Sex and the Widow Miles (The Women of Willow Bay)

by Reinhardt, Nan

  “She certainly did.” Will wiggled his brows and flicked an imaginary cigar, Groucho-style while Carrie giggled and I blushed.

  “You can clean this guy up and put him in tux, but he’s still just that lewd California beach boy, looking for attention,” Liam observed as he stopped a server making a final round with glasses of Champagne.

  “I’m talking about my recuperation, Maestro. I don’t know where your dirty-old-man mind was headed.” Will raised both hands with an angelic smile before grabbing a flute of sparkling wine and taking a sip.

  “I love how these two pretend to be so suave and debonair just ‘cause they’re all dressed up, don’t you, Caro?” We linked arms and I touched my glass to hers in a private toast. “We’ve seen them in their baggy shorts and faded t-shirts down on the beach, being total nerds with the metal detectors.”

  “That’s right, they can’t fool us.”

  “It’s hard not to feel suave and debonair when you’re with the two most gorgeous women in the room.” Will winked, but the look he gave me told me he meant every word. “Those vintage outfits are unbelievable. Did they really wear backless dresses in the 1930s?”

  “This is an original.” I twirled around slowly, glancing back over my shoulder with what I hoped was a sultry smile as his eyes drank me in like a man dying of thirst.

  The cream, silk crepe Worth gown that our vintage clothing expert from the auction house had dated to circa 1935 fit me like it had been tailor-made. The fabric moved sensuously against my bare skin—of course, it being backless, wearing a bra was out of the question. Once I tried it on, I couldn’t resist modeling it, although it’d been years since I’d been on a catwalk. I was nervous, but the crowd had oohed and aahed when I stepped out on the runway, and the appreciation in Will’s eyes told me it was the right decision.

  For fun, Carrie took a walk, too, sensational in a yellow silk beaded chemise with a gold embroidered bolero jacket from the 1920s—another of the treasures we’d found in the donated clothing. We’d also convinced Sarah to take to the runway in the Fortuny jacket she’d fallen in love with that terrible day back in March. I’d secretly asked Liam to bid on it for me, so soon it would belong to her. It would be the perfect farewell gift when I went back to Michigan for the summer.

  Miraculously, Jeannie’s ox of a husband hadn’t managed to get to the table where Sarah and I had laid out the precious antique clothing. Not a single outfit was harmed, and the nine vintage pieces had sold for amazing sums. Even the auctioneer had been stunned at the prices they’d brought. We discovered that the antique clothing had been donated by one of Carrie’s older symphony patrons, who had no idea the items she was giving away were so valuable. Sarah and I agreed that we had to tell her, but when we contacted her, she simply brushed our concerns aside, telling us how happy she was to help out our cause.

  Those items and the other couture gowns and designer pieces that had been donated, along with ticket sales, were going to provide enough income to keep La Belle Femme and the shelter in business for at least a couple more years. All in all, our fundraiser was turning out to be a huge success.

  Naomi and Carl Fox’s vast resources and unflagging energy had set the show in motion even as I tended to a recuperating Will and ran the shop for Sarah. With great delight, she turned my former employers loose to create an incredible benefit fashion show, dinner, dance, and auction. I’m still not sure how they managed it, but by the time I was able to leave Will and jump in with both feet, they’d already chosen a menu with the caterer, picked the music for the evening, and arranged the entire fashion show.

  All that was left was for me was to work with the auctioneer and his staff of experts, inventorying the items for sale. Bidding was silent and high-tech, with each guest being given a type of smart phone with a program listing all the clothing. On it, they could cruise the items from the fashion show and make their bids. Volunteers, most of them women from the shelter, sat at tables behind the scenes, accepting bids electronically at laptops on loan for the event from the auction house. I’d slipped back to check on our total, and the sum overwhelmed me.

  We had Carrie to thank for the incredible turnout—she’d come to the Windy City to promote the event among Chicago patrons of the arts, businesses, and her friends. We sold out of tickets days before the benefit and had people clamoring for more. The ballroom filled to capacity, a sight that thrilled all of us associated with the shelter. Apparently, Chicago had figured out it was important to stop domestic violence—some guests had already asked if this was going to be an annual event. That idea intrigued me enough, I’d started making mental notes for another benefit. I knew I’d be here. My heart was not only firmly tied to La Belle Femme, but also to Chicago.

  And most of all to Will.

  “Jules? Dance with me?” Will’s hand on my shoulder brought me back to the ballroom as the orchestra began playing Hoagy Carmichael’s “The Nearness of You.”

  He held his arms out, and I slipped into them. We eased onto the crowded dance floor, his hand warm on the bare skin on my lower back. He sang the lyrics to the old song softly in my ear as we danced. Eyes closed, I curled my fingers into the hair that grew over his collar and allowed him to tug me closer. We moved together among the other dancers, wrapped up in our own little world.

  I opened my eyes for a moment, hoping to catch Carrie’s attention for a quick sisterly thumbs-up when she and Liam passed by us. Instead, what I saw took my breath away.

  Charlie Miles lounged against the doorway of the ballroom, elegant in a white dinner jacket and perfectly pressed black pants. Dear God, there was my husband dressed to kill—his grey hair swept back from his handsome face, arms crossed over his chest, and a small knowing smile playing on his full lips. My eyes widened. I raised my head from Will’s shoulder and gasped a quick breath as Charlie winked and gave me a small nod. Shutting my eyes in disbelief, I tried to catch my breath, but when I opened them again, he’d disappeared.

  “You okay?” Will pulled back to stare down into my face.

  “I–I thought I saw… “I gazed all around us, searching the crowd, even though I knew there was no way I’d find him. Whoever I’d seen couldn’t possibly have been Charlie. For a few seconds I stood still in Will’s arms on the dance floor, waiting for the wave of resentment that always materialized when I thought of Charlie. But it never came. All that was inside me was joy, pure wondrous joy. I’d been released. It was my final moment of liberation. In a weird way, Charlie had come through again, just like he had when he’d sent Will to me at the shop. Now, I was certain his appearance there had been Charlie’s doing, answering my plea for help. And here he was again, letting me know it was time to move on and be happy—with Will.

  “Jules?” Will’s handsome face came into focus. “Honey?”

  “I’m sorry. I was suddenly sort of… overwhelmed.”

  “With what? How devastatingly handsome I am in a tux? Or my awesome dance moves?”

  That wicked grin sent a spasm of delight straight through me. Right there in the middle of the dance floor, I threw my arms around his neck, kissing him with all the love and passion I had in me.

  “I love you, Will Brody,” I whispered. “I want to spend the rest of my life showing you exactly how much.”

  His expression filled with a love so intense I couldn’t bear to look away from him. “Now those are the words I’ve been waiting to hear,” his voice cracked slightly.

  “Want to get out of here? Go home where I can show you just how much I love you?” I wiggled my brows, trying for his earlier Groucho imitation.

  “You bet, Slugger.” He kissed me hard before wrapping his arms around me and waltzing me back into the crowd that still swayed to the music. “Just as soon as we finish this dance.”

  Thanks for reading!

  If you enjoyed Julie’s story, be sure to read Carrie’s story in Once More From the Top.

  For more from Nan Reinhardt, visit NanReinhardt.com.

&nb
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