by Opal Carew
“Because of how much in love you and Trista were. I wanted that kind of love in my life.”
A waft of honeysuckle drifted past them and his eyes widened. “But you didn’t even know Trista and me then.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Todd. The newspapers were always writing about you. They wrote about your art shows and your company and your successes. And they wrote about what a lovely and loving couple you two were. Every time there was a mention of you, Trista’s name was right there. And I just thought it was so wonderful how in love you two were. And when she died, my heart ached for you.”
“So you found a way to hire on as my help and use my life for your story.”
“It’s not as sordid as it sounds.” Again with the eyebrow. “Honestly, Todd. When I found out where I’d be working, who I’d be working for, the idea just kind of gelled. I’d been writing the story beforehand. You know how I like my happy endings.” She actually got a smile with that. “But the story wasn’t working. I didn’t find it strange because my whole life was like that, but when I found out I’d be working for you, I thought, maybe I could get to know you, see what there was in you that made Trista love you and you love her back, and give that to my hero. That’s all. I wasn’t trying to exploit you at all. I… admire you.”
He was mulling it over. And he was back to playing with the ends of her hair, so maybe he was losing some of his anger and hurt.
“I never meant to hurt you, Todd.”
“I believe you.”
He believed her.
“But it still doesn’t explain the book,” he added.
“I know. And I can’t. I honestly have no idea how that happened. Maybe we should buy up the rest in Mr. Griff’s store before anyone else sees it.”
Todd shook his head. “He only had the one. I went in and checked after I saw what it was. After I’d read it.”
He’d read it? “This just keeps getting weirder and weirder.”
“I know. Kind of like my show tonight.”
“Really? What’s weird about it?”
“Mr. Griff was the one who mentioned the church benefit to me.”
“What’s odd about that?”
“When I called the lady at the church office, Angie someone, she seemed, I don’t know, confused maybe, and had her boss call me back. I wondered at the time why she wouldn’t know about it, if it was such a big deal, but then her boss was all over it, so that put an end to my questions. Plus, I was suddenly too busy to really concentrate on anything else.”
“But why those pictures, Todd?”
He took a deep breath. “When I was passing your room that afternoon, I thought I’d heard someone talking. But it was just your cat having a daydream. I petted him to settle him down, but the damned thing ran from me and knocked your story off the shelf and onto the floor. When I picked it up, the words jumped out at me. Socked me right in the gut.
“After you left, I tried to paint someone else. Anyone. Jasmine sat for me, Earl, I paid the family next door, but I couldn’t do it, Jolie. I couldn’t get that something I had captured with you.” He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and she tried to ignore the warm, melty feeling it stirred. “Then, Mr. Griff showed up and suggested I finish the pictures for the auction. I know I should have discussed it with you, but, honestly Jolie, I was still stung by your story. Then I read the whole thing—” he nodded to the mysterious novel—”and—”
“And you figured since I had gone ahead and done this, you could too.” She sighed. “I can understand that. If I wanted my moment of fame, why not make it a big one and get back at me? I get it.”
He lifted her chin. “No, you don’t get it. That’s not it at all. That makes me sound selfish and shallow, and I’d like to think I’m above all that.” He put a finger over her lips when she started to speak. “No, I read that book and I thought about the title, The Best Man, and I saw the emotions in there, thought about you writing it, and then I thought about you, your life. I thought I’d known you, Jolie. Who you were, the person inside.” He paused while his eyes searched hers. “The person who wouldn’t intentionally hurt me.
“It took me more time than it should have to realize that. And with this benefit—a benefit for underprivileged and abused kids and homeless families, things you lived through, things that shaped you—I knew you’d want to help if you could. I had all these paintings of you taking up wall space—”
“You mean floor space.”
“No, I mean wall space. I hung every one of them, Jolie, once I finished that book. All around my studio. Where I could see you all the time.”
She had absolutely no comeback whatsoever to that.
“So, anyway, I had a bunch of completed pictures, a looming deadline and a cause near and dear to your heart. I honestly hoped to discuss it with you and get your agreement. I never doubted you’d approve.”
“You’re right about that.”
He nodded. “I know. I know that about you. That’s why I did the show, Jolie. Not to hurt you, but to help with a cause you care about. And I didn’t show your face. Just like you’d asked.”
Oh, the love she felt for him was flooding every cell of her body. He truly got her.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I really don’t want that kind of fame.”
“I know that, too. For the masses, you’re just a nameless body on canvas. I want to keep what’s between us, between us.”
“What’s between us?” She was holding her breath.
“You’re parroting me again.”
She bit her lip to stop the tears. He was teasing her. That had to be good.
“I have something for you,” he whispered.
“You do?” What more could she possibly want than his belief in her?
He retrieved the paper-covered something, tore the wrapping, then stopped. “Jolie, this was never intended for the show. I started it that day… after the dinner at Bella’s. Before the manuscript. I never hung it. No one’s seen it but me.”
