by Nancy Warren
Mike glanced up, a half-humorous, half-warning expression on his face. “Hey, I work there and we’re still friends.”
“I’m not living with you!”
“Don’t want to rub salt into the wound, but you’re not living with Caro, either.”
Jon drank his coffee, hot and black and bitter. “I can’t believe she’s being so stubborn. I’d no more cheat on her than I’d cut off my right arm.”
“It’s no fun for any of us. I’m glad Caro told you. I didn’t think it was my place to blab, but I hated not telling you. So it’s out now and we all stay friends, okay?” Mike’s head tilted at a belligerent angle that reminded Jon of how many hours he spent boxing. But few people knew him better. Jon understood the aggressive gesture masked how awkward Mike was feeling with the situation.
He forced himself to relax. This whole mess wasn’t Mike’s fault. “I’m warning you, if you and Tess ever have troubles don’t ask me for help.”
A short bark of laughter reached him. “With your track record, you’re the last guy I’d ask.”
Jon couldn’t help himself; he laughed, too.
They spent a moment with the menu and both chose the signature breakfast: three eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, toast, the works.
Once they’d placed their order, Jon leaned across the table and asked Mike, “How is she doing really?”
“Ask Tess. Chicks know stuff like that. She looks great, writes decent copy. I think she likes what she’s doing.”
Mike fiddled with his silverware, which made Jon suspect there was something unpleasant coming.
“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but Mel’s thinking of hiring her the next time a full-time reporting job comes open.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I recommended her for the job.” Jon felt as though he’d been sucker punched and he wished they were at the boxing club so he could use his fists on his former friend. “You recommended my wife to work full-time for that…that…”
“It’s a tabloid. It’s not the Satanic Daily Bulletin. Maybe we don’t cater to snobs like you, but the regular people like our paper fine, thanks.”
He wanted to tell Mike that Caro wasn’t like those tabloid readers, she was a Standard woman, but that would only make him sound like more of a stuck-up jerk.
“Why did you recommend her?” He wouldn’t have expected his worst enemy to pull a stunt that would hurt him so much.
“She’s terrific.” Mike gazed at him as though he were toying with him. “Believe me, your loss is our gain. Ah, I mean, your paper’s loss.”
“But Caro was working on bringing us up to speed on our fashion section. You don’t even have a fashion section.”
“If you ever stooped to read our paper, you’d know she’s working on human-interest features. She loves talking to people and they open up to her. She’s amazing at that. Didn’t you know?”
It appeared he hadn’t. Of course, he’d seen how well she did at cocktail parties and she always seemed at ease with his friends, no matter how pretentious they might be—and some of his classmates from Harvard law gave the term new meaning—but he never thought of her as writing features.
It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d want to. Or, if he were brutally honest with himself, that she’d be capable of it.
He was aware that he and Mike had broken their unwritten, unspoken rule not to talk about Caro. Mike had been there for him at the beginning, offering uncritical friendship when he’d needed it. But Caro and Tess were best friends, so a dual friendship had worked out well once Tess and Mike got together. Unfortunately it was doomed to disaster when Jon and Caro split up.
Now, he was more careful around Mike, and Caro was the reason. He accepted it on the assumption that Caro and Tess were also just as cautious when it came to conversations about him.
He wanted to pour out his guts and to tell Mike how much he missed his wife and how much he wanted her back. Instead, he attacked his meal with gusto and refused to whine.
Along with his bacon and eggs, he’d digested this new information. Caro was a feature writer, was she?
As he’d worked on his strategic plan to get his wife back last night, he’d stalled at the first move—how to get her in his vicinity for an hour just so they could talk.
If she wouldn’t come to him for the asking—which he knew she wouldn’t—he wondered if the Star would be interested in doing a feature on a certain project he was working on. And he knew just the reporter for the job.
