Sandra laughed as they simultaneously repeated her client’s statement, and now their favorite inside joke. “A cell phone camera and social media are a nosy town’s best friends.”
By the time they arrived, Darren Howerton’s victory party was in full swing. Sandra had been on the Howerton estate hundreds of times since childhood, but she’d never seen it look more festive than it did tonight.
Red and blue balloons along with silver streamers bobbed against the high ceilings of the stately home while a live band played an up-tempo tune in the background. Sandra looked at the flag-inspired bunting over the windows and the Howerton campaign posters scattered artfully throughout. She saw the word WINNER had been stamped on the posters in large black letters, and was glad her brother had decided to stay home.
Jordan was still wrestling with his disappointment. Also, he wasn’t convinced Janelle’s father was the fair-and-square winner of the election.
She felt Isaiah’s large palm on the bare skin of her back and warm tingles radiated throughout her body. “You okay?” he whispered against her ear.
Sandra nodded as she spotted Vicki and Janelle headed in their direction. Vicki’s hair was swept up in its usual chignon, and she wore a raw silk sheath in a universally flattering shade of midnight blue. Pearls adorned her ears and neck.
As they approached, Sandra didn’t notice anything about Janelle beyond the blissful smile she’d worn ever since she’d become Mrs. Ballard Dubois last month. One look at her, and a woman would think marriage was the best beauty treatment ever.
“So you two finally decided to stop sneaking around and be seen together in public?” Janelle asked.
“We’re just—” Sandra began.
“Friends,” Janelle and Vicki said in unison.
“You’ve both certainly told us enough times,” Janelle added, referring to the occasions they’d seen Isaiah over the past two weeks, when he’d stopped by the Victorian to walk her home after work.
“And we’re not buying it.” Vicki’s gaze dropped to their joined hands.
It had seemed so natural that Sandra hadn’t even realized she and Isaiah were holding hands. A lot of things were happening between them naturally.
Isaiah cleared his throat. “I don’t remember hearing about either of you getting back to Sandra on our dinner invitation,” he said. “We’ve got another practice run before she has to cook Thanksgiving dinner solo on Thursday, and could use some turkey tasters.”
Sandra pressed her lips together to keep from laughing aloud at the comical expressions on her friends’ faces.
“How about it, ladies?” Isaiah asked.
Janelle looked at her watch. “Ballard’s been in my father’s study on a business call for nearly an hour,” she said. “I’d better go find my husband before he misses the entire party.”
Sandra watched as her friend practically sprinted in her high heels to get away from them.
“That leaves just you, Vic,” Isaiah said. “Can we pencil you in for dinner tomorrow?”
“Um...I think I hear my parents calling me,” she said. “They’re here tonight, along with everyone else’s.”
Sandra groaned aloud, along with Isaiah, as Vicki made an exit as quickly as Janelle had moments earlier.
“So whose folks do we go in and greet first, yours or mine?” Sandra asked, gearing herself up for the task.
“Neither,” Isaiah said, as they walked toward the sounds of music and conversations coming from the Howertons’ conservatory. “First, we’re going to congratulate Janelle’s dad, and then I want to dance with you at least once before we go stirring up that hornets’ nest.”
There was a line of well-wishers waiting to speak with Darren Howerton, so they decided to hold off until after their dance. En route to the dance floor, Sandra caught sight of an especially elegant-looking Octavia Hall across the room. She was wearing a velvet cocktail dress in a sumptuous shade of forest green and was deep in conversation with a tall, distinguished man Sandra had never seen before.
Isaiah pulled her into his arms, and Sandra closed her eyes briefly and inhaled his clean, masculine scent. Friends, she reminded herself, just as they’d had to constantly remind everyone else. Still, she didn’t want to think about Thanksgiving being a few short days away, and the fact that he was leaving the day after.
She peered over his shoulder. Once again her gaze landed on her client, just as the handsome man Olivia was with leaned in and whispered something in her ear that made them both laugh.
Isaiah pulled Sandra closer. She sighed as his hand caressed her bare back. Lord, she was going to miss him, she thought.
Swallowing the lump of emotion rising in her throat, she focused on Octavia. Only this time, Sandra noticed she wasn’t the only one looking at the older woman.
Her soon-to-be ex-husband was staring longingly at his estranged wife, while a young woman—Sandra assumed she was his girlfriend—tugged at the sleeve of his suit coat, trying to get his attention.
Good luck with that, Sandra thought, studying the barely out-of-her-teens woman, who now appeared to be pouting. It seemed very much to Sandra as if Mr. Hall wanted his wife back.
“I’m thinking once we speak to Janelle’s dad and say a quick hello to our folks, we can head for the exit.” Isaiah’s deep baritone rumbled through Sandra. “I don’t want to drag you away from your friends, but we only have a few days together...” His voice trailed off.
She looked up at his handsome face. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”
A short while later they’d just finished congratulating Darren Howerton on his victory, and turned away to find themselves staring into the smiling faces of their mothers.
“How nice to see you two together again.” Cecily gave Sandra’s hand a quick squeeze.
