That Special Smile/Whittenburg

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  “I think you’re insane,” she muttered. She would have turned away, but his smile held her still as he placed the doll in her arms. It was absurd, she knew, but the doll felt oddly real nestled in the cradle of her arms. She looked into the sleeping face, touched the tiny fingers and the dimpled chin, and felt the stirring of new emotions as she lifted her gaze to Max. As he looked down at her, the expression in his eyes seemed somehow reassuring, almost tender. He was standing close. So very close.

  Sylvie couldn’t quite catch her breath and practically shoved the doll at him. “I suppose you made her, too?”

  Max took the doll and placed it in the basket again. With the skill of an artist he draped the christening gown in delicate folds and Sylvie wondered at his gentleness.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.” He straightened, his eyes daring Sylvie to comment. “I made all of the dolls except that one.” He pointed out the cloth ragamuffin. “I prefer working with porcelain.”

  Sylvie made one last effort to conceal her amazement and growing respect, but knew she didn’t succeed. “You made…?” She swallowed the inexplicable need to repeat his statement. “The clothing,” she said instead. “Do you make that too?”

  “I have some help with that. My hands are too big to manage some of the tiny detail work, so I concentrate on designing the doll and let my assistant do the sewing.”

  “Where is Miriam today?” Juliette asked as she jumped down from the counter to include herself in the conversation. “She’s usually here on Saturdays.”

  “She left yesterday to visit her granddaughter in Cincinnati. I threatened her with early retirement, but she wasn’t impressed. I’m on my own this week.”

  “You don’t have to be. Sylvie and I will be glad to help if we can. Won’t we, Syl?”

  “We have plenty to do already, Juliette.” Sylvie protested mildly. “You have your own business to attend to, remember?”

  Juliette frowned her disenchantment with that idea. “Of course I remember. But we can spare a few hours to help Max.” She turned to Max. “I can’t sew a button on, but Sylvie is a very good seamstress. She makes all her own clothes.”

  Max turned to Sylvie, unable to resist imitating her earlier expression of surprise. “You made that outfit?” He gave free rein to the incredulous tone in his voice and was rewarded by the flash of irritation in her green eyes. “I’m impressed, Sylvie. If you’re ever in need of a job, just let me know.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’m a bit too rational to work here.” She toyed with the slim leather strap of her shoulder bag as she let her gaze wander around the room. “Besides,” she continued, bringing her attention back to the teasing challenge in his eyes. “I bought this outfit and every other thing presently hanging in my closet. It’s been years since I did any sewing. You can’t always believe what Juliette says.”

  “Can I believe what you say, Sylvie?”

  “Oh, absolutely.” She gave her most convincing smile, despite Juliette’s annoying giggle.

  It was not a genuine smile. Max realized that and was beginning to think he’d imagined the intriguing possibility of a warm, responsive woman beneath her cool sophistication. But still, there had been an oddly vulnerable expression in her eyes when she held the doll in her arms. That had surprised him. Not as much as he apparently had surprised her, though. Sylvie had done a fair job of flattening his ego this afternoon. Maybe he was crazy not to plead a headache and cancel tonight’s dinner. But what the hell, he didn’t have any other plans for the evening.

  ‘I guess that means you’ll be ready at seven, then.”

  “Of course it does,” Juliette answered before Sylvie had a chance to speak. “We’re going home right now to start getting ready. It takes me a while, you know. And, although Sylvie would never admit it, she takes her own sweet time too.” Juliette offered a saucy grin. “It’s all the aspirin she takes.”

  Max nodded his understanding. “Do you have trouble with headaches, Sylvie Anne?”

  “Ever since I was seven years old.” Sylvie’s hands went to either side of the tortoiseshell frames of her glasses. “I think it’s time we were going, Jules.” She warned her sister with a look and moved to the door.

  “Why don’t you walk us home, Max?” Juliette asked as she slowly followed Sylvie’s direction.

  “Juliette.” Sylvie protested before Max had a chance to do so. “He can’t just close the store whenever he feels like it.”

