by Sue Gibson
"Everything all right? You look a little flushed" Actually she looked gorgeous. Her cheeks were pink and glowing. The offshore breeze lifted strands of her shiny black hair and twirled them prettily around her face.
"Too warm. That's all. No other reason," she prattled, twisting her wrist to check her watch. "Oops. It's later than I realized."
"It's nine fifteen. That's early even in Buttermilk Falls." Was she ticked off about something?
"Are you kidding? Bet you ten dollars that when you drive me home, every living room light on Lilac Lane will be out."
Now that's the Delaney I know. Funny, outspoken, lighthearted. "You're on"
He reached to shake her slim left hand, hanging on to it a bit longer than sealing the deal required.
She shot him a wary look, extracted her hand, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Look, Trey. I think I should clear up something right now."
Her voice didn't sound lighthearted anymore. What, did she have a mysterious boyfriend lurking in the bushes? He didn't think so. Not according to the ladies at the Bluebird Cafe anyway.
His casual comment regarding Delaney's auction sale and an offer of a round of coffee had loosened the blue-haired gals' tongues to the point that he'd come away feeling he'd broken the rules of fair play.
Delaney hated gossip, he'd figured. It was probably one of the reasons she wanted to jump from her fishbowl into the big sea.
"Okay. Shoot. What do we need to talk about?" He stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the terra-cotta wall.
She cleared her throat. "First, thanks again for the job. It's perfect for me, and I promise you won't regret giving me this opportunity."
He knew that already. "Go on"
"But this," she said, waving a finger back and forth between them, "you and I...... Her face reddened and she cleared her throat again. "Look. I'll admit to an.... attraction." Her face colored again. "But I'm only here for the month. I intend to fly free and romantically unencumbered to Paris in four weeks. There's no room in my life for any.... er, relationship," she stated, placing air quotes around her final word.
"Oh" He'd heard this speech before just not directed at him. He was the original author of the let's-keep-thiscasual-and-fun-and-nobody-will-get-hurt speech.
He couldn't deny it stung a bit. But he admired her guts and honesty.
"No problem. And I'll admit to a certain attraction to you as well. We're in the same boat. Ethan hired me to get this job done and then, I'm out of here"
Her head bobbed in immediate agreement.
He scrambled for a way to keep her from exiting the relationship, or at least the Trillium Terrace. "We obviously enjoy each other's company," he said, his feet moving a step closer as if they had a mind of their own. "We enjoy the same things, art, good food, fine things." He held up his hands and hitched up his shoulders. "What's the problem?"
A small smile sweetened her lips. "Well, when you put it that way. I guess it would be fairly safe to.... since we both know it's a time-limited engagement.
"Your work at the Nirvana will be done in a month. I leave for Paris in a month. You love a job that takes you around the globe. I need to take my oils and brushes to Paris and immerse myself in my work, alone. I had a chance once before, and I let it get away from me"
Her voice dropped with her last statement. But when she lifted her head it was desperation flashing from her black eyes, not sadness. And the tears that threatened to fall were quickly blinked back.
He wanted to wrap his arms around her, pull her to his chest and say something helpful. But that would only send her running.
She was a strong woman, not willing to be sidetracked by a man or a job. He knew from their first meeting that Delaney Forbes was different. Not to mention fun, talented, and drop-dead gorgeous. Anyway, what man ever got roped and corralled in one short month? By the end of June, his job here was finished and he was, hopefully, off to Morocco.
"I think there is a way to have the best of both worlds. You and I can date. Keep it casual, fun," Trey said. "And I promise," he said while crossing his heart like a schoolboy, "never to get in the way of your painting-in-Paris dream."
Delaney flipped up her impossibly long eyelashes to expose the kind of eyes a man sinks into and doesn't care if he ever climbs out from again. "And I promise not to start building a white picket fence around your suite and ply you with home-cooked meals and handknit slippers."
