A Fine Romance (14 page)

He pointed at the tall stone turrets in front of them. “Yep.”

“This is great. The store’s supposed to be featured in the paper today. Well, not featured. More like a mention. A teaser about the opening.” Mira darted ahead to the line of newspaper vending machines. “Spot me a dollar.”

Sam fed in his quarters and yanked open the door. “Is this going in a scrapbook, or right into a frame?” he teased.

“Depends on how much they like the idea of our store. This article, if it’s good, could generate a lot of foot traffic. That leads to word of mouth, and suddenly,” she clapped her hands, “we’re a success.” Mira snatched the paper out of his hands. “Where would it be? Which section?”

“Try the second section. Although, if they really want to start a buzz for you...” Sam broke off. Her face had gone whiter than a sheet of parchment paper. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“I made the headline.”

“Congratulations.”

“No, not the store.
I
made the headline.”

Sam followed her finger to the bold writing next to a picture of a younger Mira, with shorter hair. Store Manager Could Add Chicago Boutique to Her String of Failures. “I don’t understand.”

“God, I knew this would happen. I warned Ivy. She said everyone deserves a fresh start. That she couldn’t do it without me. She told me not to worry. That’s a laugh, isn’t it? Me, not worry? Might as well ask a waterfall to reverse direction. Or maybe have a couple of planets swap places in their rotation around the sun!” Mira’s breath came in short, jerky gasps. The newspaper fell from her hands and spilled onto the pavement. Sam could tell a full meltdown was imminent.

“Come with me.” He scooped up the pile of paper and pulled her with him to the park on the side of the building. She flopped onto an iron bench. Sam pushed her head between her legs. “Breathe,” he ordered. “Don’t freak out. Just breathe while I skim this and see how bad it is.”

“Read it to me.” She shot one hand up in the air, stopping him. “No, just tell me the high points. Or the low points.”

There weren’t any high points. As he scanned the article, one thing became clear. It was a hatchet job. “They’ve got the store name, and yours and Ivy’s. Everything’s spelled right.”

“The high point is the spelling?”

Yeah. “It’s a short article. Like you said, a teaser. Just a long paragraph, really. Most of it is the address and the date of the opening.”

“You’re stalling.”

“Okay. It mentions—briefly—how the last two stores you managed failed. Spectacularly.”

“Is that it?”

He wanted to say yes. But if he lied, she’d just find out eventually. “It finishes with a prediction that you’ll run the store into the ground and ‘tarnish Ivy’s crown as Chicago’s premiere wedding planner.’ That’s all.”

“That’s all? My phone interview lasted twenty minutes, and that was the reporter’s take away? No mention of our wonderful products, our delicious and convenient picnic selections?”

“Nope.” Sam eased down beside her. In long, slow circles he ran his hand over her back.

“I am a failure. He’s right. If this is indicative of the press coverage we’ll get, the store is doomed.”

“You’re not a failure.”

“Oh, but I am. You don’t know.” She sat up and lifted her red, swollen eyes to meet his. “I’m mad because the writer didn’t give the store a fair shake. You’ll notice I’m not saying he’s wrong.”

He couldn’t bear to see her so upset. Sam drew her to lie across his lap. After a few minutes of stroking her hair, her eyes fluttered shut. Her breathing slowed.

“I never fall apart like this. As a matter of fact, I pride myself on how well I can hold it together, stay in control. Except around you.” Mira leaned her cheek into his palm. “You’re a dangerous man, Sam Lyons. You’re emotional truth serum wrapped up in big muscles and a devastating smile. How do you do it?”

Did she realize what a compliment she’d given him? That she trusted him enough to lay herself bare? Her admission humbled him. They’d come so far, so fast. “Maybe I make you feel safe?” Sam offered. Over the steady blare of traffic, a few birds twittered in the trees. This probably wasn’t the right place to get all sappy. Even though he wanted to tell her he felt the same way. “Or maybe you’re trying the whole gamut of feminine wiles to get me to take off my shirt.”

