She walked into her building just as George was leaving. “Afternoon, Ms. Langford. This is Matthew Walker. He runs the night shift.”
Celia pasted a smile on her face, knowing, and accepting, that once again she was not at her best. Cat yak probably looked better. “Pleased to meet you. Thank you, George.”
“Is there anything I can do for you before I go home, ma’am?”
She paused. “Well. It seems the space I leased for a full year to run my café has not been painted, tiled, or inspected. I don’t suppose you know of anybody looking for work? I’ll pay cash on the spot.”
The men exchanged a look. Matthew took out his cell phone. “I can make a few phone calls. What specifically needs done?”
Celia realized help had arrived in a security guard uniform, and didn’t question the gift. “Painters. Two? If they come at ten tomorrow, I will have the place cleaned. Then I need tile. I think. I have to pull up the carpet.”
“You’re in the bead shop?” George asked. “My granddaughter loved that place, but there just aren’t enough kids here to keep it in business.”
“I hope yours is more successful,” Matthew said.
“Me too,” Celia agreed. “Food. Tea. Organic stuff.” At Matthew’s curled lip she said, “Organic stuff that tastes good.”
George chuckled. “My son does handyman work around here. I’ll send him over at ten. If he’s booked already, I’ll leave a message at the desk here.”
Celia did not operate so loosely. “Do you mind leaving a message, either way? Then I can plan my next steps around that. I’ll still need one more painter.”
“Things will work out,” George said. “I hope you enjoy what’s left of your day.”
“Thank you, George. Nice to meet you, Matthew.” Celia took the elevator up to her floor, appreciating her view differently now that she’d actually walked the beach. It gave her smells, tastes and textures to add to her memory bank, shoving the old stuff further down.
Her phone rang. “This is Celia.”
“Celia, this is Julie Welch.”
“Julie.” Celia counted to three, controlling her anger and focusing on the task at hand. “I just saw the disaster that is supposed to be my café.”
“I am sorry,” the woman said, her tones clipped. “We didn’t know what was going to happen with the sign, which delayed the inspection on the kitchen.”
“I paid a hefty deposit, in good faith. I am opening, per our legal contract, next week. September fifteenth.”
“I see.” There was a silence that Celia refused to break, then Julie said, “Is there anything I can do, besides try to rush your signage, to help you?”
She closed her eyes and made a mental list. “Yes. I’ve got painters coming at ten in the morning. I plan on having the place cleaned by then. Do you happen to know what’s under the carpet?”
“No.”
“Our agreement said the floor would be tiled. Is there any way that is going to happen by next week?” Celia spoke calmly, if precisely.
“I don’t think…”
“Never mind.” Celia shook her head and stared at the crash of the waves from her fourth floor hallway view. She’d invested every last cent into this venture. Celia would not let Preston have the last laugh! He’d always hinted that she was less than he, the golden doctor. That without him, she was lacking. “I will be at the shop early tomorrow if you wish to discuss anything else. I’ll have a better idea of what needs to be done by then anyway.”
She hung up, and went inside her condo.
Home, to a space that didn’t feel like hers. How could it? She’d spent less than an hour in it. A fixer upper with appliances from the eighties, she was grateful for the clean sheets and outdated wicker furniture. Less for her to worry about, even if it wasn’t anything you’d find in a Home magazine.
She’d had the designer house and it hadn’t mattered at all.
On the plus side, she was no longer tired.
Her phone rang again, and Celia answered, expecting it to be Julie or George. Her tone was brisk as she said, “Hello?”
“Celia, honey, how are you?”
“Mom?” Celia plopped down on the couch, looking at the vase that held her dead husband’s ashes.
Her parents hadn’t known she’d been unfulfilled in her marriage. It wouldn’t have changed anything if they had. Celia had made her choices, and had to live with them, just like everybody else.
“We found a place with a cell signal, can you believe it?” Her mom and dad were in the rainforest, with the indigenous tribes they helped every year. Three months out of twelve, her parents braved snakes and giant spiders and cannibals, loving each second of it, to help mankind. They’d always been about what they could do for their fellow man. In the United States, they ran a clinic on Saturdays, before getting the big bucks during the week doing plastic surgery. “Have you arrived at your condo?”
“I’m surprised you remembered, Mom.”
“I might be busy, Celia, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
Ouch. “Sorry. Yes, I’m looking out over the ocean. My new business is set to open on schedule. When you two fly home, come through Miami and stay with me.”
“It’s a deal.” The line crackled and Celia heard her mom say something that sounded like a garbled I love you before there was no signal.
“I love you too, tell Dad,” Celia shouted in case her mother could hear.
Her relationship with her parents was one of self-sufficiency. They agreed to have one child, acknowledging that it was ego driven and probably selfish, but they wanted to do it anyway.
Celia often wondered if she was a disappointment.
And never had the guts to ask-her parents were honest to a fault.
It wouldn’t occur to them to offer financial help-Celia was raised to take care of herself. She glared at the phallic shaped vase. “I’m keeping you as a reminder,” she said. “If I’m not free, you aren’t either.”
