“Oh, you noticed he rearranged the fragrance display?” The shelf of mix-your-own perfume scents now sat on the wall between two windows, protected from the damaging heat of the sun by a wide column of bricks. Blown-glass flowers balanced near their namesake bottles. Mira didn’t know if the flowers or perfume would sell out faster, but she anticipated barely being able to keep both in stock.
“No, I noticed you look like you caught up on your sleep. The complete set of luggage that shadowed your eyes for the past few weeks is finally gone.”
Mira bit her cheek to keep from laughing. Definitely a case of quality over quantity. She and Sam had averaged a total of maybe three hours a night of sleep in the past week. They’d been in bed. Well, in the bathtub, shower, on the couch, back to his pastry island to sample two more of his dessert sauces, and then back to bed. At the end of each workday, Sam acted as desperate to get his hands on Mira as if she’d been stationed in Antarctica for eight months, instead of on the other side of the door for eight hours.
Not that she minded. Sam excited her more than any other man she’d been with, and she could not get enough of him. So the immediate, gotta-have-it-now hunger sex happened fast and hot. Once they hadn’t even made it up the stairs to his apartment. Then they’d have dinner. Talk, laugh, catch up on all the little things about each other’s lives they’d missed in the past three decades. It cracked her up to learn that Sam refused to let his father take the training wheels off his bike until his tenth birthday. He made up for the lost time, using a secondhand bike to explore the countryside mile after mile during his time in Europe. She loved picturing the stubborn, scared little boy who’d turned into such a secure, strong man.
Sooner rather than later, Helen would probably figure out Mira and Sam’s relationship had progressed to the sleepover stage. But for now, Mira wanted to play it cool. Otherwise, she’d end up gushing about Sam all day, and the damn spreadsheets would never get straightened out. “I feel much better. Relaxed. Rejuvenated. Like a walking ad for a day at the spa.”
“Glad to hear it. I was worried about you.”
“Thank you. Truly, I appreciate the concern. But I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now. I’m all good.” The words rang so true to her. Her dream job (well, her third try at a dream job) had turned out to be better than she’d hoped. A man she couldn’t in her wildest dreams have hoped for delighted her on a nightly basis. Life was so good for Mira, she had no choice but to worry about when the other shoe would drop. That worry scratched at the back of her subconscious like a pimple lurking just under the surface, about to erupt in all its oozing, painful protuberance.
Helen came around to eye the display case from the front. Also for the fifteenth time. “So when will you trot out Hays to amaze and astound me? I need to give my daughter incentive to come home over her Thanksgiving break. He sounds just delicious enough to be the perfect bribe.”
“Hays wanted to be here this morning, but I ordered him to stay home. Next week will be busy and stressful as we tweak things during the soft opening. He started work here about two seconds after I hired him, without any advance notice. I knew he needed a day to deal with the rest of his life before I lay claim to him twenty-four-seven.”
“Do you plan to take your own advice?”
“When we wrap it up here in a few hours, I have nothing more on my schedule than to go home and soak in a bubble bath. Maybe see if I can prop my eyes open long enough to crack a book.” All true, but only because Sam was off to his regular poker night. Clearly the women needed their answer to poker night. Next time it rolled around, Mira vowed to rally everyone to go out, wear stupidly high heels and sip fruity vodka drinks at a trendy bar. Or possibly just go for sushi. She didn’t want to turn into one of those women who pined for her man. Even though she was doing exactly that, staring blankly through the crystal vase display case.
Annoyed with herself, Mira clicked on the next email. She skimmed it in two seconds, then went back and read it a second time. The third time around, to her utter shock, the two-sentence message still read the same. Funny thing about waiting for the other shoe to drop—she never had to wait very long.
“Helen, did I miss a news report? Did Hell freeze over recently?”
“Oh, you mean the draft creeping under the front door?” Helen walked to the front of the store and ran her hands against the floorboard. “Some good weather stripping should fix it. I can ask Dan to rummage through the basement and find some for us.”
“Probably a good idea.” Mira knew she should make a note on her seemingly endless to-do list. Anything to do with her list always calmed her—reviewing, adding, crossing off items. Instead, she got up and paced the width of the store. Her hands clenched and unclenched around the hem of her faded purple Northwestern sweatshirt.
On the turn, her sneakers squeaked against the hardwood floor. The harsh sound jolted Mira to continue speaking. “But I meant in the actual sense, not just today’s cold spell. Hell freezing over, earth turning backward on its axis. Somebody went back in time, stepped on a fire ant and now everyone has an aardvark for a pet and the Tooth Fairy stars in an action movie series.”
“Not last I checked,” Helen said slowly. “Of course, I don’t get out to the movies much. Dan hates listening to an entire theater of people chewing on popcorn.”
Damn. Any one of those possibilities would’ve been better than the reality sitting on her computer screen. Mira squeak-turned again. “What about that Mayan apocalypse thing? Did it happen already? Is it coming up? That could explain it.”
“Explain what? Oh my goodness, will you sit down and tell me what has you so lathered up?” Helen grabbed her shoulders. After a quick squeeze, she steered Mira back to the stool at the checkout counter.
