by Mary Campisi
Did she really think she was the answer to happiness and love? To peace and joy? “You are so far off it’s laughable. Go back to your small life with the dog you love more than a person and try to find that happiness, Giselle. Good luck with the restaurant because you’re going to need it.” He made it to the door when she called him back.
“Stop. I need you to finish this deal.” After a long pause, she added, “Please?”
The desperation in her voice forced him to turn and face her. So, Giselle needed him more than she needed her overblown ego. “Sorry, not happening. You had your chance and you torched it. See what your mother has to say when you tell her the reason you couldn’t pull off this restaurant gig. Make sure to mention my name and Nicki’s, too. I’m sure she’ll remember her.” Why had he ever thought Giselle would honor her word when the woman didn’t understand the meaning of it?
More desperation flitted through her words. “I need this to work. I’ll do whatever you say.” She clasped her hands in front of her, begged, “Please, Jameson. I’ll let Parker take over. Everything can go straight through him. No more obstacles, no more dinners, no more attempts to convince you of anything untoward…”
“Untoward?” He eyed her, let his disgust fill his words. “The only way I’ll consider moving forward is if you’re out of the picture, gone from California, and not part of any conversation.”
The dip of her head indicated her agreement. “I’ll let Parker know.”
Oh, he wasn’t done yet. This woman had created too much angst and frustration. “My price just doubled. Agree to that in a written contract and I’ll stay. If you don’t—” he shrugged, worked up a tight smile “—then good luck.”
“I’ll do it. The papers will be ready in the morning.”
“Delivered by Parker with an agreement signed by you stating you’re no longer part of this project and will have no contact with me whatsoever. That means no emails, texts, calls.” He paused, spat out, “Nothing.”
“I agree.” She squared her shoulders, said in a soft voice, “I did love you, if that’s any consolation.”
“It isn’t. Goodbye, Giselle. I hope you find peace someday, but most of all I hope you realize you can’t manipulate people to get what you want. That’s not how real relationships work, and as long as you think they do, you’ll never have one.”
Five days later
Camille Alexander rushed into the boutique, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, an envelope in her gloved hand. “Lester’s report’s in!”
Nicki eyed the envelope from Lester Conroy, private investigator. Camille had convinced her the man specialized in confirming details and keeping secrets, often involving husbands and wives. Ugh, why had she agreed to the investigator? Worse, why did she feel like she was the betrayer? What she’d done amounted to hiring someone to spy on her husband, and that implied she didn’t trust him.
“Read it.” Camille shrugged out of her coat, placed it on the back of a chair. “You’ve got a right to know what’s going on two thousand miles away.”
“I wish I’d never done this. What if there’s a good reason he didn’t tell me about Giselle?”
Her friend’s expression turned sad, her voice sympathetic. “But what if there isn’t?”
Maybe that’s what bothered Nicki most. What if there wasn’t a good explanation? What if the explanation was one that would tear their family apart? She eased the report from the envelope and prayed for strength to face the contents of Lester Conroy’s findings. A few more deep breaths and Camille’s comforting hand on her shoulder helped. Nicki unfolded the paper and began to read. There were several lines documenting meetings, locations, and people in attendance.
...Mr. Price arrived at the restaurant location at approximately... Ms. Robard and two men were present.
Mr. Price met with designers and craftsmen... Ms. Robard was present.
...retired to hotel at 9:58 p.m. Alone.
The list went on, detailing each meeting and with rare exceptions, Jameson and Giselle were never alone.
Until one particular night...
...Mr. Price and Ms. Robard met at restaurant for dinner prepared by Mr. Price. Dinner concluded at 9:18 p.m. Mr. Price returned to hotel. Alone.
Mr. Price met with Parker Norris at the restaurant the next morning where they spent several hours in meetings. Ms. Robard was not present.
Working dinner at the restaurant. Meal prepared by Mr. Price. No sign of Ms. Robard.
Confirmation obtained that Ms. Robard had returned to Chicago three days prior.
