by Amy Vansant
“I’m going to bring my husband back a little later, but I think I’m going to take the sofa,” said the woman.
“No problem. It will be here when you get back.”
The woman shook his hand and left, corralling two young children through the door like a border collie herding sheep. Declan felt a wave of dread wash over him.
Now he was alone.
With her.
He glanced where he’d last seen Stephanie, hoping she’d left. She hadn’t. She waved at him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before returning to her.
“Okay, let’s get this over with. What do you want?”
“The shop.”
“No, you don’t. I know you don’t. Sitting in this shop full of used furniture and knick-knacks, talking to customers is about as close to hell as you can imagine.”
“That’s true…” She wandered a few feet away before turning back to him. “I could sell it…”
“It’s hardly worth more than the items around us. That isn’t much.”
“What about the building?”
“You want my mortgage? You can have it.”
“So you don’t own it?”
“No. I make enough to pay the mortgage by working long hours.”
“That sounds so depressing.”
“It’s how most people live.”
“That’s what I mean. Depressing.”
“So imagine how depressing it would be for you to own it.”
“I might be doing you a favor.”
“You might.”
“Okay…well…” She traced her upper lip with her tongue and stared at him. “Have you been working out?” She reached out and squeezed his bicep. “I don’t remember you being so buff.”
He jerked his arm away from her touch.
“Do you hate me so much?” Her bottom lip began to quiver. Her expression shifted from defiant brat to abandoned orphan in a matter of seconds. Declan felt a flash of sympathy.
No. Stop it. I’ve seen this play before.
He took a moment to steel himself against her emotional performance.
“Don’t even try it.”
Stephanie’s eyes glistened and she turned away from him, though not far enough to hide her tears. He watched as a single drop rolled down her cheek, leaving a snail’s trail of moisture in her apricot-colored foundation.
Her mascara didn’t run.
She wasn’t an amateur.
“You hate me,” she whispered as a sob racked her body and she dropped her face into her hands.
“Stephanie, can we skip the histrionics?”
She balled a fist and threw back her head. “Why? Why do you hate me?”
“Seriously, there’s no point. I’m not going to send my security footage to the Academy for Oscar consideration.”
“I can’t bear the thought of you hating me!”
He sighed. It looked like he’d have to play along for a bit if he was ever going to get her out of his store.
“Fine. I don’t hate you. Not that you didn’t give me a reason to.”
She turned to him, her eyes two crystal blue lakes spilling onto the impossibly smooth terrain of her pink cheeks, the sudden flush making her appear even more beautiful. She didn’t belong in a pawn shop. She belonged on a bluff, looking out over the moors, a defiant heroine, broken but not defeated, filled with the fiery resolve to survive through any hardship.
Boy, she’s good.
Declan felt drawn to the pain in her eyes and began to feel…guilty? Could their failed relationship somehow have been his fault? What had he done to make her run to the arms of another man? He couldn’t remember now.
What did I—
Wait a second.
“No!” he shook a finger at her, scolding.
“What?” she asked, her voice filled with the sadness of a thousand broken dreams.
“No, no, no!” He turned and walked clear across the store to his office door.
“Declan!”
He pivoted again and walked back.
“Do you know for a split second I thought I was the villain here?”
She looked as if she would laugh. “Really?”
“You cheated on me, once for sure, in hindsight I’m going to guess more than once. There was that guy with the hair…” He made a swooping motion over his head.
She closed her eyes and smiled as if remembering the scent of her favorite flower. “Marcos.”
“Right. Him.”
“He was a polo player.”
“Whatever. The point is you disappeared every time you thought someone wealthier might be available.”
“He was from Argentina.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“He was a polo player from Argentina.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“If only he had loved me the way he loved that damn horse of his…”
“Forget the damn polo player! Forget my friend—”
“The one with daddy money or the financial investor?”
“You—wait, Peter, too?”
She shrugged.
Declan tried another deep breath. “Forget all of them. Now, you’re trying to take my store from me. And for a minute there you had me questioning if I’d done something to you!”
Stephanie smirked, her eyes glinting like the sun reflected on a polished knife blade. She reached into her purse, retrieved a compact and proceeded to fix her makeup.
“I was starting to think I’d lost it,” she said as she powered her nose.
“You’re a snake.”
Stephanie slipped her compact back into her purse and stared at him. The corner of her mouth began to twitch. She licked her lips and hissed like a snake, playfully at first, but as she grinned, her lips began to quiver. She raised her chin, but her eyes again glazed with tears.
She sobbed. She expelled one loud blubber, and then slapped her hand to her mouth, eyes wide, as if shocked by the noise.
“You’re not seriously going to try this again, are you?” asked Declan.
She shook her head and turned away. This time spinning all the way around; he couldn’t see a single tear. Her shoulders bobbed.
“Stephanie?”
She shook her head and held up a finger, asking him to wait.
