Rue wondered if the caterers would stay. It would certainly make this so-called date easier.
When the last spotless glass was in place, the head caterer turned to her. “What time do you want us back in the morning to clean up?”
“Seven-thirty will be fine.”
She could do most of it later this evening, which would make it easy for the caterers to be out of her shop before the first customer arrived. Dinner shouldn’t take more than an hour. An hour and a half, at most. Rue would be home watching TV by nine o’clock.
From her CD player, Willie Nelson crooned “Nothing I Can Do About It Now.” It fit Rue so perfectly, it ought to be her theme song. Her boat had sailed a long time ago. It was too late to try to climb on board now.
With the caterers gone, Andrew didn’t seem to know what to say or do. After he had planned such an elaborate surprise, the least Rue could do for him was provide appropriate music.
She risked standing in her revealing dress and high heels. As she crossed the room, she could feel Andrew watching her. His gaze made her feel desirable for the first time in years.
A bit self-conscious, she quipped, “I’m changing my tune.”
She and her customers were partial to country/Western, but it didn’t go with lobster and champagne. Rue flipped through a stack of CDs and chose a romantic ballad.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Andrew, still watching. When she’d tried to wipe ice cream off his cheek, he’d probably thought she was using that as an excuse to touch him. She hoped her CD selection didn’t give him the idea that she was expecting more than a great meal and good company. She hoped he didn’t think she wanted to turn their charity date into a romantic encounter.
“That’s nice music,” he said. “Frank Sinatra?”
“Yes. I always did love Old Blue Eyes.” She looked up into Andrew’s laser-blue eyes and felt herself blush. “I mean him. Frank.”
He didn’t have a response, and for an awkward moment Rue wondered how they would ever get through this evening together. She tore herself away from his gaze and moved toward the table.
“This looks delicious. Shall we eat before it gets cold?” Rue had her hand on her chair when Andrew appeared and pulled it out for her. She nearly cracked up. “Thanks.”
“It doesn’t take much to amuse you.”
“It’s not you. It’s Sheila. She said she’d kill me if I pulled out my own chair.”
“It looks like I’ve saved you.”
His statement was so loaded with double meanings, Rue almost cried. But as Andrew filled their glasses with champagne, she could find no guile in him. And she was checking. Hard.
It wasn’t that she needed saving. She had a good life and she was content. But every now and then she got the what-if blues. What if she could turn back the clock? What if she could somehow be transformed into the kind of woman who would attract somebody wonderful?
Two was a much cozier number than one.
That kind of thinking was dangerous. Especially since Mooresville’s most appealing bachelor was sitting across the table from her.
“It looks like you did save me.” Rue kept her tone light. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure. I don’t get much opportunity to save women.”
“What about the day at Patches?”
“That was your car.”
“Actually, it was me. What if you hadn’t come along? What if it had started raining? I would have been drenched. I might even have caught pneumonia and died.”
Andrew threw back his head and roared with laughter. “The next time I need something to feel good about, I’m calling you to see if you need me to check under your hood. Besides, you might bring me some more chocolate chip cookies.”
“My hood’s so old it needs regular tune-ups.”
“Most old cars do. More butter?”
It seemed Andrew was bent on rescuing her from her double entendres. When he passed a small dish to her, Rue dipped her lobster inside. Butter dripped onto his hand, and Rue felt herself getting flushed.
She blamed it on the candlelight.
Holding her glass to him, she said, “I think I’ll have more champagne, too.”
He refilled both their glasses, then lifted his. “To NASCAR.”
Rue clicked her glass with his. “To good friends.”
“To the bachelors’ auction.”
“To…good hair.”
By the fourth toast, Rue was giggling. She was actually having fun. Andrew was turning out to be good company. She kicked off her shoes.
“I think I’ll have some more of that bubbly.”
“Glad to oblige.”
Andrew refilled their glasses then tossed his tie onto Rue’s styling chair. For some reason, she found that hilarious. In fact, everything about dining on lobster and champagne in the middle of Cut ’N’ Chat suddenly struck Rue as funny…and amazing.
Here she was, the most jilted woman in town, dining in candlelight with a man who had told her she was pretty, told her that she made him feel good. This was the kind of amazement she knew wouldn’t let her sleep tonight. Long after her head touched the pillow, she’d be replaying every detail of the evening.
Under the influence of candlelight and champagne, music and the steady regard of Andrew Clark, Rue felt revitalized, a woman for whom a miracle could occur when she least expected it. They talked about Garrett’s chances at the upcoming race in Pocono and the fact that Jeb Stallworth would be a hard driver to beat. They talked of gardening and movie classics and the beauty of North Carolina in the spring. They discussed their love of books and music and fast cars. They shared a love of the South in general and Southern cooking in particular, especially with home-grown herbs. They discovered they both thought unkindness was the worst trait a person could have. Worse even than sloth and envy.
So filled with excitement she couldn’t sit still, Rue jumped up and did an impromptu waltz around the room. She felt like a woman who might just reach out and take exactly what she wanted.
At the moment, what she wanted happened to be sitting in a chair two feet from her, watching her in the way of a man who fully appreciates what he is seeing.
