21
“Thank you, Mabel.” Tessa blew a cooling breath across the top of her cup. “I think I’ve gained five pounds in the last three weeks. Your hot chocolate is the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“You could stand a few pounds.”
“I’ll be lucky to fit into my bridesmaid dress for Lily’s wedding on Saturday.”
“You’ll fill that fluffy monstrosity just fine.”
“Thanks again for doing the alterations for me. I never thought I’d be in Ohio this long.” She set her mug on the kitchen island and drew her laptop closer, typing updates to her story outline from the ideas she and Emma worked through over the last hour.
“My pleasure. When do you leave for New Orleans?”
“Tomorrow night. I have so much to do.” She closed her computer and swiveled to face Mabel. “Can you keep a secret?”
Mabel threw her towel over her shoulder and laced her thick arms over her rounded belly. “My late husband Cal used to call me Fort Knox. Still makes my sisters crazy.”
Tessa glanced over her shoulder toward the stairwell Emma had raced up minutes ago to retrieve more coloring paper and crayons. “I have an appointment with a children’s literary agent on Friday before the rehearsal dinner.”
“Really?”
Tessa nodded. “I’m going to pitch him Emma’s story idea. I have most of the framework built and I’ve been pulling together rough sketches every night. I have a mock-up just about finished. I think this idea could be more than one book—maybe even a series of books based on the angels Emma described—all centered on the main characters Guard-Ann, the guardian angel and Shelby, her charge.”
“Oh Tessa, that’s wonderful. But why do you want to keep it a secret?”
“I don’t want Emma to get her hopes to high. Publishing is a tough industry. You have to have more than just a well written, creative story. You need a marketing plan. Publishing goals. Target markets…”
“Here I thought the hard part was writing a book.”
Tessa chuckled. “As hard as it is, writing the book is the easiest part of the entire process.”
“I gots it!” Emma’s voice bellowed into the kitchen—seemingly unattached to the little girl. Her tiny feet and legs slid to a stop at the top of the steps. With halted movements, she stuttered down the stairs with intent focus.
Anticipating the clean sheets, Tessa placed her laptop, notebook, and sketches in her shoulder bag on the floor. The last three weeks of collaboration with a near five-year-old were the most creatively invigorating of her life. Emma’s tireless energy zapped Tessa’s hibernating writing muse back to life. Beyond the snow angel stories, she had written book proposals for a political thriller set in New Orleans, and a biography on Elton Gibson, Gibson’s Run’s founding father. Although she trusted Mabel, she didn’t share her biggest secret—she had a meeting with her former publishers when she arrived in New Orleans. She feared their rejection, but the hope she clung to flowed on the inspiration she’d been riding.
Between fruitful writing sessions—alone, and with sweet Emma—living out her teenage fantasy of being courted by Joey Taylor, and her father’s daily improvements, her once swirling life seemed to be on an upswing. She’d been so consumed with her work and social life she hadn’t had a single free minute to think about the teeter-totter her heart was on weighing the affections of Joey with her unexplainable attraction to Ryland.
Since the afternoon of snow angels and hot chocolate, she’d seen him in passing at school, and for doorway waves as she rushed out of his house in the evenings. If she didn’t know better she’d guess he was avoiding her, but that would be silly. Why would he avoid her?
“Are you ready to draws Guard-Ann, Miss Tessa?” Emma asked, yanking Tessa from her thoughts.
“Yes, ma’am.” She lifted the wide sheets of translucent drawing paper, spreading them on the marble counter. “Now we said that Guard-Ann had long hair—but no halo, right?” Tessa swept her pencil from top to bottom with wide curves in the middle of the sheet.
“Yep. She’s gots long, blonde hair that gots big curls and is kind of…” She propped her chin on her upturned palm, twisting her lips in deep concentration.
“Kind of wild and crazy, like someone I know?” Ryland’s voice was deep and flowed through Tessa like warm tea on a cold night. He scooped Emma into his arms and shuffled her hair with his wide palm.
“Daddy, angels ain’t wild and crazy.” She shook her head with authority.