This time her pain seemed real. Was that possible? He reached out to touch her, thought twice about it, and then laid his fingers on her shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, gasping for breath between sobs.
Declan pursed his lips and tried to remain as unmoved as possible, but as her body began to shake, he felt something inside of him give.
“Come on. Don’t cry. I don’t hate you. I said I didn’t hate you…”
She continued to cry, lowering herself to a sofa as if she might fall.
“Stephanie…”
“I’m so lonely!” she said. He could barely make out the words.
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t have anyone.”
He sat beside her on the sofa, careful to keep a foot of space between them.
“What are you talking about? You can get anyone you want.”
“My last man dumped me for a Russian model! She didn’t even speak English!”
“Maybe that was the draw… I’m going to go out on a limb and guess he was a little on the shallow side…”
She glared at him, her eyes rimmed with red.
“Sorry.” He reached out and patted her knee lightly with the tips of his fingers. “It’s okay. You’ll be fine.”
“You were always so sweet to me.”
“Well, I tried…”
“You didn’t deserve the way I treated you.”
“I didn’t think so, no…”
“Oh Declan!”
Stephanie fell forward and threw her arms around him, using his rigid resistance to pull herself closer to him. He tried to pull away but she sli
d along with him, her tight dress offering little resistance against the smooth cushions. She clung to him like a terrified baby monkey, and he wondered if he’d have to spend the rest of his life dragging her from one room to another.
Wrestling one arm free, he loosely encircled her body to pat her on the back.
“There there…” he said, attempting to free his other arm. “It’s okay. You’ll be f—”
She grabbed his face and kissed him, pushing hard against him. Her tongue poked against his lips like a Viking siege, battling to gain entry to his mouth. He sealed his lips together and tried to pull away.
When did she get so strong?
He heard a gasp and realized there was no way Stephanie could have gasped with her face pressed against his.
Stephanie jerked away from him.
“Oh no…” she said, her gaze turning toward the front door. “You must be Charlotte. Oh, I’m so sorry…”
Declan snapped his head so hard to the left he worried he’d unscrewed his skull from his spine.
“Charlotte!”
Charlotte stood staring at the two of them. Seamus stood beside her, a strange smirk on his face.
“We didn’t mean for you to see this…” said Stephanie standing. Her eyes were still red and her makeup streaked with tears. Even a bit of her mascara had abandoned duty.
“No. I mean… No!” Declan stood and glared at Stephanie. During their tussle, most of her right breast had climbed the wall of her dress in what appeared to be an attempt to escape, so he quickly looked away. “She’s making it sound like we’re hiding something!”
“It doesn’t look like you’re hiding much of anything,” said Seamus.
Stephanie smirked and adjusted her dress.
“Don’t you start,” snapped Declan, pointing at Seamus. “Charlotte—”
Charlotte held up a hand to cut him short. She walked toward them and, seeing her approach, Stephanie stepped back, the sofa clipping her legs from beneath her. She fell back into the seated position, eyes never leaving Charlotte.
“Don’t let her touch me,” she said, tugging the bottom of Declan’s shorts. He leaned down to jerk the fabric from her fingers and stepped away from her.
Charlotte smiled and reached out her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Charlotte.”
Stephanie shot a look at Declan and then gingerly took her hand. “Stephanie.”
Charlotte turned to Declan. “You’ve got a little thing here,” she said, pointing at her own lower lip.
Declan wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and saw bright pink lipstick. He opened his mouth again to speak but Charlotte slipped her arm around his waist and stood beside him, hip to hip.
“How’s work?” she asked, staring up at him.
Declan pulled her closer to him.
I think I love this girl.
“I’m going to use your bathroom,” said Stephanie, standing again. In her heels, she was as tall as Charlotte. She lifted her chin before walking past them to the back of the shop.
“Ha!” said Seamus, slapping his thigh the moment Stephanie left the room. “I would have paid money to see that. The only way it could have gotten better is with a giant vat of Jello!”
They looked at him.
“You know, for girl wrestling,” he added.
“Yeah, I got it,” said Charlotte.
“That was amazing,” said Declan, spinning Charlotte to face him, his hands on her shoulders. “You knew just how to shut her down.”
“I’m glad one of us does,” she muttered.
“You know I wasn’t—”
“I know. I saw her spot us across the parking lot and then launch into her attack. It was all for our benefit.”
“Really?” Declan turned and looked where Stephanie had disappeared into the bathroom.
“Yup. But even if I hadn’t, it looked less like you were kissing and more like she was trying to steal your tonsils.”
“It kind of felt like that. Want me to show you a real kiss?”
He leaned in to kiss her and she stopped him by placing all four fingers across his lips.
“Not until you soak in alcohol or something.”
Declan snickered. “Fair enough. So what are you two doing here?”
“We thought we’d take you to lunch,” said Seamus. “Thought maybe we could brainstorm a little about our leggy problem there and Charlotte’s case—”
Seamus’ phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket. He repeated what? several times, his voice growing louder with each word.