“Want to join me?”
“I don’t dance. I think I’ll just sit here and enjoy watching.”
“It’s better with two.”
Andrew stood up and pulled her into his arms. “Isn’t everything?” His voice was no more than a whisper against her hair.
Delicious shivers spiraled over Rue. She became aware of every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of skin exposed by Patsy’s revealing dress.
Andrew’s hands felt warm against her bare back, warm and intimate and full of promise. She loved his touch, the way his hands fit perfectly into the curve of her back, the way he pressed his cheek against hers, as if he might turn at any moment and kiss her.
On this amazing night, anything was possible.
“I thought you didn’t dance,” she teased.
“I don’t. I’m just moving to your rhythm.”
He tightened his hold and the nearness of him rocked Rue to the core. Sensations swept through her—heat, hunger and desire. Through Patsy’s silky dress she was aware of every muscle in his thighs, the strength and power of his arms, the heart-thumping appeal of a chest built for comfort as well as excitement.
They waltzed around the small crowded shop where the hair dryers and styling stations and washbasins suddenly seemed magical. Andrew was a good dancer, which didn’t surprise Rue. She was beginning to learn that this man did everything well.
Pressed so close they seemed to be one, Rue felt his body’s rhythm, relaxed into it, reveled in it. Suddenly she was no longer the Woman Who Chose Bad Men. She was a Woman Dancing in Candlelight, a woman on the brink of knowing what it felt like to fall in love.
“I feel like Cinderella at the ball.”
“Do you believe in magic, Rue?”
“I do. Call me sentimental.”
“That
’s not what I would call you.”
His footsteps slowed to a standstill and Andrew cupped her face. As he looked deeply into her eyes, she hardly dared breathe for fear the magic would vanish.
The kiss took her by surprise. Later, neither would be able to remember who started it, but both would never forget how it all ended.
At first the kiss was light, a tentative tasting as lips brushed against lips. Then he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, and both were swept away in a firestorm of passion.
Rue’s carefully built barriers tumbled. Long-held notions of being a woman spurned bit the dust. The idea that real life had passed her by reformed itself into a dream of a beautiful new boat with sails that would sweep her away to paradise.
“Rue?” Andrew didn’t need to form the question. She’d known the answer even before he asked.
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
There was no hesitation in the joining, no awkwardness, no feeling of having to get to know each other. It was as if they’d been together for years, as if they’d been created especially for each other, designed specifically for this moment.
In the next hour, the Cut ’N’ Chat transformed itself from Rue’s work place to a place of miracles. In the rain of kisses from Andrew Clark, years of rejection and disappointment fell away. Rue felt amazement, she felt beautiful and she felt cherished.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A PERSISTENT RINGING startled Andrew awake. Sleep-fogged, he was reaching for his cell phone when his hand encountered a long curve of soft skin.
Rue’s leg, draped over his hips as she slept.
His first thought was How did that happen? His second was a replay of vivid memories—the heated kisses, the tumultuous need, the deep desire that had reached out of nowhere and snatched them both under.
Conflicting feelings flooded Andrew. The evening had been both wonderful and terrible. Terrible because he considered himself a true gentleman, and no gentleman would take advantage of a woman who’d had too much champagne, even if she did say yes. And wonderful because he had connected with Rue on a level he hadn’t thought possible. For the first time in many years, Andrew had felt appreciated for himself, exactly as he was—a no-frills, straightforward man who enjoyed the simple things of life.
Still, past experience had taught him that what you see is not always what you get. Clever women have a way of reeling you in with sweet talk before they proceed to rip you apart and try to put you back together their way.
Andrew’s watch said seven. He had to get out of the beauty salon. Before long, the street would be alive with people. In fact, Al would already be cooking for his first customers at Maudie’s next door.
Too, Andrew had to find out who was calling this early. What if it was some family emergency? What if it was Garrett or the crew chief calling to report unforeseen trouble?
Taking care not to wake Rue, he gently untangled himself and then found his cell phone on the table along with their empty plates and champagne glasses. The call he’d missed was from Jim Stevens, his old pit boss who had retired to Belfast, Maine, and now spent his time rebuilding boats.
It must be urgent or Jim wouldn’t be calling so early. Still, Andrew didn’t want to risk waking Rue with a telephone conversation.
Briefly he thought about leaving her a note, but what would he say? Hi, had a nice time, see you later.
He couldn’t stand there dithering. Soon the caterers would be bursting in. And he didn’t have a clue how early Rue took clients. Call him old-fashioned, but he was the kind of man who worried about a woman’s reputation.
He’d think about his moment of total abandon with Rue later. Now he had to find out why Jim was calling. And he had to get ready to leave for Pocono.
Holding the bell above the door so it wouldn’t disturb Rue, Andrew slipped from the shop and hurried toward his car, punching Jim’s number as he walked.
RUE WOKE UP IN dishabille with a horrific headache and the certainty that she had made a complete fool of herself. Furthermore, she was in the back room of her beauty shop, and she was alone. Which said it all.
Dinner with Andrew had been a present from the Tuesday Tarts. The rest…well, that had to be blamed on champagne. And long-neglected needs. There had probably been a little hope in the mix, too, but the clear light of day wiped that clean.