“I don’t know. The one angel I know is pretty wild and crazy.”
“You knows an angel?”
“I’m looking right at her.” His grin was wide, oozing love and pride for his daughter—tipping the teeter-totter in Tessa’s heart.
“Daddy, don’t be sillys. I’m not no angel. I live heres. God’s gots all the angels living in heaven with Him. They just gets to come here when someone needs their help.”
“Well…did you ever think that God sent you to me so that makes you my angel?”
A soft grin tilted the corners of her mouth. “That’s real nice, Daddy.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.
Tessa was convinced she’d cut off Ryland’s airway passage, but she leaned back and gave hima kiss.
Setting her back on the stool, Ryland smacked a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll leave you to your work.” He turned without acknowledging Tessa, and whispered to Mabel. He tossed his wet shoes into the mud box by the door and padded down the hall, likely disappearing into his study or workout room.
In the time Tessa had been collaborating with Emma, he hadn’t said more than two words to her: “hello” and “good-bye”. Maybe she’d misread Ryland’s feelings for her. Misinterpreted his kiss nearly a month ago. Surely, if he was interested in her—beyond a glorified babysitter for his daughter—he would engage her in conversation. Had she angered him? Was he mad about the time she was spending with Emma?
“Miss Tessa, we gots to draw. Mrs. Mabel’s making biggie stew and I won’t be con-trating after I eats it. It’s my favorite and my brains gets all mushy after I eat it. I can’ts think of nothing.”
“Well, we can’t work with a mushy brain. Let’s get to drawing.”
~*~
Music pounded through Ryland’s headphones blocking the cheerful giggles and chatter from the kitchen.
Three weeks. Three weeks he’d endured Tessa invading his home and every waking conversation he had with his daughter.
Miss Tessa likes chocolate cookies like you, Daddy.
Miss Tessa thinks angels are reals too.
Do you think I’ll be pretty like Miss Tessa?
When Miss Tessa laughs she kinda snorts.
Miss Tessa. Miss Tessa. Miss Tessa.
His daughter’s fixation with his own personal obsession was not helping him be the bigger man when it came to Joe’s pursuit of Tessa. Each day he walked through the back door and spied Tessa’s blonde locks intermingled with Emma’s curls, and his heart twisted with longing for weeks upon years of walking into similar scenes. Tessa helping Emma with her homework or reciting lines for the school play, or sharing secrets—preferably not about some future boyfriend. Her fixture in his house, with his daughter, was allowing his unimaginative mind to create a tidal wave of images that would likely crash and leave the pool dry.
He tugged his sweat-soaked T-shirt over his head and tossed it in the corner of his workout room. When he’d purchased the house, the room was outfitted with a treadmill, elliptical and stationary bicycle. He’d added his extensive free weight system, heavy weight bag, and benches. The room had been his refuge since the Tessa Take-Over started—allowing his bent toward grueling exercise to free his mind and untangle the longing in his heart.
He wrapped his phone in a case around his bicep, strapped on sparing gloves, and then rhythmically punched the center of the bag. With each whack he vented his romantic frustrations. Distancing himself from Tessa was the best form of self-preservation. In a fair fi
ght, he would never be able to beat JT for Tessa’s affections. And Tessa was good for Joe. She’d had him in church every Sunday since the two went on their first date and his friend was starting to show glimpses of his old self.
Although JT remained tightlipped about the source of anxiety nipping at his heels, after two decades of friendship Ryland knew JT’s happy-go-lucky demeanor was actually shadowing secrets. His game was not up to his stellar rookie year performance.
The baseball commentators—who had celebrated Joe’s early success and thirty home run first year in the majors—lambasted his .285 batting average last season as he vacillated between the injured reserve and the starting line-up. The knocks on his professionalism and athletic ability weighed heavy, showing in his performance on the field.
But Joe’s time with Tessa seemed to give him a renewed sense of self.
Despite his feelings, Ryland wouldn’t do anything to destroy his friend’s fragile recovery. Instead he would work himself into the best shape of his post professional athlete life. A tap on his shoulder caused him to swing with instinct—barely missing Tessa’s jaw. “I’m sorry. Are you OK? Did I hit you?” Ripping his earbuds from his ears, he stripped off his gloves and tossed them near his T-shirt. He rested his hands on her shoulders, guiding her to sit on the bench.
