by Jayne, Kris
“My dad always wanted to get a classic car from the ‘50s. For a while, I thought about getting him a model or something. I know nothing about those old cars.”
“That was a Chevrolet Bel Air.”
She grinned. “You know about old American cars?”
“I went through a phase where I was obsessed with mid-century design. There’s something alluring about the industrialism of those old, heavy machines. There’s an artist who paints classic cars, showing off their angles and shiny chrome. God, I can’t remember his name. I adore those old cars. That was a fascinating time. Things were more traditional then.”
“I didn’t peg you as a traditionalist.”
“I am. In my own way, I suppose.”
She took his arm and stepped to the curb, looking both ways. “We need to cross the street.”
They hustled across to the ice cream shop, which consisted of a small stand and a smattering of picnic tables outside. Strains of Latin guitar grew louder on the street corner. The musician launched into a soft, melodious song in Spanish.
“This music is beautiful. We should dance.” Adam stroked her hand and patted it. As the music rose on the night air, Alexa found herself gently rocking to the melody.
“Okay.”
Adam pulled her into his body. Holding one hand up and wrapping his other arm around her waist, they began to move together. At first, Alexa stepped right when Adam guided her left, but after a couple of missteps, they glided together on the bare dirt between the haphazardly arranged tables.
The rhythm picked up, and so did their feet. Adam released her waist and sent her twirling around, arms in the air. Alexa’s bubble of laughter mixed with the twangs of the music as she whirled. A few fast strums of the guitar, and the song was over.
Adam drew her back to him. He tucked his chin on top of her shoulder, and his laughter warmed her neck. Alexa grabbed his hands and took a step back.
“Another!” Adam called to the guitarist, and the man struck up another song, faster this time, throwing the couple into more of a cha cha. Her hips moved instinctively in response to the beat and Adam’s motion.
The small crowd enjoying their ice cream began clapping. The lightness of Alexa’s feet shocked even her as did Adam’s ability to keep up as the pace increased. Back and forth, their bodies mirrored each other in perfect synchrony until the music halted.
Adam panted. “That was amazing. We have to make a date to go dancing. All night next time.”
“I don’t know if there’s a place to dance all night, but I’m sure I could find something.”
“We still need to order our ice cream. Tell me what’s best.”
“I like Mexican Vanilla with M&Ms. Let’s see what they have.”
Alexa led Adam to the line and, when they got up front, surveyed their options. She put in her order and then advised him. “Lemon custard is tremendous. It depends on what you like. Chocolate or vanilla. Nuts. Candy. She’s known for the Mexican Vanilla. You can get that and mix in some extras.”
“Mexican Vanilla and Snickers.”
Graham’s perfect food. Alexa crumpled up the thought and threw it away.
The young, dreadlocked woman behind the counter took Adam’s money and started making their order. In profile, Adam’s shining grin was shadowed, but Alexa leaned into the pull of its exuberance. She was having a good time.
He grabbed their cups of ice cream and motioned with his chin toward the tables.
“Lead the way.”
* * *
“Alexa. You have another delivery up at the front.”
“Can you bring it back, Holly? I’m in the middle of something.”
Alexa looked up as Holly rapped on her office door, which stood slightly ajar.
“These are gorgeous. Are the apology roses going to work?”
Alexa waved her receptionist into the room and gestured for her to set the crystal vase on the cabinet in front of the window. The dozen crimson roses spiked with baby’s breath could only be from Adam.
“Thanks, Holly, but I’m pretty sure these aren’t from Graham.”
“No?” Holly gave her a sly smile.
“No. Dollars to donuts, they’re from Adam—the guy I met in London.”
“The one who was in town for the festival? I thought you and he were just friends.”
“I guess.” Alexa rubbed the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut to forestall a growing headache. Holly leaned over the floral display, inhaled, and then shook her head.
“Two guys are after you. Don’t look so depressed.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s drama. I hate it.”
“What’s the drama? Graham pulls that stunt, and I told you all the things I’ve heard women in the gym saying about him. Tell him to go pound sand and heat things up with flower boy.”
Alexa poked absently at the floral offering, so Holly searched through the stems herself. She plucked a tiny note from the forked card holder and handed it to her boss. “Open it.”
Alexa popped open the envelope with Holly hovering.
“Do you want to tell me what it says or am I being nosy?”
“‘If ever any beauty I did see, which I desired, and got, ‘twas but a dream of thee.’ It’s not signed.” Her cheeks tingled with heat.
“It sounds British-y.” Holly’s tone turned speculative. “Kind of bold not to put his name.”
The line sounded familiar, but Alexa couldn’t place it. She rotated in her chair and opened her laptop. A second later, she had her answer.
“It’s a John Donne poem. ‘The Good Morrow.’ And, yeah, John Donne is British.”
“Romantic and literate.” Holly counted the traits on her fingers. “And you said Adam was handsome, right?”
“He is all of those things.”
Holly threw her hand to her hip. “You have zero problems.”
Alexa stared at the card. “We went to dinner the other night and then walked up Congress to Amy’s for ice cream. I had a good time. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
She dropped the card onto her desk and rubbed the back of her neck.
