Miracle On 5th Avenue

by Sarah Morgan

  She’d contemplated going back to sleep in Lucas’s room, but decided that would be intrusive, because where would he sleep if she was in his bed?

  Someone is sleeping in my bed and she’s still there.

  She didn’t want to be like Goldilocks, so she’d returned to the room she’d been using as her own.

  The bed felt huge, cold and empty, filled with just her and her thoughts.

  It had been an incredible night right up until the point she’d found Lucas in his study and he’d shared his secret. And now that secret lay inside her, heavy as stone. It had never once occurred to her that his relationship, his “perfect” marriage, might not have been so perfect.

  She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.

  He was right when he’d said he’d tarnished her dreams. In a way, he had. She’d looked at those photographs, at the depth of his grief, and envied what he’d shared with Sallyanne.

  She hadn’t thought to look deeper. She’d thought that once you found the right person, love was simple.

  He probably thought she was a dreamy fool.

  She thought she was a dreamy fool.

  No wonder he shut himself away. No wonder he rejected people’s calls for him to move on. He wasn’t just dealing with the loss of someone he loved, he was dealing with the discovery that something he’d believed in had never existed. She was beginning to understand why he never judged by appearances.

  He’d lived it, discovering that what he’d seen on the surface didn’t reflect what lay underneath. It wasn’t just fiction, it was his reality.

  And it was no good wishing things were different, or pretending that she was going to be the one to drag him from the past into the present. Maybe she was a dreamy optimist, but she wasn’t stupid. He had a lot to process, and until he did that he wasn’t going to be able to have a relationship with anyone. And the last thing she wanted was to lose her heart to an unavailable man.

  She felt a tearing, aching pain in her chest and knew it was already too late for that. She was falling for him, and it was hopeless.

  She could cook him delicious food, and make his apartment festive, but she couldn’t do anything about the way he was feeling. Only he could fix that.

  But that didn’t stop her wishing she could fix it for him.

  Thirteen

  You can’t step into the future if you keep one foot in the past.

  —Paige

  Lucas woke with an aching neck from having slept awkwardly on the sofa.

  Through the floor-to-ceiling window he could see the golden fingers of dawn spreading across the sky. The snow had stopped falling, but the past few days had turned Central Park into a glossy winter wonderland. Snow lay thick on the paths and trees were draped with a sparkly coating of magical winter white.

  The bottle of whiskey was still open in front of him, and next to it the empty glass, a reminder of the night before.

  He remembered the dancing, the champagne, that tense ride home in the car and the incredible sex that had followed. Eva had been so open and willing, so generous and honest in her affections, giving without hesitation or qualification. And afterward, during the conversation in his study, she’d been equally generous. Instead of being annoyed or insecure that he was talking about his relationship with another woman when only an hour earlier they’d been wrapped together in the most intimate way possible, she’d listened carefully, paying attention.

  Swearing softly, he swung his legs off the sofa and dug his fingers into his hair.

  She’d gone to bed with him as a woman who believed in happy-ever-afters and emerged the next morning with her illusions shattered. That’s what a relationship with him did to a person.

  What the hell happened next?

  He couldn’t walk away because he was in his own apartment. And he couldn’t send her away because he needed her here so that he could work.

  Trapped by a dilemma of his own making, he walked into his bedroom, braced for conversation, and saw that the bed was empty. The shoes she’d worn the night before were half-hidden under the bed, a reminder of those few heightened hours of excitement at the ball.

  He should have stopped it then.

  Instead of dancing with her, he should have let her go home with one of the other men there. He should have stood back and let it happen.

  It would have been better for both of them. Instead, he’d destroyed her fairy-tale moment.

  He eyed the tangle of sheets and wondered if she’d slept in her own room. Either that or she’d packed and left. And he couldn’t blame her for that, could he?

  The thought disturbed him more than it should have, as did the relief that followed when the delicious smells of sizzling bacon wafted up from the kitchen.

  She hadn’t gone home.

  Trying to work out what that meant, he walked into the shower, hit the jets and closed his eyes as the hot water pummeled out the last of the sleep from his body.

  Lifting his hand he stroked the water away from his face, trying to clear his head.

  He’d known her for less than a week, and yet he’d told her things he’d never told anyone before. Deeply personal information he’d long ago promised himself would never see the light of day. But there had been something about the way Eva had looked at him, something about the kindness in her eyes and the lightness of her touch that had unlocked secrets he’d kept firmly to himself.

  He wouldn’t blame her for misreading the signs and thinking that this was more than it was.

  He cursed softly and reached for a towel, knotting it around his waist.

  There was no sense in delaying what was inevitably going to be an awkward conversation.

  Better to get it over with so both of them knew exactly where this was going.

  He dressed quickly and then walked downstairs to the kitchen.

  She was wearing his shirt again, and her hair was piled haphazardly on top of her head. He heard the sound of sizzling and a delicious smell enveloped him, waking his taste buds. He noticed that today she wasn’t singing and he felt another stab of regret and guilt.

