A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET

by Lewis, Laurie

  “Luke, you’re still coming home in the fall, aren’t you?” Avery asked.

  “Actually, I think I’ll just go back with you if that’s all right. I miss home.”

  “That’s very all right with me. I can’t handle any more changes right now.”

  Brady chimed in bravely. “I think this trip has been good for all of us—given us a little perspective. We’ve been acting as if we were the only family dealing with hard things. Now we realize that everyone struggles sometime, not just us, and we should celebrate when we can. We have three days left here, and I think we should enjoy them. That’s what George would want, and I know it’s what Paul would want us to do.”

  Avery stood and surveyed the room. “Is that how you all feel? Last chance. If anyone has any unresolved issues or gripes they want to share, now is the time to speak up.”

  Everyone looked left and right at one another, but no one volunteered.

  “So everyone is feeling better about Dad now? Are you guys telling me you’ve made peace with losing him, because we really haven’t talked about him much since we’ve been here.”

  Wes rose and hugged her. In her ear he whispered, “If we have any setbacks, we can always smash a TV.”

  On Saturday evening, Mark locked up the dealership and hurried to his car to spend a final evening with the Thompsons and to help move Wes into his apartment. As he approached his car he noticed a box-shaped object sitting on his hood. Before he got close enough to see what it was, he saw Gina standing nearby. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  Nodding, she asked in a quivering voice, “I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you.”

  “Sure, but I’m expected at the Thompsons’ at six. I mean, I’m stopping by your house to see the Thompsons at six. I suppose you’ll be moving back next week now that they’re leaving.”

  She studied his face as if to gauge his response to her reply. “No, I don’t think so.”

  He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? I thought you’d be anxious to move back in.”

  “I thought so too, before, but now I realize it’s time for me to finish growing up. I realize that house is Dad’s home, and it’s time for me to make a home of my own. That’s what I came to tell you.”

  Mark nodded absently as the sting of the overdue revelation hit him. “So what will you do now? Where will you go? Have you already made plans?”

  She bit her lips and shrugged, muttering, “Nothing definite yet.”

  Knowing the meaning of her every subtle gesture and expression, Mark could see she was struggling with her emotions, and he longed to take her into his arms and comfort her, but he refrained. “You asked about a favor?”

  As tears welled up in her eyes, Gina looked toward the car where the box awaited. “I was wondering if we could have one last picnic, like old times.”

  Fighting the lump forming in his throat, Mark swallowed hard and nodded, taking her offered hand and leading her to the waiting lunchbox. “This isn’t yours. Emilia had this Jonathan Taylor Thomas box. Yours featured Boyz II Men.”

  “You remember that?” Gina asked with a broken laugh.

  Mark took both of her hands and gazed into her shining eyes. “I remember everything about every moment with you.” He quickly dropped her hands and turned away from her to settle his emotions. When he turned back, he pointed in her direction. “And for the record,” he began in husky tones, “you’re the only woman I ever went out with, ever.”

  Gina’s brow wrinkled. “But I saw—”

  “If you had come to me you’d have discovered that the blonde you saw hugging me was a client. She was thanking me for finding the custom car she wanted to give her husband on their anniversary.”

  Gina’s expression went slack as the news sank in. “How did you know I saw you?”

  “Your father told me. He came to see me, to find out if I still loved you.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  Mark turned away again and hung his head. “I can’t do this anymore, Gina.”

  Gina walked over beside him, clutching the lunch box in her hand. He recoiled from her, and she stopped in her tracks, saying, “Will you just take a look inside this box for me?”

  “You’re killing me, Gina. Why are you putting me through this?”

  She grabbed his arm and held him in place. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Mark. For the first time in a long time, I’m trying to be brave. I’m sticking my neck out and taking a chance—on us.”

  Unsure and unconvinced, Mark said, “All right. What do you want me to see?”

  With trembling fingers, Gina unlatched the lid, revealing the contents of the box. Inside was a single teacup with a note tucked inside.