Holly slid the note closer so she could read it. “The same thing that’s wrong with all of us. We’re jaded. We’re tired. We’re suspicious. Men disappoint us. But this guy sounds like a peach, and at least you know he hasn’t slept with half of Austin. With all his running around, Graham might need a penicillin dip.”
Alexa frowned. “True.”
“Guys like that are good for a while, but when they show their colors, you move on.”
“I am moving on. That’s not even the decision.”
“Bring Adam by the gym or out to happy hour. I’ll meet him and grill him and tell you what I think.”
A stuttering laugh escaped Alexa’s lips. She could always count on her friends to come through for her. “Okay. Maybe.”
“No maybe. I, at least, want to set eyes on him. You can tell a lot just by looking a guy in the eye.”
Yes, you could. From the moment Alexa met Adam, he’d put his focus entirely on her. He had that way about him of being totally present. His gaze and his intentions never wavered. At this point, Alexa should admire him for his consistency alone.
“Alright. Alright. We’ll see.”
“I better get back to the front.” Holly looked at her watch. “Get excited. I can’t tell you the last time a guy sent me flowers. Maybe I need to go find a foreigner to get a guy with romantic instincts.”
“Hey, American men aren’t so bad.”
“Aren’t they?” Holly tossed over her shoulder as she started back down the hallway.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You work out at Starlight Fitness.”
Graham looked up from his computer at the stellar, auburn-haired woman tapping him on the arm. He’d brought his car into the dealership for an oil change and a car wash, taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi in the posh waiting area to get work done.
Her hair spill
ed over her shoulders is sexy, red waves, which she flipped back while surveying him with interest. She looked familiar.
“Yes. I do.”
“I thought I’d seen you there. Shauna March.”
She extended her hot-pink manicure toward him, and Graham shook her hand.
“Graham Ryan.”
“I love that place. The owner, Alexa, she’s my personal trainer. She’s killer.”
“I’ll bet. She’s takes her training seriously for herself, so I imagine she’s the same with her clients.”
“Oh, you’ve met her?”
“Yes. My company bought her building, so I’ve worked with her.”
“You’re in real estate.”
“I am.”
“So am I. Residential real estate. Let me give you my card.”
The sleek, black business card bearing Shauna’s smiling face was in his hand so fast Graham wondered if she didn’t keep them hidden up her sleeve like a magician. He recognized the realty group as one a friend of his started about ten years ago.
“I know the woman who owns your company. Nadine Dominguez. She’s married to an old college friend of mine.”
“Nadine and Carlos? Oh, my God. Aren’t they the best?”
She slapped him on the knee and lowered her lashes. The invitation in her eyes roused his interest. Why not? No sense in crying over spilt milk when another woman presented him with a fresh pitcher for the taking.
“They are. I’ve known them for years. Nadine found me the house I’m in now.”
“Really? Where?”
“Westlake Highlands.”
“Nice. There are some beautiful properties over there. I’m looking at one myself. Maybe we’ll be neighbors.”
“Maybe.” Graham warmed her with his smile, and she flushed. He drew his hands over his knees and sat forward, leaning toward her. “How long have you been waiting for your car?”
“About half an hour. They said it would be forty-five minutes.”
“Me too. We should be done about the same time.” He made a show of checking his watch. “My work day is winding down. Would you be up for a drink? I know a great sushi place less than a mile from here, Yukimura. If you like sushi.”
“I looove sushi.”
Her grin accentuated the deep rouge swept over her high cheekbones. As he examined her face, Graham finally remembered seeing Shauna at the gym without the warpaint.
He much preferred the bare look—including the sports bra she often wore without a shirt. Other than noting her outfit, he hadn’t paid much attention to her at the time. Watching out for the gym’s owner consumed most of his focus.
Graham shot his new target the most charming smile in his arsenal and held up the small plastic disk given to him by the service manager. “Great. Now we’re just in a race to see whose buzzer goes off first.”
She laughed, and minutes later, their buzzers when off within seconds of one another.
“See you there.” Shauna fanned her lashes at him with a smile that Graham found cloying.
He shook off his aversion. Get back in the saddle and ride.
* * *
Shauna laughed at virtually everything Graham said. While he liked to believe he had a good sense of humor, no one was that funny.
He reminded himself to be grateful for the congenial dinner companion and flicked his eyes every once in a while to the sequined V-neck of her silk blouse. Nice. He could do this. He had done this. Many times. He loved doing this.
The internal pep talk meant he lost track of what Shauna was saying until her voice rose and then stopped. Was that a question? The last thing he remembered, they were debating love at first sight, which she insisted was real. She launched into her own dating experiences, and Graham let her talk.
“It’s hard to say.” He stroked his chin and dropped his head as if thinking. The bright green line of her green apple martini had dipped low in the glass. “Did you need another drink? I’d hate for you to be thirsty.”
“Yes, but don’t think you’re getting out of answering the question. Everyone has had that one ex who got away, and you regret it. I want to hear your story.”
