Summer in New York Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology)

by Janette Rallison, Heather B. Moore, Luisa Perkins, Sarah M. Eden, Annette Lyon, Lisa Mangum

  Winona couldn’t sleep, and every time she tried, she couldn’t get Steve out of her mind. It was four in the morning, and she was wide awake. She climbed out of bed and went into the kitchen to make some tea. It had been three days since he’d asked her to debut her digital art in his gallery. She’d told him he was crazy, that she couldn’t be the downfall of his opening weekend. He’d stopped asking, but the offer was constantly in her thoughts.

  And the attraction between them was stronger than ever. Maybe she shouldn’t have kissed him, and maybe she shouldn’t have kissed him the next day and the next. The man hadn’t dated for six years. She was on the rebound. Feeling Steve’s arms around her and his touch on her skin was the perfect antidote for thoughts about Paul. In fact, she could barely remember what he looked like.

  Her heart no longer hurt like it used to. There was still an emptiness in her heart, but Steve was filling it up fast. A warning voice whispered that this was too good to be true. That she was wearing rose-colored glasses. She was in New York only for the summer. This couldn’t last.

  Tea ready, she cradled the steaming cup in her hands and went to sit on the couch. What if she did agree to be in his gallery? What if the exhibit was an epic failure, and the write-ups in the paper were cruel criticisms of the most private part of her? She didn’t know if she could recover.

  Worse, she didn’t know if she wanted to end things with Steve— and she would certainly have to.

  Winona groaned. Why did she have to go make things complicated? Or was this Steve’s fault? If he hadn’t been so sweet and charming, she would have been able to stay away. She took a sip of tea and closed her eyes, letting the warm liquid calm her.

  Her phone chimed. Who texted at four in the morning? She set the tea down and walked to the bedroom for her phone, dreading the sight of something from her aunt, who had not been happy when Winona had informed her that she would be dating Steve for the rest of the summer. Only time would tell where it would go. After Genevieve’s initial lecture and admonition to stay in her apartment after all, she’d been remarkably quiet.

  Winona looked at the text.

  I can’t sleep. Please say yes.

  Steve. By yes, he meant yes to debuting in his gallery.

  She sat on the bed, reading his text again. I can’t sleep either, she typed back.

  Breakfast?

  She hesitated. Ok.

  Be over soon, sweetheart.

  Winona stared at the word: sweetheart. Steve was so unassuming, so straightforward. He just embraced things; he didn’t let fear stop him from going after what he wanted. Which was ironic, because he used to drown his fears in alcohol.

  She wished she could be more like him— brave enough to put her art in a gallery, tell her boss to save the promotion for her, explain to her mother that Steve was not Paul, and not be so afraid of taking a chance.

  Knowing that he was bringing her breakfast, she got dressed in lounge pants then straightened the kitchen and living room.

  She was expecting him, but even so, when Steve knocked at the door, her heart thudded. She opened the door, and he came inside, smiling and carrying a couple of sacks. After setting them on the counter, he pulled Winona into a hug.

  “I need to show you something,” he said against her ear.

  Winona was enjoying his arms around her and didn’t want to separate. The moment he’d touched her, her anxieties had fled. “Are you going to bribe me to be in your gallery?”

  “Yes.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “Let’s eat first.”

  They sat down to muffins and coffee, Winona trying to get more information out of him. Steve remained quiet and only flashed her the occasional smile. When they finished, he rose and held out his hand. “We’re going outside, so I’ll give you the choice of whether to get dressed first.”

  Winona looked at her lounge pants. She’d grown quite fond of them, and besides, the sun wouldn’t be up for another two hours. “I’m fine.”

  Steve grinned and tugged her toward him. “Be prepared to be amazed.”

  Winona let him lead her out of the apartment. Once outside at the street curb, he hailed a taxi. Winona climbed in, and when Steve settled next to her, she said, “Where are we going?”

  He placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Just wait. You’ll love it.”

  “You say that a lot,” Winona said, letting a smile fill her face. “How do you know what I love?”