She turned to fully face him, holding her breath. She’d never seen him this, well, nervous.
He tore the rest of the paper away and turned it around.
It was her. All of her.
She was on her side on that sofa, propped against pillows, with the drop cloth draped over her thighs. Her hair was mussed, falling over her breasts. Her lips were just a bit swollen as if she’d bitten them—or someone had been kissing them moments before. Her bottom leg was bent slightly, the upper one raised as if in invitation to discover what was beneath the cloth. And there was no doubt the artist already knew.
Everything she’d ever felt while they’d made love was there, in her eyes, looking out from the canvas. That something he’d wanted to capture.
This was a painting by a man who knew his subject in all her moods. And felt quite a bit for her.
Did she dare hope?
“Do you like it?” His soft voice wrapped around her like the silence of a moonlit courtyard.
She shook her head. “No. I don’t.”
The hope in his eyes faded and she couldn’t let the teasing go on any longer.
“I love it, Todd.” She touched his arm. “Almost as much as I love you.”
“Thank you, God.” He blew out a breath and set the painting aside, pulling her back into his arms.
She met him halfway, and then they were kissing each other as if they could make up for all the hurt and separation.
“I was so worried, Jolie,” he said after, oh, ten minutes or so. “When you saw that picture, I thought I’d blown it. I hadn’t had the chance to prepare you, and I knew you’d take it the wrong way. I would have.”
It was her turn to raise her eyebrows.
“All right, I guess I did with your manuscript. I get it now, though the book thing does perplex me. Perhaps Mr. Griff will be able to shed some light on it.” He linked his fingers with hers. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re together and that’s what’s important.”
“Together.”
“Forever.”
“Forever?” Did he say the “F” word?
He pulled back. “You don’t want forever? I thought you liked happily-ever-afters?”
“Is this one?” She was trying so hard not to get her hopes up in case she was reading too much into this.
He smiled. “Oh, yes, Jolie Gardener, this is one big happily-ever-after.” He traced her cheekbones, then her lips, his eyes going all soft. “I love you. I want you in my life. Always.” He slipped off the bench to one knee. “Will you, Jolie Gardener, marry me?”
Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh—
“Yes!”
She threw her arms around his neck, her body into his, and she mauled the guy’s lips as she almost crashed them to the terra cotta floor. He wanted to marry her! He loved her! They could have a family—
Oh boy. Now she was the one who pulled back.
“What?”
“Family,” she squeaked.
“Mike and Barb already love you.”
She shook her head as they resettled back on the bench. Good thing because Knees weren’t able to stand yet. “No. Family. You and me.”
“Ah,” he smiled. “Yes, I want a family. Dozens of kids.”
“Dozens?”
“Enough to have my own football team.”
“I’m not sure that’s physically possible for me, Todd.”
“Well, then, we’ll just have to adopt some, won’t we?”
Honest to God, she loved this man. She honestly and truly loved him and she needed to crawl inside his skin and show him how much.
But not here. Obviously.
They needed to be in his house. Their house.
Their home.
He was right there with her as he stood, tugging on her fingers. “Come on, Jolie. Let’s go home.”
“But what about the benefit?” Not that she was complaining, but still… niceties and all.
“The pictures were sold the minute I unpacked them. My work here is done.”
“Spoken like a true superhero.” Their shared joke earned her another smile, then his eyes went all mossy green velvet.
She knew that look. And this was not the appropriate place. “Yes. Let’s go home.”
His smile reminded her of the one between Mike and Barbara. Between Bella and her husband. That “This is our world and we’re the only two here” smile.
He picked up the painting as he intertwined their fingers.
“Where are you going to put that?” she asked.
“I thought since no one else will be sitting for me, I’d like to keep it in my studio.” He kissed her fingers. “To be inspired. Okay with you?”
“You know,” she said as they headed out the iron gate, dipping beneath shuttered honeysuckle flutes and traipsing through scattered rose petals, “I kind of like that idea.”
“And I kind of like the idea of having a naked woman in my studio.”
Yep, she tripped.
The End
The Beginning
M E M O R A N D U M
TO: Raphael, Archangel
RE: HEA, Case #TBJGB14215642360982019939.A8
As follow-up to reports A1-A7 concerning Charges, Todd Best and Jolie Gardener Best, I have the following updates:
1. Jolie Gardener Best has opened her own pastry shop, Très Jolie Pâtisserie, and continues to write romance novels. She has had fair reception from publishers and will continue onward to publication.
2. Todd and Jolie have four beautiful children—one for each bedroom in their home—and are in the process of adopting three more.
3. Jasmine and Earl Gray have moved in with them after Todd added an east wing to the house. The weekend the Grays went away was a bonanza for everyone: their son, Charles, and his wife are enjoying the set of triplets they added to the four children they already had. Not a spare inch of room for the grandparents, however. So Todd and Jolie forgave their well-intentioned interference and invited them to stay with them. Jolie has the family she’s always wanted.
