“Yes.”
Snowflakes began to fall thick and fast, sticking to the pavement in front of their feet and making lovely, swirling patterns.
“You used to paint then, too,” Ian said abruptly. “I remember a mural on a wall at school. You painted an ocean scene, didn’t you? With whales?”
He remembered that? She barely remembered that herself. “Dolphins,” Trish said after a minute, searching her memory. “I was big into dolphins then. And unicorns. Made for quite an interesting mural, I’ll say that much.”
“It was beautiful, and I didn’t have a lot of beauty in my life back then. I remember thinking you’d have to be somebody pretty special to paint something like that,” Ian said, looking at her. “And I was right.”
It was back, Trish thought with a little flutter of pleasure as they held each other’s gazes. That look from the restaurant, the one he’d given her before everything went south. Could it be he didn’t think she was totally wacko after all? “Special, good? Or special as in ‘back away from her slowly’?”
“Special as in the kind of woman who drops everything to give a little girl a special Christmas treat even if she thinks the girl’s dad is—I’m sorry, what was it again? A bum?”
A startled laugh escaped her before she could stop it, and she was sure she blushed again. “Sorry about what happened in there with Pop,” Trish told him after a minute, nodding back toward the restaurant. “And for not explaining things sooner. I just wasn’t sure how to do it.”
“I’m sorry I used to be a such a little—well, you know.” Ian cleared his throat. “Maybe…we could start over?”
“Start over?”
“Yes.” He held out his hand to her. “Give me a chance to make things up to you?”
Relief poured through her. “I’d like that.” And she put her hand in his as if to shake it.
His fingers closed around hers, and for such an innocent kind of contact, it left Trish’s pulse racing much faster than before. Neither of them pulled their hand back, and they remained there with their eyes locked on each other’s until finally Trish felt Ian pull her ever so gently toward him. She went willingly, her breath catching in her throat as she saw his gaze drop to her mouth.
But the door to the restaurant opened then to let a laughing foursome out, and a startled Trish was forced to let go of Ian’s hand and step back to avoid being caught in their path. There were two couples, jovial, noisy, and apparently oblivious to the moment they had just interrupted. They paused, inadvertently becoming a barrier between her and the man she was fairly certain had been two seconds away from kissing her. And it would have been a good kiss, too, she could tell. Very good.
She sighed inwardly.
One of the men erupted in guffaws over something the other said, and rather than going anywhere, he clapped his arm around the other man’s shoulders as if he intended to stay in huddle formation.
Trish reminded herself that it was Christmastime, and that she ought to be charitable and full of good cheer, but as the group remained exactly where they were and seemed to be in no apparent hurry to leave, she felt her holiday spirit rapidly disintegrating. Surely they would move along to their cars now, surely they would want to get out of the cold and take their party somewhere warm and bright? Surely they could feel waves of frustration emanating from her direction as she waited to be alone with Ian again—
“Excuse me,” she heard Ian say over the noise. “Could I get you folks to move just a few feet over that way? There’s a beautiful woman on the other side of you, and I’ve waited almost twenty years to kiss her.”
Trish blinked as all conversation stopped and four pairs of eyes swiveled to look in her direction. Yes, tonight was certainly her night for blushing. She lifted one hand in a self-conscious little wave.
“Oh, is there mistletoe?” one of the women asked, searching above her to see if some hung from the covered walkway. “I love mistletoe!”
The man beside her started chuckling and motioned for his group to move along, which they did with knowing smiles on their faces.
And then Ian walked slowly over to where Trish stood. She glanced overhead. “There’s no mistletoe here.”
“Mistletoe is for amateurs,” he informed her with a look in his eye that made her knees go just a little bit weak, and he put his arms around her waist to bring her closer as he bent his head to kiss her.
And Trish discovered that for someone whose mouth used to say such sour things to her as a child, Ian Rafferty certainly knew how to do some very sweet things with his lips now.
