“It’s apparent you’ve given tours.”
“I have. To all my friends and family when they come over. It used to be a hospital, mainly for women delivering their babies.”
“Interesting.”
“Every morning at seven A.M., I leave my apartment on the top floor, cross the street, and walk around the lake ten times. Then I eat breakfast and get ready for work.”
“Sounds like a nice routine.”
He was a good listener.
“I like knowing I live in a place that used to cater to women before women had a lot of clout in society,” she said. “And these mothers didn’t have the comforts of modern anesthesia or the authority to create their own destinies whatsoever.…”
“You sound quite inspired right now—”
She let go of his hand, saw an expanse of blank sidewalk coming up, and took advantage of it. She skipped ahead a few paces, faced him, and walked backward while she spoke: “Yet they showed up and persevered, and they literally created the next several generations … before the hospital expanded and moved somewhere else. After that, Baker House was turned into apartments.” She stopped, and he walked right up to her, mere inches away. He cradled her elbows with his hands, and she felt a kiss hovering between them.
“Sometimes,” she said, her nose almost touching his, “I feel the hope of those women in the floors and walls. And sometimes, late at night, their suffering. Their worry.”
“You do?”
“Yes. My living room used to be a recovery area. I have a large, arched window there, and the sun pours in. I like to think of exhausted mothers lying there with their babies and dreaming about their futures.…”
“You’re got quite the romantic soul,” he said.
“But I’m logical. And practical. Like my own mother.”
“Why can’t you be everything at once?”
She shrugged. “I suppose I could. It’s not very logical of me to want to kiss you, that’s for sure.”
“It’s absolutely disastrous for me to kiss you,” he said. “I’m supposed to be shattered by my abandonment at the altar, after all. I’m on the rebound, the gossips would say. You should beware.”
“You should beware, too.”
“Why is that?”
“For years, I thought I was happy with Wesley. Then I rejected the engagement ring he offered me, to mine and his utter shock.”
“Hmmm. Are you sure he was as shocked as you seem to think he was?”
She’d never considered that. “I think so. I mean, he acted like it at the time.”
“Have you never actually spoken to him about the break-up? After the fact, that is?”
She sighed. “No. And I want to. I want to tell him I’m sorry. I did when it happened, but you know how people always say they’re sorry when they’re afraid to get in trouble for being awful. And I looked very much like an awful person. I mean, I was one.”
“That’s not fair to say. Were you supposed to continue on and get married when you didn’t love him? That would have been far worse.”
“Yes, but I didn’t have a good reason. Nothing about him had changed. I’d changed.”
“You can’t always make sense of things. Your gut was following a logic your brain had no access to—or was ignoring. Trust your gut.”
“Mine is saying to trust you.”
He winced. “I’ve got issues,” he said. “Really big issues, beyond being abandoned by my bride-to-be and still having to pay for the wedding and the honeymoon.”
“She didn’t help?”
He shook his head. “And hell if I was going to ask her mother—who happens to be a well-known actress—to cover her daughter’s expenses.”
“Who is she?”
“Rosemary Dunhill.”
“Rosemary Dunhill?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That was nice of you. Rosemary Dunhill must have millions of British pounds.” Greer couldn’t help feeling curious. “She also has a chain of high-end women’s clothing stores in the U.K., I’ve heard, with trunk shows in New York and L.A. I have a friend who’s been to one in New York.”
“Yes, she does. In Vail and Dallas, too.”
“You run in elite circles, it sounds like.”
“That’s a kind way to say decadent, depressed, and fickle circles.”
“Yikes.”
“As an artist looking for exposure,” he said, “the price of admission to the show is a thick skin. One minute, you’re ‘in’ with the critics and the public. The next, you’re out. There’s no mercy.”
“That must be rough.”
“It’s not easy, but it’s also not the worst thing in the world. You tend to meet very interesting people. Risk-takers. And I paint what I want. I don’t look for ways to tap into the market. Chasing it can make you mad as a hatter. But when something I do makes waves, I ride it, like one of the surfers at your Folly Beach. Because you never know when the next good wave will come along.”
She didn’t answer. She felt like skipping ahead again, looking back at him. Neither one of them spoke. But they were having some kind of silent fun—just being together, she supposed.
They were approaching Colonial Lake, walking up Beaufain, when she got a text notification. It was quiet out, except for some laughter coming from the upper piazzas of one of the old houses. College kids. They tended to be up until the wee hours, and sometimes the neighbors would write letters to the editor about them. But she liked them. They kept the city young and vibrant. And once she was inside her apartment at the Baker House, a veritable fortress, she never heard them anyway.
Her apartment was her retreat, her cozy space, with its worn hardwood floors, floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and secondhand furniture she’d picked up at antique stores in the North Carolina mountains and either painted or reupholstered herself. She liked to play Martha Stewart in Macy’s garden shed behind her house on the Battery, with Oscar, Macy’s orange tabby cat, watching her every move, and Macy bringing her cups of coffee and fat slices of her homemade pound cake.
