That Special Smile/Whittenburg

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  The soft smile regained strength with the anticipation of his embrace. Forget second best, she thought. If she was going to fall heart over head in love – and she had no doubt that was exactly what she was about to do – she was going first class all the way.

  Chapter Nine

  “Well, I don’t know why you’re upset,” Juliette said from the doorway of Sylvie’s bedroom. “I’m not the one who stayed out all night.”

  Sylvie answered that bit of glaring illogic with a skeptical lift of her brows and then unequivocally pulled back the sheets of her bed. Placing her glasses on the bedside table, she hoped Juliette would take the hint and leave. A mood was a fragile thing and Sylvie really preferred to keep the one she had. Her sister, unfortunately, seemed to think it needed improvement.

  “And not only that,” Juliette continued. “You were gone all day too. For heaven’s sake, Sylvie, it isn’t like you to come home from a Saturday-night date at nine o’clock on Sunday night.” She shook her head in sad commentary. “And now you’re going to bed.”

  “And to sleep,” Sylvie said pointedly as she got into bed and tucked the covers around herself. She wished it were Max’s bed, but she’d decided it would be best to return home and give them both some time. She didn’t want to rush the discovery of where this new phase in their friendship – she still felt oddly hesitant about using the term relationship – might lead. And she didn’t want Max to get the wrong idea.

  One night and one perfectly wonderful day, didn’t mean she was ready to move in with him.

  Even if he’d asked her.

  Which he hadn’t.

  “Would you mind turning out the light as you leave, Julie?”

  “Sylvie!” It was a plaintive cry, full of accusation and sibling demand. “If you think for one minute...! Honestly, I can’t believe you don’t want to talk about this. You should never go to sleep when you’re angry. Don’t you know that?”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “Of course you are. But it really isn’t my fault, you know.” Juliette sank cross-legged onto the foot of the bed and Sylvie had little choice but to pull her feet out of the way. “I’m sorry I forgot about returning your key and I’m sorry I locked you out. But everything worked out for the best.”

  Only a fool would argue that line of indiscriminate reasoning, and Sylvie wasn’t feeling particularly foolish or argumentative at the moment. Still, it was apparent that Juliette wasn’t going to go away. She was intent upon apologizing or explaining or something equally distracting.

  With a sigh Sylvie pushed up, levering herself on an elbow as she propped the pillows against the headboard and leaned back against them. She debated putting on her glasses, but decided this was one time she preferred keeping her sister slightly out of focus. “All right, Juliette, let’s have it.”

  “There, you see? You are upset.”

  For the sake of progress Sylvie decided she might as well take the offensive. “If I’m upset, Juliette, it’s because you’re twenty-two years old and you’re still losing your keys, borrowing mine and then locking me out of the house.”

  “You could have called.”

  “I could have yelled myself hoarse and you wouldn’t have heard me.”

  Juliette gave an exaggerated sigh. “I meant you could have phoned. You could at least have sent a text.”

  “I could have done a lot of things. All of them irrelevant.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Juliette propped her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “I think what you did do is relevant.”

  Sylvie lifted her hands in frustration. “I spent the night at Max’s house. Would you be happier if I’d slept on the porch?”

  “You spent the night with Max. There’s a difference.” Her gold brows arched suggestively. “So if I hadn’t locked you out….”

  “Juliette, how can you try to take credit for what happened last night?”

  “And what did happen?”

  Sylvie reached for her glasses and brought her sister’s pert innocence into view. “We played backgammon. What did you and Benton do?”

  “We got engaged.”

  Sylvie leaned forward. “As in to be married?”

  Juliette giggled, nodded and giggled again. “Isn’t that the most amazing thing you ever heard?”

  Amazing wasn’t the right word, but Sylvie laughed her agreement just the same. Her feelings at the moment were mixed, but she couldn’t resist the bubbly excitement of Julie’s happiness.

  “Benton Prestridge is the luckiest lawyer in Arkansas. Maybe in all fifty states.”