Nicki scanned the report twice. “Returned to Chicago... What exactly does that mean?” Why had she left? What was really going on? Camille had an opinion and the bubble of laughter said she was happy to share it.
“What it means is Jameson gave little Miss Flirt the boot.” Camille nodded, said in a satisfied voice, “Straight back to Chicago. That only means one thing. She didn’t get what she came for and that means your husband is not a cheat. While there might have been meetings and a dinner or two, nothing happened.” She clutched her hands to her chest, sighed. “Honest men do still walk this earth and Jameson Price is one of them. How absolutely refreshing.”
Nicki sank into a chair, clutched the report to her chest. Jameson had not betrayed her. “But why didn’t he tell me she was there? He’s had so many opportunities and I’ve waited but he’s said nothing.”
“I think I’ve become jaded because my own experience with men, especially the husband kind, has been so disappointing. But if I sit back and think about Jameson and your relationship with him, and how you really are the perfect couple, I can see the truth.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “He would never cheat on you because he loves you, and his family means more to him than anything. I should have seen that before, and I’m so sorry I didn’t. There was no need for a private investigator but Lester’s report only supports Jameson’s faithfulness. Oh, Nicki, you’re such a lucky woman.” Pause, a sniff. “The luckiest in the world.”
“I am lucky and I won’t doubt my husband again.”
Camille patted her shoulder, said in a soft voice, “He’ll be home soon and then all will be well.”
Nicki sniffed, swiped at her tears. “I should have trusted him more than I did, but I let doubt cloud that trust. And the private investigator? How will I ever explain what I’ve done? Jameson will be so disappointed in me.”
“You can’t tell him about Lester Conroy. That stays between us as an ill-advised recommendation that you were too distraught to question.”
Not tell Jameson the truth? Now who would be withholding information? She had to tell him, and she would, as soon as he returned home. He wouldn’t like it. In fact, he’d be furious and maybe his anger would last a few days and require several apologies and promises to never do anything like that again. No matter the outcome, she had to tell him. Camille had other thoughts on the matter.
“Telling him about Lester will serve no purpose other than to cast doubt on your commitment to your marriage. Don’t do it.” Camille squeezed Nicki’s shoulder. “Start fresh. The second he walks in the door, throw your arms around him, tell him you love him and missed him so much you couldn’t sleep or eat. Build from there. Do that, and nothing else matters.”
Chapter 11
Jameson left California early on a sunny morning, five days before Thanksgiving. He couldn’t wait to get home, hug his wife and children, embrace his old life. He missed them so damn much... There was so much he had to say to Nicki, but that would come after he took her to bed. He needed to feel physical closeness first, and then they would talk. He’d tell her about Giselle—all of it—and he’d apologize for not telling her sooner. Would she understand that he’d only wanted to protect her? Once he got that out in the open, they could move forward. Wait until he told her how much money he’d actually made on this deal: enough to expand The Oak Table and drop a hunk into a new restaurant. He’d grown used to the idea of involving Tate Alexan
der, a businessman with connections. The guy was honest and he’d see that Jameson didn’t get cheated. The town of Granite wasn’t that far away, and it was a growing community, which made it an appealing site for a second restaurant. He and Nicki had talked about calling the new place The White Oak Inn, but he wanted to surprise her and call it Nicki’s.
It was mid-afternoon when Jameson landed in the tiny airport outside Granite. When he stepped off the escalator that led to baggage claim, he spotted Nicki and the kids several feet away. His chest burst with longing and need as he moved toward them, laughing when he saw Olivia holding a sign that said Welcome Home Daddy. “Well, look who’s here! My favorite girls.” He lifted Olivia in his arms, planted a kiss on her cheek and twirled her around.
“We missed you, Daddy! We missed you sooo much.” His daughter’s tiny hands touched his cheeks, patted them, and giggled.