Epilogue
“Now that is a Christmas tree,” Trish declared, arranging one last handful of tinsel and stepping back to admire the five-footer they had put up in Ian’s living room to replace the sad little shrub he’d had there before. “See how much better that is?”
“Absolutely,” Ian agreed, coming up behind her and sliding his arms around her waist. “I’m ashamed I ever had the other one in my home.”
“Ah, then my work here is done.”
“Does that mean you can play now?” he murmured against her neck, and she started to turn her face toward his to kiss him when Kelsey—who had been preoccupied with adjusting tinsel on the window side of the tree—popped out from behind the evergreen.
Ian and Trish both cleared their throats and abruptly switched to holding hands before the little girl could spot them nuzzling each other.
“It looks awesome!” Kelsey exclaimed. “But couldn’t we—”
“No zombie tree topper, Kels.”
She grumbled halfheartedly but couldn’t seem to muster up much in the way of displeasure at his answer judging by the way her mouth curved upward every time she glanced at the newly decorated Christmas tree. Plopping down into a nearby easy chair, Kelsey alternated her gaze between the tree and the window scene, which showed up nicely in the light from the nearly full moon outside and had remained untouched by vandals. The girl sighed with obvious pleasure.
“She’s wearing you down, isn’t she?” Trish asked, her voice low so only Ian could hear her. “There are going to be little zombie cupids all over the place here come Valentine’s Day.”
“Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out,” he murmured back, giving her a sideways glance that was full of shiver-inducing promise.
Oh, yes, Trish thought, curling her fingers around his. A girl could really get used to this…
The End
Love Lessons
Chapter One
“Dear, could I possibly get you to do something for me?”
On the surface, the question seemed harmless enough, especially when the petite white-haired lady asking it looked like she could have stepped right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. When one actually knew the matchmaking schemer that lay beneath that innocent exterior, though, one learned to pay close attention before committing to anything.
And Nadia Normandy had long ago learned to pay very close attention. Straightening from behind the Heavenly Bites display case in which she was rearranging a tray of cream puffs, she put both hands squarely on the counter and leaned forward to look the older woman straight in the eye. Well, forward and down; Mrs. Beasley was only four foot eleven. “Who is he, Mrs. B?”
Her customer blinked at her through enormous tortoiseshell glasses, her eyes wide with innocence. Considering how much the huge lenses magnified her eyes, they looked very wide indeed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Last time you asked me to do something for you with that little quaver in your voice, I wound up agreeing to a blind date with a carpet salesman who had an absolutely out-of-this-world sweating problem. What was wrong with that poor man anyway? Was it something glandular?”
“My dry cleaner’s son is very nice,” Mrs. Beasley huffed with what struck Nadia as incredibly insincere indignation.
“He used my cashmere scarf to wipe his forehead at dinner. Twice.”
“Yes, but he did offer to get it c
leaned for you at his mother’s shop for a fantastic discount.”
“Sorry, Mrs. B.” Nadia bent down to resume working on the cream puffs. “I can find my own dates just fine, thank you.” She’d gotten nibbles from three different prospects this week alone due to all the holiday parties she’d attended. A hunky physical trainer, a Latin musician with a smile to die for, and the third one—what was he again? A dogwalker? Dog trainer maybe? Or maybe he just liked dogs. All she really remembered about him was his great tan because she was impressed that he managed to maintain it so well despite it being the middle of winter. Well, maybe she was more curious than impressed.
The fact that his tan was the only memorable thing about him was a bad sign, though. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt and one date, but somehow she suspected there wouldn’t be a second one.
“Pretty thing like you? Of course you don’t need help finding somebody.” And yet it was impossible to miss the glance Mrs. Beasley gave to the ringless finger on Nadia’s left hand, especially since her eyes were magnified to twice their normal size by her tremendous lenses.
Nadia raised one eyebrow to let her know that she understood exactly what that look meant but chose not to comment.
“And anyway,” the older woman continued, “that wasn’t the kind of favor I was going to ask of you.”
“No?”
“No.”