  “Oh, no.” Juliette’s smile softened with a tender seriousness. “I’m the lucky one. I mean, Benton is so....” Her sigh, her expression and her tone of voice all conveyed the message that Benton was wonderful beyond description and Sylvie, in a moment of sisterly understanding, nodded her complete accord.

  “Yesterday,” Juliette said. “Well, really it was on Friday, Benton and I had a fight. Sort of a fight, anyway.” She frowned, remembering. “Actually, it was a big fight. He thought I should be spending more time at Hannah Lee House and that I was letting you take all the responsibility and that I wasn’t acting very mature about the whole business. Oh, he went on and on, Sylvie, saying I wasn’t being fair to you or to me. After all, he said, it was my idea and I should be working on getting the restoration done but I was being irresponsible and leaving everything for you to do.”

  Juliette tangled her fingers into the blond curls at her temple and then extended her hand in apology. “I’m sorry, Sylvie. I didn’t mean to be unfair. I didn’t think – Benton says that’s one of my biggest problems – but really I didn’t know.”

  “It’s all right.” Sylvie didn’t know where the reassurance came from, but she gave it unhesitatingly.

  She’d learned years before that frustration and forgiveness went hand in hand with being kin to Juliette. And it was kind of nice to know someone else had been telling Juliette what Max had been telling Sylvie for weeks. “I suppose you resolved your differences with Benton last night and everything’s all right now, since you’re … Oh, My God, Juliette! You’re getting married!”

  “I know. Can you believe it?”

  “Not quite yet, but I’m really happy for you.” Sylvie paused, squeezed her sister’s hands. “Are you sure you want to marry Benton?”

  “Yes.”

  The very simplicity of the answer was an affirmation in itself, and Sylvie smiled. “So, when do I have to give you a wedding present?”

  “Valentine’s Day.” Juliette dimpled in anticipation. “But gifts will be accepted at any time before or after. And you’ll wear red, of course.”

  “Of course.” Sylvie shifted position and straightened the pillow at her back. “I would never wear any other color when giving you a wedding gift.”

  “At the wedding.” Juliette aimed a swift and inaccurate kick at Sylvie’s foot. “You’ll be the maid of honor, Syl. And I’ll throw the bouquet to you, but you have to promise to give it back.”

  “Oh, you have my word on that.”

  Juliette grinned and began tapping her fingers against her shin. She pursed her lips and let her gaze wander around the bedroom. Sylvie braced herself for a change of topic and guessed that the Hannah Lee was about to enter the conversation.

  “You know….” Juliette broached the subject with caution. “I have to make a decision about Hannah Lee House.” Wide blue eyes turned to Sylvie, seeking support. “Benton says I could commute from Fayetteville, but I don’t think I’d like that very much. In fact, I think I’d hate it.”

  When Sylvie made no comment, Juliette sighed. “I know I’d hate it. I’m going to sell the house. There’s really nothing else to do.”

  It was a sensible decision, yet Sylvie felt a stab of disappointment just the same. She hated the idea that the dress shop wouldn’t open. She’d wanted success for Juliette, but it was not to be. Not in business, anyway. And Sylvie accepted a share of the disappointm
ent for herself. She’d put a lot of effort into the renovations; she’d spent a lot of time there. So had Max. What was he going to say about this?

  “There’s nothing else to do. Unless … you’d want to take over the project and open the shop yourself.” Juliette’s expression brightened at the prospect. “That’s a great idea, isn’t it? Then you’d be here to handle everything and the business would be a huge success.”

  “Juliette, I have a business. A successful business. In Boston.” It seemed unreal even as she said it. “The last thing I need is a dress shop in Eureka Springs.”

  “But what about Max?”

  “I don’t think he needs a dress shop either.”

  “That isn’t what I meant and you know it.”

  Sylvie did know, but she had no intention of discussing it. The difficulty of maintaining a long-distance love affair had already occurred to her, but she wouldn’t have to face that decision for a while. Besides, everything might work out for the best. Somehow, it always did for Julie. “Then you’ve definitely decided to sell the Hannah Lee House?” she asked to keep her thoughts from the possibilities.