  No doubt he was responsible.

  “Do I smell bacon?” He decided it was up to him to breach the awkward morning-after moment, although he wasn’t exactly sure which part of the night before would make her feel most awkward. The sex or the confession. “I thought you were vegetarian?”

  Without looking at him, she reached for a plate. “The bacon is for you. I’ve heard it’s the perfect cure for a hangover.”

  “I don’t have a hangover.” It was a lie and they both knew it, but instead of arguing she turned back to the pan and left him to contemplate why she’d be going to so much trouble.

  “Eva—”

  “Don’t talk.”

  “Because you’re upset?”

  “No, because I’m not awake yet. It’s early, Lucas. I’ve already told you I don’t function well at this hour, especially after the limited sleep I had last night.” Yawning, she plated the bacon, added a toasted English muffin and a poached egg and placed it in front of him. “Don’t talk to me. I’ll be fine.” She’d basically excused him from having a conversation he’d been dreading. He should have been relieved.

  “I don’t need breakfast.”

  “I got up early to make this for you, so if you don’t eat it I will be upset. And you need to replenish the calories you used up last night.”

  “About that—”

  “Eat.” She handed him a knife and fork and turned back to pull a tray of something that smelled delicious from the oven.

  He scanned her long, bare legs and forgot what he’d intended to talk about. “You stole my shirt.”

  “I wanted to make breakfast before taking a shower. Do you mind?”

  What was one more intimacy stacked on top of the others they’d shared?

  He took a mouthful of food. Then another, and instantly felt better. The bacon was crisp, the muffin lightly toasted and the egg perfectly cooked. She alw
ays seemed to know exactly what to serve him. Mood food.

  “When you weren’t in the bedroom, I thought you’d left.”

  “I slept in my own room.” She poured herself a coffee and leaned against the counter. “You should have slept in yours. You must have a terrible neck ache after a night on the sofa.”

  “Eva, what happened between us last night—”

  “We’re not going to talk about this now.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  She sighed. “Well, if we are, I need more coffee and I won’t be held responsible for anything I say while in a sleep coma.” She topped off her mug and handed him one, too. “Last night was perfect, Lucas. The dress, the ball, the dancing, the sex. All of it was perfect.”

  He’d been trying hard not to think about the sex, but now she’d mentioned it he couldn’t think of anything else. Eva, naked, those incredible breasts pushing into his chest. Eva, eyes closed and lips parted as he’d kissed her.

  Eva, listening without passing judgment—

  Shit.

  “You’re ignoring the part where I destroyed your dreams.”

  “You mean the part where you told me the truth about your marriage? No.” She sipped her coffee and then put her mug down slowly. “I’m glad you were finally able to tell someone, because carrying that around on your own must have been a heavy burden. I’m sorry you’ve been living with that and I can understand now why you’re so reluctant to believe that anyone is the way they seem.”

  “Eva—”

  “You always look for deeper meanings, so I’m going to save you the trouble and tell you what’s in my head. Was last night incredible? Yes, it was. Do I wish it could be more than one night? Yes, part of me does.”

  So did he. He wished she’d dressed in something other than his damn shirt. It would have made it easier to concentrate. “Part of you?”

  “The part of me that wants to ignore the truth, which is that you have a lot of baggage to deal with before you’re ready for a relationship with someone else. Getting involved with you would be like driving a car over nails or broken glass. It could only end badly and I prefer not to start something when I can already see trouble in the distance. So you don’t need to worry about me. We’ll call it a one-night stand.”

  He should have been relieved she was being so sensible. He was relieved, so the kick of disappointment made no sense.

  “You don’t like one-night stands.”

  “They’re not my preference, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy one if that’s how it turns out.” Her voice was light, but he knew it barely revealed the surface of her feelings.

  “I’d understand if you decide to leave.”

  She lifted her coffee and took another sip, studying him across the rim of her mug. “Do you want me to leave? You asked me here so that you could finish writing your book. Unless you’ve finished, or my presence is no longer helpful, then I’ll stay until the job’s finished. Do you need me or not?”

  His mouth was dry. He had to remind himself she was talking about work. “I need you.”

  “Then I’ll stay.” Her mouth curved into a smile. “And I promise not to pounce on you in the night, so you don’t need to take refuge on the sofa. And now we’ve got that out of the way, we can carry on as if nothing has changed.”

  He wished it was that simple.

  He wished he could pretend nothing had changed, but it had. It was like trying to close the door on an overfull closet. Everything stored there was pushing back, trying to escape after years of being locked inside out of sight.

  Maybe she thought this was one-sided. Maybe she didn’t understand how hard he was struggling not to push aside everything decent inside himself and take sanctuary in her warmth and her generosity.

  He said nothing as she served him another helping and made him a coffee that was exactly the way he liked it.

  Everything she did was exactly the way he liked it.

  The only way to deal with it was to go back to work.

