once upon a romance 08 - making a splash

by Laurie LeClair

  “They have a key!” Max shouted back. “Why don’t they use it?” he said the last to himself, gripping the football under his left arm and reaching out with his right hand for the doorknob. He twisted it and swung the door open. “Yo, bro, forget your key—” He stopped short, blinking hard at the incredible vision before him. Was she real? “Irish?!”

  “Max. Whitfield, I presume,” she said, holding up his wallet, flipped open with his driver’s license picture staring at him.

  Her gaze scanned him, lingering on his bare chest.

  Heat began deep inside and spread out.

  “Do you always open your door without a shirt on?”

  “Sometimes without pants, too.” Okay, that had happened one time. And he was in his boxer briefs.

  “What day does that happen again?” Her lips twitched, the corner inching up in a grin.

  “Every other year. You’ll have to come back.” Was he flirting?

  “I may just do that.”

  “Be my guest.” His voice had dropped, low and deep.

  “Maybe.” She glanced away and her gaze landed on the football. “That’s mine.”

  He pointed to the suit jacket and the wallet. “And those are mine. Trade you?”

  “It’s signed then?”

  “So…narrow-minded, Irish? Tsk tsk.”

  “That means no.” She tapped her foot.

  Looking down, he said, “You’re barefoot? What happened to your shoes?”

  “Ruined. By you, if I remember correctly. Dress, too. Hair, will survive.”

  “And you?”

  “Damp, slightly wrinkled, never ruined.”

  “Good to hear.” He liked her spunk. “I owe you a new outfit. King’s? Tomorrow?” First, apply for the academy.

  She gulped loud and hard. “Maybe.”

  “I’ve got connections.”

  Her frown made her look even cuter, if that were possible. “I think I heard that somewhere before…”

  “Hey, what’s taking so long?” Danny asked, coming up beside Max. “Oh, the girl!”

  “Yeah, the puddle bath,” Jonathan said, joining them. “Are you hungry? We’ve got food.”

  “The good stuff, too,” Danny agreed, wiping his lips with a napkin. “Do you like those cheesy fries? We’re going to nuke some leftovers.”

  “Come on in, Irish,” Max said, feeling cornered by his brothers, but liking the fact she was standing on his doorstep. He held up the football. “We have to wait for Jay anyway.”

  “Irish?” Danny and Jonathan asked in unison.

  She giggled.

  The sound zapped through him, making him tingle.

  “I believe this is yours, Mr. Whitfield.” She handed over his wallet.

  “And you are?” he coaxed, half holding the leather as she still gripped it.

  “Annabelle O’Connor, also known as Irish.”

  He shook his head, practicing saying her real name. “Annabelle.” It felt strange to know who she was, or at least her name.

  “Or the puddle lady,” Danny chimed in.

  Max and Annabelle chuckled and his brothers joined in.

  “I got dibs on the little meatballs,” Danny said, dashing off to the kitchen.

  “Onion rings for me.” Jonathan went to leave, but hung back for a second. “Max, come on, bro, invite her to stay and chow down with us.” He winked and scooted away, calling after Danny.

  “You heard them. If you don’t come in now, the food will be scarfed down in no time.”

  “You and your brothers live here?” She released the wallet and took a few steps into the house, looking around.

  “Strange as it sounds, we really like each other.” That made him proud.

  “House of jocks?”

  She shot him a look under her lashes that caused his knees to buckle. He latched onto the door for support and slowly closed it. “House of testosterone is more like it.”

  “Frat parties?”

  He waved a hand toward the kitchen and guided her there. “Not the Whitfield style.”

  When she entered the big cheery room, she threw over her shoulder, “No scratching, belching, and all those other guy noises?”

  “Now, I didn’t say that.”

  “Jock itch, too,” Danny said. “Burns.”

  “And you are?” She reached out a hand to him, and then pulled it back. “You don’t have that itch now, do you?”

  “Ha, you’re funny. Nope.”

  “No toe fungus?” She raised an eyebrow, looking from one brother to the other.

  “Jonathan. And this is Danny. Last time we checked, no lice, either.”