  “I don’t understand,” muttered Mark. “What is this? An invitation to a tea party?”

  “No. It’s my effort to be brave.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve done a lot of thinking. I’ve always wanted all the same things you want—a family to love, a home where I feel safe and loved in return—but I never wanted them enough to risk failing, so I settled for Daddy and Emilia. We all three settled, Mark. When I realized the sacrifices marriage required, it seemed easier to sabotage the relationship than to admit I was afraid.”

  “So what’s changed?”

  “I have . . . at least I think I have. I love you, and you love me, and I think the only real way to fail is to stop trying.”

  He held his breath and replayed the last line to be sure he heard her correctly. “I agree,” he whispered back to her. “Are you saying—”

  “I’m just asking for a token of trust. A sign that you’ll be patient with me while I figure some things out.”

  His hands wrapped gently over her arms. “Anything. What else do you need from me?”

  “This teacup is lonely. I was wondering if you could fill it again.”

  A trembling smile broke across Mark’s lips as he asked, “Did you have anything in particular in mind? Like maybe these?”

  Then he reached into his pocket and dropped Gina’s rings into the cup.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sarasota, Florida, Ten Months Later

  Avery could hardly believe that nearly a year had passed since she first saw the Cà d’Zan. Ruth rushed from the main office to greet her when the limo pulled up at the museum entrance. She wrapped Avery in a warm embrace.

  “Ahh. It’s so good to see you!” She pulled away and scanned her friend’s appearance with glowing approval. “You look just fabulous. Are you wearing Dior?”

  Avery’s eyes twinkled with pleasure as a flood of good memories washed over her. “It’s a size-14 knockoff, but my publicist thinks I bought an original.”

  She wiggled her fingers at a handsome, dark-haired man in his late thirties with blue eyes and a jawline like a straightedge. He was directing the photographer, but as soon as he saw Avery motion for him, he smiled and approached the two women.

  “Ruth, this is Ian Black, my publicist. Ian, I’d like you to meet my friend and the head docent, Ruth Feldman. She made it possible for us to hold the press conference on the book here.”

  Ian took Ruth’s hand in both of his and stared into her eyes. “You are a dear,” he said in his cultured British accent.

  Ruth cleared her throat and whispered in Avery’s ear. “Dreamy accent. I should have such a helper.”

  Avery pressed her lips tight to conceal her smile before turning to her publicist. “Ian, how much time do we have before the press arrives?”

  “About thirty minutes, but I want the photographer to catch a few shots at the mansion beforehand, so let’s agree to meet in fifteen, shall we?”

  “All right,” she said as she grabbed Ruth’s arm and headed toward the mansion. “I’d love a few minutes on the terrace before things get crazy.”

  As the two women walked along the path, the brilliant cobalt blue of Sarasota Bay glimmered in the distance. Avery grew pensive.

  “So tell me, how are y
ou really, darling?” Ruth teased as they walked.

  “Don’t mind Ian. He was recently pulled from a four-year assignment in London, and now he thinks he’s British. But I’m really doing well, actually.” She steadied her hands and qualified that statement with, “Most of the time, that is, but I’m feeling a little anxious—not about the press conference or the book signings. Something about this place, about being here, has set me off.”

  “It’s a wonderful, mysterious place. I still look for George in the rose garden every day.”

  Avery squeezed Ruth’s arm and continued walking.

  “So, what’s your itinerary like? After this press event, are you just traveling nonstop?”

  “I’ve been here for a few days, staying with my son Wes. I’ll be here for another week or so while I attend to some personal business, and three book signings Ian has scheduled here. After that, I head to Baltimore to spend a week with my friends, the Davises, and to visit my family. After that I’ll just do what Ian says to get this book on the best-seller list.”

  “Well, I hope you packed for a long trip because I just love the book! When your package arrived in the mail, I was so confused. Why didn’t you use your own name?”

