His usual seat at the bar was vacant, but before he made his way to it, he stopped to exchange a few words with some of the regular customers. He asked Ed about his job, then chuckled over something Bobby said. He was good with people—all kinds of people. She might have nicknamed him “Charm Boy” because of his flirtatious manner, but the truth was, he made friends with everyone. Even Carl, who preferred hanging out at the bar to being home with his wife and didn’t make conversation with anyone, had exchanged half a dozen words with Marco the previous weekend.
She knew he worked a lot of hours at Valentino’s—not just behind the bar but wherever he was needed. And yet somehow he’d found the time to stop by O’Reilly’s to see her. And why would he do that unless he was, as Tristyn suggested, smitten with her?
And while she was flattered—because what woman wouldn’t be flattered to have a man like Marco interested in her?—she knew that she couldn’t continue to encourage his flirtations. Her sister was right: she owed it to Marco to be honest about what she wanted—or didn’t want.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” she said, when he settled himself at the bar.
He winked at her. “Did you miss me?”
She had. She wasn’t willing to admit it, but it was true. “Carl did,” she told him. “He could barely pick his chin up off of the bar to drink his beer Wednesday night.”
“I wanted to be here, but I had business to take care of.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations.”
“But you owe me a number—six of seven.”
She busied herself cutting a lime into wedges. “I thought you’d given up on that.”
“It hasn’t been that long since I’ve been in here,” he said. “And I don’t give up that easily.”
“I’m afraid our little game may have given you the wrong impression.”
“What impression is that?”
“That if you managed to put the numbers together in the right order and called to ask me out, I might say yes.”
“And you wouldn’t?”
She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“That’s too bad,” he said.
She frowned as she tipped another glass beneath the tap and poured a Kilkenny for Ed.
“‘That’s too bad’?” she echoed. “That’s all you have to say.”
He shrugged. “I’m not really surprised. I kind of figured that kiss would have you running scared.”
“I’m not running scared,” she told him. “I just don’t want to get involved.”
He held her gaze for a long minute before he nodded. “Your call.”
“Thank you.”
He lifted his head up to sniff the air as Melody walked by with a bowl of Guinness stew. “Mmm...I’m starving and that smells really good.”
“You didn’t eat at Valentino’s?”
“Not tonight.” He sipped his beer. “Can I get some of that?”
“Sure.” She put the order through to the kitchen, then moved down the bar to serve other customers.
When his dinner came, he continued to sit at the bar, eating his stew and drinking his beer and chatting with Bobby. When he was finished, he paid his bill, wished her good-night and walked out.
The next night, he came back again, taking a seat at the bar and chatting and flirting with her as if nothing had changed. He returned two days later, and again, three days after that.
“I’m a little confused,” she admitted, setting a refill of his draft in front of him.
“About what?”
“Why you’re still hanging around here.”
“I like being around you.”
“But I said I wasn’t going to go out with you, and you said you were okay with that.”
“I never said I was okay with it,” he corrected. “I said it was your call.”
“Which still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here,” she pointed out.
“There are some people—a very select few—who make the world a better place just by being in it. For me, you’re one of those people. Yeah, I’m disappointed that you don’t want to explore this attraction between us,” he said. “But I’m happy just to share your company.”
“That’s probably the nicest thing I’ve ever heard from a guy who wasn’t trying to get me naked.”
“Is naked an option?”
She laughed. “No.”
He shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
She delivered a couple of drinks to the end of the bar. “For what it’s worth,” she said, when she returned, “I like when you hang around here.”
“You know that mixed-signal thing you were worried about?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re doing it again.”
Her cheeks colored. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry you said no when I asked you to go out with me?”
“Sorry I’m not ready to say yes.”
“Then maybe we could just go out for dinner sometime,” he suggested.
“What?”
“Dinner,” he said again, as if it was a perfectly reasonable suggestion.
She stared at him, sincerely baffled. “Have you listened to a single word I’ve said?”
“I’ve listened to every word,” he assured her. “You aren’t ready to start dating—so we won’t call it a date, we’ll call it dinner.”
“And the difference?”
“Expectations.”
She noted Ed’s drink was empty and put a fresh glass under the tap. “Maybe you could elaborate on that.”
“When a man and woman go on a date, there are certain expectations. Where is this going? Will she let me kiss her good-night? Will she invite me in for coffee? And when she says ‘coffee,’ does she mean something else?”
“Those are some heavy expectations,” she acknowledged.
“Which is why I understand and sympathize with your desire to avoid the ‘date’ label.”
“It’s not just the label, but the whole scenario.”
“I get that,” he assured her. “But when you go out for dinner—your expectations are much more limited, are they not?”
“I guess so.”