4. I have put off their questions regarding the book, The Best Man, by saying the publisher, Beatus, Inc., went out of business.
5. Detective Phillips determined the fire that destroyed Jolie’s apartment was indeed an accident. Maurice in 2B, a deaf man, had been making his wife an anniversary dinner and didn’t hear the fire alarm when a stray white cat jumped in the window and knocked a ewer of oil that was sitting on the window ledge into a saucepan, and it kind of… exploded. A dishtowel went up, which then caught the curtains and the rest, well… It actually worked out rather well, despite the missing photographs and personal items. The insurance money came through, with a large fine for the landlord for having too many apartments in a building that wasn’t up to code. A developer took over and built brand-new, affordable, good-sized condos for the residents. There is talk, by the residents, of thanking the mysterious white cat.
6. Speaking of cats, Jolie was upset to find Boots missing, so St. Francis created a replica for them. I think Jolie may be suspicious, but since she thought she was imagining things when I was Boots, the replacement hasn’t raised any untoward questions. No one ever came forward from the Found posters.
7. And, last, but by no means least, my wing buds have begun to itch.
Respectfully submitted,
Jonathan Griff, Guardian
Acknowledgments
If I were to thank everyone who helped with this book, I honestly think the list would be longer than the book itself. This story was part of the American Title Contest (III) run by Romantic Times BookReviews Magazine, and I have to thank everyone who voted for it, as well as Leah Hultenschmidt, who chose it for the contest, and the wonderful Romantic Times staff for the contests and the conventions, especially Jo Carol Jones, Carol Stacy, Faygey Levy, Giselle Hirtenfeld/Goldfeder, Elissa Petruzzi, Stephanie Klose, and Liz French for all the fun over the years.
To the folks at Gather.com for their First Chapters Contests, and everyone who voted there for this story. I’m so glad you finally get the chance to read it in its edited form.
To the Wisdom of Wombats, in particular Beth Hill and Jill Lynn Anderson. Thank you thank you thank you to all of you for your help, your encouragement, and all that wisdom!
As always, to my family. Thank you for being you.
And to Stephanie Julian, convention roomie, eye-roller supreme, and critique partner extraordinaire, who keeps my half full cup from running over when it really shouldn’t. And for not snoring.
And thank YOU for reading Beauty and The Best. I hope you enjoyed it.
About the Author
Judi Fennell has had her nose in a book and her head in some celestial realm all her life, including those early years when her mom would exhort her to “get outside!” instead of watching Bewitched or I Dream of Jeannie on television. So she did—right into Dad’s hammock with her Nancy Drew books.
These days she’s more likely to have her nose in her laptop and her head (and the rest of her) at a favorite writing spot, but she’s still reading either her latest manuscript or friends’ books.
A PRISM Award and Golden Leaf Award winner, Judi is the author of the Mer series: In Over Her Head, Wild Blue Under, and Catch of a Lifetime; the Bottled Magic series: I Dream of Genies, Genie Knows Best, and Magic Gone Wild; and the Once-Upon-A-Time Romance series featuring: Beauty and The Best, If The Shoe Fits, and Fairest of Them All; and, her latest, a contemporary series about 3 sexy brothers who lose a poker bet to their sister and have to pay up by working for her company: Manley Maids, in What A Woman Wants, What A Woman Needs, What A Woman Gets, and What A Woman.
Check out her website at www.JudiFennell.com for excerpts, deleted scenes, reviews, and contests, as well as the chance to discover a whole new world!
Connect online at:
www.JudiFennell.com
www.JudiFennell.wordpress.com
Twitter.com/JudiFennell
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ennell
Read on for a preview of If The Shoe Fits
another Once-Upon-A-Time Romance
If The Shoe Fits
by,
Judi Fennell
Once upon a time…
a long time ago
in a land far, far away,
there lived a girl by the name of Cinderella.
This is not her story.
This is the story of Lucinda Isabella Casteleoni,
who, like her namesake,
has a wicked stepmother, two tacky stepsisters,
and countless hours of hard work to (not) look forward to.
But unlike that fairy tale princess,
Bella’s Prince Charming is nowhere to be found.
Until a little old man with sparkling green eyes
opens a shoe store down the street.
Then the magic begins...
And it begins…
Where was a fairy godmother when she needed one?
Bella Casteleoni gripped the railing on the steps outside the law office. Her stepmother was not going to send her little sister to boarding school if Bella had anything to say about it. Unfortunately however, the language she needed to speak was Cash since a custody battle required lots of it. And while Bella had been saving for one, she hadn’t counted on it happening just yet. But Madeleine’s latest threats had upped the stakes.
That witch had been using Sophia—as well as the family business—as a pawn for years. And now the woman wasn’t just threatening to sell off the family restaurant, but also to send the fourth-grader away merely because, in the six months since Dad’s death, she’d found single parenthood counterproductive to the life she’d become accustomed to since marrying their father.