“I missed you too, sweetheart. Sooo much.” He set Olivia down, lifted Rebecca from the stroller and hugged her tight. “Hello, Precious. Daddy’s home.” The baby cooed and squirmed and balled her little fists against his chest. One more kiss and Jameson placed her back in the stroller and turned to Nicki. He held out his arms and said, “I missed you.”
She stepped into his embrace, thrust her arms around his middle and hugged him tight. “Oh, Jameson. It’s so good to have you back.”
Had her voice wobbled just now? He eased away, studied her face. “Hey, why the tears?”
She sniffed, smiled. “Happy tears. It’s been a long month.”
“Too long.” He cupped her chin between his fingers, placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Maybe we should ask my mother to babysit tonight. A sleepover?”
She nodded, her smile spreading. “And then we can have our own sleepover,” she whispered.
Jameson kissed her again. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all month.”
Life would settle back to normal in a few days with Jameson back at the restaurant, Nicki at the boutique, schedules, kid events, and calendar coordination. But not today because today was about reconnecting with his family. They were home less than an hour when his mother arrived in typical Thomasina Price take-charge style. She set a container of chocolate chip cookies on the counter and placed a loaf of homemade bread next to it. “I couldn’t show up empty-handed to welcome my son home, now could I?”
Jameson eased out of his chair, hugged his mother and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom. Nobody makes bread like you do.”
She nodded, glanced at Nicki. “I know how happy you are to have him home, dear.” Pause and a hesitant “I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do… Why don’t I take the girls for the night?”
Jameson hid a smile, pretended he hadn’t been about to ask his mother for that very favor. “That’s a great idea. Why didn’t we think of that?”
His wife played along, the voice of innocence. “Are you sure you don’t mind, Thomasina?”
“Mind?” She smiled at her granddaughters. “How could I ever mind spending time with these two sweethearts? Why don’t you bring them over in a bit and pick them up tomorrow after lunch?”
“Sure. Sounds great.” He avoided his mother’s gaze. “Nicki and I have a lot to talk about.” His mother knew damn well they’d be doing a lot more than talking, but at least she pretended she didn’t know.
“Thank you, Thomasina.” Nicki shot him a look, smiled. “Jameson and I do have a lot of catching up to do.”
He spent the next hour playing with the girls, listening to Olivia chatter about the Thanksgiving meal and decorating the Christmas tree. Nicki stretched out on the floor, sorting blocks into stacks by shape. His gaze traveled the curve of her hips to her belly, her breasts...hovered on the opening of her V-neck sweater. They hadn’t been together in a month, but it felt like ten months... She cleared her throat and he glanced up, caught her watching him with interest and desire, those lips he loved pulled into a slow smile. Soon, they’d be together..in bed...naked...touching...
Soon, but not soon enough.
When Rebecca woke from her afternoon nap, they fed the girls and packed them up for Thomasina’s. “Until later,” he whispered as he shrugged into his jacket.
She stroked his jaw, her hazel eyes smoky. “Until later.”
He made the trip across town to his mother’s, handed off the bags and stuffed animals, and kissed the girls. “Everything’s in here that you’ll need.”
She hugged him, said in a fierce voice, “You’ve missed each other and now you need to be together. Go spend time with your wife.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Jameson raced home, found Nicki waiting for him in bed, a single sheet draping her beautiful body.
She held out her arms, said in a voice that trembled when she spoke, “Let’s be together. I need you.”
He yanked his sweater over his head, kicked off his shoes, and unzipped his jeans as he moved toward the bed and the woman he loved. “I missed you so damn much.”
There were no words after that, as they joined with a passion that told him she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her. The second time they made love was as all-consuming as the first. Hours later he woke with Nicki’s head resting on his chest, silky hair brushing his belly. This was love. This was what trust and commitment felt like. This was peace.
He woke early the next morning, planted a kiss on his wife’s temple and trailed a hand along her hip. They’d made love twice yesterday and yet he wanted her again. Needed her again. “Jameson,” she murmured on a soft sigh. “I’m starving. Do you think we could have a quick breakfast?”
