Mixed Signals (38 page)

He turned east, toward WPER … toward the Grill, where Belle undoubtedly waited for her Romeo. She’d played “Cherish” at the end of her show, exactly as he’d asked her to, while he’d sat smiling in his cubicle at work. His heart had done a slow dance to the music, imagining Belle wrapped in his arms, tucked tightly against him, humming along in a key all her own.

The tightness in his chest shifted up a notch.
A fool for love is still a fool
.

A quick glance at his watch assured him Belle was probably already at the Grill, waiting. He had barely enough time to stop by the station. Make a quick phone call to WBT. Get a short letter ready and drop it in the mailbox outside the station for the five-thirty pickup.

He had to hurry, before he ran out of time. Or conviction.

Belle stared at the yellow-striped walls of the Grill, disappointment seeping through her bones. She was tired of looking at the clock above the WPER fishbowls, tired of seeing the minute hand crawl five minutes past the hour, then ten. Fifteen.

Stood up!
She’d never been stood up in her entire life.

Of course, she’d never agreed to meet a man like this before either. A stranger.
A complete stranger!
It was obvious she’d lost her mind.
Too many times around the old turntable for you, girlie
.

She’d caught a glimpse of David dashing past the Grill door on his way up to WPER, looking like a man on a mission. She’d hoped the mission would be saving her from a disastrous evening with Mr. Ears, but no such luck. He’d kept right on going, didn’t so much as glance in the direction of the Grill on his way by.

Humph
. Some Friday evening this was turning out to be.

She
had
mailed her letter to Mr. Ears, right? Been clear about her intentions to meet him? Played “Cherish,” like he’d requested? Leaving nothing to chance, she’d arrived at the Grill fifteen minutes early. Sat by the window. Wore her favorite red knit dress, an eye-catching number that made her burst into a chorus of “W-O-M-A-N” every time she slipped it on.

She was counting on Mr. Ears to have some eyes, so they’d bug out when he saw her in it.

She could see them now, those blue-gray orbs widening with surprise, then admiration. The color would deepen to the hue of a tempest-tossed ocean. His lids would drop to a dangerously low—

Whoa, girl! This isn’t David coming to meet you
. No matter how much she wished that were true. It was “All Ears” who would get an eyeful of her bright red, dressed-to-kill ensemble, not David.

Unfortunately.

At the moment, though, only one man was eyeing her and that was Leonard, whose apron was battle-scarred from a busy Friday at the Grill. He poured her a second cup of coffee, asked if she wanted a menu. “Or are you waiting for someone?” he said with a knowing wink.

But he couldn’t know. Nerves, that’s all
.

Those same nerves shot her out of her seat when she spied David bolting out onto the sidewalk but not turning in her direction. She flung open the heavy glass door of the Grill as if it were cardboard. “David, wait!”

He turned, looking confused.

No, not confused. Angry. He looked angry
. Breathing hard from the rush of adrenaline, she waited for him to speak, to put her at ease. To offer some encouragement.

“Belle, I’m in a hurry.”

That was not encouraging.

“So I see.” She gulped, trying to tamp down her emotions. “I thought you might be … uh, hungry and thinking about dinner at the Grill and—”

He held up his hand to stem the flow of words. “Look, I’ve gotta drop something in the corner box before they collect the mail.”

She stood there with her mouth hanging open, watching his blue parka turning away from her.
David, rude?
The man was many things, but brash and inconsiderate had never been in his repertoire. At least, not since she’d gotten to really know him. Something was wrong, something bigger than her plans to meet Mr. Ears for dinner. David had had plenty of time to put his foot down about that.
If he’d wanted to. If he cared
.

She intended to put her foot down about
this
, though. “David, wait.” Scurrying after him, she wished she’d skipped the silly heels. So what if they matched her red dress? So what if they made her legs look half an inch longer? David hadn’t looked at her eyes, let alone her legs.

As if he’d read her thoughts, David stopped and spun around again, fixing his cold gray gaze on her. In the twilight, his cheeks were two ruddy spots; his generous lips were parted but not smiling. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is, Belle.”