  “Good to know, fellas.”

  “What about you?” Jonathan smirked.

  “Hangnail?” Max asked, offering her a stool at the island.

  “Bad hair day.”

  She winked at him and his toes curled. No girl had ever made his toes curl before! He swallowed hard. “Dress day, too.”

  His memory flashed back to seeing her in the dripping wet, transparent dress. An ache, low and deep, shot through him.

  Jerking her head, she met his gaze. Her green eyes were big and filled with questions and something more. An arrow of desire struck and ripped him apart.

  Wow! You had to go there.

  Chapter 8

  “Jay’s going to be late,” Jonathan said, hanging up the cell phone. “He’s taking Paige and her parents home first. He doesn’t want them to drive in this downpour.”

  Rain pelted the roof, the sound hard and fierce above them. “Paige?” Annabelle asked, recalling the hyperventilating pretty blonde lady in the bathroom.

  “You know her?” Max asked.

  She couldn’t look at him, not directly. Her butterflies were still fluttering and her heart still ba-boomed against her ribs since she met that desire filled, hooded stare nearly ten minutes ago.

  Nope. Back away! Stay safe!

  “Brown bag breathing. In the bathroom.” Why couldn’t she talk right? Maybe she was the one having a panic attack now.

  “Yep, that’s our Paige.” Danny grinned.

  “One of a kind. But she’s working on it,” Jonathan said.

  “Jay and Paige are engaged,” Max offered.

  Her head snapped around. “Really? And to think I was that close,” she held up her fingers an inch apart, “to her, too. Surely, Jay would have signed the football for her.” She tried to smile, tease him, but a nerve in her cheek twitched.

  “Paige? Seriously? She barely knows what a football is.” Max snorted.

  The brothers chuckled.

  “Speaking of footballs. I guess this one won’t have the i’s dotted and the t crossed tonight.” She sighed, knowing she couldn’t present it to Joey at breakfast in the morning.

  “I’ll have Jay stop by at King’s while we’re there, say, ten tomorrow? It will give him an excuse to visit Paige. She works there. Designs wedding dresses.”

  “She does?” Annabelle grinned. “Small world. My mother-in-law landed an interview for a seamstress position at the wedding boutique.”

  “Mother-in-law?” Max and his brothers asked in unison. Max’s stare dropped to her bare ring finger. “Irish, you’re married?”

  If ever she wanted to know what the phrase his face fell was about, all she had to do was think of this moment. Max’s jaw went slack, his mouth hanging open.

  She gulped once, twice, yet still no saliva came. “Not anymore,” she dragged out.

  The air siphoned out of his lungs; she could hear it from here. It also seemed as if the fun had drained away, too.

  “That’s my cue, guys. I need to go.” Joey! And Gigi would be worried with her out in this weather.

  “I’ll drive you,” Max said, pushing away from the counter.

  “Cab is fine. I’m good.” She rose, too, but clung to the countertop to steady her very unsteady knees. How could she be in the confinement of his vehicle with him, trapped for long, agonizing minutes?

  “Come o
n. I have ulterior motives.”

  His wicked grin made her belly flip-flop.

  “My jacket?” He raised an eyebrow. “Remember?”

  “I’ll have it dry-cleaned and return it.”

  “No need.”

  Suddenly, she became aware of Danny and Jonathan looking from him to her and back again as they exchanged banter. There were silly grins on the guys’ faces.

  “You’re barefoot.”

  “You are, too,” she pointed out lamely.

  “Flip-flops for two?”

  It sounded risqué and intimate. She pasted on a smile. “Why not? You only live once, right?”

  “Good choice.”

  “Don’t forget the shirt,” she called out as he left the kitchen. Looking at his now quiet brothers, Annabelle shrugged. “You know, that pneumonia thingy.”

  “Yep,” Danny agreed, winking at Jonathan.

  “Wouldn’t want dear ol’ Max to come down with a chill.” Jonathan grinned.

  Awkward!

  “I’ll just wait…” She looked around and pointed to the foyer. “Over there. Nice meeting you. Thanks for the eats. Favorite, the mac and cheese rolly pollies.”