“Jackie? Jackie?”
“What is it?” asked Declan as Seamus lowered the phone.
“It went dead. I heard Jackie, she said something about a guy and then she sort of yelped and then the phone went dead.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” said Stephanie approaching them. All signs of her previous emotional distress had evaporated.
Seamus was already half way out the door.
“I should go, too,” said Declan.
“Me too,” said Charlotte.
Stephanie shot her a look and headed for the door.
Seamus was in his car before Declan could lock the door. He ran to his car and jumped into the driver seat just as Stephanie eased into the passenger side.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I want to go, too.”
“Why? No!”
“She might need a lawyer. And anyway this all seems pretty exciting, don’t you think?”
“Get out of my car!”
Charlotte slid into the back seat. “We don’t have time for this. Just go!”
Declan glared at Stephanie and started his engine.
Chapter Thirteen
Declan pulled up to Jackie’s house.
“Do you recognize that car?” he asked nodding his head toward a Mercedes parked against the curb in front of him.
“No, why would I?” asked Stephanie.
“I was talking to Charlotte,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, right,” she mumbled. “I forgot it was there.”
Declan glanced at his rearview mirror and found Charlotte glaring at the back of Stephanie’s head.
“I don’t recognize the car,” she said. “Though I’ve been a little distracted by him.”
She pointed toward Jackie’s house where a large man in a white tee shirt and black jeans stood outside the door talking to Seamus. Declan wasn’t sure how he’d missed the hulking figure, though he might have been distracted by the sound of Stephanie’s nails clicking on the window as she ran the gauntlet from pinky to index finger over and over again. The drive had been five minutes long and she was already bored.
“I guess I better get up there.” He stepped out of the car and approached Seamus. “What’s going on?”
Seamus’ face resembled a clogged steam engine ready to blow. “This bastard won’t get out of my way and I’m about to show him my ugly side.”
Declan eyed the man, whose arms looked like pythons that had swallowed pigs. He noticed the right was visibly larger than the left.
“You play tennis?” he asked.
The man smiled and pulled off his sunglasses to look at Declan. With the glasses lowered, he could see the man was more of an oversized boy in his early twenties, which was probably why Seamus hadn’t already head-butted him.
“Yeah, I do, how’d you know that?”
“I noticed your right arm was larger than your left.”
“Huh,” the man looked at his right bicep and flexed it, the veins bulging. “You know I didn’t think it was that obvious any more. I played a lot more when I was in college—”
“Are you daft?” Seamus screamed at Declan. “Whataya talkin’ about tennis fer?”
Seamus’ accent grew stronger whenever he was upset.
Declan shrugged. “I just thought—”
“Well stop tinkin’! You’re terrible at it!”
Seamus turned his attention back to the man-boy. “Yo
u, get outta me way!”
The man slid his glasses back on and peeked through the door into Jackie’s home. “I don’t think I’m supposed to let you in there.”
Seamus reached for the door and the man grabbed his wrist. Seamus swung at him with his other hand, his knuckles breezing across the tennis player’s chin.
Declan grabbed the man’s other hand to prevent him from hurting his uncle. Behind him, he heard Charlotte’s voice.
“Stop, or I’ll call the police!”
Declan deflected the man’s hand from Seamus’ face, but as he did so, he redirected it towards his own chin. Before he could dodge, he felt knuckles connect with his cheekbone and his teeth rattled. He fell behind Seamus and slammed against the side of the house.
“Stop!” screamed a new voice.
Another man appeared in the doorway, his head nearly grazing the top of the doorframe. Though he stood five inches taller than his beefy companion, he looked as though he weighed a hundred pounds less. He wore thick, black-rimmed glasses, jeans and a dark suit jacket over a gray tee shirt with a dragon and a sexy woman holding a sword emblazoned across the front. Declan looked up from massaging his jaw and decided the man looked as though someone had built a computer programmer out of noodles.
“What’s going on, Ashley?” he asked.
“Who’s Ashley?” asked Seamus.
“I am.”
Seamus looked up at the man still holding his wrist. “Your name is Ashley?”
He shrugged. “Mom was a big Gone with the Wind fan. My sister’s name is Scarlett and my other brother is Rhett.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Ashley shrugged again.
Seamus turned his attention back to the short guy. “Where’s Jackie?”
“She’s inside. Can I tell her whose calling?”
“Can you tell her—? Get out of my way!”
Seamus resumed wrestling to free himself from the grip of the goon.
“That’s my boyfriend!” said Jackie’s voice from inside.
“Let him in, Ash,” said the tall man.
Ashley stepped out of Seamus’ way and the Irishman entered. Declan peeled himself off the wall, his cheekbone radiating pain. He held it as Charlotte approached.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He nodded and looked up the stairs at the hulking man blocking his way. “I need to see what’s up.”