Men who had intentions of seeing you again didn’t have sex and then disappear without a single word.
Rue tried to chalk up what had happened to an unfortunate lapse in judgment. If she didn’t get off the floor, Rue was going to feel more than foolish. She was going to get caught.
Jerking on yesterday’s slacks and blouse, she hurried around the shop scooping up evidence. Sheila’s gold shoes by the table, one of Grace’s earrings by the wash basins, Andrew’s tie, for goodness sake.
Rue was standing in the middle of her shop clutching Andrew’s tie and wondering where she’d dropped Grace’s other earring when Sheila pranced in.
Though Sheila was holding a box, Rue could guarantee she wasn’t there merely to deliver doughnuts.
“I saw your lights on.” Sheila was stopped in her tracks by the sight of the meticulous Rue wearing yesterday’s clothes. “Tell all.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Rue flushed as memories flooded her. “We had dinner. And that’s all I’m saying. End of story.”
“Nothing to tell? Is that why you’re fondling Andrew’s tie?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.”
Mad at herself for falling into his arms like a ripe plum, mad at Andrew for running out like a scalded dog, mad at Sheila and the Tuesday Tarts for getting her into the mess in the first place, Rue flung the tie into the top drawer of her styling table.
“I hope Andrew’s tie means things got cozy,” Sheila said.
Rue decided the best answer was total silence. That didn’t deter Sheila one iota.
“When will you see him again?”
The way he ran off without a word, probably never. Rue wasn’t about to share that information with Sheila.
“What do you mean, ‘When will I see him?’ Everybody in Mooresville shows up at your diner.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Sheila’s squinty-eyed perusal unsettled Rue. “Is that beard burn I see on your chin?”
Thank goodness the caterers arrived to clean up, and Rue was saved the further embarrassment of continuing a conversation about yet another man who hadn’t bothered to tell her goodbye.
“Listen, thanks for bringing the doughnuts over.”
“I’m not through with you, yet, Rue Larrabee. Don’t even think about keeping secrets from us. We have our ways.”
Sheila was right, of course. Since the Tarts had bought and paid for Andrew Clark, they’d think they had a vested interest in knowing every detail of his date with Rue.
She just wasn’t going to think about it. In fifteen minutes, she’d be elbow-deep in permanent wave solution with Lillian Jones, the first on a full calendar of Wednesday regulars.
Rue would be like Scarlett O’Hara: she’d think about Andrew Clark tomorrow.
TRYING TO PUT HIS night at the Cut ’N’ Chat out of his mind, Andrew took a quick shower, then raced to his office. His secretary brought coffee while he made phone calls.
His early morning call had been from his college roommate, saying he was getting married. He hadn’t been able to wait to share the news. The wedding would be at the beach and they were planning to honeymoon on his boat.
It was the honeymoon part that drew Andrew back into the dilemma of Rue. That’s how Andrew now came to think of his ill-conceived and fatal date. Ill-conceived because he should have known better. Fatal because of what had happened after dinner.
Not only had he lost his head over a woman as unsuited to him as a woman could be, but he’d let passion guide him instead of common sense. A man didn’t have sex with a woman he had no intention of ever dating again. Obviously, he’d let the feisty redhead get under his skin.
Andrew groaned. What was he going to do now? Call and say, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen? She’d hate him. Call and say, Thanks, it was great but we’re completely wrong for each other. She’d despise him. Send flowers and a note saying, Sorry I had to rush out, but this will never work. She’d throw rocks at his window.
As far as he could tell, there was no graceful way out. Once you became intimate, women started thinking they owned you. They started thinking of ways to change you and finagle you to the altar.
Andrew was in a lose/lose situation. He didn’t want to further embarrass Rue by being uncordial, and he certainly didn’t want her to get the wrong idea by being friendly. Fortunately, he’d be leaving for Pocono in less than an hour. Out of sight, out of mind.
Why didn’t that plan make him feel any better?
ALL DAY WEDNESDAY, Rue half expected Andrew to call. He’d say, I’m sorry I had to leave in such a hurry, then he’d explain and ask when he could see her again. Or he’d call and say he had a lovely time and would she consider going to the movies with him sometime. Or he would call and simply say he’d had a great time and hoped she had, too. He’d leave the door open for future involvement when they returned from the weekend NASCAR races.
He didn’t call, of course, and by the time she was putting on a nightshirt that declared Keep America Beautiful, Put a Sack over Your Head, Rue could have killed Andrew Clark.
He was just another handsome man who proved once and for all that she was the Woman Men Loved to Dump. She didn’t care if he was an important owner who had to be with his team in Pocono. The least he could have done was leave a note. And hadn’t the man ever heard of cell phones?
Furious at him, even more furious at herself, she switched off the light vowing she’d never go on another date as long as she lived.
BY THURSDAY, with still no word from Andrew, Rue went from fury to gratitude that he was either already in Pocono or too busy preparing for the races to call. That afternoon she picked up Patsy’s dress from the cleaners, then started to call and see if Daisy wanted to see a movie.
Hard to Resist Page 15