  Danny cracked up laughing. “Funny. I like you.”

  The tightness in her chest eased slightly. “Ah, thanks. Back at you, too, Danny and Jonathan. Gotta go.”

  “Bye, Annabelle,” they both called out as she hustled to the front door.

  “Come back and visit soon.” The last came from Danny, which made her heart tug. How sweet. How ridiculous that she spent little more than minutes with them, but really liked the three Whitfield brothers she’d met, especially the super cute one named Max with his nice broad shoulders, slightly tanned skin, and the beautiful abs just begging to be touched.

  Ugh!

  If only the weather would cooperate, she’d be out there waiting in the driveway. Better yet, nabbing a wayward taxi and bolting toward home by now.

  But no. She was stuck like Chuck.

  ***

  Max turned the ignition off. “Why am I back here this morning?”

  He’d been wondering all the way from the house, to the bakery, and now to her front door.

  “My jacket. Of course.” He grinned, thinking he’d have a great excuse to tell her. She couldn’t turn him away then, right? And with some sweet treats and java, he wouldn’t likely get a door slammed in his face.

  Last night, covering her with his T-shirt in the pouring rain to her door, he’d completely forgotten to get his jacket back. At least, that’s what he told himself all the way home.

  She’d mumbled her address and then pressed herself to the passenger side door.

  What did she think he was going to do? Attack her or something? He kept it light, so light she didn’t even have to answer.

  Why did he feel as if he had to see her again?

  “Because you have to find out if it’s real. If she’s real.” He shook his head, wondering when teasing had turned into attraction.

  Or maybe attraction into mild interest. Mild? Okay, slightly more than lukewarm.

  “Speaking of lukewarm,” he muttered, grabbing up the tray of coffees. He’d ordered a round number of four out of habit, for his brothers and himself. Hopefully, she liked the caffeine.

  Next, he popped open his door and before getting out, he hefted the dozen pastries. Did she have a sweet tooth?

  How come he didn’t know that about her?

  Outside the vehicle now, Max shouldered the SUV door shut and started up the sidewalk. His steps slowed as he took in the manicured lawn, array of blooming flowers, and the really cool birdbath.

  “Sweet, as Danny would say.”

  At the door, he used his elbow to ring the doorbell. Noises sounded and then the door flung open.

  “Hey, I just—” He spoke to air. “Huh?”

  “I’m down here,” the little boy’s voice said.

  Max shifted the large pink pastry box and looked down. A kid, maybe six or seven, stood before him in a full-out Superman costume—blue pajamas with the big red S against the yellow background and with a real red cape.

  “Nice superhero outfit you got there.”

  He smiled wide, showing his toothy grin. Dark auburn hair, smattering of freckles dotting his nose, and big brown eyes were Max’s first impression.

  This is the kid. Annabelle’s kid?

  “Joey?” he asked more than said.

  “How’d you know?”

  “Hey squirt.” An older blonde-haired lady rushed to the door. “You have to wait for your Gigi, remember?” Looking at Max, she smiled. “Moves quicker than me these days.”

  She was younger than he first thought. “Ma’am. I think they come motorized now.”

  Her chuckle eased his anxiety. “You’re telling me.”

  “Donut and coffee delivery.” He held up each item as he explained. “Ah, Annabelle borrowed my suit jacket.” His shrug must have appeared a throwaway gesture; however, he had no idea what Irish had said or didn’t say to this lady.

  “Yes, the jacket. Beautiful cut. Love the fabric and the lining, too! Come on in. Oh, my manners.”

  A part of him wanted to chastise her for letting in a stranger; that was not a good way to show the kid how to do things. The other part welcomed the invite; it was much easier than he expected. But, then again, he expected Irish to toss him out on his butt. So this was a walk in the park compared to his wild musings.

  “We’re in the backyard. After all that rain yesterday, it’s turning out to be a beautiful day. What’s your name again?”

  “Max.” He kept it short and simple, again trying to decipher what Annabelle had divulged.