He realized he was hungry and gave his attention over to the food, doing his best to put Caro temporarily out of his mind, and steering the conversation into calmer waters. “You have to admit this is the best bacon and eggs to be had in Pasqualie.”
“You are so out of touch,” Mike replied, clearly equally happy to change the subject. “Big Ed’s Diner. Three eggs, half a dozen slices of bacon, toast and coffee. $2.95.”
At least some things in his world stayed constant, he thought as he rolled his gaze. “I’ll give Ed’s best breakfast under three bucks, but nobody beats the hungry-man breakfast here at the club.”
And lately he’d been having a lot of meals here. It was a convenient excuse to himself and anyone he ran into that he was grabbing a meal after his workout, but the truth was, he was working out so he could eat here. He hated eating at home all alone, and his mom’s bar wasn’t a place he could stomach every night of the week. Going to a restaurant alone was all right once in a while, but he was determined not to act pathetic, so he usually organized business dinners.
“I want to ask you something,” Mike said through a mouthful of eggs.
“Sure.”
“This is kind of weird, but you’re the only one I want.”
“You’re right, that’s kind of weird.”
After shooting him a don’t-push-me glance, Mike said, in his surliest street-fighter tone, “I want you to help me find a tux for the wedding.”
Jon choked on his coffee. Mike must be deeper in love than even he had guessed if Tess had talked him into a tuxedo. “I’m honored.”
“But will you do it?”
Mike was running a finger under the frayed neck of his T-shirt as though imagining being choked by a tie.
“Of course,” Jon said. “I’m thinking John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.” In case there was any doubt in Mike’s mind what he meant, Jon struck the famous pose, index finger pointing to the ceiling.
Mike snorted. “What I wear, you wear, buddy. You’re the best man.” He sighed noisily. “I can’t believe Tess talked me into a monkey suit.”
Privately, Jon didn’t think Tess would have any trouble getting Mike to do or wear whatever she wanted, but he kept that thought to himself.
“Tess is bugging me to get them ordered. She already has her wedding dress and Caro’s maid-of-honor dress is being made.”
“Matron of honor. Caro’s married,” Jon said automatically.
“Yeah, whatever.” A frown crossed his face. “Are you two going to be able to stomach each other?”
“I hope we can put aside our differences to celebrate the wedding of our dearest friends.” Privately, Jon was filled with glee that Caro would have to deal with him. He hadn’t thought much about Tess and Mike’s wedding, but being reminded that he and Caro were the chief attendants at the wedding gave him a perfect opportunity to contact her. They’d have to work together on wedding-related activities, and he’d be her escort for the big day.
He smiled to himself.
Maybe he’d rethink step one of his strategic plan.
He’d always been lucky at weddings.
4
CARO RAN for the phone, dripping water on the faded Persian rug of her friend Melanie’s town house. Originally, she was only going to take care of the plants while Melanie was on vacation, but when Caro had discovered Jon was cheating, the town house had provided a refuge until she could organize her future.
The towel she had clutch
ed to her chest left her just this side of indecent as she grabbed the receiver.
In the old days she’d leave the phone if she didn’t feel like answering it, but since she’d started freelancing she’d become its slave. The phone was her lifeline to a job and a world outside. Both of which she needed right now.
“Hello?” she said, grabbing a dish towel from a black wrought-iron rack in the kitchen to dab the drips off her face.
“Were you in the shower?” an amused male voice asked.
She pulled the towel tighter around her chest and sank on wobbly legs to one of the breakfast bar stools.
“Jonathon.”
She didn’t care that he couldn’t see her; she felt ridiculously exposed and vulnerable in nothing but a towel.
Who else knew her so well that he could guess her predicament when she’d spoken one word?
“Well, were you?” He still sounded amused, but his voice had dropped to a huskier tone, the one he adopted to tease her when they were together. Water dripped to the hardwood floor, but she didn’t have the coordination right now to wipe up the puddle.
