Moon Over Miami: A Romantic Comedy

by Jane Graves

  "Wait a minute. Did you say you're hosting Bible study?"

  "We pass it around. It's my turn."

  "Exactly where do you intend to do this?"

  "Our apartment."

  "So a bunch of people I don't know will be sitting around our living room reading the Bible?"

  "Come on, Liz! It's just one night, and Kevin is worth it. As soon as you see him you'll know why I'm obsessing. He's so gorgeous. Blond hair. Blue eyes. The cutest smile you ever—" She stopped short, looking over Liz's shoulder. "Holy crap. Is that Mark?"

  Liz's heart jolted. "Mark?"

  "Mark. You know. The guy you wouldn't shut up about earlier? The guy you took shopping? The guy who looks wonderful now?"

  Liz refused even to turn around and subject herself to that blonde. "Uh, yeah," she said, nodding over her shoulder. "He's here. Down at the end of the bar."

  Sherri stared for a moment, then turned back to Liz. "That's the same guy? The one who wouldn't get up off the barstool last week to go talk to the Shark Woman?"

  "Yeah."

  "Wow." Sherri blinked, then blinked again. "You weren't kidding. He looks great."

  Liz was silent.

  "So what's with the blonde?"

  Liz shrugged, then grabbed a drink order and started pouring a couple of vodka tonics, telling herself she was not going to turn around to monitor the situation. But Sherri's expression as she watched them said it all.

  "She's really coming on to him, isn't she?"

  Liz slapped the drinks onto a tray. "Watch the bar for a minute, will you?"

  She grabbed her purse, ducked under the bar, and headed for the ladies' room.

  "Wait a minute!" Sherri called after her. "So is it okay with you for me to use our apartment for Bible study? Because if it's not—"

  "Fine. Study the Bible. Study Kevin. Study whatever you want to, wherever you want to. I don't care."

  Liz continued down the hall, then shoved the door open and went to the sink. She felt a swell of irritation, or anger, or something she couldn't exactly identify, but it was driving her nuts just the same.

  A few moments later, the bathroom door swung open and Sherri came in. "Liz? What's the matter?"

  "Who's watching the bar?"

  "Allison. Are you mad about something?"

  "No. I'm not mad about anything."

  For lack of anything better to do in front of the bathroom mirror, Liz pulled a hair elastic and a brush from her purse.

  "That sleazy little blonde," Liz said, raking the brush through her hair. "She was practically sitting in Mark's lap!"

  "Yeah. I saw."

  "I swear, Sherri, she might as well have 'Wanna to go bed?' tattooed across her forehead. I can't believe Mark is even talking to her. I'll bet there's not a single inch of her that hasn't been chemically, mechanically or surgically altered."

  Liz took a few more swipes at her hair, then pulled it up into a ponytail, managing to yank her own hair so hard she winced.

  "Liz? Are you...jealous?

  Liz froze for a moment, then tucked her ponytail into a knot at the crown of her head and pinned it securely. "Of course not!"

  "Yes, you are. You're jealous!"

  Liz jammed her brush back into her purse. "I am not jealous!"

  She squeezed her eyes closed, then put her hand to her forehead, hating the feeling of all those mixed emotions scurrying around inside her head.

  "Oh, all right!" She zipped her purse shut and plunked it down on the counter, trying to get a grip on herself and failing miserably. "It was the weirdest thing. On Saturday it was as if there was this really nice guy there, and then all the sudden there was this really nice, handsome guy. But it wasn't just his looks. It was everything about him. We had such a good time together, and...and now I don't know what to do about it."

  "Do you think he likes you?"

  "Sure, he likes me. But anything more--I don't know. I'm hardly the kind of woman he's looking for."

  "That blonde is no competition. She's a walking, talking stereotype. If he's halfway smart, he'll see right through her. In fact, I'll bet he's looking for an excuse to get away from her right now. Why don't you go give him one?"

  Liz felt that stupid fluttery thing in her stomach again, and she wondered if it would ever go away. This was exactly what she'd told herself she wasn't going to do, and here she was doing it.

