“What?”
Brandon shuffles his feet and stares down at the floor. What on earth did he tell her?
“I told them you were coming to our church now and wouldn’t mind chaperoning the back-to-school pizza blast on Friday night. Sorry, guess I was wrong.”
Jack makes a noise, and I have a feeling he’s fighting to keep from laughing at my predicament.
Anna reaches forward and presses her hand to my arm. “It’s okay, Dancy. We’ll find someone else.”
“How badly do you need the help?”
She shrugs and gives me a sheepish smile. “One of our usual chaperones just had a baby, and one had to leave town suddenly. Church policy states that we have to have one chaperone per twenty-five kids, and we have two hundred kids signed up. We’re two chaperones short. But I couldn’t impose, not if you don’t feel comfortable doing it.”
“Nonsense,” Jack butts in. “Dancy loves teenagers. She’d be perfect.” He gives me such an innocent smile that, unless a girl really knew him well, she would be completely fooled. But I’m not.
“Jack’s right,” I say. His eyebrows go up. “I’m happy to do it”—I slide my gaze to his—“if he will.”
All eyes turn to Jack, who grins. “I’d be delighted.”
I narrow my gaze and look at him. I have a sneaky suspicion I might have just been set up.
I wait outside with Brynn and Jack for Kale to fetch the car. He’ll be driving Brandon back to Dad’s since it’s in the opposite direction. I’ve decided to take the subway home. It’s not far. Besides, I’m still upset with my dad for not being concerned about Brandon’s chance to go to Juilliard.
“I had fun this week. I’m glad you came over.”
He nods. “Thanks for putting up with me.”
“I didn’t just put up with you. You’re my brother.”
“Dad can’t cook like your friend Laini.”
“No one can,” I say, sympathetic to his plight. It gets tiresome ordering out every night, which is what Dad does.
Kale pulls up in his SUV.
Brynn turns her glance to me. She gives me a quick hug and slips into the car.
I can’t help but laugh as they drive away and Brandon waves at me through the moonroof.
“That’s nice.”
I turn to find Jack staring at me. I’m not sure what he means, but I’m smart enough to recognize approval in a person’s voice.
“What’s nice?”
He grins down at me. “The sound of your laughter. It’s nice.”
Oh, that. My heart takes a flying leap. I avert my gaze. “Thank you.”
“You don’t know how to accept a compliment. Do you know that?”
“I said thank you. What more do you want? Lifelong devotion? A kiss?”
He leans a little closer. “Lifelong devotion sounds nice, although I don’t think we’re quite ready for that step. But I wouldn’t turn down the kiss, if you’re offering.”
My cheeks warm. I deserve it. I fell right into that one, didn’t I? Or did I set it up to begin with? Either way, the man’s just a little too smug for his own good. “In your dreams, Hugh Grant.”
“Now, no reason to be insulting after I’ve just complimented you on your beautiful laugh.”
“Being compared to Hugh Grant isn’t exactly an insult.”
“I was referring to your comment about only being allowed to kiss you in my dreams.”
If I thought he was even a little serious, he wouldn’t have to wait for his dreams. But we both know Jack is teasing, as he’s been doing to me since I was sixteen. “Well, anyway, you insulted me first by saying I can’t take a compliment.”
“No insult intended, my dear.” He takes my hand. And his hand is warm and wonderful and soft, like you’d expect from an editor’s hands, and oh, my stomach jumps and my legs go weak. He brings our clasped hands to his chest, and I can feel the steady, strong beat of his heart. “I only meant,” he says softly, “that you aren’t complimented enough.”
“H-how do you know that?” Standing this close to Jack, I can’t think clearly enough to keep up my end of our exchange.
“It’s obvious by the way you have difficulty accepting them graciously.”
He touches his fingertip to my nose, like he’s an older cousin or an uncle or something. Whichever, it’s not flattering, and I feel stupid for getting all worked up. Never mind that he’s holding my hand against his chest in clear uncousinly form. Feeling confused, I lift my chin.