  Wrinkling her forehead, Juliette brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “Yes, as soon as the renovation is complete. Benton says it will be worth more then, and since it’s going to be another few weeks before the Erikson estate is settled and the lien cleared, I may as well finish the work.”

  Sylvie noted the use of the singular pronoun, but didn’t choose to respond. She felt a bit lonely all of a sudden.

  A ridiculous feeling, considering that only a few minutes earlier she’d wished Juliette would leave her alone. And after all, she wasn’t losing a sister, she was gaining a reprieve from responsibility.

  It was silly to mind, even for a moment, that Benton would be the one to advise, rescue, and generally worry about Juliette from now on.

  Sylvie didn’t mind, not really, but she couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit displaced.

  “It’s been a real experience,” she said quietly. “…being your partner for a couple of months, Jules.”

  “Now, don’t worry about your investment, Sylvie. I’ll pay you back. Benton says …. ” Her cellphone hummed from the other room, faint but recognizable. Juliette was off the bed and out of the room in two seconds flat.

  In a moment, Sylvie heard the soft hello of lovers and then the muffled closing of a door.

  Of their own accord her thoughts turned to Max.

  What was he doing now? she wondered.

  Was he thinking of her? Was he sleeping? Dreaming, maybe?

  A sweet remembrance teased the corner of her mouth. Max. She couldn’t wait to tell him about Juliette and Benton, about the suggestion that she open the dress shop instead of Julie.

  Yes, Sylvie thought. She couldn’t wait to hear what Max would have to say about that.

  * * * *

  It was three days before Sylvie had a chance to broach the subject to Max in private. On Monday, Juliette decided to announce her engagement to a few close friends at an impromptu luncheon. The luncheon stretched far into the afternoon and expanded to include friends who were not so close, acquaintances, and anyone else who passed within twenty feet of the restaurant. By the time Benton arrived from Fayetteville that evening, the luncheon was a full-fledged engagement party and had moved to Juliette’s house. In the cramped quarters Sylvie had little opportunity to talk with Max and had to be content with his casual touch and not-so-casual smile.

  On Tuesday, Juliette decided that their father should hear the wonderful news in person. Because Benton was in the middle of a trial, Sylvie was persuaded to make the trip home. Juliette, of course, couldn’t go alone ... and besides, it was a four hour drive, the perfect opportunity for quiet, sisterly talks about quiet, lovely wedding plans.

  Max was invited to go along, but he declined with a somber regret that hid an unrepentant grin.

  The trip home was pleasant, and while there, Sylvie had time to make a few inquiries about marketing Max’s toys. She compiled a list of possible distributors, printed out contacts and pertinent information, made notes on each potential lead. It was preliminary stuff, nothing definite, but it was a beginning.

  And it was something to think about while Juliette regaled family and hometown friends with the love story.

  Still, Sylvie felt oddly restless during the overnight visit. She refused to give in to the impulse to phone Max and told herself the time away from him would help her keep things in perspective.

  But several hours later she acknowledged that she had no perspective.

  She just wanted to see him, talk to him, touch him. When Juliette wheeled the car onto the driveway and parked late Wednesday afternoon, Sylvie walked straight to the house next door and into his arms.

  “Mmm,” he said, after a long and semi-satisfying kiss. “Either you missed me or you’ve decided not to buy me a Christmas present.”

  “Mmm,” she murmured noncommittally.

  “Well, which is it?”

  Sylvie draped her hands loosely at his nape and smiled a certain mysterious smile. “I guess you won’t know that until Christmas, will you?”

  Max pulled her closer and tipped up her chin with his finger. “You could find yourself in serious trouble making threats like that. Withholding presents at Christmas is a punishable offense, you know.”

  “You’ll never be able to prove a thing.”