“It’s pretty late for a text,” she said, and then remembered the girls were in L.A. and three whole hours behind. It was only nine o’clock Pacific time.
Sure enough, it was a photo from Macy. All three of them were lined up on barstools and holding massive drinks. Miss Thing was grinning from ear to ear. Macy was laughing hard about something. Ella was looking directly into the camera, her smile serene.
“I love them so much,” Greer said with a hitch in her voice. “I can’t believe I’m not there.” She held the phone out so he could see the picture up close.
He grinned. “They’re a good-looking group. The older one—”
“Miss Thing.”
He laughed. “Miss Thing reminds me of someone from the 1940s. It’s her hair.”
“She’d love hearing that. She’s obsessed with the Queen.”
The houses they passed were big, shadowy, and filled with stories. Greer wished she could go into each and every one of them.
“What really big issues do you have?” she asked.
“We’re getting deep tonight, aren’t we?”
“Something is bothering you a lot,” she said.
“You talk about Baker House and the mothers who had dreams for their children,” he said.
“Yes?”
He ran a hand through his hair, and then he looked at her a certain way.
And she knew.
“You have a child,” she said.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “My ex is pregnant with twins. I might or might not be the father. I’ll know after she has them. Something about paternity testing being too difficult before then.”
Greer gulped. “Wow.”
“I told you,” he said, and kicked at an invisible stone with his sneaker. When he looked back up, his eyes were stormy. “She was sleeping with one of my best friends. He could be the father. Either one of us. Or both of us, oddly enough. It’s been known to happen that twi
ns can have different fathers.”
“I-I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I mean, you’re right. It’s really big news.”
“I only found out this afternoon. It was why I was at the wine and cigar place on East Bay. I didn’t want to stay in my flat and think about it. And I was in no mood to meet Wesley at the studio for a drink.” He gave a little laugh. “He and Serena found me anyway.”
“I’m sorry.” Greer exhaled a breath. “Not about your being a father. That’s for you to decide how you feel about it. I’m just sorry you couldn’t think about all this in peace.” She gave a little shudder. “And then I pulled you into my situation. Ugh. I feel bad getting you involved when you had far weightier matters on your mind.”
“I didn’t mind.” He pulled her by the hand and up the stairs of the Baker House. “I liked it.”
“You did?” She thought about him jingling coins in his pockets and telling Henny that he supported her one hundred percent in her quest to win that dress without a partner in tow. How nice of him, when he’d only just heard his whole world might be turned even more completely upside-down.
He nodded. “To tell you the truth, being with you has been the saving grace of the day.”
Her heart warmed. Saving grace. She’d never been called that before. “That’s very sweet of you to say.”
He looked over her shoulder. Colonial Lake in the moonlight was a sight to behold. “I’m not being sweet.” He hesitated, then looked back at her. “I’m taking advantage of you. I wasn’t lying when I said to beware. So many things have happened to me lately. I’m in no place to get involved with someone. And I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’ve done. Pulled you in.”
She felt the weight of his worry. She was worried, too. “I could just as easily say I pulled you in.”
He laughed. “Just this morning, you were a stranger in a coffee house.”
“And you were a man in a plaid jacket who was highly distracting at an auction.”
“What are we going to be to each other now?” he asked her softly.
And they both knew: lovers.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
He kissed her on the steps of the Baker House, with almost all the world sleeping around them. The college kids had finally quieted down the street. Far away, the sound of cars crossing the drawbridge over the Ashley River—clack, clack, clack—made a soothing background noise. His lips were warm and perfect on hers—hard, manly, his finesse wreaking havoc with her libido. She was in good hands. Very, very good hands. But the best part was being cocooned in his embrace. She loved the togetherness, the feeling of wanting someone so much.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that, how much was inside her that she was holding on to, things she wanted to share, both good and bad. She’d been working so hard, and she craved being held and made love to so that everything she didn’t quite understand about life could float away.
She wanted the comfort and certainty of knowing all she needed to know … at least for a little while.
When he dropped down a step and looked at his watch, her heart sank. “It’s killing me to leave.” He shot her a handsome grin, but it was tired, too. “It’s half past eleven, and at four in the morning, I have to be awake to FaceTime a gallery in Manchester. They have a buyer coming in who’s interested in a series I painted last year.”
She released a breath. “We both lead complicated lives. It’s best that we just … stay friends.”
“It’s true I can’t see myself sleeping with anyone—even someone as beautiful and desirable as you,” he said, “the same day I find out I might be a father. I want to be respectful of the news and of her, even though we’re no longer together.”
“That makes total sense,” Greer said. “In fact, I admire that. Are you”—should she ask?—“are you still in love with her?”
“No. Which makes this all the more complicated if I’m the dad.”
She sighed. “This is heavy stuff.”
“But life goes on.” He grinned. “What are your plans tomorrow? Can we get started on sketches?”