  “Sure he can. That’s one of the nice things about Eureka Springs. If you don’t want to work, you just close up shop and go home. Isn’t that right, Max?”

  Sylvie shook her head at the idea. “It isn’t a good way to do business. Is it, Max?”

  He was trapped between the two sisters, between two opposing points of view, and he decided he’d just as soon be shot for a sinner as a saint. “Oh, I don’t know. It seems like a good method to me,” he answered Sylvie. “I’m going to close up, but I can’t leave just yet,” he answered Juliette. “I’ll see you both tonight.”

  He stepped forward to open the door, but whatever else he might have added was lost as two elderly women with large purses and empty shopping bags approached the entrance.. Max calmly flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a sincerely regretful and totally disarming smile. “We’re closed for the day. Try us another time.”

  The potential customers grumbled good-naturedly as they turned away, and Sylvie stared after them in disbelief. She would have turned the stare to Max if he hadn’t ushered her out the door and onto the sidewalk beside Juliette.

  “Tonight,” he repeated before closing the door with a definitive click.

  Sylvie’s first impulse was to follow the two women and explain that The Attic would be open the next day and that they should certainly return then.

  But of course she couldn’t do that, mainly because she had no idea if The Attic would be open the next day. Apparently Max was as casual about business hours as he was about everything else.

  “Are you coming with me?”

  The sound of impatience broke into her thoughts and Sylvie looked up to see that Juliette was already some distance away. With a last quizzical glance at the toy shop door she joined her sister.

  “I can’t believe he just did that. Closing shop in the middle of the afternoon with customers right there in front of him.”

  Juliette shrugged, demonstrating her lack of concern. “It’s his store. He can do whatever he wants.”

  “But turning away customers is a terrible idea. I hope you realize the importance of regular store hours.”

  “Oh, I do.” Juliette waved gaily to someone across the street. “And I wouldn’t dream of closing early. At least not while you’re here.”

  That hurt, and Sylvie didn’t intend to let it pass.

  She came to an abrupt halt in the center of the sidewalk. “In that case, I’ll be on my way. I won’t even have to pack my bags since I haven’t even unpacked them yet.”

  Juliette stopped, her china-blue eyes brimming with apology. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it, Sylvie Anne. I want you to stay. I do. I need your help. It’s just that sometimes.... Well, you don’t seem to understand that there’s more than one way to do things.”

  Sylvie acknowledged the possible truth of that, but she still held to her opinion that success didn’t come without a certain amount of effort and a great deal of self-discipline.

  “All right, Julie, I’ll try to be more open-minded if you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt when it comes to how to succeed in business. But you have to promise you won’t take Max as your example.”

  “I promise not to take him as my anything. He wouldn’t let me anyway. He’s all yours.”

  If she had learned anything over the years, Sylvie had learned when it was futile to argue with her sister. Breathing yet another sigh of frustration, she began walking again and Juliette matched her steps. It was almost a full minute before she bec
ame aware of Juliette’s wide grin and another thirty seconds before she asked the inevitable question. “What are you so happy about?”

  “I’m just glad you’re here, Sylvie Anne. You know,” Juliette said thoughtfully. “I believe I’ve done you a tremendous favor in asking you to help me start this business.”

  “Should I thank you now or later?” Sylvie asked dryly.

  Juliette simply responded with a coy smile. “Oh, you can wait until after we’ve had dinner with Max. That will be soon enough to express your undying gratitude.”

  “I’m not going to dinner tonight.”

  “Of course you are. You don’t have anything else to do, and besides....”Juliette let the sentence slide as she paused in front of a window display. “What do you think of that blue sweater, Syl?” Tilting her head to the side, Juliette shook her head and answered her own question. “No, you’re right. The shade is too pale for me.”

  “You should listen to me more often, Juliette.” Sylvie kept walking, hoping they weren’t too far from the house and a hot, relaxing, and blessedly quiet bath.

