But Mr Unattached did not do serious, period.
Mr Unattached did not commit.
Mr Unattached, skated on the surface of life, sliding away when things got tough, never going deep.
Mr Unattached. Another way of saying Mr Superficial.
Micki had been right. That was who he was.
Everything had come easy to him. Easy fame, easy career, easy faith. He’d never been tested.
Until now. Until Cara challenged him to step out of that role and find out if he could be more.
All his life he’d compared himself to his father. A lightweight like him just didn’t measure up to the faith and sureness of calling his dad lived daily. Cara had been hurt badly. She needed a stronger man, a man she could rely on.
He didn’t know if he could be that man. And he wouldn't mess her around by offering anything less.
All he could offer were the dates, from now to Christmas, and what he could do to help the store.
Nothing more.
Even so, he hoped she’d enjoy the special treat he’d arranged for her tonight.
Recognising the soft tread of her flat boots on the concrete floor, he turned. After a week, he should be getting used to that slam to his solar plexus every time he saw her, but it still caught him by surprise.
She almost danced down the hall towards him, the happiest he’d seen her.
“Sorry I’m late. The extra publicity is working. Sales are so good, we’ve almost emptied the warehouse. I’ve been on the phone all day negotiating extra stock and express deliveries. And did you see Maggie’s latest window? It’s wonderful.”
Her smile, glowing like a hundred candles, lit something inside of him too.
“She’s done a great job. So have you. You’re both stars.”
“No, you’re the star. We’re just the workers.” She grinned. “The jobs should be safe, that’s the main thing.” Her hands raised in front of her chest, in a gesture that was half victory punch, half prayer. “I don’t know how it’s happened so fast, but the store looks to be headed out of the red.”
He smiled. The change in her attitude showed how heavy the fear of laying off workers had weighed on her.
“So, what paparazzi bait are we offering tonight?”
“You’ll find out soon.” He glanced at his watch. “We need to hurry. The cab is outside. I’ve arranged for Mac to meet us out front. It’s easier for him to take the photos here tonight, his injured leg is playing up. And I thought it was worth getting the store in some shots, too.”
Before stepping into the waiting black cab, they smiled and joked for the camera while Mac snapped a dozen photos.
Fifteen minutes later, the cab dropped them outside The Church of St Martin in the Fields.
“A concert?” she guessed, pointing at the sign. “That's not in the song either. Two nights in a row. You’re getting slack, Gallagher.”
He shook his head, reaching into his coat pocket and fanning some tickets. “There's a concert later, if you want to go to it, but that's not the reason we’re here. It’s no platinum mine, but we’re going underground, and I hope what’s there will be valuable to you.”
He grinned, feeling particularly proud of himself as he led her downstairs to the Café in the Crypt.
Square stone pillars, decorated with evergreen swags, supported an arched brick ceiling. Heavy flagstones lined the floor. The place buzzed with people, yet held an atmosphere of age and holiness.
“I like it,” Cara said, looking around with an approving smile.
He shepherded her to an empty table at the front, bearing a reserved sign. “You sit here, I'll go get a drink and something for us to eat. The main event starts soon.”
When he returned, the surrounding tables had filled. Reserving the table had been wise.
Cara smiled up at him as he set the tray of tea and sandwiches down.
“Maxwell Creighton.” She pressed her hands together gleefully, and pointed to the poster taped to one of the pillars. “You remembered my favourite illustrator. Is this another six degrees of separation? Do you know someone who knows him?”
He shook his head. “This time, I actually bought tickets.”
“Well, thank you. Thank you so much.” She looked the happiest he’d seen her.
“That it makes you happy is enough thanks.”
A corny cliche, but he meant it. Seeing her simple delight in his surprise felt even better than he’d expected.
He wanted to put himself out for her, do things for her, in a way he normally wouldn’t.
Good thing that after tomorrow they didn’t have any dates for a few days, and he’d be busy with his family and the social events his agent insisted on.
Because he wanted to see her smile, too much for his peace of mind.
Who knew what he’d do next to see that smile light up her face?
Chapter 14
Nick’s thoughtfulness amazed Cara.
He’d gone to so much trouble. Remembering the illustrator she’d mentioned in passing. Bringing her here tonight, to a wonderful place she’d never been. Even choosing the herbal tea she preferred over coffee in the evening.
He’d noticed what she liked. He’d done all this, not for the store, but for her.
She smiled across the small table at him.
The lights dimmed, the announcer came on to introduce the guest speaker. Maxwell Creighton had inspired her old dream of illustrating children’s books, and for the next forty minutes she sat entranced by the lecture.
Though not quite so entranced she wasn’t totally aware of Nick sitting beside her. Of his quiet breathing, of every time he shifted slightly in his chair. An awareness of him that made her want to reach out and touch him, just so they were connected.
She didn’t reach out, though she longed to. Yes, Nick was kind and thoughtful. He was also going home to the States right after Christmas.
Her feelings for him were way stronger than they ought to be, without fuelling the fire by touching him.
At the end of the talk Maxwell announced that he’d sign books.