  The kid had disappeared down the hallway. Max craned his neck, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of Annabelle. Had she heard the doorbell? Did she know he was here? Could she be hiding from him?

  Gigi ushered him through the French doors to the yard.

  Gulping hard, Max froze in his tracks. This small patch of ground couldn’t possibly be someone’s backyard. Yellow, red, blue, white, and purple flowers populated the area. Lush green grass, cut perfectly, seemed like a soft carpet beyond the stone patio. Near the tall white fence in the far corner was an incredible multi-tiered waterfall. The water lapped over the stones and he sighed just hearing the soothing sound.

  “Amazing!”

  “She is, isn’t she?”

  His frown went unnoticed. She?

  “Annabelle’s an artist. Loves her work, so she never feels as if she’s working. Mermaid Landscapes and Waterworks.”

  “Yes.” Best to answer as if he knew what she was talking about.

  “Oh, business is a little slow.” She threw up her hands. “Not too many corporate jobs right now. Some small private residential jobs here and there. But it’ll get better.”

  “Of course. It’s just a matter of time, that’s all.” Better to encourage than to discourage. His mom’s words came back to him now. Funny, how she popped up at the strangest times, reminding him who he wanted to become. Like her and his dad. Now that was a love story…

  A shriek from behind him pierced his eardrums. He turned quickly to see Annabelle, or a semblance of her, standing in the doorway. Her red hair, clumped and sticking out in all directions, stood six inches high.

  He allowed his gaze to travel over her. She wore an oversized T-shirt, torn at the shoulder, and with the saying I Don’t Always Look This Good splayed across the faded pink cotton. Her bright blue socks, one up and one pooled around an ankle, completed the simple look.

  “Wow!” Max said. “And here I thought last night’s look couldn’t get worse, Irish.”

  Her unexpected laughter rang out, jostling his insides. Why did he feel as if he’d just been on a rollercoaster?

  How could she do that? Look in total disarray, yet be adorable at the same time? “Donut? Coffee?”

  “Now that is my kind of stellar morning,” she said, coming out to him.

  “Mo
m,” the kid whispered. He tugged on her shirt. “Can I have one?”

  She smiled down at the little boy and tenderly brushed back his hair from his forehead, causing Max’s heart to jolt. “Sure thing. Once in a while is okay.” Turning back to Max, she asked, “Got any jelly donuts in there?”

  “With sugar sprinkled on it?” Joey added.

  “Of course, I do. What kind of donut delivery guy do you think I am, anyway? I only wish they’d come out with PB&J ones.”

  “Man, that would be the best, wouldn’t it, Gigi?”

  The older woman gingerly took the cardboard tray of coffee, saying, “Joey’s favorite sandwich. Every day for lunch, he’s got to have one. You, Max, just went up a notch.”

  “Thanks, Gigi.” He grinned, handing over the pink box next as she set them on the table.

  “Sweet talker,” Annabelle murmured. “Warning, Gigi loves the attention.”

  “Does she now?”

  “Come sit next to me, Max,” Gigi offered, waving at a nearby chair.

  “Let me,” Max said, going behind her and holding her chair out for her.

  “Oh, what a gentleman. You didn’t tell me that, Annabelle.”

  Irish rolled her eyes. “It was a little difficult to explain.”

  “Sweetheart, can you get the plates? The good ones. And napkins.”

  She tapped her foot on the ground and glared at him. Max swallowed hard at that green-eyed stare.

  “Pretty please,” he asked.

  Annabelle tried to hold back, but she let out a chuckle. “Okay, people. Good plates on one condition. I get coffee first.” Before anyone could answer, she practically lunged for one of the cups. Sliding off the lid, she sipped the still steamy brew. “Tell me this isn’t heaven.”

  “No, this is,” Max said, waving a hand to encompass the spectacular surroundings.

  Her shrug seemed stiff and a knee-jerk response. “Just a little something I whipped up.”

  “You say that as if anyone could do it. Gorgeous, by the way.”

  She couldn’t meet his eyes. Pointing behind her, she said, “Plates. Me. Go.”

  Why couldn’t she take a compliment?