Mira gave a weak chuckle. “You see right through me. Is it working?” She tried to slide her fingers beneath his shirt, but the apron strings stopped her. Still, it showed her sass reserves were filling back up. Might as well dig up the rest of it now, while she was already upset. Get it over with, like ripping off a bandage.

He feathered a kiss to the middle of her forehead. “Want to tell me the real story?”

“You know what? I do.”

“Okay. As a reward for being brave, I’ll take my shirt off for the ride home.”

“Deal. I’m definitely getting the better half of the bargain.” Mira closed her eyes again. “I managed a mall store after grad school. Nothing big, but we carried good merchandise, and had a solid clientele. I loved it. I loved the thrill of finding just the right pieces for our customers. I loved seeing people leave the store with a smile on their face, and I loved seeing them come back even more. Then a blizzard dumped three feet of snow, the skylight collapsed under the weight, and everything was ruined. The whole mall shut down.”

“You didn’t fail. I think insurance companies call that an Act of God, not a lack of action by Mira.” Sam called it bad fucking luck.

“I agree. But the bottom line is that the store I managed folded. The whole snow thing got to me. So I took a job managing a boutique down in Palm Beach.”

Mira had a spine of titanium. Sure, she cried on his shoulder weirdly often. But deep inside, she was as strong as they came. “Way to regroup.”

“Two lovely couples opened it as an investment. Honestly, it was a place for all their friends to shop. But their friends came in religiously and spent lots of money, so it worked out. For a couple of years.”

“That sounds ominous.” He slid his hand down to make soothing circles around her shoulder. Sam didn’t like the odds of this story having a happy ending.

“I’ll give you a clue: Palm Beach.” She paused. When he shrugged, she continued. “Tight-knit group of clients—you can’t guess what went wrong?”

What did she expect him to know about Florida socialites? “Somebody drove a golf ball through your front window?”

“Nope. Bernie Madoff.”

“Oh, no.” Sam winced. Quite the knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Mira had.

“The owners, and all their friends, were wiped out by his investment scandal. I guess I was lucky. They lost their savings, their houses, everything. All I lost was my job.”

“Okay, technically strike two, but still not your fault.”

Mira reached up to cover his hand with hers. “Palm Beach didn’t fit me, anyway. Nice people, but the overall vibe was too snobby, too much like the life I ran away from with my parents. So I moved up the coast to Myrtle Beach.”

God, he knew where this was going. If he believed in that sort of thing, he’d swear she was cursed. Jinxed. A reincarnation of Attila the Hun. “Last year? So you were there for Hurricane Beryl?”

“Uh-huh. Second storm of the season, and it caused the most damage of any hurricane in the last twenty years.”

As a news junkie, Sam had been glued to pictures of the devastation for days. So many heartbreaking stories emerged, along with touching examples of heroism. He couldn’t imagine going through a natural disaster. God, no matter how often she got knocked down, Mira kept going. What an amazing woman. “Were you hurt?”

“No. We all evacuated in time. But my store was a victim. I lost a lot of my belongings to water damage. It only took me a few hours to pack what was left and hit the road. I got to Camp Ticonderoga a few weeks early, but I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t have anywhere else. And then Ivy called, and offered me this amazing job. She’s like my fairy godmother.”

“I can see that. She does wear a lot of pink.”

Mira crinkled her nose, frowning at him. “Ivy entrusted me with her dream. Look at how I’m repaying her.” She kicked at the stack of newspapers with her foot, startling the ever-present circle of pigeons. “What am I supposed to do now? This bad publicity is a nightmare.”

He didn’t disagree. “Well, I promised I’d have you back in an hour. So we take five more minutes to chill, and then you go back to work.”

“No, I mean should I leave?”

“Yeah. I just said I’d take you back in five minutes.”

“Sam, should I leave Chicago?” She clutched his arm, nails digging into his flesh. Of course, if they were naked and her nails dug trails into his back, he wouldn’t complain. So Sam kept his mouth shut.

“Before my reputation spreads, and completely ruins Ivy’s chance to fulfill her dream of a romance store? It’s not even the money. Obviously, the money matters. Ivy’s thrown every cent she’s got into this store, and quite a few she hasn’t earned yet. But more than the money, I can’t bear to let down my friend.”