  “My editor suggested I use a pseudonym so Avery Elkins Thompson’s readers wouldn’t get upset when they found out she had gone to the dark side and strayed from writing mysteries.”

  They reached the terrace. Avery walked straight to the terra-cotta balustrades and looked over the water. “Tonight I’ll see the sunset over the bay from the terrace,” she mused out loud.

  “What did you say?” Ruth asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Just something a friend asked me to do before I left the last time.”

  Ian arrived, followed by a gaggle of literary reporters from various newspapers and journals. “It’s showtime, my darling. We don’t want to keep them waiting. After all, a happy press writes great reviews.”

  He extended his elbow and Avery took it, allowing him to guide her to the previously arranged podium. He placed his hand on the small of her back and kissed her cheek, then smiled and stared directly into her eyes. “Are you ready, darling? You’re going to be wonderful.” Once she nodded confidently, he moved a mere step away.

  “I’d like to thank you all for coming,” Avery began. “I chose to begin my promotional tour for Out of the Gate right here at the Cà d’Zan because this is the place where the subject, Mr. George O’Hara, last worked as a gardener, bringing beauty to a world that had been, at times, a very difficult place for him. But he had known great success as a winning jockey until a tragic fall ended his career. He had also known great love and loss in his life. I had the privilege of knowing Mr. O’Hara for just a few months, but he came into my life at a time when I needed courage and peace. My primary hope is that this book will accurately portray that wonderful man’s life and spirit.”

  Ian came to her side and hugged her tight, his face beaming. “I told you not to be afraid,” he whispered. “You were absolutely wonderful, darling.” He kissed her cheek again and then turned to the small assembly of reporters. “Ms. Thompson will now entertain your questions.”

  A woman in the front raised her hand, and Ian pointed to her. “Yes, June.”

  “Good morning, Ian, Ms. Thompson.” She nodded to them. “June Dritsch from The New York Times. It’s been said that the proceeds from this book are going to charity. Could you elaborate on that?”

  Avery smiled as her thoughts ran to George. She leaned close to the mike and said, “George O’Hara had been estranged from his children for many years when he passed away. Ironically, they are following in their parents’ footsteps somewhat. Each of them is involved in raising horses. Mr. O’Hara’s son is in the racing industry and his daughter teaches riding lessons for a stable out west. After I finally located them, we decided that the best way to honor both their parents and the lives they lived would be by establishing a horse-rescue farm. I’m pleased to say that the proceeds of the book will go toward getting such a farm started. It will be run by Mr. O’Hara’s two children.”

  The news met with approving murmurs as notes were scribbled and recorded on various devices. Another hand went up, and Ian acknowledged the reporter.

  “Susan Daly from the Tampa Bay Times. I was wondering if you would like to comment on the use of the name Axel Hunter, and why you wrote Out of the Gate under that name?”

  Avery swallowed hard. From the corner of her eye, she saw a man standing under a large banyan tree near the shoreline. Her heart skipped a beat, but when she looked again, he was gone. In a moment, Ian’s hand was right there again, on the small of her back, and she felt her courage return.

  She swallowed hard and began. “Axel Hunter was the pen name I used when I first began writing, fresh out of college, when a small independent publishing company in Baltimore took a chance on me.” Her voice became stronger and humor sparkled in her eyes once more. “I hid my identity to change genres . . . and in case the book flopped.”

  The assembly laughed favorably, and her fears were dispelled. “I chose to use this particular pen name because Out of the Gate is a return to the style of writing I was drawn to early in my career. It reflects more of myself and my impressions than my mysteries do.”

  A man’s hand shot up at once. “James Mason from The Boston Globe. Are you saying you plan to abandon the mystery genre?”

  “Oh, no,” Avery replied, taking charge of the conference. “In fact, I began one last summer, while vacationing here. It’s in the editor’s hands and should be out by late summer.”