  He chuckled, and she nestled closer, feeling cozy as she leaned against him. About fifteen minutes later, the taxi stopped, and Steve told the driver to wait for them. Then he opened the door and climbed out.

  Winona followed and looked up at the awning on the building. Monti Gallery. The windows were dark and the neighborhood silent.

  “What are you up to? I already told you I’m not ready.”

  “I know.” He kissed her cheek. “I want to show you something.”

  He unlocked the door and led her into the entryway. It was nearly impossible to see anything. They shuffled in the dark toward a set of stairs, and Winona’s eyes gradually grew accustomed to the gloom.

  “It’s upstairs,” Steve said, leading her by the hand. At the top, he said, “Wait here and keep looking forward.”

  A chill crept up Winona’s back at his sudden absence and at the fact that she was standing alone in a dark building. Then, about ten feet ahead, a bank of lights came on. Winona stood a few feet from a balcony rail. Below was an entire room dotted with display consoles. The balcony was level with another one on the opposite side, which was lit up. In its center was a massive canvas.

  Winona stared at the lit canvas— a duplicate of her screensaver, the photograph of the girl by the ocean, which Winona had digitally enhanced. It was amazing. Beautiful. Intense.

  “Wow.”

  Steve’s hand touched her arm then slid down to capture her hand. “Exactly. Wow is what every person will say when they see your work.”

  Winona’s eyes stung with emotion. The art expanded to nearly life-size, powerful and captivating. It made her heart swell to the point of pain. “I don’t know, Steve. I just don’t know.”

  He turned to look at her, and his other hand brushed her cheek. “Give it this one chance. If you hate it, I’ll never ask you to do it again. But, if you love it, then you can worship me for the rest of your life.”

  Winona laughed, but it came out as more of a cry. She wrapped her arms about him, squeezing him as tight as she could. “I’m afraid.”

  He squeezed her back. “I know. But I’ll be here with you.”

  Winona closed her eyes, taking comfort in his words. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Steve moved his hands to cradle her face. “Really?”

  She nodded.

  He brushed his lips against hers, softly. “I can’t wait.”

  Two weeks later

  “Ready?” Steve grasped Winona’s hand and guided her out of the taxi. Steve had wanted to arrive a block away then walk up to the opening, surprising those on the lookout.

  Winona’s heart had been thumping like mad for the past few hours. Tonight was the opening, and the media had already gathered outside Monti Gallery.

  “The crowd is huge,” Winona said as they approached it. Steve had told her to expect a good showing— primarily for the other two artists. “I hope I don’t disappoint the others’ fans.”

  “They’re in for a treat,” Steve said, leaning down and kissing her cheek.

  The gesture went straight to her heart. Steve seemed so comfortable around her, as if they’d known each other for years.

  For a moment, Winona wished it could be the two of them walking into the gallery, holding hands and looking at all the art pieces. She’d felt more and more attached to Steve over the past two weeks. He’d been frank about how much he cared for her, although they hadn’t discussed the end of summer.

  Her stomach was a horde of butterflies as they reached the gallery entrance.

 
“Mr. Monti, tell us about the new exhibit,” a young man called, stepping in front of them and holding out a microphone. A cameraman edged toward them, filming every word.

  Steve introduced Winona to the reporter then answered a couple of questions. They spoke to two more reporters before making it inside. There, Steve introduced Winona to those milling about on the main level. A server brought a tray over to Steve and handed him a champagne glass of water.

  “Thank you,” Steve said, then picked up another glass with champagne in it and handed it to Winona.

  “I’ll have water too,” she said.

  The server took the glass, and a few moments later brought her a new one with water.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Steve said.

  She simply smiled and took a sip. Soon they were surrounded by art patrons. Between introductions and conversations, she examined the artwork. The collection of traditional sculptures beside modern art was electrifying.

  “Are you Winona Grant?” a woman asked. Her fitted yellow dress screamed for attention. The woman was tall, with sleek black hair, and could more than pull the look off.