The uncharacteristic gesture threw her. She hadn’t seen Isaiah’s mom in a couple months, but she nearly didn’t recognize her.
The woman who was usually preoccupied with business calls during her dress fittings seemed relaxed. The firm, businesslike set to her jaw had softened, and she was actually smiling.
Isaiah clearly hadn’t exaggerated the changes in her since his parents had decided to sell the furniture business.
“My daughter’s been so tight-lipped, I had no idea they were a couple until I turned on my computer.” Sandra’s mom ignored the laser-beam side-eye she was shooting her way.
“But we’re not—” Isaiah began.
“They certainly seem to have picked up where they left off ten years ago, haven’t they?” Cecily cut off his protest and directed her question at Nancy.
An uneasy feeling crept over Sandra at the conspiring smiles on their mothers’ faces. The two of them, former classmates at Wintersage Academy, had always been friendly, but now they were acting like best friends.
“Yes, they have,” Nancy agreed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we were related by marriage soon.”
“Mom.” The word came out stronger than Sandra intended and sounded like the bark of a large dog. “Isaiah and I are good friends, but that’s all.”
“We’re all good friends, dear,” her mother said sweetly. A little too sweetly. “So I’m sure you won’t mind that I’ve invited Isaiah’s family to join us at your house for Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday.”
Sandra felt her chin hit her chest as she stared openmouthed at her. “Please, Mom, tell me you didn’t.”
“Yes, she did, and I’ve already accepted the invitation,” Isaiah’s mother said.
“I’m not a very good cook, and my place is small,” Sandra said, scrambling for an excuse.
“And you already ordered our Thanksgiving dinner, Mom,” Isaiah said. “I had my mouth set for the faux turkey loaf you’ve been talking about, and you wanted something healthy for Dad.”
Cecily waved him off with a fling of her hand. “A little bit of turkey won’t hurt him, and it’s the holiday.”
Sandra never thought there would be a day she’d be looking forward to her father rescuing her from her mother, but she was relieved to see him walking toward them.
The smile on his face disappeared as he looked from her to Isaiah.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Woolcott,” Isaiah said.
Her father regarded him with a grunt and a curt nod, which earned him an elbow from his wife.
“I’ve invited the Jacobses to have Thanksgiving dinner with us at Sandra’s,” Nancy said.
“Why?” Stuart asked, making Sandra want to envelop him in a hug.
Her mother’s lips firmed into a straight line as she glared at him. “Seeing as our children are so close, I thought it would be nice for us to all sit down to a nice family meal.”
“Nice meal?” He frowned. “A longer line for the toilet is more like it.”
“Stu!” Her mother’s harsh whisper was loud enough for them all to hear.
“What?” Stuart asked. “All I did was tell the truth. The girl’s a damned disaster in the kitchen.”
Sandra rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She should have taken a cue from Jordan and just stayed home. Could this evening get any worse?
Then she heard Isaiah clear his throat. His face was hard, and his angry gaze was directed at her father.
And Sandra knew without a doubt this evening could and would get worse.
* * *
Isaiah wasn’t the type of man who disrespected his elders, but he wasn’t the kind of man who allowed his woman to be disrespected, either.
By anyone, not even her father.
She’s not yours, he reminded himself, not anymore.
And it wasn’t his fight.
Still, he noticed the nearly imperceptible slump of Sandra’s shoulders in the face of Stuart Woolcott’s criticism.
“Your daughter might have been distracted in the kitchen on previous occasions, but she is not a disaster,” Isaiah said firmly.
Sandra’s father crossed his arms over his chest. “You haven’t had to pay a cleaning crew or get a visit from the fire department because she was, as you say, distracted,” he countered.
Isaiah didn’t want to argue, but there were some things that just flat out needed to be said.
“You’re right,” he conceded. “However, I’ve never seen anyone work as hard as Sandra has these past few weeks.”
Stuart harrumphed in reply.
Isaiah saw Sandra gnawing at her lip. When they were in high school, she used to be able to tell exactly what was on his mind. He hoped she did now, and understood he would never insult her father. But he wouldn’t kowtow to him, either.
Isaiah hoped his face conveyed what was in his heart. He hadn’t been by her side these past years, but he’d always be on her side.
“Your daughter makes a mean stuffing. Her green beans are delicious, and her sweet potato casserole will melt in your mouth.” His words were directed at Stuart, but his gaze remained on Sandra.
Isaiah was heartened to see her shoulders straighten. Her chin lifted off her chest. She graced him with one of her beautiful smiles and something deep down inside him shifted.
At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to wake up to her smile every morning for the rest of his life.
He blinked and quickly averted his eyes, banishing the errant thought back to the depths of his heart.
“Spoken like a man with his nose wide-open,” Stuart said. “The navy might have given you a cast-iron stomach, but I’m bringing antacids, an antidiarrheal, a fire extinguisher and a take-out pizza menu to dinner on Thursday.”
Isaiah’s eyes narrowed. “Just don’t forget the keys to your Chevelle. You’ll want to have them handy when you’re asking for seconds of Sandra’s superb cooking.”
Three pairs of Woolcott eyes rounded at his bold prediction, while his mother gave him a stern look.