  “Besides,” Juliette picked up her first train of thought as if there hadn’t been a break. “Going with Max and me tonight is the only way you can prove that you’re not a coward. You do have an image to uphold, Sylvie. You’re my older sister and I look up to you.”

  Aspirin, Sylvie thought. She was definitely going to need some aspirin.

  Chapter Four

  It was six-fifteen before Sylvie finally agreed to forego excuses and join her sister and Max for dinner. In exchange Juliette promised never again to accept an invitation on Sylvie’s behalf. She also promised, more reluctantly and under penalty of forfeiting her new cashmere sweater, that on their return home there would be no discussion of, no comment on and absolutely no recap of the evening.

  Sylvie was unmoved by Juliette’s fashion pronouncement that no self-respecting redhead would ever wear the cashmere’s particular shade of pink anyway.

  But Sylvie knew the sweater was as good as hers already – when had Juliette ever kept her mouth shut about anything? Promise or no.

  By five past seven, Sylvie was ready, although not enthusiastic, for the evening ahead. Juliette, who was never short on enthusiasm, wasn’t ready until seven-forty, just in time to breeze past Sylvie’s impatiently tapping foot and open the door to Max’s knock.

  “Perfect timing, Max,” Juliette announced in dimpled welcome. “We’ve been counting the seconds.”

  “Have you?” Max looked directly at Sylvie with a smile.

  “Oh, yes. All twenty-four hundred of them,” Sylvie replied, matching his pleasant tone, but withholding the smile. “And don’t bother to check my multiplication. No matter how you try, it won’t add up to seven o’clock.”

  His laughter was slow and soft. “Anticipation lends a certain ambience to an evening, don’t you think?”

  “Nearly as much as hunger.” Sylvie walked past him to the doorway in the hope that positive action might get the evening under way. “Shall we go?”

  “Oops! I forgot to get my....” Juliette ran toward the bedroom in search of something or other, and Max stepped close to Sylvie.

  “You look very nice tonight, Sylvie Anne. Blue is very becoming.”

  Becoming? She hadn’t heard that expression in years and certainly never in connection with this particular dress.

  Still, his voice was sincere, and her pulse quickened.

  “Thank you,” she said as she ran a practiced eye over the brown herringbone jacket he’d slung carelessly across his arm, the white shirt he wore, the way the sleeves were rolled up almost to his elbow, the flattering fit of his indigo-blue jeans. It was a casual outfit, worn for comfort rather than style, although Sylvie had to admit the style suited Max. Quite well. And at least he wasn’t wearing plaid.

  “You look very nice too.”

  “It’s my cologne, Attention Getter. Every time I wear it, a beautiful woman pays me a compliment.”

  Sylvie placed an index finger on either side of her glasses and readjusted her focus. This time she turned her gaze to his face and noted the clean-cut angle of his jaw, the laughter lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes, the dark arch of his brows, and the crisp hint of curl in his hair. And every feature communicated his underlying amusement. Sylvie just couldn’t decide if he was amused by her or by life in general. “Well, in that case, you certainly should purchase cologne in quantity,” she replied with a laugh.

  He chuckled and bent toward her. Sylvie would have stepped away, but the door frame was at her back and she didn’t want to rush out onto the porch as if she were afraid of him. Which she wasn’t, of course, but…. What was he doing?

  His nose almost touched her shoulder and in that one split second of closeness a dozen different sensations sashayed through her body. He did smell nice, she realized. He had a good, clean, natural scent like wind and water and sunlight. And his hair did curl, just a little, at his neckline. For some completely incomprehensible reason she wondered if her hands were big enough to measure the width of his chest.

  Ridiculous thought.

  Her hands were big enough to give his chest a good, hard shove and that was all that counted.

  But then he was moving back, his eyes catching hers for a moment that held no trace of laughter. And then, as if it had never been, the moment vanished. His expression lightened and his lips formed a teasing frown of concentration. “I don’t recognize the fragrance you’re wearing, Sylvie. What is it?”

