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

by Autumn Macarthur

  Someone else would need to help with the meal prep, he needed to get off his leg and get away from Tiffany and her sweet concern.

  He’d thought coming here today to help was a better option than sitting alone in his flat, and a way to put off going home to Edinburgh to face his family’s worry for him. What a useless help he’d turned out to be. Some of the residents here probably had it together better than he did.

  In the tiny back room set aside for volunteers, he pulled a foil strip from his back pocket, popped two pills out, and gulped them down. Relief flooded him as he sat on the lounge, lifting his injured left leg onto a low table. It hadn’t bothered him this much for weeks. One step forward, two steps back.

  Closing his eyes and leaning back in the chair, he waited for the medication to kick in.

  If he was a swearing man, he’d be swearing in impatience at how long this leg was taking to heal. If he was a praying man, he’d be praying. But he hadn’t prayed since he’d asked God to save that kid, to keep him alive until help came.

  God hadn’t listened. The boy had gasped his last bubbling breaths and gone limp in his arms, even as he prayed.

  Why had God saved him and let the boy die?

  The memories threatened to break through their barricade again, and he knew that sitting here alone wouldn’t help drive them away. Forcing his tensed fists and jaw to loosen, he pushed himself to his feet again.

  Work was what he needed. Taking photos was the one thing he could do well. One way he could make a difference, feel he had some purpose in living. His pictures hadn’t just brought Nick and Cara together, they’d helped keep employees at the department store Cara worked for from being sacked. Now he could help the shelter, get some publicity and maybe some more funds for their efforts here.

  Unfortunately, the rumours of scandal about Cara and Nick this week had preoccupied the press and stopped any of his shots of Nick handing over that eye-poppingly large cheque being published. Now perhaps he could change that, with a good Christmas Day human interest story.

  Screwing the lens to the front of his camera, he got up and made his way to the common room, nearly smacking into Tiffany. Just as he was about to utter an apology, not just for that but for taking his frustration out on her earlier, she turned without a word, and sashayed off on those crazy heels.

  He blew out a breath, refusing to allow himself to feel bad for irritating her.

  His attention should be on setting up his camera and getting to work, but his eyes were far too willing to focus on her retreat, instead. He forced himself to concentrate. This straight backed chair against the wall, well away from the table, would keep him out of everyone’s way but give him a view of the entire room.

  Many of the residents were already seated, waiting for their festive dinner with all the trimmings. He tried to muster up some sense of compassion for the collection of human flotsam and jetsam around the tables.

  His knuckles rubbed over his unshaven chin. No wonder Tiffany mistook him for a resident. He was only one or two gigs away from homelessness himself. If he didn’t get back to work, and if it wasn’t for the fall-back option of going home to Scotland, a guy like him could end up in just as bad a state as some of the lunch guests.

  None of them had chosen the streets. Stuff happened, and that’s where they’d ended up. There but for the grace of God, and all that.

  The grace of God he didn’t believe in any more.

  He shut off that line of thinking. He was here to work.

  Perfect timing. Nick and Cara supported an elderly woman resident, one on either side, slowly walking her toward the table. Lifting his camera, he snapped a series of shots in quick succession. The press who’d been only too quick to smear the pair on Monday would lap this up.

  The glance they shared over the top of the old lady’s head jolted Mac, even at the distance the camera viewfinder gave him. He sucked a breath through his teeth.

  He’d rarely seen a man’s face wear the look on Nick’s now. Certainly, he’d never felt whatever it was Nick did. Nick looked like he’d been given the greatest gift in the world, and he knew it.

  Mac’s finger kept hitting the shutter, altering the camera angle a little each time. If he could capture that expression, the photo would sell for sure.

  Nick seemed to have that sixth sense for a camera most actors did. Mac kept shooting as Nick looked over and grinned at him. He smiled back. The guy might be an actor, with not a lot more substance than his little sister, but there was something infectious and likeable about him.

  They moved past him.

  Tiffany appeared around the corner, leading a young resident he hadn’t seen before. The dark haired stocky kid was about her age. His glazed eyes and stumbling gait suggested he might have broken the shelter’s strict “no drugs” rule.

  Best mention it to Simon, though no doubt the director’s careful watch over the residents had already noted it.

  But the kid would bear keeping an eye on.

  Tiff bore a concerned mother hen look, incongruous on her young face. Mac sensed that she carefully avoided glancing his direction.

  No matter, he still snapped the shots. Simon gave him approval to photograph whatever he wanted, and that included Tiffany. He suppressed the knowledge that his camera lingered on her a little longer than strictly needed.

  When Nick and Cara walked toward him hand in hand, almost glowing in their happiness, he lowered his camera.

  “I thought you were supposed to have gone home to Edinburgh. But here you are.” Cara smiled, looking like a different woman from the angry and uptight accountant she’d been only a few weeks ago, when he’d started photographing the pair.

  He shook his head. “I said I’d be here, and I keep my word.” His lips twisted in something he hoped looked like a smile. “Besides, there’s nothing interesting to photograph at a Scottish Christmas dinner. We don’t make a big deal of it north of the border. Hogmanay is when we celebrate. I’m giving in to my mother’s pleas and going home next week.”

