Nothing Like Love

by Abigail Strom

  Noah thought about it for a minute, walking slowly to his sofa and sinking down into it.

  “Well,” he said finally. “When a miracle shows up on your doorstep, it would be ungracious to turn it away. I don’t have it in me to turn down this gift. I know there are folks out there too proud to take charity, but I’m not one of them. I’m just grateful.” His eyes were bright as he looked up at Simone. “If it is your friend, and if he wants to stay anonymous, I won’t violate his privacy. But if there’s a way Henry and I can thank him, please let me know.”

  A few minutes later, Simone was in her apartment. She sank down on her own sofa and started to cry.

  What Zach had done . . . acting so quickly, so competently, so generously . . .

  She wanted to call him.

  She couldn’t call him.

  He’d intended to remain anonymous. But he must have known she might figure out who was behind this.

  She wouldn’t call. She’d be seeing him at the theater in just a few hours, right? She’d see him then, and she’d play things by ear.

  It was cooler and less humid than last night. Simone walked quickly from her apartment to the theater, brimming with energy and the desire to see Zach again.

  He was so much on her mind that she seemed to see him everywhere. One guy looking in a shop window had brown hair a little like his. Another one seemed to have his easy, confident stride. Still another had . . .

  She stopped and looked again. That guy in line at the hot dog cart was Zach.

  She started to walk toward him, faster and faster, until she was practically running.

  “Zach!” she called out, and he looked up.

  It was him. It really was. Not that there was anything so astonishing about that. The hot dog cart was just a few doors down from the theater.

  He broke into a grin when he saw her, and as her energy took over her body, she did start to run. Zach stepped out of the hot dog line and came toward her.

  If she didn’t slow down, she was going to crash right into him. But she didn’t want to slow down. She wanted to—

  He opened his arms and she launched herself forward, throwing her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. He spun her around in a circle as they both started to laugh, and then he let her slide down his body to the sidewalk.

  “Wow,” he said. “That’s the second time you’ve said hello by jumping into my arms. A bloke could get used to that.”

  She clutched his shirt in her hands and looked up at him. “You hired that company for Noah and Henry,” she said breathlessly. “I was going to play it cool and not say anything, but . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know how to thank you. Do you have any idea what this will mean for them?”

  He looked embarrassed for the first time since she’d met him. “I wasn’t sure what Noah would think if he found out it was me . . . or what you would think. I was afraid I’d look like a rich guy dispensing favors or something.”

  She let go of his shirt and smoothed out the wrinkles, appreciating the hard definition of his chest. “Well, you are rich, and it was a pretty big favor. But it’s going to make a huge difference in Noah and Henry’s life.”

  She started to pull her hands away, but he covered them with his own first, trapping them against his body. “I wanted to make a difference in their lives. But I wanted to lighten the burden for you, too. If you want to know the truth, I was thinking about you as much as I was thinking about them.”

  She could feel the color coming into her face as she stared up at him, her hands caught between the warmth of his palms and the warmth of his body. He was so much bigger than she was, but he never used his size to intimidate or overwhelm. His presence made her feel safe, somehow. Cared for. Protected.

  She blinked. Since when she did think about being protected? And by a guy, at that?

  This was not good.

  “Well,” she said, slipping out of his grasp and taking a step back. “I thank you for my sake and for theirs.” She broke eye contact and glanced at the food cart. “I’m sorry you lost your place in line. Can I buy you a hot dog to make up for it?”

  He looked at her a little quizzically, seeming to sense that something had changed. But all he said was, “I would love a hot dog. Sauerkraut and mustard?”

  “You got it.”

  The show went smoothly, although it didn’t have quite the magic of last night’s performance—at least not for Simone. But the audience loved it and the company was thrilled, and as everyone mingled together in the lobby afterward at the closing night reception, Simone felt almost completely happy herself.

  That’s when it started.

  “You have to come to Ireland with us,” Louise said. “I know Zach said he could find someone else to play Hermia over there, but now that I’ve been onstage with you, I don’t want to act those scenes with anyone else. Please, Simone? Please, please, please?”

  A few minutes later, it was Amy and Norbert.

  “It’s not just Hermia,” Amy said. “If you’re there with us, everything with the set will go smoother, too.”

  “Plus it’ll be fun,” Norbert added. “Are you telling me you don’t want to hang out in Irish pubs with us? What about the one Zach told us about, the oldest pub in Europe? It’s like a thousand years old or something. How cool would that be? To raise a glass where Irish warriors once did?”

  Simone laughed. “I’m a modern girl, Norbert. A city mouse through and through. You history buffs can visit the thousand-year-old pub while I do my imbibing in midtown Manhattan.”

  A little while later, Quentin got into the act.

  “Everyone who loves theater and literature should visit Ireland at least once. It’s the birthplace of James Joyce, Jonathan Swift, Oscar Wilde, William Butler Yeats, Samuel Beckett, George Bernard Shaw . . .”