“Make what harder?” She skidded to a stop, a sense of foreboding washing over her. She wanted to touch his sleeve, connect to him somehow, but his mood made such a thing impossible, far too risky. “Talk to me, David, please. Now. Tell me what’s wrong.” In an attempt to lighten the mood around them, she leaned toward him and wiggled her eyebrows. “Is there some dark secret you haven’t told me yet?”

“Secret?”
It exploded out of him. His eyes smoldered, heated by an intensity she didn’t understand. He lifted his hands then threw them back down, frustration coming off him in waves. “I’ve told you too many secrets already, Belle.”

She stepped back and closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the threat of tears. “You’re not making sense.” Her voice was thick, her emotions conflicting, nameless. “There’s only one secret you shared with me. About Sherry and Josh. I’m glad you told me, but it doesn’t change anything … between us. It doesn’t change … how I feel about you.”

“Well, it changes how I feel about you.”

It hurt like a physical blow, numbing her insides, leaving her gasping for air. “What have I done? Are you going to tell me? Or make me guess? David, your behavior—”

He cut her off with a hiss. “You want to know what you’ve done? Made a mess of things, is what. You told Norah about Josh. And Norah told George Robison.”

Belle was too stunned to argue, let alone think straight. Instead she blurted out, “Who’s George Robison?”

His eyes were storm clouds, his words a low thunder. “Sherry’s father. The man who refused my bank loan on Wednesday. Not that you would concern yourself with such mundane issues. You were too busy sharing a juicy bit of gossip—”

“That’s not true!” If he could interrupt her so rudely, she could do the same. “I don’t know who told Norah, or why she told George, but I do know this. I’ve not shared the story of your past with a living soul. No one. Don’t you know I would never
do
such a thing?”

The clouds in David’s eyes parted and a look of pure agony shone through. “You mean … you didn’t … ?”

“Of course not.” She shook her head, relief running through her veins. At least now she understood why David was so undone. “You must have thought … well, you …” Her voice trailed off as he reached out, swept her into his arms, and pulled her toward him. “You must have—”

“I must have been an idiot,” he finished for her, bending down, forcing her head to tip back slightly, bringing his face closer to hers. “I’m as sorry as I can be, Belle. Forgive me for jumping to the wrong conclusion? For not trusting you?”

It was hard to miss the tenderness in his eyes when they were so near. His lips were close, too. Right there, inches away. “Of course I forgive you, David.” She felt the air around them warming. “You were simply caught off guard. And if Norah told George, you can be sure it was somehow for your benefit. She’s crazy about you. It’s easy to see why you’d think … anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does matter.” He slid his hands along her shoulders and cradled them behind her neck. “
You
matter.”

She caught her breath, wondering … hoping … 
praying
the tone in his voice meant what she thought it did.

Say the words, Cahill
.

He looked down at her, at her shining gold eyes and grace-filled face.
You love her. Say it. Now. Go
. He inhaled the evening air, sweet with the scent of her, and formed the words with his mouth. “Belle, I …”

She kissed him. Kissed
him!
Crazy woman, didn’t she know he was about to tell her something important? Oh, but this was fine. This was more than fine. Her full lips were pressed against his, gentle but insistent. What was it Belle compared them to? Asparagus?
Mmm
. They tasted more like berries, the color of her delicious red dress—

Wait. She wore this dress for Mr. Ears, not for me
.

Confound it, he wished he hadn’t thought of that, not while he could feel her long eyelashes tickling his cheeks. But he had to know, had to be certain.

“Belle.” He broke the kiss, still hovering over her mouth, savoring the closeness of her. “Weren’t you supposed to meet Mr. Ears at the Grill?”

She looked up, her eyelids at half-mast, her smile delightfully askew. “Oh, that … he never showed. I’m … glad.”

“Are you, now?” He felt his own grin stretch across his face and realized it had been hours since he’d smiled while listening to “Cherish” on the air.

Which she’d played for another man
.

“You’re sure you’re glad he didn’t show?” He needed, in some perverse way, to chase away any doubts, to know that he’d claimed her whole heart. “You won’t regret not meeting him? The man who longed for you to fill his house with laughter and receive his love with open arms?”