  After finishing his second helping, he stood up and loaded his plate into the dishwasher with a clatter. “Thank you for breakfast.” His tone was rougher than he’d intended but she didn’t seem offended. He was coming to the conclusion that she was one of those rare people who had an intuitive grasp of another’s emotions, and respected them.

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for the orgasm.” She turned pink. “Forget I said that. I’m still half-asleep.”

  No matter how tense the situation, she always made him smile.

  “You’re only thanking me for one? What about the others?”

  “I lost count.”

  His gaze met hers and the air in the apartment heated with the shared intimacy.

  He thought that if he did what he was burning to do it would end in disaster and she wouldn’t be thanking him for anything.

  She’d be cursing the fact she’d ever met him.

  * * *

  The storm had now fully passed, the streets were cleared and gradually people were venturing out again, wrapped up against the cold as they prepared for the holiday season. There were gifts to be purchased and wrapped, trees to be decorated, store windows to admire and parties to attend.

  Eva concentrated on her work and tried not to think too much about that night with Lucas.

  It had been so special it deserved to be thought about, but at the same time thinking about it made her yearn for something that wasn’t on offer.

  Neither of them spoke about it, but that didn’t mean the tension wasn’t there. It simmered under the surface, creating tiny ripples in the otherwise smooth atmosphere. Until now she hadn’t realized how much could be conveyed by a touch or a glance.

  She envied Lucas his self-control.

  “I mean, if it was me, I wouldn’t be able to resist.” She spoke to Paige, while she stirred, whisked and baked. She’d told her friends the truth about what had happened that night, omitting everything Lucas had told her. That wasn’t hers to share. “He’s the kind of guy who can have chocolate in the house and not eat it. Why wasn’t I blessed with ruthless self-control? I’d be thin and successful.”

  “You were blessed with plenty of other things, and no man would swap your curves for ‘thin.’”

  “You think I’m fat?” She glanced over her shoulder, trying to see her bottom. “I’ve been using Lucas’s exercise bike every day and lifting weights. I’m looking toned, but not thin. Probably because I haven’t mastered self-control.”

  “Self-control is overrated. So he hasn’t mentioned that night? Not once?”

  “Apart from the very awkward morning-after-the-night before conversation, no.” She sifted more flour into the bowl. “We’re ignoring it. On the surface, at least.” Underneath? Underneath the tension was rising. The time they spent together was so intense it was becoming harder and harder to behave normally. She’d almost reached the stage where she couldn’t remember what normal was.

  “Mmm.” Paige didn’t sound convinced. “Are you sure you’re happy to stay there? I wouldn’t want you getting serious about him.”

  Eva pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge. “I’m not serious.”

  “I know you. With you, sex is always serious. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “It had been a while for me so I guess that makes it different. It wasn’t serious.” If she said it enough times, she might even start to believe it.

  “But you wish it was?”

  “I’m not letting myself think like that.” She closed the fridge door, thinking that maybe she had more self-control than she thought. She wasn’t great at resisting sugar, or lipstick, but she was doing pretty well resisting her feelings for Lucas.

  Over the next few days Lucas spent most of his time closeted in his study, only emerging to eat the meals she prepared. She wondered if he was isolating himself because he needed to work or because the intensity of their relationship was starting to get to him, too. There was as much meaning in their silences as there was
in the words they exchanged. There were times when she thought she might burst into flames.

  And then there were the moments she worried that by being alone in his office he’d retreated back into his own private hell. And she couldn’t help wondering whether he was thinking of her at all while he brooded.

  As promised, he’d turned over the third bedroom for her to use as an office. He’d moved the desk, giving her a view across the city and the park.

  It took all her self-discipline not to spend all day staring out of the window.

  She kept her laptop there, and her planner, and checked in regularly with Paige and Frankie. On one evening she joined them for an event in midtown, but other than that almost all her work was conducted on the phone and the internet. Her working day was spent organizing food for events, liaising with venues and clients. The rest of her time was spent in the kitchen.

  Christmas had been a time of year she and her grandmother had both treasured and memories were everywhere, in flavors and fragrance, in textures and taste. There were some dishes she hadn’t cooked since her grandmother’s death, but she cooked them for Lucas and discovered that there was comfort as well as sadness and nostalgia in doing so.

  Despite, or perhaps because of, his preoccupation with his book, Lucas was an appreciative audience. He was complimentary about everything she prepared, and seemed genuinely interested in her creative process.

  Dinner became the most important meal of the day for her, because it was the only real time they spent together. Breakfast was often eaten standing up, lunch was equally quick and sometimes Lucas simply loaded his plate and took it back to his office.

  Dinner was the one meal he lingered over. He always questioned her carefully about what they were having, and then chose a wine he thought would complement the food. She was impressed by his expertise.

  “So some of the wines you have are very old and very valuable?”

  “Yes.”

  “And sometimes you buy them at auction?”

  “That’s right.” He poured wine into a glass and handed it to her. “Try it. Tell me what you think.”