  “Stop naming dead white guys. And I wasn’t an English major like you, buddy. I love Shakespeare, but that doesn’t mean I worship at the altar of great literature.”

  “I’ve been to your apartment, and I’ve seen your copy of Yeats. It’s been read. A lot.” He raised a bushy eyebrow. “Your favorite passages are underlined.”

  She made a shooing gesture. “Move away from me, old man.”

  In honor of the coming trip, the bar in the lobby was well-stocked with Guinness and Jameson. A little while later, as Simone was doing a last shot of whiskey with Kate and Ian before they left for the evening, Kate saw fit to put in her two cents.

  “You know,” she began.

  “If you tell me to go to Ireland, I will kill you.”

  Kate grinned as she leaned back against the bar. “Okay, so I’ve been talking with Quentin and Louise. I just don’t want you to miss out on an amazing experience.”

  “If anyone should go to Ireland, it’s you. You’re a writer. You’re dreamy and romantic and poetic. You’re even a redhead.”

  “As it happens, I’ve been to Ireland . . . and I loved it. And I hate to think you’d let an old phobia keep you from doing something you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”

  “I have plenty of memorable experiences here in the naked city. I don’t need to cross an ocean in a metal death trap to chase another one.”

  It was after midnight when Kate and Ian left, and the reception was winding down. Most of the cast was heading to an after-party, but Simone, suddenly exhausted, decided to go home.

  She’d chatted with Zach over the course of the evening, but always as part of a larger group. Whenever she remembered her impulsive greeting at the hot dog stand, a twinge of embarrassment went through her.

  Her pleasure when she’d seen him on the street had been so overwhelming . . . and that feeling after he spun her around and set her back on her feet, looking down at her from that strong, dependable, masculine height of his . . . it had been a definite my man can handle anythi
ng kind of sensation.

  Which was not something Simone Oliver had ever sought out in her life.

  And even if it had been, Zach Hammond was most definitely not her man. So that feeling had been all wrong on every possible level.

  So while she hadn’t avoided talking to him tonight, she had avoided a tête-à-tête. She’d done a good job of protecting herself from heartache where Zach was concerned, and there was no point in blowing it now.

  She was saying a few good-byes before heading out—and feeling relieved that Zach wasn’t in sight as she was doing so—when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Hey, there,” a familiar, deep voice said. “I hear you’re skipping the party tonight. May I see you home?”

  A frisson went down her spine. Hoping her face wouldn’t reveal that fact, Simone turned to Zach with a smile. “No need,” she said lightly. “And my apartment’s in the wrong direction. The party’s further downtown.”

  He looked down at her thoughtfully, his cobalt eyes curious. “I think I can manage a few extra blocks for a good cause. Unless you’re avoiding me for some reason?”

  Yes, I’m avoiding you. Because being around you feels too damn good.

  “Of course not,” she lied. “There’s just no need for you to go to any trouble when—”

  He reached over her shoulder, pushed open the glass door that led outside, and waited for her to go through.

  “After you,” he said.

  She exited the theater with as much dignity as she could muster.

  “Fine, you can walk me home. But you’re not coming upstairs.”

  He smiled at her, took her hand firmly in his, and started down the sidewalk. “That’s a bit presumptuous, Miss Oliver. Who says I want to come upstairs with you?”

  She should have pulled her hand away, but his grasp was so warm and strong and comforting . . . and it was only for a few blocks.

  “Call it a hunch.”

  “Hmm.” They walked in silence for a few moments, and then Zach asked, “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  “No,” she said cautiously.

  “When I saw you before the show tonight, you literally jumped into my arms. Now I feel like I have to hang on to you to keep you from running away. What changed between then and now?”

  They stopped at a crosswalk for a red light, and Simone thought about how to answer him.

  “You know what they say about stray puppies and kittens?”

  “What do they say?”

  “If you can’t keep them, don’t get attached.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “You’re afraid of getting attached to me?”

  “Don’t let it go to your head. I mean, you are a movie star. Maybe I’m just shallow. You know, blinded by your wealth and talent and good looks and the fact that you stepped in to help my elderly neighbors without being asked.”

  “I’m not a movie star now. I’m just a director.” The light changed, and they crossed the street. “But I am good-looking. Stronger women than you have proven unable to resist my charms.”

  “I can imagine.” She paused. “See, here’s the thing. You spent the night helping me take care of my neighbors. You cleaned out their old takeout containers and washed their underwear. You even folded their underwear. I mean, who does that? I saw the basket in the living room, and you folded their boxer shorts. Also their socks. You matched them and you folded them.”

  “And this is a problem because?”

  “When you were the hot director and former movie star I once had a crush on, I could totally have gone for sexy times. It would have been like living out a fantasy, you know?”

  He grinned down at her. “You had a crush on me? I want to hear more about that.”

  She smiled. “But you’re not a fantasy now, Zach. You’re the guy who stayed awake all night doing laundry for Noah and Henry. And you’re leaving at the end of the week.”