“Because dinner might be a date, but it could also just be a meal shared with someone else—a sister or a coworker or a friend. Do you agree?”
“I can see myself being backed into a corner, but I can’t disagree,” she said.
“So you’ll have dinner with me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t say you wouldn’t,” he pointed out.
“If I say yes—isn’t that another mixed signal?”
“No, it’s only a signal that you’d like to enjoy a meal, and considering that we both need to eat, I don’t think it requires any further interpretation.”
She wiped a condensation ring off the bar. “So you’re asking me to have dinner with you—just the sharing of a meal with no expectations?”
“No expectations,” he confirmed.
“Then I guess—” she set out new drink coasters “—that’s a yes.”
* * *
He was surprised by her easy capitulation.
Of course, it was only easy if he overlooked the fact that he’d been putting himself in her path for more than four weeks, watched her chat and flirt with other men, and tortured himself every night throughout the past week with the memories of the one kiss they’d shared.
“When?” he prompted.
She laughed. “I don’t know.”
“How’s tomorrow?”
“I’m working.”
“When aren’t you working?”
“Next Tuesday.”
He frowne
d. “Tuesday?”
“What’s wrong with Tuesday?”
“Nothing except for the fact that I have an early meeting on Wednesday.”
“It’s just dinner,” she reminded him.
“Right,” he agreed. “I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock on Tuesday, then.”
Chapter Nine
Jordyn rolled her shoulders. “I have to get back to the gym—my muscles are already burning.”
“Mine, too,” Lauryn admitted. “I knew this would be a messy job, but I had no idea it would be this difficult.”
Jordyn renewed her attack on the wall with the scraper. “It’s as if whoever put this paper up actually used superglue.”
“Such a lack of common sense would correspond with their obvious absence of good taste.” Lauryn swiped at the perspiration on her brow. “I mean—who puts rooster wallpaper in a bedroom?”
“Who puts rooster wallpaper anywhere?”
“Good point.”
“We should have waited until the weekend when we could have enlisted Tristyn’s help,” Jordyn grumbled, thinking of her sister in her tidy little suit behind her desk at Garrett Furniture while she and Lauryn were covered in sweat and glue and tiny bits of ugly wallpaper.
“She did offer,” Lauryn said. “But I really didn’t think it would be this hard. The paper in the dining room downstairs came off without any difficulty.”
Since griping about the job wasn’t making it any easier, Jordyn decided to look beyond the process to the end result. This room, across the hall from the nursery, would be Kylie’s new bedroom before the new baby came along. “So what color are you thinking for this room?”
“Pink,” Lauryn said. “Because it’s Kylie’s favorite color. But a really pale pink, maybe even more of a blush. And I’m going to go to that auction house off the highway toward Raleigh and see if I can pick up some decent secondhand furniture that can be revived with a coat of white paint.”
“You know, Mom and Dad have three bedrooms filled with furniture they’re not using,” Jordyn pointed out. “Including your old bedroom.”
“I never thought of that,” Lauryn admitted. “Kylie would love that canopy bed.”
“And the little dressing table and chair.”
Her sister soaked another patch of wallpaper with the sponge. “You really think Mom and Dad wouldn’t mind if I asked for it for Kylie?”
For herself, she wouldn’t ask. But there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for her daughter.
“I think they’d be thrilled.”
Lauryn looked around the room, as if mentally setting up the bedroom. “It would work perfectly in here,” she decided.
“With white organza curtains on the windows?” Jordyn guessed.
Her sister smiled. “Yeah.”
“She’ll love it.”
“I’ll ask Mom when she gets back from story time at the library with Kylie.” She looked around the room again and sighed. “Of course, there’s a lot of work to be done before this room will be ready for furniture. If we ever get this wallpaper off, I’ve got to patch the holes and replace the broken trim.”
“You don’t have to do everything on your own,” Jordyn reminded her. “There are any number of people who would help if you just asked.”
“I know—I got you here, didn’t I?”
“Only for another couple of hours—then I need to go home to shower and get ready for work.”
“Are you seeing Marco tonight?”
Because just the mention of his name—and the possibility—made her pulse skip, she attacked the wall with renewed vigor.
“I’m working tonight,” she said again.
“Yeah, but Tristyn told me that Marco’s been hanging out at O’Reilly’s and flirting with a certain bartender.”
“He’s been in a few times when I’ve been working.”
“Any more toe-curling kisses?”
“Tristyn has a big mouth.”
“We’re sisters,” Lauryn reminded her. “There aren’t supposed to be any secrets between sisters. And we both think he could be very good for you.”
“Oh, well, if you both think so, then why should my opinion matter?”
Lauryn ignored her sarcasm. “Your opinion would matter if it wasn’t obvious that you’re so twisted up over him you’re not thinking straight.”