Closing up the display case, Nadia returned her attention to Mrs. Beasley. “So there’s no man involved in this favor whatsoever?”
“Well…”
Now Nadia raised both eyebrows. “Uh huh, that’s what I thought.”
“It is not what you think. You see, the young man who handles all of my financial matters for me is a sweet boy, but he’s also rather…awkward.”
“Awkward?”
“Socially speaking, yes. You see, Benji—”
“Benji? This guy is named after a dog? And he’s an accountant—oh, Mrs. B…” Shaking her head, Nadia reached for a cloth and began wiping down the counter.
“Benji is short for Benjamin actually, but Benji really suits him better. You’ll see what I mean when you meet him.”
“Mrs. B, I am not going out with your accountant.”
“I’m not asking you to see him socially, dear, I’m asking you to…to educate him.”
Nadia blinked and stopped wiping the counter. “Educate him? In what, scones and shortbread?”
“In social niceties, particularly in regards to women. How to talk to them, where to meet them, that sort of thing.” Mrs. Beasley patted Nadia on the hand. “You’re so good with people, dear. You’d be a natural at this!”
“At teaching a man how to pick up women? Mrs. B, what exactly do you think I do when I go out?”
“Who better to teach a man what women want than a woman?”
It was hard to argue with that. Still, the prospect of becoming a dating coach to a complete stranger was about as appealing as a second date with the uber-moist carpet salesman. “What about asking your granddaughter? She’s not exactly shy with other people. Why not have her do it?”
Mrs. Beasley fidgeted and cleared her throat. “Aimee is… unconventional. I’m not sure she’d be the best person to give Benji advice on dating.”
Unconventional. That was a good word for Aimee. The girl was probably a few years younger than Nadia, somewhere in her mid-twenties, and she had come to live with her grandmother a few months ago. In that short time, she’d gone from blonde to redhead to jet-black hair with red streaks. Nadia tried to picture Aimee even in the same room as an accountant and failed. “Fair enough.”
“Then you’ll do it?”
Nadia couldn’t hold back a wince. “Mrs. B—”
“Please, dear? It’s for a good cause, I promise.”
“Is this because Trish is dating Ian now, and you want a matchmaking project?” Nadia asked, referring to her best friend and business partner. “Who’s next on your list, your pharmacist?”
“No,” Mrs. Beasley replied without a moment’s hesitation. “My hairdresser.”
Nadia started to laugh and then stopped as she realized the other woman was serious. “Wait—you actually do have a list?”
“Never mind that, dear. Now, Benji works nine to five most days, so it would probably be best if you met him after work.”
“Hang on, I never said I’d—”
“Please, dear? At my age, I have so few pleasures left, and who knows how much time I even have at all, really.” The quaver was back in Mrs. Beasley’s voice, and she let one wrinkled hand hover tremulously over her heart as if it might give out on her within the next three seconds.
It was blatant manipulation, Nadia thought. It was also very effective. “Mrs. B,” she groaned, pleading.
“You could consider it a Christmas present to me.”
“I gave you your favorite homemade lemon tarts as your Christmas present!”
The old woman let both hands tremble over her heart now.
“Shame on you,” Nadia muttered, folding her arms across her chest and frowning but also slumping against the back counter in defeat.
Mrs. Beasley beamed at her. “I think the best thing would be for you two to meet at that charming little coffee shop on Third and Oakdale,” she told Nadia, the quaver in her voice vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “It’s midway between both of your workplaces.” Reaching into her purse with a hand that was as steady as a rock, she pulled out a business card that had MacGready Financial Services, Inc. printed on it and handed it to Nadia. “I wrote the address on the back along with Benji’s phone number. I’ll tell him to expect you.”
“What? Mrs. B, it’s Christmas Eve!”
“You’re right,” Mrs. Beasley agreed after a moment’s consideration. “Silly me. I suppose the day after Christmas is more reasonable.”
“The day after Christmas—” Nadia sputtered, incredulous.