  Another hand went up. “Arthur Teason, Miami Herald. May we ask what made you revert to your old style?”

  Avery pressed her lips together. This was the question for which she had prepared a hundred responses, but there really was only one that was true. She looked in the direction of the tree as a wistful mood caused her skin to prickle. “I was inspired by a friend.”

  On and on the questions came for nearly an hour until Ian finally stepped up to the podium and raised his hand. “Thank you, thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I think that will be all for now. As you know, Avery has several book signings scheduled in the area. There should be a list of them in your press packets. We hope to see you all tonight at the gala for the celebrity cookbook to which Avery contributed. It’s being launched this evening right here at the Cà d’Zan by the Colton Agency in behalf of various children’s initiatives. Thank you.”

  Ian leaned close to speak to Ruth. “Would you be a dear and escort Avery into the mansion while I disperse this crowd?”

  The two friends wandered along the estate’s trails, heading back into the garden. It was framed on three sides by rose beds, and behind it was the Ringling Art Museum’s celebrated gallery. They walked over the bridge past a stunning marble duplicate of Michelangelo’s David and sat on a stone bench, enjoying the peaceful solitude of the pool and the serenity of its fountain. Ruth reached for Avery’s hand.

  “You’ve done a good thing, Avery. You’ve given George back his family.”

  Avery looked at the ground and smiled. “Well, it would only be fair if I did. He helped me reconnect with mine.”

  “It’s good to have you back again. I’ve missed you.”

  “Part of me wishes I could stay, Ruth. I love Logan, and my heart will always have ties to Baltimore, but I definitely feel something here that I feel nowhere else. This was my healing place. Everything, everyone I found here last summer is special to me. I wish I could wrap this place up and take it home with me.”

  The clock on the mantel of Wes’s condo chimed six thirty as Avery did a final check of her appearance. She was still surprised every time she glanced in a mirror and saw her new look. Her lighter-colored hair was pulled back in a French twist, while three days of sunbathing on Holmes Beach, a few miles south of Gabriel’s house, had kissed her skin with a warm glow that made her hair appear nearly blonde. She smiled approvingly at her appearance, but even though she
was elegantly dressed, Avery felt unsettled about the evening’s festivities.

  Wes entered the room, handsomely dressed in his tuxedo. Avery nodded her approval as she fumbled with the clasp on her gold and diamond necklace.

  “Wow . . .” He whistled long and low. “You look beautiful, Mom.” He took her hand and twirled her, all the while smiling appreciatively. “New black dress? Hmm. We’re looking a little sexy for a grandma, wouldn’t you say?”

  Avery struck a pose and wiggled her eyebrows. “My last hurrah. And look at you. My, my! You must have double-dipped into the deep end of the gene pool. I don’t know who your date is tonight, but she is one lucky lady.”

  “We might as well get past this right now. It’s Emilia.”

  “Emilia? Are you two—”

  “No.” His reply was adamant. “It’s Captain Buckingham Palace’s fault. I assumed I was escorting you, so I didn’t get a date. Then Emilia called because her insignificant other dropped a barbell on his foot and she needed an escort.”

  Avery chuckled. “I assume Ian is Captain Buckingham Palace?”

  “He never smiles unless he’s talking to the press, and he’s as stiff as a board whenever someone gets near you. You’d think he was guarding Queen Elizabeth.”

  Avery playfully smacked Wes and then paused to straighten his tie. He noticed the necklace dangling from her hand.

  “Breaking out the good stuff tonight, huh? Here, let me help you with that.” He recognized the piece. “Dad gave you this, didn’t he?”

  “For our twentieth anniversary.”

  “It’s beautiful.” He stepped back to admire his mother. “He had good taste in jewelry and in women, and I’m not just saying that because you look so beautiful tonight. It’s everything. You’re finally and completely back, Mom.”

  Avery closed her eyes for a few seconds, then opened them to look at him intently. “I think so too.” She grabbed her hands to steady them.