"It's a deal" Instantly his stay in the boonies, which had seemed interminably long, shortened. Only four short weeks to hang with Delaney. He'd better get started. "Why don't we start off your new job tomorrow with a breakfast meeting? Can you be packed and ready by eight? I'll send a car over to Lilac Lane for you and your things."
Her broad smile spoke volumes. "I'll be ready and waiting, bags in hand."
Delaney slipped up the stairs and padded into the spare room. It was just past 9:30 P.M., but as she'd predicted, Flo's house was dark and eerily quiet. She reached for her laptop and clicked until the friendly voice announced her unread e-mails. Eager to see if Lily had sent another message from Europe, Delaney inched closer to the flickering screen. There it was. Chock-full of interesting tidbits too.
Dear Delaney,
Yesterday, Ethan surprised me with a balloon ride over the Mediterranean Sea. The color of the water was indescribable, and I thought of you. Hope you get a chance to paint this someday. Glad you decided to accept Trey's job offer. Like Trey, Ethan and I are sure you'll do a great job. It's perfect for you. Have fun. Mrs. Lily Weatherall (doesn't that sound wonderful!)
The Nirvana's breakfast crowd had thinned out considerably since Trey had directed her to a small table nestled in the corner. Throughout breakfast his manner had been all business, no wisecracks, not one single sexy innuendo even. Delaney leaned back against her chair's upholstered back as the waiter cleared the plates and cutlery. She nodded her head enthusiastically to another refill of the restaurant's gourmet coffee, an adequate replacement for her Timmy's brew.
"So in a nutshell, Delaney, your job is to get a feel for the penthouse floor, present me with a written proposal outlining your vision and ideas, and then proceed to search out and acquire the artwork. Your time frame is a month, and I'll provide you with a generous purchasing budget."
Delaney felt the blood course through her veins. She was hungry to see the rooms, excited by the job that lay ahead of her. "I can't wait to get started, Trey"
"Super. But first I'll take you to your room and you can get settled in. I had the porter deliver your luggage already"
For the first time since he'd greeted her at the front desk, he smiled his familiar cat-and-mouse smile. "I take it you weren't kidding about being anxious to move out of Flo's. The driver said you were sitting on your suitcase at the end of the driveway."
"Yes, I'm excited about my new job," she replied, ignoring his attempt to turn the conversation more personal. In fact, she'd already called Alison Kaye, a potter who belonged to the Artist's Co-op. Alison was the first on her list of potential clients.
He didn't need to know that their agreement to keep their relationship light had kept her up for hours after he'd dropped her off at Flo's. Trey would have no trouble keeping his end of the bargain, she knew. It was second nature to men like him. But she'd have to keep her guard up. Not entertain any silly, girlish thoughts about love, not even when he smiled his devilish smile or flashed his baby blues.
They walked from the restaurant to the bank of elevators, and he punched the penthouse button. The next thing she knew she was standing in a small, bare foyer with a long hallway stretching out front. "So here we are. The penthouse, in all its naked glory"
At the moment, the only good thing she noticed about the expanse was the soft southern light pouring in from the bank of windows that cradled the foyer. The corridor was a bare canvas, neutral in color, devoid of personality. Her hands ached to touch the rough texture of the plastered walls. It thrilled her to know that her job was to b
reathe life into this almost industrial space. Her breath quickened in her chest. "So my room is situated in this wing too?"
"Sure is. Right next to mine. I set myself up here when I first came to the Nirvana. It gives me a chance to escape from my work a bit. And in your case, make going to work extremely convenient."
"We're the only people on this entire floor?" she said, taking a small, involuntary step back.
He grinned. "Does that bother you?"
If you mean, does it make my body tingle and my armpits sweat, then yes. "Of course not," she said.
Amonth's stay didn't warrant a lot of baggage, so it took only minutes to settle in: jeans and tops placed on a shelf in an enormous antique armoire; three sundresses hung in a walk-in closet the size of Flo's spare room; a grouping of toiletries placed on one end of the gleaming marble vanity. She popped open her laptop and plugged it into a conveniently placed Internet connection.