He could make a light-as-air sponge cake. Tiramisu so good it brought tears to the eyes. Sam knew how to handle the complex chemistry of baking with his eyes shut. Handling messed-up lives? Not his thing. Whenever one of his friends had a personal problem, well, Ivy handled it. Occasionally his mother doled out good advice along with the morning scones. Too bad she wasn’t here to take over.

Mira had a couple of different issues to solve. Sam flipped a mental coin for which to tackle first. “How many days ago was it that you gave me crap about not opening up to you? About the whole Diana off in Europe leaving me hanging mess?”

“Less than a week.”

“Interesting.”

“What does this have to do with my problem? My secret string of abysmal failures?”

“Looks like we were both keeping secrets from each other. So I’m going to share a secret with you right now.” He looked over both shoulders, then bent down to whisper in her ear. “We’re not spies.”

“No kidding. And here I’ve been wondering if your whisk was a secret recording device.”

Smart-ass. Yeah, he was crazy about this woman. Sam pushed her back upright. “A relationship can’t be built on a need-to-know basis. We’ve got to put it all out there.”

Those beautiful blue eyes of hers widened to the size of his white-chocolate tartlets. “I just told you what a jinxed, pathetic mess I am. I blubbered like a baby in front of you. And my job is quite possibly hanging by a thread. After all that, are you offering me a relationship?”

“You’re not a mess. Your story proves how resilient you are. The bad publicity’s going to go away. Once the store opens to brilliant reviews, you’ll stop worrying and Ivy will thank you every day for bringing her dream to life.”

“Wow. If you ever give up baking, you could have a career as a spin doctor.”

“I’m addicted to political shows. Probably picked up a trick or two.” Sam took her small, soft hands in his. The timing and location kind of sucked. A homeless guy on the bench behind them gave off a ripe odor. Two pigeons kept pecking at the flecks of buttercream frosting on his shoe. And Mira had just staggered off an emotional roller coaster. But he decided to plow ahead anyway.

“I’m not Gib. I don’t get a kick out of sleeping with a different woman every time the second hand moves. We’ve each got shit to deal with, but it feels kind of good dealing with it together. At least to me.”

“Me, too.”

Good. Staking his claim to Mira felt right. Calming and exciting at the same time. Like the smooth, warm burn of a twenty-year-old scotch. “To be clear, I do want to sleep with you.”

Her laughter pealed across the park. “Me, too, with you.”

“So forget you even thought about leaving town. You’re not a quitter. You’ve got a great job, friends, a roommate who I happen to know keeps the freezer stocked with a minimum of three ice cream flavors at all times, and me. Are you going to let one newspaper hack drive you away?”

“No. Good pep talk. Would’ve made a bigger impact if you weren’t wearing a shirt, though.”

Yep. Just that fast, Mira had bounced back. He pulled her up from the bench, then swatted her ass. If his hand lingered a bit, Sam figured he’d earned it. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve got to get back to work. Somebody turned this into the longest, most complicated delivery on record.”

“Does this mean I don’t get a tip?”

“I’ll give you a tip. Don’t give up your day job. Seriously.”

Mira doubled over with laughter.

Chapter Ten

Sam opened the limo door and helped Mira out. A barrage of flash bulbs went off. She paused, one crazy-high stiletto planted on the strawberry-red carpet. The slit in her blue satin gown that flowed over her like water exposed enough thigh to make him want to throw his coat over her. Or push her back onto the leather seats and climb on top of her.

“Are those paparazzi?” she asked in a stage whisper.

“Not real ones. Gib hired some actor friends for the night. To give us the total red carpet experience for the premiere. Have fun with it.” She considered for a moment, then threw her shoulders back and strutted down the carpet with a sassy sway. He got so caught up in watching the twitch of her hips that he had to scramble to catch up. It was kind of a kick seeing her wave and smile. They were so late, he’d been worried they would’ve missed out on all the hoopla.