“This email.” Mira tapped her fingernail against the screen. “It makes no sense. Listen to this: ‘Coming for your store’s grand opening. Can’t wait!’” She tapped her fingers again, rolling into a nervous drumbeat. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Weren’t the RSVPs at fifty yesterday? I’ll go out on a limb and assume that means we’ve got at least fifty-one now.”
“Fifty-two,” Mira corrected with a slow shake of her head. “It’s from my parents.”
“Oh. Oh! How wonderful.”
“No. Unless you mean, how wonderfully crappy.”
“Mira, they’re your parents. They love you.”
“They love the idea of the continuation of the grand tradition of the Parrish name. That’s a direct quote, by the way, from a card they sent me for my high school graduation.”
Helen grabbed her still-drumming fingers with both hands and gave her a look overflowing with sympathy. “Some people aren’t great at showing their feelings. It doesn’t mean they don’t have them. So your parents aren’t huggers. And yes, it hurts when they never call, and forget to email. It doesn’t diminish the fact that they’re proud of you. How could they not be full to bursting with such an amazing daughter?”
“I used to ask myself that on a daily basis.” Mira knew she sounded as bitter as the peel on a grapefruit. The kindness in Helen’s brown eyes only made her yearn all the more for parents who’d treat her like family, and not like a piece of stock to be framed and handed down. She pulled her hands away.
“You’ve got to give them a chance to make up for all the times they let you down in the past.”
“No. That can’t be the reason why they’re coming. There has to be a reason that involves the Parrishes. Some way they profit from this visit.” Mira twisted the store key chain around her finger like a ring. And it hit her. “It’s because of my birthday. Their lawyer probably reminded them I’ll turn thirty in less than a year. God knows I’m nowhere close to becoming a millionaire. What if they’re bringing a prospective husband for me?”
“Then our guest list goes to fifty-three, and I
consider ordering another case of champagne. Mira, stop panicking. I know you told me about that ridiculous caveat in your family trust, but times have changed. No one is going to shove a husband down your throat. This isn’t medieval Europe.”
Shoving back the stool, Mira paced again, this time going the length of the store instead of across. It meant dodging a few display cases, but being able to take long strides worked off more of her tension. “How did they even find out? I didn’t tell them. I thought we were only getting local coverage with the papers. Even if we got a bump in recognition because of Ivy’s appearance on Planning for Love, the news wouldn’t be big enough to catch their attention overseas.”
“I did it.”
“Did what?”
Helen stepped directly into her path. “I emailed your parents an invitation to the grand opening.”
Her brain couldn’t begin to process the logistics of such a thing, let alone the ramifications. “How? Most of the time, I’m not even sure what time zone my parents are in, let alone which continent.”
“You don’t fly that far under the radar. Knowing your last name, it didn’t take very long for me to match you with Edgewater Aggregate. I sent the invitation to your parents via the main company email. I suppose an accommodating flunky somewhere along the line passed it on to them.”
She’d never thought of that. Of course, Mira rarely felt the urge to contact her parents. Anymore, that is. Years of unanswered letters, calls and emails had finally impressed the message they didn’t want to touch base with their only daughter into her psyche, like thermal embossing on the finest invitations. “But, why? Why did you do it? Why breach my privacy?”
“You need them.”
“Hardly.” Mira needed a tetanus booster. She also needed the entire city of Chicago to ignore the snarky story the paper did on her and still come check out the store. She needed to figure out how to keep from falling head over heels for the strong, silent and smokin’-hot boy next door. What she didn’t need popping back into her life were two people who cared more for money and status than for their own flesh and blood.
Helen cleared her throat. “Mira, I’m serious.”
“So am I. You think this is a coincidence? That out of the blue, less than a year before I’m supposed to finally prove my worth as a member of this family, they decide to come visit my store? To judge me? And undoubtedly to find both it and me lacking?”
“If they do, then they would be the ones who are lacking. Perhaps I overstepped. It’s always been easier for me to act first and ask forgiveness later.”
Surprise and confusion vied for first place in her emotional horse race, but anger tinged with betrayal was coming neck and neck around the turn. Whether as an employee or a friend, Helen had one hundred percent overstepped. No perhaps about it. “You interfered in my private life.”
“Absolutely true. But I didn’t lie, or manipulate. What I did was care for you.” Helen laid a cautious hand on Mira’s forearm. “Mira, you’re a sponge, so thirsty for love and acceptance, and yet completely unaware. This store will be a hit. I feel it in my bones. You’ve poured yourself into it, heart and soul. But no matter how many people walk through this door, no matter how many thousands of dollars they drop during our first week, it won’t be enough for you. Not unless you get the validation from your parents that you so richly deserve.”
Fat chance. “I don’t need anything from them.”
“Okay, you don’t need it.” Helen punctuated the sentence with an exasperated groan. “You’ve got a solid titanium spine, more energy than a quasar, and if you were a man, I’d say you had brass cojones, too. But you want their validation. You want them to notice what an amazing woman you are. So instead of you swallowing your pride and reaching out, I did it for you. Consider it my grand opening present. If it backfires, I’ll owe you big-time. I just want you to be happy. I want your parents to see the remarkable woman that I’ve gotten to know and admire. The one who’s not only following her own dream, but helping me to live mine.”