The older woman’s lip quivered. “I just thought it would be so nice to help Benji start the new year off right, and—and—” Her hand found its way to her heart again.
Clearly Mrs. B meant to have her way in this. “All right, fine, Mrs. B. I’ll do it. But you know, woman, you really ought to be regulated by the federal government. I’ll bet you can squeeze out tears on command, can’t you?”
Mrs. Beasley only patted Nadia’s hand again. “How does five o’clock sound?”
“Like emotional blackmail, but other than that, fine.”
“Lovely. Then I’ll just take a dozen of those gingerbread men, and I’ll be on my way.”
Scooping up the requested treats and putting them in a bag, Nadia rang them up and handed them over. “I don’t even have the first idea of what to say to this guy, you know.”
“You’ll think of something wonderful, dear, I just know it.”
“Mrs. B?”
The woman paused with her hand on the door. “Yes?”
“Am I on that list of yours?”
“Merry Christmas, dear,” was all Mrs. Beasley called out in response as she stepped out into the wintry weather.
Nadia stared after her. “Girl,” she said aloud to herself in the empty bakery, “I have the distinct feeling that you are in deep trouble.”
* * *
“A dating coach, huh?” Trish said to her later that evening over the sounds of blaring holiday tunes as the two of them sampled punch at the Christmas Eve party of a mutual friend. “How did she manage to talk you into that?”
“With a guilt trip that would have made any mama proud to call it her own.”
“Well, maybe it won’t be as bad as you think,” Trish suggested. “You might even enjoy it. Come on, you give me advice on my love life all the time. Whether I ask for it or not.”
“Excuse me, but if I had not given you and your love life a little nudge, would you be here tonight with a certain easy-on-the-eyes landscape architect?”
“No,” Trish conceded, a goofy smile spreading across her face as her eyes
found Ian on the other side of the room chatting with another guest. She even blushed.
No was right, Nadia thought, seeing the blush and grinning with a certain smug satisfaction. Sure, she had strong opinions and a habit of offering unsolicited advice. So? She was good at it. And frankly, some people really needed it. Badly. “I rest my case.”
“See, though? That’s what I’m saying. You might even have fun taking this guy under your wing.”
A socially-awkward accountant? Oh, yes, oodles of fun, she thought. “I prefer to spend my time with men who already know what women like, thank you.”
“You do, huh?”
“Yes.”
Trish nodded her head toward Nadia’s date, a tall and perfectly groomed dreamboat of a man who was in town for the week from Argentina to show one of his art exhibits at local museums. He’d hit on Nadia in the midst of his own show, which had been very flattering. At the moment he was talking to a rapt audience of half a dozen women who all seemed to take turns batting their eyelashes at him. “So does that describe Marcos there pretty well?”
“Matías,” Nadia corrected her, sipping her punch.
“Sorry, Matías. So does he fit the bill?”
Nadia watched him gesture heavenward with a burst of energy as he spoke, his eyes wide as he waxed on about whatever his topic was. Color and light, maybe. Or texture. He’d talked for nearly an hour at dinner about texture, though, so surely he had exhausted that particular subject. The spark of interest he’d inspired in her after their first encounter had rapidly dwindled. “He’s an amazingly talented artist. The things that man can do with paint—”
“That wasn’t quite what I asked you.”
No, she supposed it wasn’t. “He’s very charming.”
Trish gave her a look. “But…?”
“’But’ nothing. We had a couple of dates, it was nice, and tomorrow he flies back to Argentina. End of story.”
“Oh. Sorry,” Trish offered, a sympathetic look on her face.
“I’m not. We had fun. Honest, it’s fine,” Nadia told her, amused. “Don’t look at me like my dog died.” She noticed then the look that Ian cast in Trish’s direction, and she nudged her friend, happy to change the subject. “Hey, I think your honey wants to dance with you, Trish. Or possibly devour you, judging by the way he’s looking at you. Go over there and put him out of his misery, would you?”
The Heavenly Bites Novella Collection Page 6