I have to end this ridiculous moment before I lose my heart to this man who has no more than a brotherly interest in me. I pull my hand from his, and for once I don’t make a spectacle of myself. “Actually, Jack,” I say with an air of confidence. “Everyone tells me what a great laugh I have. What you interpreted as being uncomfortable is merely nonchalance about compliments like that, since they happen so often.”
There. Let him be the one to feel silly this time.
He chuckles. “Well, then. Apparently I stand corrected.” We have walked to the corner, where I’ll descend the steps and catch the next subway. It’ll take a full hour and twelve minutes to get home.
“I have my car,” he says suddenly, as though reading my hesitation. “How about if I give you a lift? I’m going in that direction.”
That actually sounds like a great idea. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I’d really be grateful.”
A smile splits his face. “I’d be delighted.”
So Jack drives me home from church in a little Mazda Miata. The top is down and the weather is perfect. Even my hair refrains from blowing in my face. Jack slides in a CD, and I recognize a couple of the songs from worship this morning. I settle in, relax, and enjoy the ride.
15
It wasn’t often that Valerie had to admit she was wrong, but in this instance, she knew she had no choice. How could she have thought M&J Advertising was the best place to work in her field? After a month at Harrison and Sons, she felt at home in a way she’d never felt before. The atmosphere was much more relaxed, something that would have caused her stress before. Ben Harrison was an easygoing widower with three children and kind eyes. He, along with his father, George, and his brother, Kenny, owned and operated the family-friendly office. A sense of integrity and morality seemed to float through the place, and Valerie had never felt so at home.
—An excerpt from Fifth Avenue Princess
by Dancy Ames
Tuesday evening, Brynn and Kale have a party—a painting party—at their empty soon-to-be home. It’s one of those spur-of-the-moment things that came up that afternoon while we listened to Brandon’s little orchestra playing in Central Park. He played violin. Apparently, he’s quite the musical genius. Along with violin, he plays the piano, and pretty much any stringed instrument you put in front of him—including electric guitar, which doesn’t thrill my dad when Brandon “practices.”
Anyway, Brynn was planning to paint today, but Kale said, “Why don’t we make a party of it? If you guys will come help, we’ll spring for pizza.” And that’s how we got roped into it.
This goes against everything my mother stands for, and she seemed confused when Brynn told her we were painting tonight. “Darling, we’ll just give you the number of the painter we use,” Mother said. “And don’t worry—we’ll cover the cost for you and Kale.”
“It’s not that we can’t afford it, Mrs. Ames,” Brynn said. “That’s just the way we do things at our house. Why waste thousands of dollars when we can do it ourselves?”
I love that philosophy. But it’s completely opposite of Mother’s, which is, “Never do anything yourself that you can have done for you, no matter the cost.”
I suspect this might be the first of many disagreements between them. But Mother is too civil and Brynn is too respectful for it to get out of hand. It will definitely be fun to watch Brynn stand her ground. The blessing for Brynn is that Mother is moving to Florida, so she will very rarely have to deal with the disapproval.
> Brynn has chosen tasteful, neutral colors. We set out to work: Brandon, Kale, Brynn, Sheri (her reason for coming is highly suspect since she isn’t doing much painting), Jack, and me.
This is the first time I’ve seen Jack in jeans since he was in college, and even then he mostly wore slacks. Preparing to be the professional, I suppose. But now . . . let’s just say he’s looking pretty good, wearing a pair of ripped-at-the-thigh jeans with a T-shirt. Over the tee, he’s wearing a long-sleeved striped shirt with the sleeves rolled midway up his forearms.
He looks . . . manly. And to my embarrassment, he keeps catching me staring at him.
I have been given the job of working around the bottom of the wall with an edging brush. I’m sitting cross-legged and working with meticulous precision so I won’t mess up.
I’m having a little trouble dealing with Sheri’s presence. We haven’t spoken since Jack told me about hiring her. And I’m still curious about her reason for taking a position lower than the one she already held. Plus, she had bragged about getting a promotion at Sharp.