“What do you want?” She heard her own voice soften as images from their happier days crowded her mind. If he was here right now, and they were still married, that towel would hit the floor in seconds. The thought filled her with a longing to turn back the clock that was so fierce she had to grip the kitchen countertop.
“I can’t begin to tell you all the things I want. Why don’t I come over there and show you?” He wasn’t teasing. His tone was serious and pulled at her to respond.
Oh, how she wanted to.
Then, as she felt herself weakening, an image of Lori Gerhardt, the woman who’d been Jon’s advertising sales manager, rose up in front of Caro, as lifelike as the day she’d found Lori naked in her own bed—with Jon getting ready to join her.
No. She reminded herself. She wasn’t being completely accurate. Lori hadn’t been naked. She’d worn a G-string.
“If you’re feeling lonely, I’m sure Lori Gerhardt would be happy to oblige you,” she said with frigid politeness.
“Lori Gerhardt took a job in Houston, as you very well know. And, for the thousandth time, there was nothing going on between us!” He’d dropped the sexy teasing and sounded furious. Which made her so mad she wanted to break something. Preferably over his pig head.
“You didn’t call me to talk about old history, I hope.”
He blew out a breath, something he always did when he was frustrated. “No. I called because we’re both standing up for Mike and Tess. I don’t want to spoil their day so I thought we should get together first.”
“What are you talking about?” Gooseflesh spread along her upper arms and shoulders and she rubbed the chilled skin with the end of her towel.
“I think we should spend some time together before the wedding, clear the air, so we don’t embarrass ourselves and ruin our friends’ wedding.”
She almost laughed. Jon had always been a man of creative ideas. “Are you suggesting we make a date to yell at each other and throw things?”
“If that’s what it takes so we can be civil to each other, then yes.”
“I’m not sure there’s anything that can make me civil to you,” she told him honestly. As hard as she’d tried to put her marriage in the past and move forward with zenlike tranquility, she only had to think of Jon and rage boiled within her.
“Then you should tell Tess you can’t be her matron of honor.”
“Bridesmaid,” she snapped. “And I most certainly will be there for Tess on her wedding day, just like…”
There was a pause, and he finished the sentence she’d begun. “Just like she was for you.”
She blinked rapidly. She would not remember her beautiful wedding to Jonathon and all the hopes and dreams they’d had, and she wouldn’t cry. Her job now was to pull herself together and to figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
“Don’t worry, Jon. I won’t be uncivil to you. I’ll simply ignore you.” She wondered how he’d take that. He wasn’t used to being ignored by women. The idea of him being stuck with a date who wanted him living on the other side of the solar system was mildly amusing.
She could never pay him back for the pain he’d caused her, but she wasn’t above a tiny spot of revenge. If she had to spend the better part of a day and evening with him, she’d do it with style.
Jonathon would be escorting an iceberg.
She was delighted her best friend Tess wanted her to be her bridesmaid. It was unfortunate that Mike had the bad taste to be friends with Jon. Although they’d been friends since they were kids and played on the same Little League team, she always found it hard to imagine the scrappy street kid and the well-to-do preppy becoming best friends.
Remarkably they had. And more remarkably they’d stayed friends over the years while Jon went to Harvard and Mike went to the school of hard knocks as he was so fond of telling everyone.
If Mike wouldn’t dump his childhood friend because he’d cheated on his wife-to-be’s bridesmaid, she supposed she couldn’t completely hate him for it. She’d suggested to Tess that someone else stand in her place, but her friend had insisted she wanted Caro, so she’d agreed.
The wedding was only a couple of weeks away. She hoped the fact that she and Jon were getting divorced wouldn’t jinx Mike and Tess’s future. She didn’t think it would, but she was just superstitious enough that she’d held off visiting her lawyer until after the wedding.
A brrrp caused her to glance down to where her cat, Cyclops, winked her one good eye at her, then licked at the puddle with her delicate pink tongue.