  "I'll be out in a minute," Liz said. "Will you go check on Allison? She thinks Johnny Walker is a country western singer."

  "Sure."

  Sherri left the bathroom, and Liz turned back to the mirror. She dug in her purse and put on a little lipstick, wondering if Mark really did want that blonde to go away. After all, he certainly was a smart man, and smart men didn't like brainless bimbos. Then again, that blonde was offering her body, not her brain. What difference did it make whether or not she could answer the questions on Jeopardy?

  She left the bathroom and walked back down the hall. When she came around the corner and glanced to the other end of the bar, she felt like cheering. The blonde was nowhere to be seen. Mark was alone.

  She breathed a huge sigh of relief and ducked under the bar. As she came up behind it, Mark turned. He met her gaze. She stopped and stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. He never took his eyes off her. It was as if he'd been waiting for that blonde to leave and for her to return. Then he gave her a brilliant, welcoming smile.

  She smiled back, and all at once it was like she'd seen so many times in the movies, where a man's and a woman's eyes meet across a crowded room. Everything else around them fades into the background, and at that moment they're the only two people left on earth. All at once Liz had that musical comedy kind of feeling--the one that told her roses were blooming, birds were singing, life was full of a thousand possibilities and dreams really did come true. Something was happening between them. She just knew it.

  I can't believe it. That Jamaican woman was right. By the time the full moon comes—

  Then she saw Gwen Adams walking toward the bar.

  For a moment, Liz held out hope that Gwen had simply been taking a roundabout route to the bathroom and had gotten lost. But to Liz's dismay, the Paragon of Perfection slid onto the barstool beside Mark. She touched his sleeve to get his attention, and when he turned she smiled at him as only the impeccably gorgeous women of the world can do, with flawless lips and perfect teeth and eyes that made her whole face sparkle. Liz wouldn't have thought that arrogant face of Gwen's could express actual warmth, but that was sure what it looked like.

  Then Liz shifted her gaze to Mark. He stared at Gwen with an expression of dumb disbelief, which slowly melted into a smile of utter delight.

  At that moment, Liz wanted to die.

  7

  For the next thirty minutes, Liz watched Mark and Gwen out of the corner of her eye. She waited on other customers and filled drink orders, still trying to make some sense of the adoring expression she saw on Gwen's face when she gazed at Mark. Worse, though, was that Mark was gazing at her with equal adoration.

  Well. So much for singing birds and blooming roses and all that other nonsense. How dumb and deluded had that been? As euphoric as she'd felt before, that was how depressed she felt now. What had ever made her think there could be something between her and Mark, even for a minute?

  "Oh my God," Sherri whispered, coming up beside Liz, giving Gwen and Mark a sidelong glance. "What's going on there?"

  "I don't know."

  "It's the Shark Woman. Talking to Mark."

  Liz was silent.

  "If you want him, go after him."

  "I can't do that."

  "Why not?"

  "Because he wants her," Liz said with a dejected sigh. "He's wanted her since the first night he walked in here."

  "They sure do seem chummy, don't they? Wow. It's amazing what a change of wardrobe will do."

  That had to be it. It was the only thing about Mark that had changed since the night he'd helped Gwen with h
er tire. To Liz's surprise, that crinkly, constipated look Gwen wore most of the time had given way to an actual bit of animation in her expression, and her body language--her casual shifting toward Mark, the way she touched his sleeve every once in a while, and the way she tossed her head back to laugh softly at something he said that must have been amusing--were all hallmarks of someone who was highly interested. And Mark was returning her attention, giving that wonderful smile of his to a woman Liz didn't even know but was absolutely sure she hated.

  Sherri leaned closer to Liz and dropped her voice. "Want me to dump a drink in her lap?"

  Liz liked the sound of that, but what would it accomplish? When it got right down to it, she knew who Mark wanted, and it wasn't her.