  They walked in silence for a little while. “You could come with me to Ireland.”

  She shook her head. “That would only give us a couple more weeks together. Which, I have to say, is normally my idea of a perfect relationship. Short and sweet, right? Simple. Only I have a feeling that with you, things might not be so simple. Not for me, anyway,” she added. “I don’t know what it would be like for you.”

  “It wouldn’t be simple for me, either,” he said quietly. “But I’m not sure that simple is what I’m after.”

  She thought about that for half a block. Then, cautiously: “What are you after?”

  “I don’t know. And I don’t think you know, either. But if you come to Ireland, we’ll have more time to figure it out.”

  She couldn’t think of a response to that. They continued on in silence, and a few minutes later they were in front of her apartment.

  “Thanks for walking me home,” she said, finally pulling her hand from his so she could hold it out for a shake.

  He looked down at her hand for a minute without taking it.

  “Will you come to Ireland, Simone?”

  “I . . .” She leaned back against her apartment door and closed her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  There were so many reasons to go—reasons that didn’t have anything to do with Zach. She wanted to oversee the set installation herself, she’d love to continue her role as Hermia for a few more performances, and it would be amazing to see Ireland with the company.

  And maybe it was time to conquer her old phobia.

  But what about Zach? He was both a reason to go and a reason not to go. When she was with him, she felt alive, exhilarated, joyful . . . and confused, vulnerable, and unsure of herself.

  She opened her eyes and Zach stepped in closer. He was wearing a black shirt and khaki slacks and he smelled like heaven.

  In the diffuse light of her doorway, his blue eyes were darker than usual. A lock of hair tumbled over his forehead and she longed to push it back.

  She clenched her hands into fists to keep from touching him. Her heart was pounding, and she wasn’t sure if it was panic at the thought of flying, the effect of Zach standing so near, or a combination of both.

  “Okay, I’ll go.” His eyes lit up, and she held up a hand before he could say anything. “But you and I will only be colleagues.”

  He thought about that for a second and then nodded. “All right. But I reserve the right to try and change your mind.”

  She tilted her head back to look up at him. “How are you planning to do that?”

  His eyes went to her mouth, and a spasm of desire rocked her whole body.

  “No,” she said.

  His gaze met hers again. “Why not?”

  “Let’s just say that there are two potential explosions looming in my future. One is an airplane crash, and the other is what could happen between us if we kiss again. I’m more willing to take my chances with the former.”

  Zach stepped back and grinned at her. “Fair enough. So I guess it’s good night . . . but at least it’s not good-bye. I’ll see you at the airport on Thursday?”

  A sudden clutch of terror seized her.

  “What just happened? What’s wrong?” Zach asked sharply.

  She swallowed. “Nothing. Just . . . I’ll be getting on a plane.”

  He relaxed a little. “It’ll be fine,” he promised. “And if we do crash, I’ll be right there with you. So, worst case scenario, you can scream I told you so as we go down in flames.”

  “Not helpful.”

  “Sorry.” He smiled at her. “Good night, Simone.”

  “Good night.”

  She watched him walk away before going inside, keeping her eyes on him until he was out of sight.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  She’d thought that kissing Zach again would be scarier than getting on a plane. Four days later, she knew she was dead wrong.<
br />
  She arrived at the airport hours early, hoping that acclimatizing herself to the environment would help. She watched the planes taking off and landing and tried to take reassurance from how routine it all seemed.

  The problem was, her phobia wasn’t rational. Why had she thought she could overcome it by rational means?

  But she wouldn’t give up yet. She was a strong, intelligent woman who would not let fear rule her life.

  Some fears, anyway.

  She slumped down onto a hard plastic seat and gripped the cup of coffee she probably shouldn’t drink, given the fact that she was about to board a red-eye flight and was already tense. But she hadn’t been able to resist the comfort of the Starbucks counter, with its soft lighting and delicious aromas. It had been an oasis of familiarity in the institutional brightness of the airport.

  “Hey.”

  She looked up and Zach was there, smiling down at her with his own coffee in one hand and a wheeled carry-on suitcase in the other.

  She nodded. “Hey.”

  His smile faded when he got a look at her face.

  “Jesus, Simone. You’re as pale as a ghost.” He sat beside her, setting down his coffee and pressing the back of his hand against her cheek. “And you’re clammy.”

  She glared at him. Of course he wasn’t trying to insult her; he was just concerned. But the fact was, she looked awful—and he looked like a movie star.

  No one had a right to look that good under fluorescent lights. But Zach might have stepped out of a Burberry catalog in his geometric-print shirt and wool-blend slacks, with his brown hair sexily tousled and a hint of stubble on his jaw.

  She, on the other hand, was a mess, and she hadn’t even gotten on the plane yet.

  She’d decided not to wear pants, figuring a skirt or dress would be easier to manage in the tiny airplane bathroom. But instead of choosing something dark and polyester, she’d grabbed a yellow cotton skirt from her closet.