“I’ve got to get ready for work, Jonathon. So, if you’ve nothing else to talk about, I have to—”
“There is something else.” She gritted her teeth and waited for him to start in on her about her new job, but, amazingly, he didn’t.
“It’s about Mom’s birthday party.”
Cyclops had abandoned the puddle of water and started licking Caro’s big toe. The sandpapery tongue made her squirm, but she wouldn’t pull away. After finding the small cat, one-eyed, matted and mewing plaintively in her backyard, Caro had taken her in and given her a home, then brought her to Melanie’s when she moved. In the last few awful weeks, Cyclops had helped her as much as she’d helped the homeless stray. She had a feeling they had quite a bit in common, both being defective and abandoned.
She pulled her mind away from her misery and tried to concentrate on Fanny. “Yes?”
“I wanted to thank you.” Jon’s voice sounded almost hesitant. “You were right. I’ve canceled Le Beaumari and I’m going to do the party at the Roadhouse.”
“That’s great, Jon.” Her voice came out warmer than she’d intended it. She wanted Fanny to have a special party, for she was a special woman, even if she had spawned a womanizing heartbreaker.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I was wondering if you’d help me with the party. Now I’ve got to start from scratch and I’ve only got a week.”
She paused to think about it, wishing she could tell him what he could do with his party, but it was for Fanny, after all. Besides, it was her advice that had caused him to change his plans. “I’ll do what I can,” she said at last, “but I’m doing it for her.”
“I appreciate it. We’ve got all the guests to phone about the change of plans. Caterers to book.”
She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “Decorations. A cake. A live band would be nice.”
“Yes. It would. I’ll get back to you when I have more details.” He was cold and clipped, as businesslike as though she’d been an advertiser who owed the paper big bucks. Ha. He should be groveling at her feet.
Once she hung up, she bent to pick up the cat, a much heavier bundle than when she’d found it hanging around her back door, skinny, frightened and alone. “We’re just a couple of abandoned strays, aren’t we?”
Cyclops purred and snuggled under her chin. Since t
hey’d adopted each other, the cat had begun to groom itself meticulously and her coat was soft where it touched Caro’s skin above the towel.
“WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?” Caro wailed to Tess after summoning her friend with an SOS call to meet at the out-of-the-way Mexican restaurant they patronized when they wanted privacy.
Once settled into the Naugahyde booth, she realized she was starving and since she wanted everything on the menu, ordered the Fiesta plate.
Tess blinked at her. “I’ve never seen you order anything but a taco salad.”
“I’m expanding my horizons. And starving,” she admitted, grabbing for the basket of tortilla chips and salsa in the center of the table while Tess watched her in amazement and sipped iced tea. Some days the thought of food made Caro queasy and other days she pigged out. It must be stress. In between scarfing chips, Caro relayed her excruciating conversation with Jonathon almost word for word.
Her friend had been blessed with classic good looks, but since she’d found love she’d bloomed. There was a new warmth and approachability to her that Caro loved.
Tess put down her tea and leaned forward, almost whispering. “I can’t believe he suggested a shouting-and-throwing-things session. That sounds so…Mike.”
She was right of course. Mike was the kind of guy who blew up even when he wasn’t particularly mad, as she’d discovered from the daily temper-fests between him and Mel. “Well, it’s a phenomenally stupid idea.”
“You never did have a let-it-all-hang-out emotional scene. You must be the only couple in America who could break up without a single yelling match.”
Caro sniffed. “I wouldn’t stoop to that level.”
Tess looked as though she wanted to say something, then changed her mind. She shook her head. “So why does he want to host a screaming match now?”
“He says it’s so we’ll be civil to each other at your wedding.”
“You two are always civil.” Tess reached for a chip from the rapidly emptying bowl. “If you ask me, that’s part of the problem. What’s he really afraid of?”
“That I’ll embarrass him as a date, I suppose.”