  She tried to concentrate on her job and not look toward the end of the bar, but after twenty minutes her eye muscles were worn out from trying to look sideways. Then she saw Gwen rise from the barstool and give Mark one last smile, dragging her fingertip over his shoulder as she walked away. Mark turned on his barstool in sync with Gwen's departure, moving around one hundred and eighty degrees so he could watch her leave.

  When he came back around, Liz turned away quickly so he wouldn't see her staring.

  "Hey, Liz!"

  Liz froze, trying to ignore him.

  "Liz! Come here!"

  Finally she turned around and walked to the end of the bar. Mark leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “Get this. I have a date with Gwen!"

  When Liz heard the undercurrent of excitement in his voice, her heart fell to her toes.

  "I can't believe it. She came up and started talking to me, thanking me for changing her tire the other night. Before I knew it, we were talking about going to dinner together."

  "That's great."

  "It has to be the clothes, Liz. I look different. I feel different. She was so easy to talk to this time, as if I'd known her forever."

  Liz mustered up a smile, wishing she could be genuinely glad that he was getting what he wanted. But she wasn't. No matter how sweet Gwen was being tonight, she was a barracuda at heart. Anyone could see that. Anyone, it seemed, but Mark.

  "There's still a problem, though," Mark said.

  Liz's heart leaped. "Oh? What's that?"

  "It's where she wants to go to dinner. Rosario's."

  Liz couldn't believe it. That was one of the most expensive, exclusive restaurants in Miami, and Gwen had suggested it?

  "Wow. I hear it's pretty expensive."

  "I can deal with that part. I mean, I'll choke, but I'll deal with it. You've convinced me that I'm going to have to get used to spending money."

  Me and my big mouth.

  "The problem is that I've never been to a restaurant like that before. If I walk in there cold with Gwen, I'm bound to screw something up."

  "So go someplace else."

  "She suggested it."

  "Don't you think that's a little presumptuous?"

  "No. She probably eats there a lot. Maybe it's her favorite restaurant. It's kind of like you suggesting Gino's."

  Liz cringed at that comparison. She was beer and a pizza. Gwen was crystal, silver and six-course meals. And it was pretty clear which one he preferred. It made her feel not just in second place, but out of the running altogether.

  "You'll be fine, Mark. It's just a restaurant. How different could it really be?"

  "I don't know, but I don't want to take any chances. If I'm going to screw something up, I don't want to do it in front of Gwen. I'm going there before our date to check it out."

  "I guess that couldn't hurt."

  "I want you to come with me."

  Liz looked at him with astonishment. "What for? I don't know any more about fancy restaurants than you do."

  "Because it's not the kind of place you can go by yourself."

  The irony was just too much for Liz to bear. She was going to be nothing more than a warm-up act. His practice date. And then the real woman he wanted would step in and take over.

  "I'll call for reservations. Gwen's going to be out of town until Friday, so I have a little time to play with."

  "Mark--"

  He reached out and took her hand, enveloping it in both of his. The initial shock she felt at his touch was displaced by her sudden awareness of how warm and strong his hands were. A shiver raced up her arm, then took a sharp left turn and headed straight for her heart.

  "I shouldn't be asking you to help me when you've helped me so much already. But it's so important that I impress Gwen."

  "I don't get it. If you have to work so darned hard to impress her, is she really worth it?"

  "Yes."

  He answered so unequivocally that Liz was taken aback.

  "She's the woman I need, Liz. I know this makes no sense to you, but I have to make this work, and I have to do it now."

  Mark's intensity when he spoke about Gwen was even greater now than the first night he'd come to Simon's. How was she supposed to fight that?

  She'd said once that she'd never be interested in a man who would want a woman like Gwen. No matter how down to earth Mark seemed, it was clear now that they'd never be compatible if he was still that intent on having her. Finding that out now beat obsessing over him for weeks only to discover the hard way--after she'd fallen hard for him--that he really wasn't the man for her. Besides, this was a good lesson for the future. Once she got her psychology degree, was she going to get all emotionally involved and fall for every person she tried to help?

  She still wanted to say no. But Mark was looking at her with such a hopeful expression, and with the feel of her hand still tucked inside his, she just couldn't make the word come out.