“Ryland, I’m fine.” She chuckled. “You totally whiffed.”
“Are you sure?” He squatted in front of her, examining her face for the chance of defect.
“I’m sure, but if I knew nearly getting cold-cocked was the way to get you to say more than two words to me, I’d have startled you three weeks ago.” Her smile twinkled through her eyes, causing a sudden awareness that his palms were still pressed against the thin fabric of her sheer blouse. A steady simmer of heat flowed from her through him.
He tore his hands from her shoulders, quickly stood. “I’m sorry. Did I mess up your top thingy?” Grabbing a clean towel from a stack beside the weight rack, he tossed it to her—afraid if he stayed too near his self-control would race out the back door.
“It’s just a shirt. Regardless of what Lily Mae says, I have plenty. A toss in the wash and it’ll be good as new.” Standing, she closed the gap between them and handed him the towel. “But I do need to talk with you.”
Ryland swallowed against the growing thickness in his throat, he nodded.
“OK…” She turned, slowly pacing the room—dragging her hand across the weights. She stopped at the elliptical and leaned awkwardly against the machine. “So, you know I’m going to Lily’s wedding this weekend.”
He nodded.
“Well, I’m going down tomorrow. I was able to get an appointment with a children’s literary agent.” Her eyebrows lifted, waiting for a response.
But being close to her for the first time in weeks—after trying to squash his desire—caused a flood of yearning to flow through him and a sudden case of mute.
“Nothing? How about, ‘That’s great Tessa’ or ‘What does this mean for Emma?’”
He nodded.
“Well, I’m so glad you asked, Ryland. I wanted you to know about the meeting, because Emma has a stake in any contract I sign. As her legal guardian you’ll need to review the book deal—if we get one—and decide how you want to account for her royalties and payments.”
The talk of money for his daughter released his tongue. “Why would Emma receive royalties? It’s your book, Tessa. I mean I’m happy for you, but she didn’t write anything. You did.”
“That’s not true.” Pushing off the elliptical, she crossed the space in two long strides. “I wouldn’t be anywhere in this project without Emma. She’s the one who developed the character sketches for the angels and their vocations. She’s the one who sees the images of the angels in her mind and transcribes them to me. She’s the one who thought of the first adventure for little Shelby—Guard-Ann’s charge.”
“She did?”
“Didn’t she tell you what we’ve been working on for the past three weeks?”
She had, but one too many mentions of Tessa forced Ryland to flip on his parent nodding reflex as a defense. He knew his daughter was talking, but nothing she said registered. “I guess I didn’t realize.”
“She’s very talented, Ryland. Her creativity is amazing.” Her cheeks flushed full bloom pink as she recapped the writing sessions. The pure delight Tessa exuded, and Emma’s input into the story puffed his prideful heart. His daughter was a writer. Who knew?
“When my friend set up the meeting with Terrell I knew I had to jump on it.”
“Wait.” He shook his head. “Who’s Terrell?”
“Haven’t you been listening? Terrell Bergstrom—the agent. He’s the one I’m meeting with on Friday to discuss Emma’s book.”
“Right. Contracts. Royalties. Etcetera.”
“It’s kind of a big deal. The timing is beyond quick, but I think the proposal is in decent shape.” Wringing the towel in her hands she began to pace the small room. “I’ve not pitched a children’s book before, but I’m hoping the process is similar to other projects. It can’t be that different, can it?” Her pace quickened and her words sped, but held little coherence.
The subtly confident, and strong woman disintegrated before his eyes. With each step her mind seemed to unravel through her lips, and the vulnerable little girl he’d known since he was six years old took control.
He caught her as she passed and wrapped his arms around her. “Shhh…” With long, smooth strokes of his hand, he trailed a path from her shoulders to her back, intending to soothe and calm. She sighed into his chest, and relaxed in his embrace. He swallowed, desperately trying to ignore the intensity of emotion trilling through every cell of his body. Her fragrance flowed with his senses. He deeply inhaled. She smelled soft and delicate. Not sweet like most women.