She stood in the center of the room and drank in the stunning view. Loon Lake sparkled like a sapphire, tempered by the deep green of the giant spruce trees rimming the shore. From up here, the fishing boats that dotted the water looked like little kids' plastic water toys bobbing in a bathtub. Talk about inspiration. Her thoughts flew to her first assignment-a written pro posal outlining her vision, Trey'd said. His guided tour through the penthouse's twelve empty suites had ended at her door and had only heightened her excitement. She drew a long breath, dropped into a sumptuously upholstered computer chair and fired up her laptop.
Ideas sparked and took form as her fingertips tapped away at the keyboard. First of all, there would be no theme, no predictable repeat of color or form from room to room. The hallway, of course, would have symmetry of design, a sensible leading of the eye to a logical end. But when a visitor opened their suite's door they might be awash in creamy pastels and flowing fabrics or soothed by the monochromatic tones of contemporary design. No two rooms the same.
Delaney's fingers flew over the keyboard. The body of work of at least a dozen artists needed to be reviewed, she decided. She already had a partial list of potentials in her head, but tomorrow she'd need to hit the road and begin networking. Would Trey be able to come too, she wondered?
A smile pulled the corners of her lips upward, and she bent her head to the task. The next few hours slipped away without notice. Pages of detailed notes piled up in the printer's out tray.
Finally, her pace slowed, and she leaned back in her chair and kicked into the deep pile with her bare foot. Her eyes stared unseeingly at the beige walls as the chair rotated a full circle. Something special to anchor the end of the long hallway was needed. A large sculpture possibly, would draw and hold the eye, yet blend with the ragged, stone-faced cliff visible through the floorto-ceiling window. She closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her temples and massaged deeply, hoping to be inspired.
Instead, she discovered that she was starving. She glanced at her watch. Two o'clock. Way past lunch.
She stood and stretched the kinks out of her neck and shoulders. In the bathroom she splashed cold water on her face before glancing in the mirror. The slightly flushed face smiling back broke into a grin. If just poking a toe into the world of art again feels so right, imagine what Paris will do for me!
Making her way back to the king-size bed, she sunk into a sea of down-filled pillows and reached for the menu resting on the end table. She was confident she could finish the outline for Trey by the end of the daythat is, after she refueled. Trey had said to order from room service or eat in any one of three downstairs restaurants. Really, could life get any sweeter?
She scrutinized the menu with a discerning eye. Now, will it be a crispy endive salad with imported blue cheese dressing? Or maybe chilled chicken on stoneground bread with a side of pasta salad?
A single press of a button put her through.
"Yes, ma'am. Of course. Your order will be delivered in a few minutes," a polite voice on the other end of the phone informed her. "Would you care for anything else?"
"No, thank you. That will be all." And to think just yesterday she was wedged between stacks of old magazines and cardboard boxes of winter clothes in Flo's spare room facing down a plate of wieners and beans. And now, here she was ordering a gourmet lunch like she was a movie star or something. And best of all, she fully expected a dinner invitation from Trey to complete this perfect day.
Delaney eased the receiver back into its cradle before allowing a burst of happiness to bubble from her lips.
Trey clicked the x on the computer file and watched the screen power down, remembering to check the time flashing in the bottom corner of the screen before all went black. Six o'clock.
He'd just finished scanning Delaney's initial proposal for the project and he was impressed. Not only had she produced a comprehensive outline in her first day on the job, but her artistic vision was inspired. There was no doubt he'd chosen the right woman for the job.
His day had roared past, as they all did. He'd shot off the budget reports, payroll and staff evaluations to Head Office via cyberspace. His stiff neck attested to the long hours at his desk. Tipping his head back to ease the strain, he figured even his boss, workaholic Ethan Weatherall, would call it a day. Well, the old, preLily Ethan, anyway. Since Ethan's marriage to Lily Greensly, his friend had changed dramatically. The fact that he and his bride were on a month-long honeymoon touring Europe testified to that fact. No more twelvehour days for Ethan. Even the e-mails Ethan tossed off regularly from Europe were more of the touristy nature than anything else, with hardly a question about the state of affairs at the Nirvana.