  “I am,” Winona said.

  “Rachel,” Steve said to the woman, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Wonderful to see you.”

  “Bringing in digital art was a brilliant move, Steve. Others have been reluctant to embrace technology. I love a forward-thinking gallery.” Rachel smiled at Winona. “Ms. Grant, I love your work. I’ve already put in a bid on two pieces, although I expect to be outbid before I finish off this champagne.”

  Winona tried not to let her mouth hang open. Bids had already been entered on her pieces?

  Steve grinned. “Good to hear.”

  Rachel was watching Winona closely. “Are you two…?”

  “We are,” Steve said, his voice confident.

  Winona could tell that she was blushing.

  “Splendid,” Rachel said. “It’s about time.”

  They laughed together, and Winona found herself smiling.

  Rachel touched Winona’s arm. “I can tell— you two are a good match.”

  It was just casual conversation— a lot of people would probably comment on their relationship tonight— yet she couldn’t help but let Rachel’s words warm her through.

  No one had ever said that she and Paul were a good match— in fact, they had always commented on how opposite they were. Winona was the organized, hard-working woman, while Paul had the devil-may-care personality.

  “Let’s go up to see your display,” Steve said.

  She tuned back in, wondering what she’d missed of Steve and Rachel’s conversation.

  “You haven’t seen it yet?” Rachel asked. “Come on.” She linked arms with Winona and walked with her toward the stairs. This was all so surreal.

  Suddenly, a woman who was the exact image of Genevieve appeared at the top of the stairs. Winona refused to believe her eyes.

  “Darling.” She certainly looked and sounded like Genevieve. She wore a Italian silk suit and more diamonds than the British royalty. Her blonde-colored hair had a pixie cut.

  “Aunt Genevieve?” She hurried up the stairs.

  “I see Steve talked you into displaying your art. It’s breathtaking.” Genevieve swept her into an embrace, and the next thing Winona knew, her aunt had hugged Steve as well, then began talking animatedly with Rachel.

  Winona stared at Genevieve. She’d hardly spoken to her aunt for the past two weeks, and Winona had thought she’d burned plenty of bridges by dating Steve. She turned to him and whispered, “What’s my aunt doing here?”

  Steve winked, then looked away, as if he was suddenly interested in a couple who’d come up the stairs.

  “Steve?” Winona grabbed his hand.

  He smiled, but before he could answer, Genevieve was back at her side, slipping an arm around Winona’s waist. “When he said you were debuting your work, I couldn’t not come.”

  “But I thought you were upset and—”

  “I was. Then I got over it,” Genevieve said. “I guess I was too curious. I had to see the two of you for myself.” She flashed her a brilliant smile. “I must admit, you make a good match.” Then Genevieve was off again, talking to an ancient-looking man who seemed pleased with the digital art display.

  A good match. Winona had heard that twice tonight.

  “I agree,” a whisper was spoken right next to her ear.

  Winona turned. Warmth shot to her toes at the way Steve was looking at her, his expression questioning, open, tender.

  “Do you agree?” He said it with a smile, but his eyes were serious.

  “I think I do,” she said. “And I think you may have a hard time getting rid of me come August.”

  His fingertips brushed hers. “I wouldn’t have a problem with that. There are a lot more places I need to show you. And when it starts snowing, I’ll buy you a warm coat.”

  “You think I’m staying until it snows?”

  “You can’t miss Rockefeller Center during the holidays.” He leaned close, and his lips brushed her ear as he said, “Besides, come June, there’s no one I’d rather celebrate seven years with.”

  Winona wanted to kiss him right then, but they were surrounded by the public. “As long as we celebrate by you ordering in Italian for me.”

  Steve’s fingers intertwined with hers. They stood close, and although only their hands were touching, Winona felt as if she were wrapped in his arms.

  “I know the perfect place,” he said. “You’ll love it.”

  Winona let a sigh escape. She hadn’t had a drop of champagne, yet she felt as if she were floating. “It’s a date.”