Sam pushed them through the revolving doors into the refined gray-and-black elegance of the Cavendish Grand lobby. A soaring atrium rose three stories, with one entire wall of windows overlooking the hustle and bustle of Michigan Avenue. The walls were covered in dove-gray satin echoed in the chairs and sofas grouped around a cascade of water streaming from the ceiling into a mound of shiny black river stones. Sheets of glass formed the check-in desk, supported by columns of dark granite.

Mira took his hand as she looked around. “Out of all of us, I think Gib wins the award for prettiest workplace.”

“Nope. I win, hands down.”

“Sam, your bakery is cute, and it does smell great, but you can’t convince me it comes close to the beautiful elegance of the Cavendish.”

“At my workplace, I get to stare through the doorway at you all day. Nothing’s more beautiful.” Helen had insisted they leave the top half of the connecting door open. He and Mira still stuck to their guns and didn’t speak to each other during work. But that whole
picture
is
worth
a
thousand
words
thing rang true. Catching intermittent glimpses of her sure kept a perma-grin on his face. Sam pressed the call button for the elevator.

“Oh. Oh my. You do know how to pour the sugar on, don’t you?”

“You look like you’ve been drizzled in melted blueberry sugar. Did this,” he stroked a finger along the satiny length of her ribs, “really survive the hurricane?”

Mira looked down at the dress with a rueful laugh. “God, no. I don’t have a lifestyle that requires formalwear anymore. Apparently neither does Daphne. So Ivy hooked us up with a bridal salon she uses. The three of us are all wearing samples of bridesmaid dresses.”

It might make him a selfish bastard, but Sam liked hearing that she didn’t nip out to formal parties anymore. It helped level their social playing field. “We’re in the same boat. I borrowed this penguin suit from Ben. Guy’s got a closet full, since he wears them on the job. Weird, shifting from apron strings around my neck to a bow tie.” It didn’t completely fit. He was wearing his own black pants beneath the jacket, which he hoped to ditch the moment they got inside. With a hand at the small of her back, he ushered Mira into the empty elevator car.

“I feel very Cinderella-esque. They have to be returned tomorrow. In good condition, too, so curtail any plans you had for ripping it off of me.”

“You really know how to spoil a guy’s fun.” That image would stay planted in his head all night, take root and guarantee a solid eight hours of no sleep.

“Or, you could realize I’m presenting you with an opportunity to be creative.” Mira pushed him against the wall, lifted her leg all the way to her shoulder, then hooked her foot through the waist-high railing. Her dress rode up almost to her panty line—if she was wearing any. Sam hadn’t been able to definitively rule one way or the other on that, yet. But he damn well wanted to find out.

Caged on one side by her leg and the other by her hand, Sam had no choice but to stand there and enjoy as she began to sinuously writhe against him. Her reflection in the shiny elevator doors gave him the one-two punch of feeling her curves while watching the perfection of her sweet, tight ass. Mira licked delicately along the edge of his ear. It sent chills through him faster than the first, icy dip of the Polar Bear Plunge in Lake Michigan on New Year’s Day.

Sam knew enough about women not to give in to the temptation to plunge his hands into the complicated mass of curls that left her neck tantalizingly bare. Instead, he anchored them low on her hips. The slick fabric gave him an excuse to dig his fingers into her roundness. She bit down on his lobe.

Was it a challenge or a come-on? Hard to tell with this strong-willed woman. Either approach worked for him. Oh, game on. Sam shifted his right hand to stroke all the way from her ankle up, lingering behind her knee with a feathery touch that teased a giggle out of her, up the back of her thigh. At every inch he gained, her dress obligingly streamed out of his way. Her pale skin contrasted with the cobalt gown pooling at the crook of her hip. The visual fired his blood.

Suddenly his tie choked him, and his shirt cut off his circulation and his pants were definitely three sizes too tight. Sam couldn’t breathe for needing her. For the need to strip away everything between them, until only skin pressed against skin, heat against heat. Holding her waist tight, he lunged forward to press the emergency stop button. He needed this ride to last longer than a five-floor ascent. But then a pinhole red light caught his eye, high up in the corner.