  No need to mention how reluctantly. They’d beg him not to go back to the war zone, yet he knew he had to.

  If only to make amends for that boy.

  “Hogmanay?” Nick asked.

  “New Year’s Eve. It’s the biggest party of the year for us Scots.”

  Nick grinned. “That’s where Tiff is going next week. She booked some tour package through a website and is wild for an Edinburgh New Year’s.”

  Mac’s gaze found her. She’d seated the kid, who looked seriously on the nod and would probably fall face first into his turkey dinner. Standing between tables, she looked around as if trying to figure out what to do next.

  Give the lass credit, she’d got in and helped. Not quite as decorative or useless as he’d judged her at first glance.

  His eyes lingered, tracing the curve of her cheek, her stubborn little chin, and the transparent expressions flitting across her features. Tiffany had a face the camera would love.

  His hands clenched on the camera.

  He shouldn’t be looking at her like that. He shouldn’t be feeling that jump of anticipation at the thought he might see her during Hogmanay. Thousands of people from round the world flooded into Edinburgh for the night. The odds of them meeting there were virtually non-existent.

  His ceilidh was at his father’s church. Not exactly the type of place a package tour would send her.

  And even if they did meet, what difference would it make? As soon as he was fit, he’d be back to the Middle East. No doubt once her vacation was over, she’d be back to L.A.

  Nick called over to her, “Hey, Tiff, come over here? Remember Mac, who took our photos in the store when you first got here?”

  Her quick grimace told him she wasn’t too thrilled, but she obeyed her brother’s request anyway.

  “Mac, let me introduce you properly to my little sister Tiff, the baby of the family.”

  She threw Nick a glance. Narrowed eyes, pursed lips, a tension in
her arms and shoulders.

  A look that made him smile, despite himself. He’d seen it on his own sister’s face more than once. The ‘Shut up, big brother,’ look.

  There was something appealing about Tiffany he didn’t seem able to stop himself responding to.

  But he had no intention of getting involved with another fragile girl like Gina. And he wouldn’t leave anyone waiting for him, when he went back to the Middle East.

  Getting friendly with a girl like Tiff wasn’t part of his plan. Not at all part of his plan.

  The time to end this unwanted attraction was now.

  Chapter 3

  Tiff stared up at Mac. She hadn’t wanted to come over to speak to him again at all. His dismissive attitude in the kitchen stung. She’d only been trying to help.

  But his expression had changed from an amused half-smile, toying at the corners of his lips, to a scowl that suggested he’d prefer she was anywhere but here.

  She felt the same.

  Complicated, infuriating men like him weren’t something she had too much experience with. She had no idea how to respond to his sudden animosity.

  No doubt, awkwardness made her look like a goldfish, all big round eyes and open mouth. A bright pink goldfish, judging by how hot her cheeks felt.

  Which of course made her feel even more awkward.

  If only she had that typical Californian tanned beach babe blonde colouring, instead of her mother’s English rose fairness. Impossible to hide her blushes.

  And something about Mac had her blushing even worse than usual.

  She searched for something cool and dismissive to say, and her mind blanked.

  “I’m…I’m pleased to meet you again,” she stammered.

  So ridiculous, when they’d just been talking in the kitchen.

  Please Lord, let him play along and not make me feel even more of an idiot.

  That’s what she was.

  An airhead, capable of little more than shopping and putting mascara on nicely. She’d come to London determined to prove herself, but so far, nothing had gone right.

  Something very like a smile crinkled the lines around Mac’s dark eyes. His hand lifted and reached toward her again, held out ready for her to shake.

  “Pleased to meet you again too, Tiffany,” he said. “We had no time to talk at the shoot, it was so rushed. Nick’s told me a lot about you.”

  Thank You Lord that he’s not going to embarrass me any more than I already am.

  At least, I think so.

  His intent measuring gaze was unnerving. Lifting her chin and pasting on a smile, she took his hand.

  Large and warm and firm, it engulfed her smaller one. Again, she felt that shimmer of awareness, of connection. Struggling to control her stampeding pulse, she pulled back her hand.

  The way she reacted to this guy was absurd. It made no sense at all.

  To cover up, she rushed into speech. “Good things, I hope.”

  He was like a magnet. She couldn’t stop herself looking at him. The Christmas carols on the TV, the clatter of crockery, and the sound of guests seating themselves, all faded to nothing as she focused on Mac.

  His smile widened, though again she had the sense of being the butt of his own private joke. “Of course. Big brothers only ever say the most flattering things.”

  Yeah, sure.

  Nick glanced between the two of them, as if he sensed the undercurrents.

  Before her brother could say anything to embarrass her more, she spoke again. “So, you’re a paparazzi?”

  Any trace of amusement disappeared from Mac’s face. The distant scowl was back. His mouth compressed into a straight hard line. “No, I am not. Paps are the lowest of the low. They do nothing but spy on people until they catch them out. The work I do means something more than humiliating someone for a quick buck.”

  She swallowed, wishing she could run and hide. All she’d done was try to make conversation, and she’d made him angry instead. What upset him so much?