She was calm now; her breath slowed against his chest. He should step away. But the feel of her, her gentle weight, wrapped protectively in his arms, was nearly his undoing. He wanted this. Tessa in his arms. Protecting her. Comforting her. Loving her.
“Hey, did I miss something?”
Tessa jumped as if she’d stepped on a firecracker at the sound of Joe’s aw-shucks chuckle. She went over and casually wrapped her arms around his waist. “Just a typical freak out moment. Ryland calmed me down.”
Joe tucked her in the crook of his arm. “Must have been some freak out.”
“Epic.” A smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Yep,” Ryland echoed. “Epic.”
“You always comfort topless, Jessup?”
Pivoting, Ryland yanked a hoodie from the weight bench. “I was working out when she interrupted. How was I supposed to know I needed to put on my Psych 101 hat?”
Joe chuckled. “I’d have liked that kind of class in school. I’d have had an ‘A’ for sure.”
With a quick smack to the gut, Tessa stepped out of Joe’s arms and stalked to the door. “Excuse me. I’ll go say goodnight to Emma. I believe she may hold the majority of the maturity in this house at the moment—Mabel the obvious exception.” She disappeared into the hallway.
“Whew,” Joe shook his head. “Who knew T.T. Tarrington was such a spitfire?”
The rip of Velcro answered him. Ryland wrapped his weight-lifting gloves together and tossed them on the small corner counter, ignoring Joe’s one-sided conversation as he extoled the wonders of dating Tessa. Similar to Emma, the only conversations he’d had with his best friend in the last three weeks were Tessa-centered. For someone who was desperately trying to avoid her, he was surrounded by all things Tessa.
Lifting the disinfectant spray bottle and soft towel, Ryland methodically began to clean all the equipment as Joe continued to prattle on about the double date he had planned with Tessa, and Sean and Maggie that evening. Somewhere between wiping down the bench and the mats, Joe switched discussion topics to the status of the failing Ohio State Buckeyes basketball team. Without missing a beat in his one-sided conversation, Joe
stepped onto the elliptical and absently swished the footholds back and forward.
“Dude,” Ryland dropped to the bench, the spray bottle dangling between his fingers. “What’s your problem?”
Joe swished to a stop. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you still here?”
“I thought I’d visit with you.”
“I’m cleaning my workout room, JT. Don’t you think that’s weird since I have a full time cleaning lady?”
“Maybe you’re a little more OCD than in high school. To each his own.”
Ryland rubbed his forehead.
“I’m sorry I bugged you. I’ll catch you later,” Joe said.
“Wait. We need to talk.”
22
New Orleans fed Tessa’s soul.
The city’s sorrowful melody trailed every street; her spicy aroma lingering. Despite the three weeks of anticipation still separating the city from her annual “carnival”, NOLA was alive with preparatory Mardi Gras celebrations floating between cafés, clubs, and corner street bands. The revelry was a mere shadow of Lily Mae’s elaborate wedding event strategically scheduled to overshadow New Orleans’ most famous of parties.
Waiting in the famous French Quarter café for the bride-to-be Thursday morning, she sipped her chicory coffee, well diluted with fresh cream, and contemplated soothing her wounded pride with the warm sugary goodness wrapped in a traditional beignet. Her breakfast meeting with the co-founders of Evanston and Evanston, Jim and Cheryl, yielded disappointing results.
They would be delighted to have her return, provided she could bring one or two “juicy” clients with her. Somehow her gossip-fed former leaders discovered she went to high school with Joe and Ryland. The prospect of signing either a current baseball player with a well-documented party-at-all-costs-lifestyle, or a retired NFL linebacker whose wife’s death was less than straightforward made the two salivate.
When Tessa refused to offer any details around either man, Jim and Cheryl cut the breakfast short. The offer was clear—sign a book deal with either athlete or don’t return to E&E.
She hoped her meeting the next day with John’s friend reaped better results.
Life on the Porcelain Edge Page 15