“Shit.” Sam slid out and reversed positions, sandwiching Mira to the wall. The press of her ass on his already throbbing dick grew to exquisite torture in about half a second.

“What happened?”

He unhooked her leg and stood her on both feet. “Security camera.” She shimmied her dress into place. “Sorry. I don’t want to share you.”

“Don’t apologize. You’ve got a whole knight-protecting-his-lady’s-honor thing going on now.” Mira spun around to kiss his cheek. “It’s equal parts sweet and hot.”

The elevator doors swooshed open to a party already spilling into the hallway. Women in bright, tight dresses tottered masterfully on matchstick heels. Tuxedoed men mixed in with the waiters circulating trays full of pink drinks that looked sweeter than his raspberry linzer bars. Sinatra’s smooth tenor lent a swinging, classy vibe. On pedestals flanking the doorway, sprays of something tall and hot-pink sprouted out of pastel pink vases.

Gib, in full white tie and tails, leaned against the doorjamb, tapping his fingers on his watch and laying one hell of a stink-eye on Sam. It turned to wide-eyed appreciation as he slid his gaze to Mira. Maybe too much appreciation. Maybe a little kid-in-a-candy-store gleam in his eye as he bent forward to kiss her hand. The bending gave Gib an up-close-and-personal eyeful of her barely covered breasts. Sam restrained the urge to elbow one of his best friends right in the teeth.

“Mira, you are like ocean-clad Aphrodite in that dress. Beautiful, alluring, irresistible.”

Damn it, Gib always knew the perfect thing to say. Sam knew he should’ve told Mira all those things—minus the smarmy accent, of course. He took comfort in the fact that actions spoke louder than words, and they’d just gotten plenty of action in the elevator. Gib would never break the man code and try to steal Mira from him. But to err on the side of caution, Sam didn’t intend to give the guy the slightest opening, either. He slung an arm low around her waist.

“And you look like you’re ready for a royal wedding. I especially like the pocket handkerchief. So few men wear them anymore.”

“I don’t believe in doing things halfway. Go full out, or not at all, I always say.”

“No wonder you break the hearts of so many women. Your charm at full force must be quite something to behold.”

Gib backed away, palms up. “Are you seeing this, Sam? Your lady’s flirting with me. I swear I did nothing to encourage it.”

The guy walked around with the looks of a model in one of those black-and-white perfume ads. Not only could he talk like a freaking poet, but he layered those pretty words with a rich icing of hoity-toity Brit-speak. If Gib so much as recited from the phone book with that accent, women lined up and spread their legs for him. Removal from his vicinity was the only way to protect Mira. “What’s the matter—couldn’t you find your own date?”

“Oh, I’ll have one by the end of the evening. I’m currently in the selection process.” He crossed his arms, and leaned in closer. “See that blonde by the bar? She’s a contender, but might be edged out by that brunette talking to Milo.”

“You’re trolling your own party for a date? Didn’t you invite all these people?” Mira sounded shocked. Sam relaxed a bit. Gib’s bed-hopping ways might just be enough of a repellant to keep him from worrying.

Gib frowned. “Goodness, no. Then I wouldn’t have any fresh water in which to fish. This is Ivy and Ben’s party—I just threw it together for them.”

“Such a sweet gesture. I can’t believe you’re throwing them a formal party to watch the premier episode of
Planning
for
Love
.”

“The first time they were on television—
Wild
Wedding
Smackdown
, did you catch it?”

“No.”

“Ghastly show. The only good thing about that night was Ivy throwing a pajama party. But this is the start of an entire series based around our friend. How could I not up the lavish stakes accordingly?”

Gib might run through women faster than water vaporized on a cold January night, but he was true blue to his friends. Sam gave him the double half hug, half back slap. “You did pull out all the stops, buddy. Job well done.”

“Oh, I’m not completely selfless. It’s not as if I’m walking away empty-handed. There will be a party favor at the end of the night. About this big.” He traced the shape of a woman’s profile in the air. Well, if that woman were Jessica Rabbit. “Merely a question of deciding which one. I haven’t yet acquainted myself with all of Ivy’s lovely friends. Although I did already remove a few women from the running. Sam, if you’d been on time, you could’ve weighed in on the first round of cuts.”