The band continued to play in the background while the chatter of conversations went on around them.
A dry chuckle from Sandra’s father finally broke the awkward silence. “Since my wife invited you all to dinner, there should be enough room at the table for one more guest.”
“Who, dear?” his wife asked.
“I wouldn’t want Dale Mills to miss out on our daughter’s superb meal,” he said.
“Good Lord.” Sandra rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest, Dad.”
A few weeks ago, he and Sandra would have shared a laugh at the mention of Dale Mills. Now Isaiah found himself becoming annoyed at the possibility of her going out with him, or for that matter, any other man.
Stuart smiled at his daughter, before returning his attention to Isaiah. “You’re still shipping out the day after Thanksgiving, right?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. That’s always been the plan.”
“Good,” Stuart said. “With you gone, Sandra will be free and clear to hold up her end of the deal when she loses our little wager.”
Chapter 13
Sandra paced her kitchen floor Tuesday evening, breaking her stride only to peek at the turkey inside her oven.
The bird she’d cooked on Sunday had been dry enough to pass for jerky, and with only two days left until Thanksgiving, tonight was her last practice run.
“Hovering won’t make it cook any faster.” Isaiah glanced up from the sketch pad he’d borrowed from her earlier. “Besides, I think we nailed it this time.”
Sandra stopped midpace. She’d read and reread the recipe enough times to recite it from memory. Then Isaiah had read it aloud as she went through each step.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from peering through the oven window again.
“After the way you stuck up for me with my dad the other night, I don’t want to let you or myself down.”
Sandra picked up the spice jars on the counter to double-check the labels. She didn’t know Isaiah had abandoned the sketch pad until she felt his arms around her.
Sighing, she leaned back into his embrace. He took the small jar from her hand and returned it to the counter.
“You didn’t mix anything up.” He turned her around until she faced him. “And you could never let me down. Win or lose, I’m proud of you.”
“Yeah, but if I lose, you’re not stuck with Dale Mills for five agonizing dates.”
Her tone had been jovial, but apparently Isaiah hadn’t gotten the joke. His face turned to stone and his eyes darkened.
“You okay?” she asked, taken aback by the sudden change.
He opened his mouth as if about to say something, but instead only nodded.
“So how’d it go at The Quarterdeck last night?” He dropped his arms and, taking her hand, led her to the breakfast bar, where he’d been seated.
Sandra sat down beside him. She noticed he’d changed the subject from her potential dates with Dale, but wasn’t sure what to make of it. She told him about her plan to meet Janelle and Vicki at the Victorian on Black Friday to go on a shopping spree in sales-tax-free New Hampshire.
“Janelle didn’t bring up the recount, and I didn’t, either. I love both Janelle and my brother, and won’t let politics spoil either relationship.”
Isaiah raised a brow. “Speaking of politics...?”
Sandra shook her head. “Still haven’t heard a peep from the governor-elect’s wife,” she said. “I sent her my illustrations weeks ago. I thought for sure she would have made a decision on a designer by now.”
She picked up the sketch pad he’d been doodling on. “Anyway, she said she’d let me know before Thanksgiving, and there’s still tomorrow.”
Isaiah leaned in and kissed Sandra. “That was for luck,” he said. �
��However, I’m betting by Friday you’ll have received good news from the governor-elect’s wife, and be able to drive me to the airport in your newly won classic Chevelle.”
Sandra forced a smile. She had no right to feel tightness in her chest at the thought of him leaving in a few days. After all, they’d made the terms of their nonrelationship clear before they’d taken things beyond a kiss. It was what Isaiah wanted. At the time, it was what she thought she’d wanted, too.
Turning the sketch pad over, Sandra tried to distract herself by looking at what he’d been drawing since she’d put the turkey in the oven.
“Furniture?” She scrunched up her nose in confusion.
Isaiah reached for the pad. “I was just messing around.”
“No, I want to see.” She pulled it out of his reach.
Ignoring his protests, Sandra studied the sleek, minimalist lines of the contemporary pieces. One was a black platform bed that looked plain at first glimpse, until she realized the headboard and night tables on either side were part of one large unit.
In an eye-catching twist, he’d drawn another bed anchored to the wall by the headboard, which made it appear as if it were floating.
“These designs are good, Isaiah, really good,” she said, flipping through more pages filled with illustrations of dining and living room pieces. “I’m impressed.”
It was an understatement. Blown away was more like it.
Isaiah shrugged. “I’d never thought of furniture as an art form until we went to the museum exhibit in Boston. Some of the pieces were totally out there, but others were practical, sophisticated and quite beautiful,” he said. “They were indeed art.”
He frowned. “I wish the designers at Martine’s could have seen that exhibit before it left,” he said. “It might have inspired them, because the stuff they’re doing now...” He shook his head.
“What do you think of this?” Sandra picked up the pencil and began sketching in details, building on his ideas with ones of her own.
She added lighting to the platform bed and a curve to the straight lines of the headboard. On a roll, she grabbed her colored pencils from her tote bag. With a few strokes, she shaded in the kidney-shaped, glass dining table he’d drawn in a blue that matched the color of the ocean outside their door.
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