She sighed at that. “I wish I had my old copies with me to get signed. When we lost everything else, I managed to save a few of my books, at least. They were too old and well-read for the bailiffs to see them as worth taking.”
Forcing her thoughts to stay in the moment, she fought off remembering that terrible time.
Nick made a good distraction.
With a smile, he reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a flat package, wrapped in brown paper. “I came prepared.”
Cara’s breath caught as she guessed what it might be and slowly unwrapped the parcel. Her guess was right. Two of Maxwell's books, the ones she’d loved the most. Beautifully illustrated retellings of Bible stories.
Something fluttered in her chest. She’d never been given a gift so personal, that meant so much to her.
“First editions,” she breathed in awe, looking up at Nick.
His smiling gaze was intent on her face, watching her reaction to his gift.
“Thank you, Nick. Thank you so much. I’m not even going to try to complain about you spending too much.”
He grinned. “I’m glad I got it right.”
“You did.” Cara reverently turned the pages.
Joy filled her, the simple child-like joy she’d felt in the old days. Like maybe God really did care for her. Like good things could happen. Like life was a blessing, not a dutiful drudgery.
When she glanced at Nick again, a contrast struck her. Dad had given her things too, but he would've needed constant thanks for a far smaller gift than this.
She suddenly realised that Dad hadn't given all the gifts and the outings to make her happy. He'd given them to buy her love and show off his wealth to those who watched. It was all to feel good about himself. The few times she hadn’t enthused about places he'd taken her, he'd sulked for days.
Nick had taken the time to plan something personal and special, just
for her.
Without thinking, she jumped up and hugged him. For giving her a gift with real meaning. For not being anything like Dad. For being the man he was, truly generous.
Nick hugged her back. His strong arms and the pressure of his hard chest flooded her with warmth. Sensations she couldn’t give a name to rushed through her, washing away rational thought.
Not quite all rational thought.
Hugging Nick was the last thing she should be doing.
When he moved his hand up to gently cup her cheek, she pulled back hastily, not daring to look at him. Her face burned as she grabbed the books from the table.
“I better get in the queue,” she mumbled, and hurried off.
Why on earth had she hugged him?
She'd simply have to pretend it never happened. Nick wanted to keep things light and fun, but the way she felt for him wasn’t light at all.
After Maxwell signed the books, she returned to Nick with her face carefully schooled into a smile.
His gorgeous grin welcoming her back was no different to always.
Probably the hug that affected her so much hadn’t affected him at all.
“Cara–”
Before he could say more, she interrupted. “Nick, that was wonderful. Such a thrill to meet him again. I was only ten when I went to his book signing before. Thank you so much.” She almost babbled in her attempt to hide her feelings. “Shall we go upstairs to the concert?”
Her defences had deserted her, leaving her bewildered and confused.
She sat through Handel's Messiah. If not for the hug, she'd be swept away by the superb performance, the candlelit baroque church, the wonder and the beauty of it all.
But they could be in a lift listening to Muzak for the pleasure it gave her now.
Her awareness focused on Nick, warm and solid beside her in the wooden pew.
She peeked at him. He turned his head, and their gaze connected. What she saw made her breathless. Warmth. Appreciation. Joy in the moment.
As the Hallelujah Chorus swelled around them, she knew.
She loved Nick.
Her feelings for him were a precious Christmas gift she didn’t want to refuse, but knew she must.
Loving Nick would surely lead to heartbreak. Much as Nick seemed to be enjoying himself on the dates, he was on his way back to L.A. Nothing serious, no matter how much he seemed to care. This was just a diversion, some Christmas fun for him. She mustn’t take his kindness personally.
Once Christmas was over, Nick would be gone.
~~+~~
Nick waited outside Pettett and Mayfield's for Cara the next day. He glanced at his watch. Nearly one. They needed to get going, and soon, so he could be back for his two p.m. Santa stint.
If Cara wasn't down in a few minutes, he'd have to go in and drag her away from her desk. He suspected she'd be awkward and prickly again, after last night.
He hadn't missed her reaction to the hug. Or to him carefully backing off after that charged moment when their eyes met during the concert. By the time he’d put her into a cab home, she’d been quiet and withdrawn.
But better that than hurt when he went back to L.A. The dare was supposed to be fun, not serious. He hadn't intended either of them to get their feelings involved. They needed to cool things down.
Thank the Lord, his family arrived today. Entertaining his sisters would keep him busy for the next few days.
He wouldn't start something with Cara unless he knew it would last. And how could he know that? He’d never had a lasting relationship.
Cara deserved forever, and he had no idea if he was capable of committing past the end of next week. Certainly, he hadn’t with anyone else.
Micki had labelled him Mr Superficial with good reason.
When Cara rushed down the stairs, muttering breathless apologies for being late, her don't-touch-me mask was firmly in place. Hair back in the tight bun, coat buttoned to her neck. Soft pretty Cara had vanished, locked behind her defensive walls.
He didn’t want to admit to himself what a heart sink it was to see her closed and guarded again.
“Sorry for the rush,” he said. “I'm off to the airport as soon as I finish my Santa session today, so this is the only chance we’ll get.”
“We could have left whatever this is. I don’t want to mess with your plans.”