  With a slow glide of his hand over her hip Max proceeded to prove several things ... all of which threatened her equilibrium. But he seemed unconcerned by her apparent loss of balance and simply lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed.

  In the bedroom, Sylvie’s longing became a hunger like none she had ever known. She could almost believe it had been weeks, months even, since she’d first experienced his lovemaking, instead of a matter of days. Her hands roamed over him with an urgency she couldn’t control, and Max moved with her, matching her every action. She had missed him, far more than was prudent, and she knew she could no more have prevented the quick flaring of desire between them than she could have stopped the sun from setting behind a distant hill.

  And she didn’t want to stop the mindless, burning passion of her body for his. She didn’t want to lose the almost panicky, increasingly demanding sensations spinning and spinning inside her. Clothing became an inconvenience to be shed with little regard. Conscious thought became a slave to the intense pleasure of physical need. And throughout the journey, from consuming desire to fiery fulfillment, Max guided her. She never once doubted his direction, and somewhere along the way her heart became his hostage.

  When the stormy reunion had receded to a calm, rather luxurious renewal of serenity, Sylvie sighed with contentment at being home and in his arms. The fleeting thought that she was not home and that her arms embraced an uncertain future was ignored, along with Max’s suggestion that she tell him all about Juliette’s wedding plans. Instead, she wanted to know how he’d occupied his time in her absence.

  He began to tease her then with outlandish tales of adventures and misadventures. Sylvie was unimpressed and told him so, but he went on, undaunted, and eventually won her laughter as his reward. Finally, she turned the conversation toward the more serious topic of Hannah Lee House, with caution, unsure of what she wanted to say, unsure of what she hoped his reaction would be.

  “Juliette’s going to sell the Hannah Lee House,” Sylvie said in a lighthearted voice that understated her feelings. “She wants to finish the renovation work and list it with a realtor as soon as possible.”

  “Are you positive she didn’t tell you to take care of those details?”

  “She’s very definite these days about who will do what. And amazing as it seems, she hasn’t even asked me to open a can of paint or pick up a piece of sandpaper.”

  “There hasn’t been time, Sylvie. Save your sigh of relief for another day.”

  His tone was easy, and she wondered if it had occurred to him that on
ce Hannah Lee House went on the market, she would have no reason to stay in Eureka Springs.

  “Juliette suggested I take over the project and go on with the plans we made for the dress shop.”

  There was a moment of quiet; her heartbeat dropped into a vast well of unnamed hopes.

  “And what did you say?” he asked without a discernible change in tone.

  “I told her the last thing I needed was a business so far from Boston.” It sounded settled, with no chance of a change of mind, but Sylvie felt unsettled even before the words left her mouth. “Can you imagine? It would be sheer idiocy for me to open a dress shop here. What do I know about vintage clothes and costumes? It’s just not practical.”

  “No,” he agreed without hesitation.

  Sylvie frowned, thinking that at least he could have taken a few seconds to agonize over his agreement. “Of course, I could learn if I wanted. And I’m sure I could make it a successful venture. But not from Boston.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” Max seemed to be fighting a yawn, and Sylvie curled closer to his side, wanting more of his attention.

  “And you’re absolutely no help.”

  “Help? What help? You just said you weren’t considering the idea.”

  “Right.” But she would have considered it in a minute if he’d shown any sign of encouragement. “It wouldn’t work out.” She paused, but couldn’t restrain the question that pushed its way past her lips. “Would it, Max?”

  His arm tightened around her and his breath was warm and titillating against her temple. “That’s something I can’t tell you, Sylvie Anne.”

  She didn’t know what reaction she’d expected, but she knew for certain this wasn’t it. Yet, what more could she say without sounding as if she were pleading for a verbal commitment from him? And she wasn’t about to do that. It would have been nice to hear a note of disquiet in his voice, a hint of anxiety about her return to Boston, but if he chose to maintain that casual attitude, she couldn’t ask him point blank if he wanted her to stay.

  “Max,” she whispered softly, knowing she was merely whistling in the dark. “I missed you.”