I get my chance after about two hours of steady work. We’re painting on the same wall, I around the edges, Sheri with the roller behind me.
“So,” I say, hoping I sound nonchalant. “Jack says you’re working at Lane Publishing now.”
She stops in her tracks and stares down at me. “You don’t hate me, do you?”
I shrug. “No. I’m just surprised. I thought you were pretty much a company girl at Sharp Publishing. What happened?”
She squats next to me, balancing her roller on the floor so that the paint will drip back into the pan. “Do I have your word of honor that you will not say any of this to anyone?”
I nod. “Of course.”
“I’m dating Kevin Martin.”
My eyes go wide. “The associate publisher at Sharp? I thought you were interested in Jack.”
“Jack?” A laugh bubbles to her lips and she nods in understanding. “I have to stop being such a flirt, don’t I? Kevin says if I don’t, he’s going to hire a P.I. to follow me around. But, you know, he doesn’t have anything to worry about. I’ve loved Kevin for five years, and he finally noticed me. There’s no way I’d take a chance on ruining it.”
“Wow, it sounds really serious.”
She nods her lovely head. “It is. As a matter of fact—” She reaches around her neck and produces a huge diamond ring looped through a silver chain.
“Sheri—congratulations,” I say, surprised at how much I mean it. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Are you?” She looks intently into my eyes. “I thought you might hate me for taking over your job at Lane.”
“You’ll be working on nonfiction. That was never my strong suit, so you really didn’t take it over.”
“Well, I could talk to Kevin for you. I’m sure he’d be happy to have you at Sharp. He’s been wanting to build our fiction department.” She gives a little giggle. “I mean their fiction department.”
I smile. “I actually already have an interview with Kevin in two weeks, on the seventeenth.”
“Well, I’m going to tell him he has no choice but to hire you.”
I can’t help but warm to the way she’s taking up my cause, but I place a restraining hand on her arm. “Let me handle it my way.”
“You always were the independent one.” She winks. “But if he asks my opinion, I’ll tell him what I think.”
As I turn back to the wall, my favorite proverb runs through my head. Maybe God is directing my path after all.
During the past month, I’ve been plodding along on my book, enjoying the creative process. Tabby and David are off somewhere with the twins, doing family stuff. Laini is baking, and I have decided to finish this story. By and large, it’s not bad. With a little revision and thirty-five thousand new words, it might actually be something I can be proud of. Not that I’d ever try to get it published.
But what if I did? What if I, Dancy Ames, actually had a book published? I wonder if Jack would look at it when it’s finished. No. That would be awkward. Good grief. No.
Besides, right now I need food, and Laini’s baking is calling to me. I set aside my laptop, stand, and stretch. Laini turns and smiles when I walk in. “I wondered how long it would take you to decide you’re hungry.”
This is something new. I frown and point to the rack of bread mounds cooling on the counter. “What are those?”
“Okay.” She hands me one on a plate. “Taste this and tell me what you think. It’s something I’m trying out for Nick and Joe.”
I bite into delectable homemade bread baked around turkey and Swiss cheese. It’s warm and comforting and delicious. “Oh my gosh, Laini. This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” I say that every time, but she knows what I mean.
“You think?” Her face glows, and I might add that it’s getting a little round. I think we’ve all put on about ten pounds over the past three months. Laini’s feeding us too well. I thought she’d settle down after she finished her semester, but with more time on her hands until her next classes begin, she’s cooking more than ever. She’d better end this phase soon, or we’ll all be signing up for Jenny Craig.
“It’s fantastic. Nick’s going to love it.”
The house phone rings, and I pick it up just as Laini says, “Don’t answer it!”
Too late. I give her a shrug of apology.
“Hello?” the male voice on the other end of the line says. “May I speak with Laini Sullivan, please?”
Laini rolls her eyes and holds out her hand for the cordless. “Hello? Oh, hi, Mr. Ace. Yes, I have been giving your offer some thought. I just don’t see how I have time to fit in anything else right now.”