She set the vase to the corner of the table, then got up and went to the kitchen. She pulled the red wine from the fridge and scrunched her nose, putting it on the counter. She took the white out and opened it. “At least you’re supposed to be chilled,” she said.
A glass of wine, some cheese and toast, was all she needed. As she sat at her kitchen nook and looked out over the ocean, the tension left her shoulders for a moment before returning on a wave of fear. What would happen if she didn’t make her September 15th grand opening?
She drained the glass, then somehow made it to her bed, leaving her phone on the coffee table in the living room.
Her nap turned into a sixteen hours of deep sleep.
She awoke at four in the morning, filled with energy. Showering brought her fully awake, as did a strong cup of green tea-piping hot, with two slices of thin lemon. Celia threw on the same jeans from yesterday but a different tank top. Her hair went into a pony tail, and she applied her make-up with a light hand, knowing it would all be sweated off by noon.
She discovered vinegar and bleach, dish soap and baking soda in the cupboards, and packed them in one of the bags. She figured it was a good enough start until the other businesses opened and she could shop for supplies.
Celia wasn’t afraid of the dark; at five in the morning the sound of the ocean as she walked along the sidewalk was comforting. Reaching the building, she unlocked the door, prepared this time for the mess as she went inside, then locked it behind her. She flicked on the lights.
The café remained black as night. Deep breath. Find the breaker.
Lights. Amazing what illumination could do for a person. Celia kept remembering what Dax had said, and focused on filling a bucket with hot water and vinegar. She slipped on industrial yellow gloves found beneath the sink and started with the counter. That cleaned space led to the next, and the next, until the sun was up and shining through her window.
She heard a knock, which startled her until she made out Dax’s sun-bleached curls in the s
hadows.
Ridiculously pleased to see him, she took off one glove and opened the door. “Morning!”
He held two cups of Khanti’s gas station coffee and a roll of paper towels. “Morning. I hear you could use some help?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“George called his son to come and help you paint, who happens to be friends with Khanti’s cousins.”
“Who work at the farmer’s market.”
“Well, he has a half-sister, who needs a part time job.”
George had all kinds of family it seemed. “I’m looking for someone to help me wait tables. How old is she?”
“Twenty-two.”
Celia shrugged. “I’ll interview her. Why the paper towels?” she asked, leading him toward the clean counter with a tug at his arm. He didn’t need cologne, his unique scent was the saltiness of the ocean breeze.
“Khanti said you can never have too many paper towels.”
She eyed the glass streaked with glitter. “It’ll be tough to get that stuff off. How are your elbows?”
“You’re giving me glitter duty?” he asked.
His smile sent a thrill tumbling through her veins. “You brought the paper towels!”
“And coffee.”
Celia smiled, trying hard to keep from touching him. Her hands seemed drawn to his arm, his shoulder. His back. Little touches, as if sneaking in for a secret caress. “It was perfect timing. I was just finishing up the counters and walls and needed a break.”
“How’s the kitchen?” He leaned around her to peek in the back.
“Don’t look.” It had been awful, but not the end of her career as a business woman. “The refrigerator is lopsided, but it turned on when I plugged it in. Same with the oven. I mean, it turned on. It’s not lopsided. It has a crack in the glass, but I won’t know if the temperatures are good until I can bake something in it.”
He grinned and she stifled a self-conscious laugh.
“Nervous babbling. What do you think of this floor?” She took the plastic lid off her cup and blew on the hot brew.
He looked down and Celia saw his feet were bare. He had adorable toes. She supposed in his line of work, shoes would always be optional, so it was good to have nice feet.
“The carpet?” he asked, scuffing the thin woolen nap.
“I’ve got to rip it up. I’m hoping for tile underneath.” Something she could work with, maybe.
“Probably concrete.” Dax put the paper towels and his coffee on the counter. “Here, I brought you creamers. I noticed you took cream in your coffee yesterday at breakfast, but I didn’t see how much.”
She felt bad about accusing him of being a hero. Celia was starting to think he was genuine. “I’m sorry for being so abrupt yesterday. You’re really sweet, Dax.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets before pulling them out again. “Don’t tell anybody.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your secret is safe with me.”
He walked to the edge of the carpet and dropped to one knee, peeling back the edge. “Yeah, it’s concrete. What was your idea?”
“Tile. The big Italian look. But I can be flexible for what’s on sale; if it can be done in a hurry.” She added one cream then took a drink. “I see why you like this coffee. I’ll pay cash for labor.” And put the supplies on her almost maxed-out credit card.
Dax rose, his movements as graceful as an athlete. Of course she noticed. “There are local craftsman,” he said.
“Maybe Khanti has a cousin?” Celia knew she sounded flirty, but couldn’t help it. She liked Dax, and hoped they could be friends. Plus, she felt good about how much she’d accomplished already this morning. The bins from the sink were consolidated and she’d dragged them out back to the trash, which gave her more room to work in.
“George, or Matthew, hell, we can find people who need money,” Dax said. “Who couldn’t use a little extra?”
“I’ve already invested in promotional materials-if I don’t make it this season, I’m not sure I can last a slow summer.”
