cash, that’s not safe.”

  “Trust me. There isn’t much cash in my drawer today.”

  “Business is slow, huh?”

  I shrugged. “Do you want to risk the prizes you’ve already won to take a shot at our big winner round, Mr. Coffield?”

  He immediately caught on to the game show joke because he pretended to question an imaginary audience before he added, “I’m going to go for the big prize because I put all the facts together and came to an interesting decision.”

  “Which is?”

  “Since it’s my soon-to-be stepbrother’s fault you’re so inconvenienced, I should be helping you out.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t—”

  “Please, let me finish. I’m here to drive you home. After we have dinner together.”

  Surprise. Again.

  “That’s very nice of you, but we’ve already established I don’t need a ride home,” I said smoothly.

  “Then just have dinner with me anyway.”

  Panic swirled inside me, and I looked around the store for some means of escape. I wasn’t ready for this. My palms dampened, and my heartbeat kicked up in tempo. Think, Nia, think. Get rid of him. And then I remembered Paige’s discussion this morning.

  “I can’t. My sister and I have plans for di
nner.”

  “Cancel them.”

  I shook my head. “She’s hosting a barbecue at her house with some of our friends.”

  “Then she’s not alone tonight. She’ll never miss you.” He took a step closer to where I stood in the doorway to the storeroom. My breath shuddered in my lungs. “Which, if you turn me down, is more than I can say for myself.”

  My mouth dried to sawdust. I teetered on very dangerous ground here. I liked him. Too much, truth be told. He was handsome, charming, and my pulse danced the cha-cha every time he came within two feet of me. With one look, he made me feel as if I stood on the edge of a mountaintop. I could push off on my toes, spread my arms, and soar.

  Was this what love felt like? Had my parents felt these fluttery feelings when they were together? Or had my mother only experienced this rush with her tourist from Greenwich? My joy screeched to a dead stop at the thought.

  What did I know about this man anyway? That he came from a monied background and probably learned to charm women while still in his designer nursery? Was he another rich jerk who wanted to fool around with a local for a weekend before heading home to Miffy and their kids?

  I’d never even asked if he was married! For all I knew, he had a wedding band shoved into his pocket. I stared at his left hand, looking for a telltale strip of white on his tanned ring finger. Not that anything short of a private investigator’s report would put me at ease on this issue. Married people cheated; my mother was undeniable proof of that fact.

  The gooey center of my heart hardened to stone.

  “No, Mr. Coffield. Thank you anyway.”

  He arched a brow. “Mr. Coffield? I thought we’d progressed past that. I told you to call me Aidan. Remember?”

  “Yes, but I don’t believe I know you well enough to call you by your first name.”

  “And whose fault is that?” he snapped, then immediately mellowed. “I’m sorry. Every time I think I have you figured out, you confuse me again. So why the cold shoulder? Are you married? Engaged?”

  “No.” I couldn’t stop the words erupting from my lips. “Are you?”

  His lazy smile reappeared. “Ah, that’s it. No. I’m not married. Never came close. But if you’d bothered to research me online, you’d probably know that. The biggest problem with being Ogden Coffield’s son is that nothing in my private life is very private.”

  Warmth crept into my cheeks, but if he noticed, he didn’t remark on it.

  “Does that help you make up your mind? I’d ask what else you want to know about me, but then we’d have a lot less to talk about over dinner.”

  I had to stifle my smile. No doubt about it, this man kept finding the chinks in my stony heart, crawled through, and melted me to a pool of warm liquid. He must have read the hesitation in me because he pressed his case by taking my hand, my fingers loosely clasped in his palm. “Put me out of my misery and have dinner with me tonight.”

  My entire skeleton sagged with defeat. “Let me call my sister first.”

  As I picked up the shop phone, his words from moments ago echoed in my head like a death knell. The biggest problem with being Ogden Coffield’s son is that nothing in my private life is very private.

  On the other hand, while my life wasn’t as public as his, in Snug Harbor, my family history was an open book. The last thing I wanted was for anyone I knew to see me with the heir to the Coffield fortune. Twenty-five years may have passed since my mother’s departure from Snug Harbor, but the minute it became known that I was seen with a wealthy out-of-towner, the scandal would be regurgitated everywhere. I was not my mother and wouldn’t allow anyone to compare me to my mother.

  “Two conditions, though,” I said, the phone’s dial tone buzzing near my ear.

  “Name them.”

  “First, I drive myself. You follow in your own car.”

  He arched a brow. “Still not sure you can trust me?” Before I could justify my request, he held up a hand. “No, that’s fair. And smart. We only met a few days ago. I could be anyone. So I agree to that. What else?”

  “I want to go someplace casual and out-of-the-way.” I gestured to my capris and t-shirt. “I’m not dressed for any of the fancy places around here. I do know a great little bistro in Water Mill, if you don’t mind going that far.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I haven’t said anything about the place yet.”

  His thumb traced my cheek, and I shivered.

  “You said yes. That’s perfect enough for me.”

  The edge of the mountaintop came into view in my head. My toes curled, ready to take flight.

