by Cathie Linz
“I know,” Anastasia murmured, laughter and appreciation evident in her voice. “I just didn’t think I’d see you so fired up about an old ice-cream parlor fixture.”
“As long as you don’t get used to it,” he grumbled.
6
AS LONG AS YOU don’t get used to it. David’s words immediately echoed in Anastasia’s head with stunning emphasis. The problem was that she was getting used to it—used to having him around, used to teasing him, used to kissing him. This feeling was starting to go far beyond merely teaching him how to dream and have fun. What was she getting herself into here?
“Are you okay?” David asked Anastasia as she suddenly stopped in her tracks. “You look funny.”
“I’m fine,” she lied, fanning her face with her hand and willing her inner panic away. “It’s warm in here though. I think I’ll head back outside into the fresh air and maybe get a cold lemonade to cool me off.”
Looking at David as she spoke was a mistake and only heated her up again. He was wearing jeans and the same denim shirt he’d had on the first time she’d met him. Now, as then, his shirt sleeves were rolled up, displaying his tanned arms. The amount of physical labor he’d been doing in the storefront’s restoration showed just a bit in the delineated muscles of his forearms, but it took a keen eye to notice it.
Anastasia had that keen eye where he was concerned, and that worried her. All along, the idea had been to teach David how to loosen up, to show him how to have fun, how to dream. And while their trip to Ravinia hadn’t gone the way she’d planned, David was showing signs of lightening up. He didn’t complain as much about how foolish Claire had been to buy the building, how many businesses failed in their first year, and that sort of thing.
And he certainly didn’t kiss like a guy who was a stick-in-the-mud, that’s for sure!
“You do look flushed, dear,” Claire noted, looking concerned. “I hope you’re not coming down with something.”
“I hope so, too,” she muttered. She’d better not be coming down with David-infatuation, because as great as the guy kissed, he still didn’t accept or trust her a hundred percent.
“Do you feel faint?” David asked, putting his arm around her waist as if fearing she might melt on the spot.
His nearness only made her feel hotter. “I just need lemonade.”
“Not ice cream?” he teasingly asked.
“It wouldn’t be as good as Claire’s,” Anastasia replied. “She’s spoiled me.”
“She’s good at that.”
Anastasia’s eyes met his in what was intended to be a brief glance but what blossomed into something much deeper. She found herself becoming fascinated by the darkening hues in his eyes. The irises weren’t simply one shade of blue, but a reflection of many hues. His gaze was equally complex, revealing first humor then awareness followed by…could that be…hunger?
Anastasia had no idea how long they stood there staring at each other like lovesick fools before the sound of Claire’s voice brought them back to planet Earth. She prayed it was only a second or two, not the ten minutes it felt like.
“Oh, look,” Claire exclaimed. “There’s that nice Mr. Rozenkrantz. Maybe he’d like to join us for some lemonade.”
“Who’s Mr. Rozenkrantz?” David demanded as his grandmother took off after the man, down the aisle toward the open area outside the building.
“He owns the antique store next door to our building,” Anastasia replied, feeling more on solid ground now that they were in the fresh air. “Surely you’ve noticed it? The Den of Antiquity?”
“No, I never noticed it. What’s my grandmother doing?”
“Well, this is just a wild guess here,” Anastasia replied, her voice mocking, “but it looks like she’s talking to Mr. Rozenkrantz.”
“She’s doing more than just talking. Look at her batting her eyelashes. She’s…she’s flirting with him!” He sounded scandalized.
Anastasia couldn’t help herself. She laughed.
David was not amused. “What’s so funny?”
“You are.” She couldn’t elaborate further because Claire rejoined them, with a beaming Mr. Rozenkrantz in tow. “Ira, I’d like you to meet my grandson, David. And this is my good friend Anastasia.”
“Anastasia I know from her trips into my shop. How is that handwoven rug working out?” Ira asked in his booming voice.
“It fits the room perfectly,” Anastasia said.
“David.” Smiling, Ira stuck out his beefy hand to grab David’s and shake it vigorously. “It’s good to meet you. Your grandmother here is always singing your praises.”
“When did she do that?”
“When she stops by my store for tea in the afternoons.”
David’s displeasure increased. “And how long has this been going on?”
Anastasia quickly stepped in. “Oh, look,” she exclaimed. “There’s a camel saddle in that booth over there. I’ve wanted one for ages. David—” she clamped her hand around his arm “—come with me so you can haggle for the best price on it” She dragged him with her until they were well out of earshot of his grandmother and her male friend.
“What on earth would you need a camel saddle for?” David demanded.
“I don’t, although they make nice hassocks for your feet. I just said that to save you from making a fool of yourself.”
“Me?” The concept seemed to amaze him.
Eyeing him in exasperation, she said, “You sounded like an angry guardian in a Jane Austen novel.” Mimicking his glower, she imitated his tone of voice. “And how long has this been going on?” Resuming her normal voice, she said, “Come on. Your grandmother is an adult. She can have tea with a friend if she wants to.”
He glared at her as realization struck. “You’ve been promoting this, haven’t you?”
“Her friendship with Ira? Sure, Why not?”