“You won't mess with anything.” He smiled, though her abrupt tone didn’t give much to smile about. “It's the next part of the song, and it’s within walking distance. We'll be there in five minutes.”
He led the way down to Brook Street, and across Grosvenor Square, stopping in front of the 9/11 memorial, across the small park from the US Embassy. A brief flash of sunlight in the otherwise grey day lit the inscription carved into the simple wooden structure.
“Grief is the price we pay for love,” Cara read. She pressed her lips together, shook her head, and added, “Too high a price.”
Her eyes glittered, suspiciously bright.
Compassion for her hurt welled up in him, like an ache in his chest. He took her cold hand. Forget his good intentions to avoid touching her. He couldn't see her hurting without reaching out.
Surprisingly, she didn't pull away, though her hand stayed stiff in his as they walked the next hundred yards. She didn’t glance his direction.
He checked the door number of the mansion block against the address he’d been given. This was it. Letting go of Cara's hand, he unlocked the ornate front door, and took her to the top floor in the lift.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded in the hallway, before opening the apartment door.
Nothing could ever happen between them, but he still wanted to spoil her, and this treat topped all the others.
“Two steps forward, but don't open your eyes yet.”
Cara stepped forward obediently, eyes closed though her eyelids twitched. He guessed she longed to either peek or growl at him for playing stupid games.
“Okay, open your eyes.”
Nick hoped she'd be impressed.
She looked around silently.
“We’re up to the duplex in the song. This is a friend's investment property. Someone cancelled their rental. They lose their money, he doesn't have anyone else to put in here, so it's yours until Boxing Day.”
Cara slowly turned in a full circle, eyes wide. “It's beautiful.”
It was.
The high ceilinged period apartment looked like a modernised Victorian Christmas story. A fire laid in the grate, waiting for a match to bring it to life. A tree in the corner, glowing with tiny lights. Huge windows, giving glimpses of the Winter Wonderland wheel they’d ridden on. A big squishy couch in front of the fireplace, ready for lounging.
An image flashed into his mind, of sitting there with Cara, relaxing. His arm around her as they talked and laughed.
Dangerous thoughts….
Far safer to show her the rest of the apartment.
The entertainment centre, loaded with music and films, tucked away behind panelled folding doors. The kitchen fridge and freezer, full of ready prepared food and drink.
He kept well away from the bedroom, and the en suite with the deep whirlpool bath, just pointing at the closed door and edging nearer the exit.
“So, remind me when the next date is?” Cara asked.
“Not till Sunday. We’ll meet then for the next items on the list. You get some Nick-free time, and Mrs Pettett can’t say an unkind word about it. “
He wasn’t sure whether to hope she was disappointed to know she wouldn’t be seeing him, or to hope she wasn’t.
A puzzled frown creased her brow, and she shook her head. “Nick, why have you done this? There aren’t any photographers here, and obviously it’s the last place you’d want them, making it look like something was going on that shouldn’t.”
He grinned. “It’s the dare, of course.”
She rolled her eyes at his flippant reply.
He told her the truth. “My original dare,
not the Mrs P version. The version for you. I don’t like the thought of you commuting in this weather, and now you won’t need to. You deserve some luxury, don’t you?”
The look on her face suggested that was the last thing she believed.
“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want,” he added. “No pressure.”
She took a sighing breath in and let it go. “No, I’ll stay. It’s lovely. Thank you.” She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll get Maggie up here to look, this would make a great window display. I can imagine the Christmas stockings hanging off that fireplace, flames in the grate, the candles lit.”
The scene she described set off more of those dangerous thoughts. The two of them together in front of the open fire. Candles lit, two stockings pinned to the mantelpiece, dancing flames reflecting off the gold wedding ring on her finger. Cuddled close on the couch, knowing that later they’d open the bedroom door….
Suddenly, he wanted them out of here, back on the street again. The room seemed to have shrunk around them.
Apart from a brief elevator ride, this was the first time he’d truly been alone with her, no-one else around, and it wasn’t wise. His feelings were way more involved than they should be.
Help me here, Lord.
He swallowed, and rushed into speech.
“So, Sunday. Next on the list is cheques.”
Cara nodded.
“I’ll write cheques to any charities you want. I have another outing planned for Sunday afternoon, a jeans and sweater one. Can I meet you here about one? I’ll bring my chequebook.”
“I’ll be ready.”
She pinned on a smile, but something in her voice sounded little girl lost. As if she’d miss him until then.
All the more reason he should stay away, especially with his thoughts running riot the way they were. He’d planned to ask her to come to church with him on Sunday morning, but maybe it was better not to.
He told himself he’d made the right choice. But her face and voice haunted him while he laughed and joked and signed photos that afternoon at the store.
Cara’s compassion when she’d helped the old man. Her child-like laughter on the rides at the Winter Wonderland. The pure joy on her face when he’d given her the books. The way she’d looked up at him during The Messiah, lips slightly parted, wonder on her face.
Love In Store Books 1-3: Collection of three sweet and clean Christian romances with a London setting: The Wedding List, Believe in Me, & A Model Bride Page 27