He didn’t feel like telling it. Up until recently, he would have argued that he never regretted the end of any relationship. Now, he wasn’t sure if his liaison with Alexa counted as a relationship, but he had a sense of loss that nagged at him. Did that count?
Even if it did, he wouldn’t be telling Shauna about it. Instead of answering, he flagged down the waitress and ordered her another frilly martini and himself another Japanese single-malt whisky.
“Talk.” Shauna zeroed in on him.
“Maybe it’s too sensitive a topic,” he replied, half telling the truth.
“That’s sweet.”
“My personal pain is sweet?”
“That you have someone that you’ve loved. That’s sweet—maybe bittersweet.”
“There was a woman once. We started up, had a fight, and it ended quickly. Not much to talk about, but it stung a little. I moved on.”
“Such a man. Onto the next. Maybe you just haven’t met the right woman yet.”
“Maybe.”
“You should do something about that.” Her lips parted, and her cleavage seemed to swell toward him. The visual took his mind down another rabbit hole.
“Graham Ryan.”
The bark of his name came from his left side—angry, female, and unrecognizable. He swiveled and found the pinched face and blazing eyes of…God, what was her name?
He met the olive-skinned brunette right after New Year’s and spent the night at her apartment. The diamond stud in her nose kickstarted his memory. Ruby. He joked that she should have a ruby in her nose instead of a diamond. She, like Shauna, had thought he was funny.
She didn’t look amused now. After their night together, he pleaded an early start to work the next morning and bugged out of her place at midnight. She texted to invite him to dinner the next night.
Ruby ran a cookie delivery business—fresh hot cookies delivered within the hour all over the city. Ruby’s Goodies. They were tasty. Her cookies, that is.
The rest of her wasn’t so bad, either, but once he satisfied his sweet tooth, he hadn’t had a craving for more. So, he’d ghosted her.
“I wasn’t sure if you were still alive.”
Ruby’s eyes, dark like tarnished silver, fixed on him as she ground to a halt about two feet from him. She gripped her martini glass, sloshing its contents down her arm. The spiked olive rolled side to side.
“I’ve been consumed with work, Ruby. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you about dinner.”
“I’m sure.” She glared at Shauna. “This doesn’t look like work.”
“It’s not. I’m on a date.”
“You’re not so busy that you can find some new piece of ass to screw. Watch out, sweetie, this guy wouldn’t know a good woman if she bit him in the ass. But, hey, maybe you’re not a good woman. Maybe that’s what he likes. Fire-crotched whores.”
“Hey, you don’t know me! He and I just met—” Shauna started to press forward with her defense, but he raised a hand and stopped her.
He lowered his voice and spoke evenly. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you, but that’s not a reason to cause a scene. You think you’re making a fool of me, but you’re only making a fool of yourself.”
“A scene? This is a scene.”
Ruby cursed in a language he didn’t recognize. Graham’s eyes flashed wide before reflex yanked them shut. The speared olive and a bath of mixed liquor washed over his head. After a wave of gasps, giggles, and foot shuffling, someone—probably the manager—insisted that Ruby leave.
Graham fumbled around the table for a napkin until one was thrust into his hand. He brought it to his eyes, trying to sweep away as much liquid as possible. Eventually, he could open them and see the amused and horrified faces in the bar of the restaurant where they sat.
“I take it that wasn’t the o
ne who got away,” Shauna said.
“No.” Graham wiped his face again with the small section of the napkin that was still dry then drew a hand through his hair. “We went out once. Only once. I wasn’t interested in anything more, and I guess she objects.”
He forced a small smile and waited.
“She sounds like a lunatic.”
“Maybe so. That came out of nowhere. Did she get some on you?”
“Some. It spilled before she dumped it over your head.”
Graham balled up the wet napkin and flung it on the table. “I’m…God, sorry doesn’t cover it.”
He counted the number of times a woman had thrown a drink in his face. Four. Now, five.
Jonah used to say he was a magnet for crazies. Of course, he dated some women who were—as his grandfather would put it—crazier than a football bat. But he’d also hurt some of them.
He prided himself on being honest. He never led women to think he was interested in anything more than the here and now and figured that was fair warning. Their expectations were on them.
Still, as he shook off the remnants of the latest incident, he was tired—the fights, the confrontations, the bitterness in their eyes. And him, picking an olive out of his hair.
Shauna looked on with sympathy. “Some women are needy and delusional. But then, some men are pigs.”
“I’m not a pig,” Graham asserted as much for himself as for Shauna. “I’m sorry for the drama.”
“Not your fault. Let’s close out and go somewhere else. We can hit the reset button over some more cocktails.”
“Tempting, but I think I’m going to go home and put on some dry clothes.” And think. “But I’ll call you tomorrow. We can go to dinner this weekend. Have you been to Pulse?”
The trendy eatery had just opened on the east side of town. It had a two-month wait for weekend reservations, but he happened to know the owner. Maybe a posh, quiet dinner could sweep tonight out of Shauna’s memory banks—and his.
“No. That’s sounds nice. Another time, then.”