“Summers aren’t that slow.” Dax walked around the space, coming back to stand next to her. The hairs on her wrists rose. Electric. “What time did you get here?”
“Early. Five. I wanted to make sure it was cleaned in time for the painters. Well, George’s son is coming for sure, and maybe bringing a friend.”
“You did good.” He bumped her hip with his and she felt another zing.
She held Dax’s gaze, appreciating the sincere compliment. Wishing she could blame her breathlessness on static electricity. It was him, unfortunately. “Thank you.”
He reached out to touch her cheek and Celia quickly ducked out of reach. She had no time in her life for a romance. She’d proven she wasn’t very good at it. Her late husband had preferred other women to her.
Celia found an old carpet sweeper in the closet, and a giant trash can half-filled with multi-colored beads. “Want to sweep, or wash the windows?”
Dax grabbed the paper towels. “Windows. Do you have some window cleaner?”
“Vinegar spray. It cuts grime better than anything else on the market.”
“You take this organic thing to heart,” he said.
Celia shrugged. “It works better, honestly, without the chemicals.” She paused, remembering her mom in the rainforest. “My parents have always been earth conscious.”
“What do they do? Are they around here?”
“They’re both renowned surgeons. Dad does plastic surgery, mom does tumors.”
Dax chuckled. “Wow.”
“Yeah. They’re volunteering in the rainforest right now.”
“You must be proud as hell.”
She shuddered, wondering if she could add being a selfish daughter to her list of faults. “I am. But it was lonely, growing up in their shadow.”
At his look of empathy, she hastened to explain. “They love me, I love them. It’s not that-just, they chose to have one child in the world. They got me, instead of another super doctor who donates time and money for the betterment of the earth.” She tried to make a joke of the serious moment. “But I recycle like a maniac.”
Dax touched her hand and she curled her fingers in his before pulling away. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
“Sometimes I think I wasn’t hard enough.” She couldn’t imagine working harder than she’d done to get through school.
“Why didn’t you become a doctor, then?”
She thought back to the jeep yesterday, when he’d gotten a hard-on after she’d brushed him, accidentally, with her boobs. She was so inept she didn’t know how to handle such situations with grace. She couldn’t stop thinking about it though. “Told you, blood makes me throw up.”
“Serious down fall in a doc.” Dax studied her intently, not willing to let her off the hook. “What was the real reason?”
“I saw that I didn’t have the driving force that made my parents superstars. It wasn’t my passion. So I married one, and became the perfect wife.”
Dax stepped back, his head cocked to the side. “That explains a lot.”
She held up her hand. “I don’t even want to know.” Preston had criticized her constantly.
“You seem so proper all the time. Don’t you ever let loose?”
Celia was oddly hurt by his observation. But it was true. She’d been cool, because that was expected of her. Impeccable manners, faultless behavior. “Learning to relax is on my list.”
Dax frowned, carefully keeping his distance. Did he feel the way she was feeling? Hot? Yearning? “Tough when opening a new business. Especially on a shoe string. Your husband died?”
“Yes. But there wasn’t a lot of money left over, if that is what you were wondering.”
“It’s not my business.”
“No,” Celia agreed, folding her arms across her chest. “It isn’t.” She took the carpet sweeper and got to work.
Chapter Six
Dax wished he hadn’t brought up her d
ead husband. But married to a doctor, you would think he’d have left an awesome life insurance policy. Celia should be living on a yacht drinking champagne instead of chasing the carpet sweeper around the room.
She wore jeans, and a hot pink tank top. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail with escaping blond tendrils clinging to her cheeks. He could easily envision her in diamonds and silk.
“Sorry,” he said.
“For what?” She didn’t stop pushing the machine.
“Prying.”
“You weren’t.” Back and forth, back and forth.
“Celia, look at me for a sec.”
She turned toward him, her expression open. He reached for her arm, needing to touch her. Impossible to keep my hands to myself. “I mean it.”
She blinked her cool blue eyes. He wondered if they’d warm up with passion, or turn an icier shade. “Okay.”
“Ask me something. Anything. So we can be even.”
Celia put her hand on her hip, her lips pursed with suppressed amusement. “You really are a Sir Galahad, you know? All right. You said you never took the plunge for marriage. Why?”
“I was engaged right out of college. She rushed back to New York after her first winter here with no snow.” There was more to it, of course, but he didn’t have to share his total heartbreak. The realization that promises of the heart could be broken. The shattering of the illusion, love.
She smiled with compassion. “It was probably culture shock. New York is all about the snow, the parade, and Macy’s. What do you do here?”
“Go to the beach. Decorate our palm trees with conch shell ornaments. Santa knows his way to South Florida.”
Celia tossed her head back and laughed. “I wasn’t worried.”
“You don’t seem like you’d sweat the small stuff.”
She fanned her face. “Sweat being the operative word. You promise I’ll acclimatize?”
“You’ve only been here two days. Give it time.” He tore off a paper towel and handed it to her. She wiped her forehead, her cheeks and neck. He swallowed, watching her pat her chest.
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