  My stony heart was doomed.

  Chapter 13

  Paige

  I stood on the deck overlooking the yard, delighted with the day’s labor. Since I’d only moved home six months ago, the house’s interior still left a lot to be desired, but I’d managed to transform the backyard into a pastoral homage to all things romantic without being obvious. The bistro-style table, ringed by four chairs, was set as if we were expecting at least one more guest. All the ratty patio furniture Dad had kept for decades now sat piled in the garage, out of sight. I’d found our old white Christmas lights in the attic and strung them into the thick, leafy branches of the maple trees, hidden until darkness fell. Not quite the fairy lights I’d hoped to achieve, but they’d still be pretty. Besides, by the time the lights clicked on, Sam and Nia should be well on their way to Smooch City and unconcerned with petty details.

  China plates and crystal goblets sat atop a burgundy tablecloth. The ice bucket stood sentinel in the sterling stand, a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc chilling inside. My iPod, set to a homemade playlist, wafted party music into the honeysuckle and lilac-scented air. In two hours’ time, the playlist would subtly switch to nothing but R&B love songs: soulful and suggestive.

  To all outward appearances, I’d created the setting for an intimate outdoor dinner party. Only after the quarry entered the trap would I change the scenario from party for four to romantic rendezvous for two. I could almost smell love in the air.

  Eat your heart out, Cupid!

  Pleased with my machinations, I returned to the kitchen where the mako steaks swam in citrus marinade and the triple chocolate torte hid inside the refrigerator. Now all I needed were my participants.

  I craned my neck under my armpits. And maybe a shower before my guests showed up. All the preparation for this event had me smelling like a barnyard animal. I headed toward the staircase to go up to my bathroom, but my cell phone sang from the dining room table where I’d left it. “We Are Family.” Nia’s ringtone. Speak of the devil. I grabbed the phone in mid-song and hit the connect button.

  “Hey,” I said as a greeting. “I was just about to jump in the shower. I’ve been busy getting everything ready. Wait ‘til you see the backyard. You won’t recognize it.”

  “Umm…yeah, about that. Change in plans. I completely forgot Iggy and I have to go over the inventory for the upcoming week. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to make it tonight. You guys will have to enjoy the barbecue without me.”

  My hopes froze, along with my happiness. “Nia, no. You can’t. I mean, it’s a holiday weekend. Can’t the inventory wait? I’ve got mako. And wine. And chocolate for dessert.”

  “Unfortunately, it can’t wait. I’m sorry.”

  “But I’ve got a special night planned.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. Tell everyone hi from me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye.” Click. The phone went dead in my hand, and my heart sank to my toes. I wanted to throw myself on the floor and indulge in a good old-fashioned pity party.

  No, no, no! This was so not fair. All my plans, all my hard work, all gone with one twenty-second phone call. And Sam! He’d be here in a half hour. Unless I could stop him. I scrolled through my cell’s contact list until I reached “Sam Work” and pressed the connect button again.

  “Snug Harbor Police.” This time, a woman answered, but I had more important thi
ngs to take care of than identifying the voice’s owner.

  “Sam Dillon, please.” I bounced from foot to foot as I spoke, too antsy to stand still.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman replied. “He’s gone for the day. I can transfer you to the night officer or to Chief Dillon’s voice mail.”

  “Neither. It’s vital that I reach Sam…er, Chief Dillon. A personal matter. Urgent. I’ll try him at home. Do you have that number? Or even better, can you give me his cell phone number?”

  “No, ma’am, I can’t. I can either transfer you to the night officer or to Chief Dillon’s voice mail.”

  “But Sam and I are friends,” I argued. “I promise he won’t mind that you gave me the information.”

  “If you and Chief Dillon are friends, you should already have his cell and home phone numbers. I’m sorry I can’t be of further assistance to you. Have a good evening, ma’am.”

  Again, the person on the other end of the phone suddenly disconnected. Well, thank you very much. What had happened to manners? Didn’t anyone use proper etiquette anymore?

  Meanwhile, time ticked away from me, looming ever closer to the moment Sam stood on my doorstep, expecting a party in full swing. Good God, what a disaster. What could I do now?

  The phone book. A long shot, but maybe he was listed in the phone book. I sped into the kitchen and flung open the cabinet door where Dad had always stored the White Pages. The book hit the counter with a thunk, and I madly flipped until I hit the Ds.

  Da, De, Di, Dic, Die, Dig, Dil…

  The rapid knock at my door stopped me cold before I passed the surname, “Diller.”

  I groaned aloud. I was only expecting one person, and he was a half hour early. Naturally.

  Sure enough, when I crept to the foyer, Sam stood outside on my front porch with a twelve-pack of beer cradled under one arm. “Hi,” he greeted me through the screen. “I know I’m early but I thought you could probably use some help setting up.” Before I could move, he opened my storm door and stepped inside.

  “Umm…gee…” I stammered. “That’s…umm…that’s sweet. But…umm…there’s kind of been a change in plans…I tried to call you…I didn’t have your cell number…and whoever answered the phone at the precinct is a real...Wait! Where are you going?”