“My, but you have a good memory, David.” She was flirting with him now, her voice a decided drawl. “For a man who saw that letter only once, it certainly made an impression on you.”

“Not half the impression you made on me the first time I saw
you
.” He had to get her attention away from the letter-writing Mr. Ears and on to safer territory. “Could we step inside the stairwell, out of the cold?” He
tugged at her arm, unlocking the door and ushering her inside the dimly lit landing, the stairs to WPER stretching up into the darkened space above them. He pulled the door shut and leaned against the wall, shaking off an unexpected shudder.

Better she never know the truth about the letters. It made no difference at this point, did it? She’d chosen him over her mystery man, that’s all that counted. “All Ears” was history. David knew for a fact the man would never write her again. The thought made him chuckle.

“Are you saying you laughed when you first saw me, then?” Belle was more alert, eyeing him closely.

“No, not at all.”
Watch yourself, buddy
. “If you recall, our relationship started with a bang. A head banger at that.”

“So it did.” Her eyes had left his and were focused on the envelope sticking out of his pocket. The one he’d meant to mail some ten minutes ago. A long white envelope, with only the return address showing. His return address. A post office box.

“What’s that?” Her eyes widened.

Outside on Court Street, a knot of people streamed by, their voices muffled. Inside the stairwell, things had grown quiet indeed.

“A … letter.” He worked hard to keep his voice steady, his tone light.

“Why?”

The look on her face told him why. So did her words. “I’ve seen those plain white envelopes before. Twice.”

“They sell ’em by the dozens at Walgreen’s.” His light tone now qualified as desperate. Even he could tell that.

“Not with that return address printed on it, just so.” Belle reached in her purse and pulled out two more envelopes. Same white, same style of type. And the exact same post office box in the corner. Her hands were shaking. “What’s going on, David?”

He forced himself to smile, to look as ingratiating as possible, as if the whole thing were a game, meant to be fun. “You’re such a bright woman, I’ll bet you already figured it out. So you tell me, Belle. What do
you
think has happened here? Go ahead, you talk. I’ll listen. After all—” he forced his smile to broaden—“I’m all ears.”

Thwat!

She’d meant to slap him this time.

He was sure of it. Sure he deserved it, too.

Though it wasn’t much more than a petulant swipe, it stung like anything. He resisted the urge to place his own hand there and massage away the pain, see if she’d torn off any skin.

Lord, I’ve messed up here, major league. I need your wisdom. Don’t let me blow this
.

“Belle, I’m truly sorry.”
Again. Still
.

“Well, you should be!”

Here was a side of Belle he’d not seen before. Hoped he’d never have occasion to see again. A hopping mad, face flushed, arms flailing Belle. She was a small woman, but when she got angry, she looked bigger, swelling up like a tropical puffer fish, and about as poisonous.

The truth, man, tell her the truth
.

He dove in. “I never meant to mislead you.”
Not on purpose, not exactly
. “You said you would choose the most promising letter and write to him, arrange a meeting.” He shrugged and begged for sympathy with his eyes. “I wanted to be sure the letter you chose was … mine.”

“Why?” A hint of hysteria hung behind her words. “So you could make a fool out of me, watch me fawn all over this mystery guy, telling him all about
you
, so he’d …”

Her face became the color of her dress. Only redder.

“Ohh, noo.” She groaned and slumped against the other wall. “You read the letter I sent to him, didn’t you? I mean, to you … I mean,
about
you.”

He felt his own skin grow warm. “Yes, I did read it. A dozen times. I’m glad you think about me, Belle. I think about you all the time, too.”

“Oh, you … !” Her fluster suddenly fizzled. “You … do?”

“Yes, Belle.” He lowered his voice to a soothing murmur, hoping he’d seen the last of her red-tipped fingernails poking at his chest. “Pretty nails, by the way.”
Yeah, there you go. Drown her in compliments. That’ll help
. His eyes drifted over her, his gaze appearing to calm her further. At least she wasn’t stomping her high-heeled foot anymore. “The red matches your
dress perfectly, I see.” He knew squat about colors and clothing, only that women ranked them right up there with food and shelter. “Am I to assume there’s a nice set of matching red toes hiding in those spiffy shoes?”