All the other emotions dropped out of the race, because gratitude surged into the lead. Tears tingled at the corners of her eyes. “Damn it. I told Sam I’d try not to cry so much. Since I moved to Chicago I’ve turned into a regular tear spigot.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re finally comfortable enough here, with all of us, to let down those rigid emotional walls. After everything you’ve told me about your family, I understand why you erected emotional battlements. But you’ve made a new family here. We’ve already crossed the drawbridge and stormed your heart.”
Laughter dried up the tears. “Wow. I didn’t think you’d stick with the medieval Europe reference. When you pick a theme, you really grind it into the ground.”
Helen drew her into a long, tight hug. “I’m told a person has to hear something three times before it sinks in—or maybe it’s nine times. Either way, you’re rather stubborn. I figured the repetition couldn’t hurt.”
“There’s no guarantee they’ll show.”
“Then we’ll get to finish off their champagne ourselves.”
“Good point.”
* * *
Sam ran his hands over the car’s pale gray leather seats, softer than double-cream Brie. A guy with basic tastes, he didn’t care about season tickets to the Bears, or designer sunglasses. He would, however, give his left nut to own a car this sweet. “How many paychecks did this set you back, Gib?”
“Doesn’t matter. This beauty has paid for herself twice over with all the females she attracts.” Gib slammed the door of the sporty silver convertible. “Hope you don’t mind if the top’s down. I can’t bear to put it up until the first snow.”
“That’s how we roll here in Chicago. Turn up the tunes and let’s cruise.” Sam rolled a drum riff against the dashboard with his palms.
Gib shot him a look before fiddling with the radio. “So says RapMaster Lyons. What’s with the hip-hop ’tude?”
“Dunno. Good mood, I guess. It is poker night, so I plan to give most of your money a new home in my back pocket.”
“You hold on to the optimistic spirit. It’ll get you through the blinding depression that’ll set in right about midnight. When I upgrade your crumpled cash into their new, luxury digs of my Burberry trousers.”
Trash talk was sometimes the best part of poker night. Team sports, like soccer and baseball, demanded good sportsmanship. Poker demanded that you psych the other players out using any underhanded, devious, ass-hattery that came to mind. Sam couldn’t think of a better way to blow off tension. Well, aside from the mind-blowing sex he and Mira racked up every night. “I’ll bet you twenty dollars I come out ahead of you tonight.”
“I’ll take that action.”
“Hey, guys. What action? I want in.” Ben used one hand on the side of the car to boost himself into the backseat.
“Too late, all around.” Gib gunned the engine and jetted into traffic. “Why are you late, Westcott? Doesn’t Ivy understand that poker night is sacred? She didn’t use her considerable feminine wiles to try to lure you into staying home, did she?”
“Hey, that’s my future wife,” Ben protested. “Try to notice her wiles a little less, okay?”
“No promises. That’s like asking Monet not to admire a hay stack.”
“Or asking Picasso not to turn and stare at a Cyclops woman with three boobs,” Sam added.
Ben leaned between the front seats, yelling to be heard over the wind noise. “To answer your question, Gib, I was wrapping up work. You know, that thing Sam and I do for a paycheck, and you use as a way to pick up women?”
“It’s called multitasking.” Gib nipped across two lanes of traffic with barely a glance in his mirrors. Every time Sam rode with him, the fear that Gib would revert to his British roots, driving on the left side of the road, kept him white-knuckling the
edges of his seat. “I consider the women who stream through the Cavendish Grand to be a buffet which continually refreshes itself.”
Sam shook his head. “One of these days, you’re going to meet a woman who objects to being lumped into the generic mass of legs and breasts who check in and out of your bed faster than you can change the sheets. You won’t have any clue how to handle her.”
“Just because you’ve fallen ass over teakettle for your new neighbor doesn’t mean you have to pair up the rest of the world. With my stellar good looks—”
Ben and Sam both groaned. It didn’t slow Gib down for a second. “—and charming, almost-royal accent, I couldn’t turn women away if I tried. They sneak in my office. They leave their panties hanging from my doorknob. It’s a burden I’m forced to shoulder, and I try to do it with aplomb.”
Sam refused to spend the rest of the night dealing with Gib in this mood. “Jesus, but you’re on a high and mighty throne tonight. What shot helium up your ass?”
“If I tell you now, you won’t be surprised when the January issue of Windy City Magazine hits your mailbox. With none other than the Right Honorable Viscount Gibson Moore on the cover.”
“What?” Ben fell back onto the seat. “You mean I should’ve been bowing and scraping in front of you all these months? You’re a freaking member of the British peerage?”
Great. Gib only trotted out his title to be particularly insufferable. Sam knew the next three months until the magazine came out would be endless if he didn’t stick a pin in Gib’s triple-inflated ego immediately. “He doesn’t do tea with the queen. He doesn’t have a castle. In fact, he rarely springs for so much as dinner. Don’t think the title makes him special.”
A Fine Romance Page 21