“Because she’s my grandmother, that’s why.”
“And that prevents her from having a private life?”
“She’s in her seventies.”
“So is Ira,” Anastasia said. “So what?”
Keeping his eagle gaze fixed on Ira, he said, “What’s his angle?”
David was starting to really aggravate her now. “What makes you think he’s got an angle?”
“Everybody’s got an angle,” he said.
“Then what’s your angle?”
“I’m just trying to protect my grandmother.”
“From what?”
“From getting hurt. From being taken advantage of.”
“The way you thought I was taking advantage of her?”
“I’m not sure you’re a good influence on her.”
“And you are?”
He seemed stunned by the question. “Of course I am. I only want what’s best for her.”
“As long as it’s what you think is best.” She felt as if they were back at square one, with David as dense as ever. “If you had your way, she’d never have gotten the chance to realize her dream.”
“At the risk of her financial security,” he retorted.
Anastasia refused to let that accusation lie. “Do you really think so little of your grandmother? She’s a smart cookie. She did her homework. She knows what she’s doing.”
“And what she’s doing is flirting with that antiques guy. Look at him, he’s putting his hand on her shoulder.”
“The Lothario!” she cried with feigned outrage.
“It’s not funny,” David protested.
“Sure it is.”
“Only because you have a warped sense of humor.”
“It’s better than having no sense of humor at all,” she said, tossing him a superior grin.
“I’m not going to argue with you about this,” he growled in frustration.
“That’s right, you’re not. But only because it takes two to argue and I have no intention of getting into that kind of discussion with you.”
“What kind of discussion?”
“The kind you’d lose.” With a toss of her head, she marched back to Claire and Ira, leaving David stewing.
She couldn’t believe how childish he was being about Claire’s friendship with Ira. And how distrustful. All his bad traits were coming to the forefront again. After she’d had such hope that he’d been improving, the old David returned.
“SO, IRA, how long have you been in business?” David asked him as he joined them in line for lemonade. “What?” he added as both Anastasia and his grandmother glared at him.
“At least wait until the man is sitting down and sipping his lemonade before you give him the third degree,” Anastasia replied. To Ira, she added, “David is an arson investigator. It’s his nature to be nosy and suspicious. Don’t take it personally.”
“I won’t,” Ira assured her, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement. His white hair might be thinning, but he was still a charmer. “And I’ve been in business for two years, David.”
“That’s not very long. Have you always been in the antique business?”
“No, I’ve tried my hand at a lot of things.”
“I’ll bet you have,” David muttered.
With a steely look of reprimand in David’s direction, Claire briskly changed the subject. “I just bought the most beautiful mirrored back bar, Ira, with Tiffany-style lamps at either end and a lovely arched mirror in the center. I can already picture how perfectly at home my tulip-edged parfait glasses will look on the shelves. It’s a real gem.”
“So are you,” Ira murmured gallantly.
“Ever been married, Ira?” David asked with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.
“Several times,” Ira admitted.
Great. So the guy was a womanizer. David had known that there was something fishy about him. And that slippery answer about trying his hand at a lot of things was also suspicious.
“Maybe you should just fingerprint Ira now and get it over with,” Anastasia suggested.
David glared at her. Was she blind? Couldn’t she see that this Ira was trouble? “I was just making conversation.”
“Right” Her expression was one of disbelief.
David quickly realized that he wouldn’t be able to get any additional information out of Ira while Claire and Anastasia were on his case. So he bided his time, keeping quiet as Ira and Claire talked about vintage ice-cream scoops and a million other things. He pretended not to be paying attention, but when he later overheard Ira making arrangements to take Claire to dinner that night, David knew what he had to do.
ANASTASIA CHECKED her appearance in the mirror for the fifth time in as many minutes. She looked pretty good. The dress, a vintage design from the 1940s, had a black net top combined with a satin bodice and skirt. She’d found it in a thrift store and hadn’t been able to believe her luck. She always felt like Lauren Bacall when she wore it.
Her vivid red lipstick matched the forties mood. Ditto for the jet earrings and bracelet she’d picked up at the flea market that afternoon, after she and David had left Claire with Ira for a few hours.
When David had asked her out to dinner, Anastasia had been tempted to refuse because he’d been such a pill about Ira. But then he’d looked at her so apologetically, oozing sex appeal and remorse, in what turned out to be an irresistible combination for her. She’d caved in like a sand castle hit with a wave.
He arrived at her door precisely on time. In his hand was a single red rose, which he gave her along with a stunning smile. “You look gorgeous,” he said appreciatively. “I thought we’d walk to the restaurant since the weather is so great It isn’t far,” he added, eyeing her high-heeled shoes.
“These may look good, but first and foremost they’re comfortable,” Anastasia told him, having belatedly regained her breath. He was wearing a dark suit and a blue-black shirt with a matching tie. The dark colors did wonders for his Black Irish looks. “Walking sounds fine by me.”
They walked hand in hand the three blocks to the restaurant he’d chosen. Anastasia knew Rosa’s well, it had the best Italian food in the neighborhood. Had David known it was one of her favorite places? She got all warm and fuzzy inside thinking about it, that he’d taken the time to make this evening special, from the rose he’d brought to his selection of the restaurant It wasn’t until they were inside Rosa’s that she came down to earth with a bump.