“I’m not twisted up,” she denied.
“Tell that to your forehead.”
She turned away, because that was easier than smoothing the scowl she could feel etched in her brow.
“You deserve to be happy,” Lauryn said. “And Marco makes you happy.”
“When he’s not making me crazy,” she admitted.
Her sister smiled. “As long as it’s a feel-good kind of crazy, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I thought I had my chance,” Jordyn said. “And when Brian died, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to put my heart back together enough to care about anyone again.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Lauryn told her. “Very few people ever get love right the first time around.”
Jordyn smiled. “My first love was Jimmy Chelminski.”
“Second grade doesn’t count.”
“It should—he was perfect.”
“Because he always gave you his red gummy bears.”
“I still love red gummy bears.”
“And Jimmy Chelminski?”
“Living happily ever after with Debbie Turlington, their two kids and two dogs in Charlotte. And speaking of happily ever after,” she said, grateful for the opportunity to shift the topic of conversation away from her conflicted feelings about Marco, “I was thinking about your idea of a princess-slash-fairy-tale theme for Kylie and came up with a sketch.”
“Already? I just mentioned the idea to you yesterday.”
“It’s just a rough sketch,” she said.
Lauryn dropped her sponge back into the bucket of water and wiped her hands down the front of her shorts. “I want to see it.”
Jordyn rolled her shoulders again, grateful for the excuse to take a short break. “Okay.”
They went downstairs and Lauryn poured them each a glass of sweet tea while Jordyn retrieved the sketch from the side pocket of her purse.
“The wall would be painted to look like it was made of stone, as if she was sleeping inside a castle, with three arched ‘windows’ providing a view of the fairy-tale kingdom.”
Lauryn scrutinized the drawing. There were mountains in the background, with a waterfall spilling down into a lake at the bottom and a castle in the distance—a fanciful design with turrets and towers and a gate guarded by a knight with sword and shield on one side and a dragon on the other. On the long, winding road leading to the castle was an exquisite glass carriage drawn by a pair of white horses.
“This is...wow.” Lauryn traced the outline of the castle. “Even in my mind, I didn’t imagine anything like this.”
“If it’s not what you want—”
“No,” her sister interrupted. “It’s perfect.” She studied the sketch for another minute, noting the bunches of wildflowers in the grass and the fairies peeking out behind the trees. “I know Kylie would love it, but it looks like a lot of work.”
“It will be fun,” Jordyn said.
“Which makes me wonder why you never pursued a career in art.”
“What kind of career? Giving tours of the local art gallery or teaching watercolor to a group of high school students?”
“With your talent, you could do anything you wanted to,” Lauryn said.
“And this—” she gestured to the sketch “—is what I want to do for my niece.”
* * *
Marco stayed away from O’Reilly’s over
the weekend. Not just because he was busy at Valentino’s and helping with the renovations they’d started at the new location, but because he was pretty sure that Jordyn had talked herself out of going to dinner with him and if he showed up, she’d make up some kind of excuse as to why she’d changed her mind. He wasn’t going to give her a chance to change her mind.
He still didn’t have her phone number, and she didn’t have his, which meant that she couldn’t call or text to cancel their plans. She could have tracked him down through Valentino’s, but he didn’t think she would.
Tuesday afternoon, his sister had a prenatal checkup so she asked him to watch the girls while she was out. He was happy to help, happy to have something to do to stop obsessing about his evening plans. In fact, the girls kept him so busy, he barely had a chance to think about his nondate with Jordyn.
“Everything good?” he asked Renata when she got home.
“Everything’s great,” she assured him. “Baby is measuring right where he should be, his heart rate is good, he’s got ten fingers, ten toes and is very active.”
“He?”
She shook her head. “Unconfirmed. I’m just assuming that Nonna is right.”
“And you’re feeling good?” he prompted.
“Just tired—which probably has as much to do with chasing Anna and Bella around as the extra twenty pounds I’m carrying.”
“I’d say that Anna and Bella are the primary reason—I’ve only been here an hour and a half, and I’m exhausted.”
“You’ve definitely earned dinner,” Nata said. “I’m making roasted chicken with peppers and red-skin potatoes, if you want to stay.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got plans for dinner tonight.”
His sister turned back to him. “A date?”
“Yeah.”
“With a woman?”
He scowled at the disbelief in her tone. “Is that really so hard to believe?”
“No.” She pulled a bag of potatoes from the pantry, dumped half a dozen into the sink. “It’s just that, considering all of your recent commentary about how you’re too busy focusing on the restaurant expansion to even think about anything else, it’s a little surprising.”
“Aren’t you the one who always says we make time for the things that matter?”
The Bachelor Takes a Bride (Those Engaging Garretts!) Page 10