  Heather B. Moore is a USA Today bestselling author. She writes historical thrillers under the pen name H.B. Moore; her latest is Finding Sheba. Under Heather B. Moore, she writes romance and women’s fiction. She’s one of the coauthors of The Newport Ladies Book Club series. Other works include Heart of the Ocean, The Fortune Café, the Aliso Creek series, and the Amazon bestselling Timeless Romance Anthology series.

  For book updates, sign up for Heather’s email list: http://hbmoore.com/contact/

  Website: www.hbmoore.com

  Blog: http://mywriterslair.blogspot.com/

  Twitter: @HeatherBMoore

  Marisol absolutely had to land this job; that meant nailing the interview. After getting on the elevator to her potential employer’s penthouse apartment, she checked her resume for the hundredth time. Professional, detailed, clean, understated. She put it back into her bag and then surveyed her outfit in the dark glass of the elevator wall. Dumpy, boring, dependable. Perfect.

  The nanny agency had told her that this family was a little desperate, and that if she got it, the job would start the following week. That was perfect, as far as she was concerned. The reality was that Marisol needed this job as desperately as the employer needed it filled. This was the one. It had to happen.

  She rotated her neck and shoulders, trying to release the tension she felt whenever she thought about her current situation. Current for the next eight days, she corrected herself. She’d nannied for the Rubin family for three years, working hours and whole days of overtime without pay. She’d shared a bedroom with Tikva, the older daughter, and had basically been a full-time occupational therapist for Bayla, their special needs younger girl. Most exhausting was enduring the contempt, insecurity, and jealousy of Miriam, the girls’ mother.

  At first, she’d thought Rubins had paid her pretty well— until she realized that it worked out to about five dollars an hour. Regardless, she’d ignored every humiliation until Monday night.

  After the girls had gone to bed, the Rubins had asked her into Bob’s study— a room normally off-limits to Marisol. They’d sat her down, which never meant good news was coming. What had she done wrong this time? Had she left the kitchen light on again? Forgotten to latch the door to the dog run on the side of the townhouse?

  What they’d told her had been much worse than their usu
al nit-picky reprimand. “We’re letting you go, Marisol. We’re moving to Paris in two weeks. We’ll let you work right up until then, and then give you three weeks’ extra pay as a bonus.” Bob Rubin had sat back with a self-satisfied air, apparently impressed with his own generosity.

  “Two weeks?” Marisol echoed. “That’s not much notice for you to get your family ready to move all the way to Paris.”

  Rob’s gaze slid sideways to his wife. Aha. They’d known about the transfer for far longer but hadn’t told her on purpose. It was more convenient for them to have her unaware— and their convenience trumped everything.

  Marisol glanced over at Miriam. Her expression was smug, even triumphant. Miriam had never kept her feelings about Marisol a secret. She fumed any time the girls clung to Marisol instead of running to her— which only made their clinging worse. She constantly urged Marisol to put on a sweater, complaining that her clothes were too tight or revealing. She took every opportunity to complain about Marisol’s cooking or cleaning or caring for the children— yet the Rubins had kept her on all this time.

  Marisol had walked out of the study numbly, not bothering to argue or negotiate for more money. She went to the tiny room she shared with Tikva, holding back tears so she wouldn’t wake the girl. Lying on the bottom bunk, she pulled up her nanny agency’s website on her laptop and sent them an urgent message.

  The end of May was the worst possible time of year to try to get another nanny job. Was it even worth the bother of applying? But she was so close to graduating. For years, she’d taken night classes at City College several blocks downtown, paying as she went.

  Just two more semesters of night classes, and she’d be done. She had to find a way to push through. She was already twenty-seven, far older than the traditional graduate. But if she could get another nanny job, she’d finish college without any student loan debt. That meant she’d have a prayer of being able to afford to live and work in Manhattan after graduation. She’d finally realize her dream of being permanently independent of her family, and she’d be free to explore the endless wonders of the greatest city in the world.