Love, Trey decided, does crazy things to a man. Ethan was not the first of Trey's friends to put his career on the back burner for the love of a woman. Not that Lily wasn't great, because she was. But as far as Ethan was concerned marriage and babies could wait until a career peaked. Maybe in ten, fifteen years or so....
His thoughts flew to Delaney and last night's pact. All fun, no ties. Now there was a woman with priorities he could relate to. Plus, the woman was a knockout.
He slid his chair closer to the desk. What should the perfect non-couple do tonight? He eyed the mass of papers covering his desk and extracted a brochure from the stack on the corner. He flipped to the section on activities and ran a pencil down the list. There it was. Dinner for two on Loon Lake. Perfect. He scanned for details. A large glass-bottomed boat gently ferried you around the lake while you dined on local fare. A prerecorded tape explained the history of the lake's landmarks as you cruised quietly along the shoreline. Delaney would be far more entertaining than the tape, no doubt, filling him in on the local lore. She was bound to be more interesting than the stuff they'd dug from the history books when fleshing out the brochure.
He could just see her, dressed in a pretty sundress, her hair lifting off her face in the breeze, her full lips all pink and soft.... The pencil between his fingers snapped and flew across Ethan's office to land in a potted palm.
He wiped his palms on his thighs, reached for the phone and punched in her suite number.
Delaney and Trey leaned against the pontoon boat's railing. The night was postcard perfect, the sky blueblack and diamond-full. Loon Lake no longer shimmered, but lay in an almost reverent stillness. An early moon cut a narrow strip of yellow light across Greensly Bay. The lake rested in total darkness, except for the few cottage lights twinkling like fireflies along the shoreline.
Delaney turned toward Trey and smiled. "I'm so glad you thought of this."
"Me too," Trey said with a smile. "I can't believe I waited this long to try it out"
The first time? So he'd not been with another woman on this boat, looked up into the stars, shoulders touching? Surprised, but pleased, she said, "Me too."
"I guess an interim manager really should've checked it out before now. But I've been too busy settling in to the job and catching up on the paperwork"
The clatter of cutlery drew Delaney's attention to the tiny stainless ste
el galley at the rear of the boat. She watched with fascination as a white-coated chef prepared their dinner. Two juicy steaks sizzled on a mini grill, filling her nostrils with the mouthwatering aroma of the sauce's tangy spices. The chef smiled politely at her interest before turning discreetly away.
For the second time today, Delaney felt like an indulged princess.
She cleared her throat. "Lily told me about this boat, of course. Apparently Lily's committee, the Friends of Loon Lake, totally endorsed the environmentally friendly motor. You know Lily, the lake always comes first"
"Right. And good thing someone's watching out. We want Nirvana's visitors to be able to come back fifty years from now and still be able to fish and swim."
"Trust me, Trey, the lake isn't the only thing that will stay the same around here. Buttermilk Falls doesn't exactly embrace change of any kind. The whole town was in an uproar last year when the Ministry of Transportation insisted on traffic lights at Main and Water Street-the Bluebird Cafe's corner."
Trey laughed. "You're kidding me. Someone should write these things down. It's a whole other world out here."
"I know." A friendly, homey, suffocating world.
The boat chugged silently ahead. Trey reached for her hands and gently tugged them from the railing and warmed them between his palms. "So why did you set up shop here after graduating with a Fine Arts degree? You could've gone anywhere"
Delaney shifted her weight from one foot to another, but left her hands in his. Lily must have filled him in on her background. It made sense, really, considering Lily had recommended her for this job.
"You know, I didn't really plan on staying. But my parents decided to move to Calgary to be closer to their grandkids-and my brother. They offered to sell the house to me for practically peanuts. And I really hated to see a stranger move into our family home.
"My painting career was stalled. Derailed actually. But I was determined to put my degree to use. So I-"
"Hey, back up a bit. What do you mean your career was derailed?"