  “It’s called No Nonsense.” She lifted her chin and smiled sweetly. “Would you like me to spell it out for you?”

  “Wait until we get closer to Christmas. I might forget between now and then and get you the wrong perfume.”

  “Max McConnell,” Juliette said as she joined them in the entryway. “Don’t you dare let Sylvie talk you into buying perfume for her. She won’t wear it. She says there’s no reason to encourage a man to think she’s interested when she’s clearly pretending not to be. But I think….”

  “I think we ought to leave now.” Sylvie squelched the rest of Juliette’s comment with a pointed look. “Before I decide to change into something pink.”

  Max placed a hand on the door and Sylvie walked past him, followed closely by Juliette...in a soft pink sweater.

  “You’re not getting this sweater, Sylvie. Besides, that bet doesn’t begin until we get home tonight, and I told you already pink will clash with your red hair. Won’t it, Max?” She turned the question to Max, who was closing the door behind them. “Oh, wait, Max. I forgot….” The door clicked shut. “…my key.”

  It was not a good beginning.

  * * * *

  “...but Sylvie told him she wasn’t about to....”

  Sylvie took a long drink of iced tea and wondered if anyone in the restaurant would notice if she yawned.

  Silly idea.

  There was hardly anyone left in the restaurant, other than herself, Max, and Juliette. An elderly couple sat in the far corner, and on the other side of the room a man sat alone eating his dinner. Altogether that made six customers. Sylvie had counted two different people who apparently took turns at the cash register, waiting for any or all of the six to pay their bill.

  “...it was touch-and-go until Sylvie got home. But then she....”

  Sylvie stifled the yawn and regarded Max with a mixture of grudging respect and growing irritation. By rights he should be yawning. He deserved to be bored. It was his fault that Juliette kept talking.

  And talking.

  And talking.

  There was no doubt in Sylvie’s mind that Max was encouraging her sister’s embarrassing recital of long-dead adventures, or rather misadventures, depending on one’s point of view.

  Setting her glass on the table, Sylvie was glad, at least, that the food hadn’t matched the dinner conversation.

  The restaurant was neat, somewhat cozy, if not busy. But then, most people ate dinner earlier. With a glance at
her watch Sylvie reached for her glass again.

  “...and then, my date – I’ve forgotten his name, but he was the shortest player on the basketball team. At least, he was short then, he might be taller now. Some guys grow taller after high school, you know. Well, anyway, my date had brought a bottle of vodka. Heaven knows where he got it. And since Sylvie was playing chaperone that night, she....”

  Juliette was on a roll, it seemed, and Max was listening attentively to every word, although his eyes were often on Sylvie. He’d been flirting with her that way all evening. It was a subtle and, for the most part, silent courtship, but Sylvie recognized his attempts to coax her smile, to capture her gaze with his own, to entice her to play the game.

  She just couldn’t seem to get across the message that he was wasting his time.

  With arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders resting against the chair back, his posture was one of easy confidence. Or maybe lazy would be a more appropriate adjective. Even indolent would work, although Sylvie admitted that her assessment was not objective.

  That bothered her because she usually was objective when it came to men. Even when she was strongly attracted to a man, she was careful to keep her perspective.

  But with Max she hadn’t been able to get a grip on what that perspective should be. And that was an unfamiliar feeling and a very unsettling realization, one she didn’t much like.

  She absently traced a rivulet down the side of her water glass, analyzing the reason for Max’s unmistakable interest in her and her lack of indifference about it. But the logic, if there was any logic involved, eluded her and faded into the sunny vivaciousness of Juliette’s voice.

  “...but since Sylvie Anne had taken a first-aid class, there was no reason to panic. Which turned out to be a good thing, because no sooner had....”

  Juliette’s voice always amazed Max and invariably left him a little breathless. It wasn’t her wide variation of inflections or even her pleasant soprano. It was the sheer unbroken rhythm she maintained that fascinated him. He always felt as if he should take a deep breath whenever Julie opened her mouth.