A quick breakfast as in before they made love again... “Hmm...” He pushed a lock of hair aside, kissed her neck. “Only if it’s a very quick breakfast.” He wanted his wife back in bed, but fixing breakfast would give him an opportunity to tell her about Giselle’s appearance in California. Despite the powerful lovemaking, there was one piece that kept it from being complete: his confession. The sooner he got it over with, the sooner they could move on.
“Toast and coffee will work...and then...” She paused, licked her lips. “I’ll have you for dessert.”
“Deal, but why don’t I make us an omelet? I’ve got something to tell you and it’s going to take longer than a toast breakfast to tell it.”
She hesitated, her brows pinching in worry. “Something to tell me?”
He nodded. “Let me get the coffee started and we’ll talk while I work on the omelet.” Now that he was minutes away from the conversation he’d dreaded since Giselle Robard popped back into his life, he felt a mix of relief and nervousness. Jameson measured coffee into the basket, poured in filtered water, selected the “on” button. “So, California had its share of surprises.” He attempted a laugh, failed. “I think you’d like the restaurant. Parker invited us for the grand opening, but it’s scheduled for March. I told him we’ll be lucky to dig our way out of the driveway by May.”
Nicki sat very still, hands clasped in front of her, the pinched brows deepening. “You don’t think we should go?”
There was something in her voice that made him think she suspected his decision not to attend was about a lot more than a heavy snowfall. Why was she looking at him as though he had guilty stamped on his forehead? He hadn’t done anything except spare her the truth until he could share it in person. Jameson diced red pepper, onion, bits of bacon and tossed them in the skillet, anything to gain extra time to analyze his wife’s mood.
“Jameson?” She leaned back against the kitchen chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and studied him. “You don’t think we should go?”
Just tell her and be done with it. He set his knife on the counter, inched his gaze to hers and told her what had lain in his gut like bacon grease since it happened. “Giselle Robard’s one of the partners in this deal.” He moved toward her, clasped her hand. “She showed up a week after I got there...”
Her eyes grew bright. “You never told me.”
There was no denying the pain
on her face or the disappointment in her words. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted to protect you and spare you the pain when we were thousands of miles away from each other.” He reached out, stroked her cheek. “I vowed I’d tell you everything just as soon as I got home.”
Those beautiful eyes grew brighter and a tear slipped down her cheek. “But you didn’t. You waited until this morning, after we...”
After they made love. “We hadn’t seen each other in weeks and I didn’t want anything to come between us, especially not her. I love you, Nicki, no one else.” His voice dipped, filled with a rawness that tore at his gut. “You’re my wife, the mother of my children. Don’t you realize you’re my world?”
Sniff, sniff, and more tears. “I wish you had told me the second she showed up. She’s not a good person and I don’t trust her.” Nicki swiped at her tears, said in a wobbly voice, “Did she think investing in a restaurant would win you back?”
His wife was no fool and he was done hiding things to save her feelings. “That’s what she said.”
“But there was no chance of that.” She touched his forearm, said in a soft voice, “Because you love me, and we belong together.”
Jameson nodded. “Yes.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissed each finger. “You’re my heart, Nicki.”
“And you’re mine.” Her lips pulled into a gentle smile. “And that’s why you’re going to start at the very beginning and tell me everything that happened from the second you spotted that woman until the last time you saw her.”
If that’s what she needed for them to move on, then he’d provide a play-by-play. Hell, he’d even offer commentary on what he’d been thinking during those moments. Jameson hugged his wife, kissed her with enough emotion to make the frown disappear and then fixed them breakfast while he told the tale of Giselle Robard’s appearance and disappearance from California. And he told her about the “double or nothing deal” he demanded in order to stay. Nicki listened as she sipped coffee and sampled her omelet, asked pointed questions such as Did that woman ever ask you to bed and Did you even once, if only for a millisecond, consider it? Of course, he told her the truth: absolutely not. That made her smile, which helped temper the frowns, sighs, and eye rolling she gave him as he relayed his story.