One look at Ira and Claire enjoying a romantic dinner for two was all it took for her to understand what was really going on. Furious, she said, “You low-down sneak! I’m not staying here and be a partner to your spy mission.”
But it was too late. Claire and Ira had already spotted them. “Hey, you two,” Ira boomed. “Come on over and join us.”
Anastasia shook her head. “We can’t—”
“Believe our luck in bumping into you here,” David interrupted her. “What a coincidence.”
“What a farce,” Anastasia muttered. She would have walked out, but she didn’t want to upset Claire. She was also determined to protect her friend from her devious grandson. So she stayed. But she was mad, very mad.
A waiter brought two more chairs and place settings to the table. Once they had their menus, David said, “So, what do you recommend?”
“Counseling,” Anastasia said tartly.
“I don’t see it on the menu,” David retorted with a warning look.
“Did you two have a fight?” Claire asked, concern marring her expression.
“Not yet,” Anastasia replied. “But any minute now…”
Claire frowned at David. “What did you do?”
“Me?” His dark eyebrows rose. “What makes you think it’s anything I did?”
“Because she knows you,” Anastasia said.
Claire patted David’s hand. “Yes, dear, I do know you.” Anastasia thought she saw a slight grimace cross his face. “Now behave yourself.”
Anastasia grinned. Claire, bless her soul, had put David in his place. But being the big galoot that he was, she doubted that he’d take the reprimand to heart for very long. But at least for now Anastasia could enjoy her meal knowing that things had not gone David’s way.
“WHAT’S CLAIRE DOING dating?” Hattie was perched on one of the white ceiling fans adorning Rosa’s and she was frowning. “I thought her job was to be a matchmaker for Anastasia and David. That should be her focus. I don’t get to date.” Hattie’s frown became a pout. “Why does she?”
“Because she’s human and you’re not.”
“Sure.” Hattie sniffed. “Rub it in.”
“Oh, get over it.” Muriel tossed a crouton at her. The only reason she missed was because Hattie ducked at the last moment.
Straightening her apricot-adorned hat, Hattie checked her reflection in the mirrored compact she’d recently installed at the tip of her magic wand, then said, “I’m just saying that things were going very well between Anastasia and David at the flea market until this Ira fellow showed up and Claire started flirting with him. Now David’s distracted by his concern for his grandmother, and Anastasia wants to slug him.”
Muriel shrugged. “So we reached a little speed bump in life’s superhighway.”
Betty shook her head at her sister’s phrase and gave her a reprimanding look. “You’ve been surfing the Internet again, haven’t you? I’ve warned you about visiting those chat rooms.”
“I only use it for research. About human behavior and all that,” Muriel said defensively.
“Ahem.” Hattie loudly cleared her throat. “If we could return to the-matter at hand here, namely Anastasia and David. What are we going to do about this?”
“If I were you, I’d get off that ceiling fan,” Betty said.
Hattie’s expression was haughty. “Why should I?”
“Because someone just turned it on,” Betty replied.
An instant later, Hattie was thrown from the fan clear across the room to land in a heap behind the bar, next to a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Now her hat covered most of her face and the hem of her dress w
as up around her waist, displaying her colorful bloomers. The force of her landing had dislodged the open bottle of imported sparkling water the bartender had been drinking, tipping it over so that it dripped off the ledge above Hattie onto her upturned face, soaking it.
“First rule of fairy godmothering,” Muriel recited. “Never let them see you sweat.”
“OKAY,” David said as he accompanied Anastasia back to her apartment. “So I admit that it wasn’t fair of me to include you in my plans to check up on my grandmother—”
Anastasia, who’d been marching ten steps ahead of him, turned on a dime and came back to glare at him with fire in her golden eyes. “I’ll tell you what isn’t fair. That you…ugh!” She threw her hands up in the air. “I’m too angry to even speak to you right now.”
“So I guess this means I won’t be getting a goodnight kiss when we get back to your apartment, huh?” he asked wryly.
“David, David.” Instead of getting angrier with him as he expected, she shook her head at him. “How little you know me.”
Uh-oh. David wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.
“Not only will you not be getting a kiss like this…” Tugging him close, she planted a fiery kiss on him right there in the middle of the sidewalk. “But you’ll also miss this, as well.” With her second kiss, she melted against him with such passion that he immediately reached out to embrace her, but she was already gone. She flounced the few yards to their building, after which he could hear the front door slam with enough vehemence to make him wince.
He was in his apartment, nursing his second beer when there was a knock at his door. Thinking it might be Anastasia, he opened the door with some degree of caution and anticipation.
“You look like you were expecting someone else,” Claire noted.
“Sorry, Gran. Come on in. I suppose you’re here to read me the riot act,” he said, sinking back onto the big soft leather couch that was the only piece of furniture, aside from a state-of-the-art home-entertainment unit, in the living room.
“Of course not, dear.” Sitting beside him, she patted his hand before reaching for a can of beer and popping it open like a pro.