  Confused, she looked from him to Cara to Nick. “But, I thought you said he took all the photos of you and Cara for the dare?”

  Cara shook her head. “That doesn’t make him a paparazzi.”

  “Mac only played along with being a paparazzi,” Nick explained. “He took the photos as a favour, and we knew he was taking them. The real paparazzi are like the scumbag who used a telephoto lens to get that picture of us in the apartment that caused so much trouble. Or that guy who got the picture of you in a bikini.”

  “Oh.” She breathed the word out almost like a sigh.

  If it was possible, her cheeks got even hotter. Both over offending Mac, and the reminder of all the nasty media suggestions she should get surgery to help her fill the bikini top. She turned to Mac. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. You’d think that growing up Nick’s sister I’d know the difference.”

  He shook his head and the uncompromising line of his lips softened. “No offence taken.” Again, that near smile lifted his rugged features to something approaching handsome. “I’m stuck here in London for a while, and I needed something to do. Helping a friend of a friend, and making a little cash on the side by selling the pictures to the newspapers suited me fine.”

  “So what do you normally do?”

  Tiff hated asking favours, and his rough-hewn scruffiness didn’t strike her as the fashion photographer type, but you never knew. He might have some contacts who could help her, seeing her own attempts to get a foot in the door with designers had gotten her nowhere.

  “Mac’s a war photographer.” Nick rolled his eyes at her. “You must have seen some of his work, and seen the reports about what happened. But they probably don’t show those type of pictures in the fashion pages, right?”

  His voice held the amused exasperation she was used to getting from her family. No-one seemed to think she had a thought beyond clothes.

  “Leave the lass be,” Mac said. The tone of his voice was equally teasing. She couldn’t tell if he was defending her, or if he too assumed she read the fluffy bits of the news only.

  He raised his eyebrows at Nick. “I’m not famous like the great Nick Gallagher, after all. Nor are most of my photos.”

  Cara smiled and turned to Nick. “Don’t forget, it may not have been reported in America at all. A Brit photographer being injured by a bomb in the Middle East made all the news here, but probably didn’t get the same news coverage in other areas.”

  So that was the cause of his limp and those lines of pain on his face? Tiff eyed Mac with new respect as sympathy for him warmed her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, but Cara hadn’t finished with Nick.

  “Did you know about Mac before you came here?” she asked him.

  Tiff grinned as he reluctantly shook his head. About time someone gave her big brother back as good as he gave out. Cara was just the girl for him.

  “Okay, no, I didn’t.” He shrugged and turned down the corners of his lips, admitting defeat. “But at least I knew his photo. Everyone must have seen it, even you, Tiff. It’s one of the iconic images of the conflict there.”

  She threw Nick a puzzled glance. She had no idea which photo he meant.

  He was right, she did only read the fashion pages. If that made her a fluffy airhead, so be it. The news was too depressing. If she read that section, she’d spend all her time crying and praying for the people involved.

  “That one of the American soldier saving the life of the Arab girl, carrying him out of the burning building.”

  Mac’s hand tightened on his camera and his face stilled, though a muscle twitched in his jaw. His gaze dropped to his feet. It seemed thinking of the photo was painful to him.

  She’d seen it. One of the few feel-good stories to come out of the conflict had been the child rescued, and airlifted out for treatment.

  But if he didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t mention that she knew.

  Something in her wanted to reach out a hand to touch his, clenched s
o hard his knuckles whitened. But she held back. He was virtually a stranger.

  A stranger who affected her in unsettling ways.

  Instead, she smiled and rushed into speech.

  “Thanks for taking the photos for my darling lunk of a brother and to help the store. And it’s great that you’re helping out the shelter now. Which is what we should be doing.” She looked around, wanting an escape route as much to spare him any more upset as for herself. “Come on guys, we need to help Mom with serving lunch, and let Mac do his job.”

  He didn’t smile, just gave a curt nod, but the tension stiffening his fingers looked to loosen a little.

  Grabbing Nick and Cara’s arms, she marched them to the kitchen without glancing back.

  “So what was that all about?” Nick asked once they were out of hearing range of Mac.

  “What was what all about?” she protested, doing her best sweet and innocent expression, though she knew he meant Mac.

  “You two. Something was going on between you. You know as soon as his leg heals enough, he’s straight back to his war photography? It’s dangerous work. He’s civilian, but attached to a British army unit. He goes wherever they go, even into a real battle.”

  Nick wasn’t usually so perceptive, especially about her. Being in love must be doing something to him.

  “And as soon as I get a designer to offer me an internship, I’ll be busy working in fashion design,” she replied, far more airily than she felt. “That’s my main priority.”

  He reached out an arm and hugged her. “I just don’t want to see my little sis get hurt.”

  “I won’t. I’m officially off dating for at least a year. Especially dark, difficult, wounded men like Mac.”

  She prayed that was true.

  Something about the dour Scot touched her in a way she’d never been touched before. A way she wasn’t sure she liked, and didn’t seem able to control.

  Chapter 4

  Mac watched as Tiffany darted past his seat and eyed him from the side. Again she blushed as their eyes met. It was comical how a girl could be so obvious about not being obvious.