“You’re really judging Ivy’s friends? To see who goes home with you tonight?” Mira unsuccessfully tried to stifle a giggle. “That’s horrible, Gib—but you’re so up front about it, I can’t help but laugh. Which makes me horrible, too.”

On behalf of his entire gender, Sam had to step up and defend his friend. “I hear Gib shows his women a good time. And there isn’t a single woman in Chicago who hasn’t heard of him. Last fall, he won a write-in poll in the
CityPaper
as one of their top ten bachelors. Anyone who gets involved with him knows the score.”

“Thank you.” Gib dipped his head. “For that staunch defense, I’ll let you be the tiebreaker tonight—if it comes to that.”

He’d weighed in many times on Gib’s flavor of the day. It felt, well, dirtier doing it with Mira by his side. Still, Sam couldn’t leave Gib hanging. “Always happy to help a friend in need.”

“You both require drinks immediately. The viewing will start in just half an hour.” Another stern glare with an accompanying watch tap.

Sam took the cue for his apology. “Sorry we’re late.”

“I suppose you’re going to hand me some trumped-up excuse about a cake emergency, or a cookie catastrophe.”

“Shut it,” he warned. “Pastry can be a high-tension business. But tonight I had to drop my mother off at bingo. She’s trolling all the denominations this week to find the best game—then she’ll bring in her friends. The Catholics put on a good show last night, but she’s got high hopes the Lutherans may give them a run for their money.”

“Your mother, again?” Gib tsked and shot his cuffs. “I understand when you drop everything to drive her to the doctor. But bingo is not an important enough event to make you late. Not to Ivy and Ben’s big premiere.”

Didn’t matter if Gib thought bingo was stupid. Hell, it didn’t matter that Sam agreed with him. Whatever made Kathleen Lyons happy and kept her safe zoomed straight to the top of his to-do list. She’d tried to wave him off, insist a friend could take her. Sam wouldn’t hear of it. Driving her places gave him the chance to interact with his mother outside the bakery. It was a way for him to check that she was still firing on all four cylinders. That the professional cheerfulness she wore all day wasn’t just a mask that dropped away to reveal another episode of soul-crushing depression. Twenty minutes in the car listening to her happy chatter assured him—for at least a few days—that happy really was her new normal. But he couldn’t let her or his friends know that. So he simply said, “It’s important to her.”

Silence hung, as heavy in the air as a crappy gluten-free cake sat in a stomach. A waiter paused, hovering on the edge of the circle with a tray full of God knows what. Mira seized the chance to change the topic. “Is this the signature cocktail for the evening? I know Ivy adores a themed cocktail.”

“Right you are. Do try one.” Gib took two off the tray, but Sam held up a restraining hand. Any drink that pink would probably corrode the enamel off his teeth with one sugary sip.

“What the hell is that?”

“A Love martini—coconut rum, peach schnapps and cranberry juice.”

Mira took a sip. “Delicious.” She looked at the abject horror on Sam’s face and laughed. “A tad on the sweet side, possibly, for the men.”

“Possibly? Like you could
possibly
get a nice tan on the surface of the sun?” Sam spluttered.

Gib clapped him on the arm. “Don’t panic—we’ve got a fully stocked bar, too. Made sure to load up on your favorite Goose Island beers.”

Relief slowly filled him, like foam rising on a freshly built Guinness. “You’re a good man. And a great host.”

“Just do me a favor and say hello to Ivy and Ben on your way to the bar. Our girl was in a bit of a panic about this premiere. I think she downed a few cocktails before arriving, and quite a few more since. Her chances of being vertical by the time it begins are slim, at best.”

“I’ll take her some water,” Mira promised. A worry line formed between her eyebrows. “Ivy doesn’t have much of a tolerance. In grad school, after half a bottle of wine she’d dance down the hallway in just her underwear. And I don’t just mean our dorm—I mean any hallway—bar, restaurant, football stadium. Her chances of being conscious for much longer are less than slim, if she’s had as much as you say.”