“I’m running the office alone tomorrow, but the girls will be back from L.A. tomorrow night. And I might be busy fighting Pierre to stay in the contest. If he doesn’t throw me out and I can bring someone to the cocktail party tomorrow night, are you in?”
“I’m in for as long as you need backup. It’s only fair. But we need to start sketches by at least the day after tomorrow.”
“Fine. We’ll make it work.”
“Cheers.”
“See you.”
She watched him cross the street. He looked back at her from the opposite corner and waved. She smiled, feeling wan inside—lovesick, almost, which was impossible this soon—and waved back.
She took the elevator up to her apartment. Her stomach dropped as it ascended. But she knew it was more than just the elevator. She had a crush. Already. On a stranger. And she’d been willing to sleep with him on the first day she’d met him.
What had happened to cool, logical Greer Jones?
When she got to her apartment, she threw her purse on her bed and let out a massive sigh. What an incredibly long, strange day it had been. Maybe that accounted for her falling for Ford … she’d entered a contest to win a wedding dress when she didn’t have a groom. And Miss Thing had won a veritable fortune! She’d also seen Wesley—which was a huge shock—and was more glad than ever that they’d broken up.
But the most interesting thing was that she’d met this really awesome guy who was unavailable.
Unavailable.
She could see the word in big letters across a picture of Ford in her mind. Or should she say, she was unavailable? Because, of course, she didn’t want to get involved with a man with such complex personal issues. Becoming a father was a big deal, and who knew how parenthood would change his relationship with his ex. Greer wasn’t going to touch that situation with a ten-foot pole.
At the most, they could have fun, provide each other some temporary stress relief, and help each other reach a special goal. But that was all.
“Let’s hope tomorrow is much more calm,” she said to Fern when she snuggled under her covers.
Fern was her twelve-year-old Boston fern who sat on a table beneath her bedroom window. She was the best listener Greer had ever known.
* * *
But the next day was just as hectic. Greer worked all through the morning and afternoon, putting out fires at work, mainly two clients who were unsure how to handle their fourth date with each other. Should they or should they not sleep together? Both of them really wanted to, but would it jinx them? Things had been going so well!
“I’m afraid she’ll start expecting a ring any day,” the guy told Greer. “I like her a lot, but I’m not sure how far I want to take this. I’ll never know until I sleep with her, though. What’s a guy to do?”
“I’m worried he’ll get bored with me once we make love,” the woman said, “and I don’t want him to. I really like him.”
Greer talked them both through it separately on the phone.
The woman cried a little. “I-I’d love to have sex with him. I have needs, too! But whenever I go that route too soon, my dates never call me back afterward!”
“She’s hot, and sex between consenting adults is never a bad thing, is it?” he asked.
The guy got defensive when Greer reminded him that Two Love Lane was all about connecting people with their soul mates, not hook-ups. “A nice guy like you is going to miss out on fantastic women if you push too hard to have sex too soon,” she told him.
“But—”
“No buts. Are you looking for true love or a fling? Be honest. Because you need to get off the Two Love Lane bus if our long-term mission here doesn’t suit you.”
And the woman didn’t like it when Greer said, “Maybe it’s time to be more assertive and honest with your dates. Tell them you’ve been hurt before, and if they can’t hang on a while before having sex wit
h you, then you might as well call it a day.”
“But what if they walk?”
“Then they walk,” Greer said. “And you’re better off. It’s a good measuring stick of a guy’s intentions.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“I’m only reflecting back things you’ve expressed to me but are afraid to say to your dates. Time to saddle up and take the reins.”
She couldn’t wait to hear what happened. It was such a waiting game. It was hard to have patience. She was always so concerned about her clients and had to work hard not to get too personally involved. But it was true, when one of their hearts broke, hers did, too. And when they fell in love, well, she was walking on air right along with them.
The internet was down at Two Love Lane, too, that day—some sort of wi-fi issue. Then at four P.M. she raced to the airport to pick up Macy, Ella, and Miss Thing. She still hadn’t heard from Pierre, so she assumed she was welcome to go to the cocktail party.
Macy, Ella, and Miss Thing shrieked when they saw her—they were in one of their three sets of Price Is Right T-shirts—and they all fell into a big huddle. It took them a good five minutes to remember to walk to the baggage claim area. Greer told them on the way over about the contest.
They all stopped again so they could laugh. Miss Thing couldn’t stop repeating, “I told you to do something crazy. I told you.”
“Well, I did,” said Greer.
“I think this whole ‘no partner’ strategy is an unusual but possibly effective way to get things moving for you romantically,” said Macy.
“You sound like me,” Greer said.
“Macy’s right,” Ella said. “Especially now that Wesley’s going to be here for a whole year. You need some major distractions.”
“Dang tootin’,” said Miss Thing.
“What will you wear tonight? Will any press be there?” Ella asked.
“I’m not sure,” Greer said. “Not that—”
“How many people off the streets do you think will come?” Macy interrupted her. “Was it advertised in the paper?”
“I have no—”
“Did Pierre really get twenty future brides to participate?” Miss Thing asked.
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