I have to wonder how Laini can give up a job she’s great at, where she’s obviously being pursued. I’d love to ask her again, but when she hangs up the phone, she gives me a look that clearly says not to even bring it up. So I don’t. That’s the kind of friend I am.
Besides, Tabby picks this time to breeze in, bringing with her her fiancé, David, and his too-adorable-for-reality twins. Which, I suppose, is why they’re child actors.
“Hey, you guys. What’s up?” Tabby says.
Laini smiles at the kids. “Trying a new recipe.”
“Looks good. Smells good.” David hovers over the stove looking a little like he’s the wolf staring down Little Red Riding Hood. Laini is, of course, thrilled with the interest. “Take one. Or two. Or however many you want.”
Tabby grabs some plates. “Now aren’t you glad we didn’t stop for lunch? Do you want to help the kids wash their hands before we sit down?”
David dutifully ushers Jenn and Jeffy down the hall.
“What are these, Laini?” Tabby asks. “Homemade Hot Pockets?”
“Yep,” I pipe in, unable to resist grabbing a second one myself. I mean, they’re not really that big, so—I don’t know—, maybe not that many calories. I’ll run an extra mile later.
“How was the exhibition?” The kids are ice-skaters and have one exhibition per month. Every few months, they compete.
“Jenn fell during her spin. She was not happy.”
“Darn,” I say. “Next week is their last on Legacy of Life, isn’t it?”
Tabby nods. The thing is, David never wanted his kids involved in acting. But his wife, who died of cancer, signed a contract, and he had to let them work it out. But he has no intention of re-signing, and that is just fine with the kids, who really just want to be kids.
They hop (don’t kids always hop?) into the kitchen and find a seat at the table. Jeffy looks dubiously at the hot stuffed sandwich in front of him. “What is it?” he whispers loudly to Jenn.
“I don’t know,” she whispers back. They each cut a glance to Tabby, who laughs.
“Just try it. It’s a warm sandwich.”
With a sigh, they each take a tentative bite. I hold my laughter at the look of horror that lights each set of big blue eyes.
Laini giggl
es. “For Pete’s sake, guys. They look like they’re about to cry. Let me fix them a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
The kids push their plates away and nod fervently, trying with valor to swallow the bites in their mouths.
“So, how are the wedding plans coming along?” I ask.
David and Tabby give each other a look.
“What?” I ask, as sudden fear sweeps through me. If anything happens between David and Tabby, I swear . . .
“Well, the thing is—” Tabby begins.
David puts his hand over hers and takes over. “We’re going to have to put the wedding off for a little while.”
“Oh, no!” Laini expels. “Why?”
“Neither of our parents are available to keep the twins during the Christmas holiday so we can go on the honeymoon.”
Tabby’s lip quivers a little. “I told him we can get married when we planned and wait for our honeymoon. I honestly don’t mind putting off the Bahamas. The marriage is the important thing, right?”
She looks at Laini and me for support, but we don’t have a chance to respond.
David shakes his head. “I don’t want to start our marriage off like that.” His eyes dart to the kids, and I think we all get the point. He doesn’t want to start sleeping with his new wife when his kids are in the next room. He wants to devote his attention to getting to know Tabby intimately when they can be alone.
“I think that’s sweet,” I breathe.
Tabby scowls. “Well, sure it’s sweet. But don’t you think it’s unnecessary? Especially when I want to get married as we planned.”
Her unspoken, “And if you say no, I’ll kill you,” silences me. I avert my gaze and keep my mouth shut, because I’m not going to say I agree with her when I don’t.
I can feel her hostility. Her blue eyes bore into me like she’ll kill me if I don’t immediately reverse my opinion. But I won’t. However, I might have another solution.
“Why can’t I keep the twins while you’re gone on your honeymoon?”
“You?” Tabby sounds scared. And I must say, I’m a little insulted.
The kids let out a “Yay!” which makes my heart soar and brings a grin to my lips.
You Had Me at Good-bye Page 17