  "Okay," she said. "Just tell me when you want to go."

  Mark grinned. He patted her hand, then released it. "Great. I'll get a reservation sometime in the next couple of days, and then try for a Saturday night reservation for me and Gwen."

  At that moment, Liz made a decision. Chasing after a man who was so clearly interested in another woman was pitiful, so she was not going to look at Mark as if he were anything but a friend. She was not going to wish their "date" were the real thing. She was not going to pray that Gwen would contract a weird tropical disease that turned her face purple and made all her hair fall out.

  No. She was going to do what she'd promised Mark in the beginning. She was going to do everything in her power to get him a shot at his dream woman.

  And that would be that.

  * * *

  Three days later, Mark drove down Bayshore Drive, the main thoroughfare that ran through Coconut Grove, heading to Liz's apartment to pick her up for their practice date. It didn't surprise him that Liz lived in Coconut Grove. It was an artsy, bohemian suburb of Miami on the shore of Biscayne Bay. Lots of history. Lots oddball shops and restaurants. Lots of weird people.

  In other words, Liz fit right in.

  He left Bayshore Drive and took the byzantine route Google Maps insisted on. Just when he thought it was going to take him straight into the ocean, he pulled up in front of the address Liz had given him.

  This couldn't be right.

  It was a standard issue four-story apartment building, boxy and beige, with sliding glass doors leading to balconies. The balconies were surrounded by iron railings that were also painted beige. The landscaping was sharp and precise, the trees neatly trimmed. Nothing stood out. Nothing said "Coconut Grove." Nothing screamed Liz! Would she actually live anywhere so incredibly plain?

  He double-checked the address. Yep, this was the place.

  He parked his car and went inside, where he was hit by another attack of ordinary in the form of plain tile floors and a cluster of mailboxes. He walked up the black rubber-covered stairs to the second floor, found Liz's apartment and rapped on the door. A moment later it swung open to reveal a woman who wasn't Liz.

  "Hey, Mark," she said with a smile. "Come in. Liz will be ready in a minute."

  Mark stepped inside.

  "I'm Sherri. We've met at Sim
on's. Liz and I are roommates."

  "Oh, yeah," Mark said. "I remember."

  "Have a seat.

  Mark turned around, and what he saw practically knocked him off his feet. Suddenly the mystery of where Liz was letting out her inner craziness was solved.

  Nothing matched. Nothing even came close. A huge, overstuffed sofa sat against one wall, its big red flowers clashing like crazy with the lime green velvet chair along an adjacent wall. The end table and coffee table probably hadn't been made in the same century. A piece of furniture Mark couldn't identify sat along the far wall, so much of its paint coming off that it looked as if it had a skin disease. And photos were everywhere--amateur shots of people who couldn't possibly all have been relatives--in a weird assortment of frames that lined the walls, the tables, and every shelf of a bookcase next to the window.

  "I can see you're stunned," Sherri said.

  "Uh…"

  "That's how I felt the first time I saw it. This is all Liz's stuff. I moved in with her. It takes some getting used to, but now it actually feels pretty cozy."

  "Hi, Mark."

  Mark spun around, and he discovered that the visual effect of Liz's living room was nothing compared to the visual effect of Liz.

  A strapless electric-green sheath of clingy fabric hugged her body, staying in place by some unseen force Mark couldn't fathom. It shimmered with every breath she took, clinging to her breasts like Saran wrap, breasts he was pretty sure weren't laboring within the confines of a bra. His gaze followed the path of the dress as it slithered south, outlining her waist and hips, then covering maybe six inches or so of her thighs. On the average woman, a dress that short would have definitely revealed too much, but the average woman didn't have Liz's magnificent legs. In his unbiased opinion, the more the world saw of those, the better. And her hair. For the first time since he'd known her, she'd taken it down and let it fall free over her shoulders--a mass of wavy auburn tresses that shone like copper pennies. Add a wrist full of silver bracelets and big silver hoop earrings, and she was positively dazzling.