Real Romance (11 page)

David kicked open the door and entered the optician's shop, scowling.

"Good morning to you, too," Caroline said from behind the counter. "Good thing my husband Jim likes the same ball teams you do, or you'd be out on your rear."

David motioned her away and stormed toward the coffeepot.

"I mean it, David! What if I hadn't been here to lock up last night? Would you have done the wild thing right in the center of the floor with a million"—she gestured to the mirrored walls of frames—"eyes on you?"

"Don't be cute, Caroline," he said, filling his mug.

"Oh, so I get it," she said, stepping around the counter and walking over with her own mug. "She blew you off, did she? Got you all hot and bothered, then—"

"You know," he said, bringing his coffee to his lips, "sometimes you just don't know where to stop."

"No, David," Caroline said, slamming her mug onto the table. "You don't know where to stop! Has it ever occurred to you that this is a business? That maybe one of our clients could have walked in here with a five-year-old child when you were in the middle of your amorous romp?"

David dropped his head, knowing she was right. It had been reckless of him, foolish. Different, if he'd had the foresight to draw the blinds and lock the doors...

"All this talk about Marie!" Caroline shouted walking back into her office and then returning with a book. "Marie, Marie, Marie. But you can't seem to figure out what she wants."

David brought a hand to his aching head and massaged his brow with his fingers.

"Here," Caroline said, thumping something hard into his chest. "Sally's better now, so take the day off. Do some serious reading."

"What's this?" he asked, staring down at the maroon cover.

David took the paperback in his hand and read the blurb before flipping it back over. For an inane little romance about a small-town librarian with the hots for the local doc,
Check It Out
displayed some pretty steamy artwork.

"Don't know who left it here," Caroline continued, "but it's good. I've read it. Maybe you should, too."

As David fanned through the pages, hoping for more suggestive artwork, a receipt fluttered loose and butterflied to the floor.

"Books & Bistro?" Caroline asked, snatching it off the carpet before David could even bend at the waist.

Caroline shook her head with a wry smile. "Now, I wonder who on earth this belongs to?"

Marie collapsed on the sofa and lifted the ice pack to her swollen eyes. If the puffiness didn't go down soon, she'd have to go in to work anyway. It was bad enough she'd called to say she'd be late. With Thanksgiving next week, Books & Bistro was under the gun to prepare for the pre-Christmas purchasing frenzy. And, with so many of her employees taking leave for next week's holiday, that meant that this Friday was the deadline she'd decided to go by. If she could get everything done and organized as she'd planned, then maybe even she would get a chance to enjoy some turkey and sweet potato casserole in peace.

It was draining enough for Marie to host the meal for her sisters and their husbands, plus her brothers Johnny and Mark and their significant others. Last thing she needed on top of that was work stress to face the next day.

Of course, when Marie was being honest, she didn't really mind having everyone over as much as she pretended. There was something comforting in having the flock gather and knowing she was still—in some small way—in charge of the fold. She had been the one left with the family homestead, after all. So it was up to Marie, as the eldest, to uphold family tradition.

The only part of the tradition she didn't savor was her brothers' good-natured ribbing about her single status. She was sure to get an earful this year, now that Cecil had blown right out of her life like an autumn leaf caught up in a gale.

High winds pounded her front door screen and sent it rattling in its frame. The gustiness of central Virginia's fall was upon them, and it'd soon be time to bring in the porch swing, lest it get carried off somewhere far over the mountain one night while she was sleeping. The weatherman had predicted snow on the heels of the frigid front that was blowing in from Canada. Just as long as it held off until Friday, Marie thought, it could snow all it wanted. Wasn't often they got a white Christmas in these parts, and white Thanksgivings were rarer still. Snow here in November would be the talk of the town, and that would suit her just fine. One less reason for her brothers to focus on talking turkey about the obvious lack of a man in her life.

David ordered a decaffeinated coffee and carried his book to the high bar running the length of the long glass wall that separated Books & Bistro's interior cafe from the wrought-iron tables on the sidewalk outside.

Not a soul was out there. It was no wonder, David thought, as the wind gusted and blew two metal chairs to the ground.

The cold was coming, and David was glad. He was a winter sports fan, and because he had grown up in Asheville, quite an accomplished skier. There was something about a mountain lodge with a roaring fireplace after a long day on the slopes. Of course, it helped if you had someone to share it with. And, this time, he wasn't thinking about Bitsy, the chair lift attendant.

David sighed and cracked open the book. He was curious to see why Marie had been so upset about leaving it behind. Doubly interested because the style of the cover looked strikingly similar to the book he'd caught her reading over coffee just last week. Maybe Cecil had recommended the wrong approach. In fact, maybe Marie got enough of intellectual literature and grim best-sellers working here. She probably read books like this to relax. Nothing wrong with that.

David dove right into the prologue, his eyebrows shooting skyward.

Holy cow, he thought, marking his place and pausing to remove his pullover sweater. He had a feeling he'd be able to get into this.

Marie was just dropping her keys into her purse and stepping up onto the curb at Books & Bistro, when she came to an abrupt halt. Her eyes had to be playing tricks on her.

She removed her glasses and wiped them on her coat lapel before putting them back on again.

Oh, my.
She just stood there, her feet rooted to the ground, her cheeks turning pink from the icy air.

There at the counter of the cafe sat David Lake in all his glory, reading...
reading..
. her book!

Marie blinked twice as David lowered his hand to the counter, nabbed a paper napkin, then wadded it up against his brow.

He was so engrossed in the book he didn't even see her walk in, and right up to the stool where he sat.

"Were you planning on reading it first, and then giving it back?"

David raised his eyes, then nearly fell off the stool.

"Hey! Whoa—Marie!" he said, standing and slamming shut the book. "What a surprise!"

"A surprise, David? I work here." She looked him up and down, trying not to remember how good he'd felt pressed up against her. "What's your excuse?"

"I, ah, was returning your book," he said, thrusting
Check It Out
in her direction.

"It looks used," she said, taking the book but keeping her eyes on his.

David racked his brain, trying to recall the very careful plan he'd concocted on the way over here, but his mind swirled with visions of adventuresome librarian Judith Just enjoying her first complete examination by the probing Dr. Robert Right.

"Well?" Marie asked, tapping one beautiful foot on the floor. He studied that beautiful foot and her delicate ankle, and then his gaze moved up that long sweep of leg—which went on and on and didn't stop until it hit that hint of hemline just above her knees.

"I... uh." David cleared his throat.

"I think you already said that."

"Yes, well..."

He choked on air as she unbuttoned her coat. He noticed she was wearing another one of those sweater dresses that showed off her curves so well.

"I was waiting." David clenched his fists and dug his fingernails into his palms. "Waiting for you to get here."

He smiled through gritted teeth, and looked for all the world like a naughty boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Well, here I am," she said, unable to keep her gaze off the warm gleam in his eyes, the broad musculature of his chest... the snug fit of his faded denim jeans.

"Well, there you are," he said, motioning to the book he'd already placed in her hands.

He shuffled his feet and glanced out the window. "I hope you're not still mad about last night. Because if you are—"

"David," she stopped him. "It wasn't you, necessarily."

He inhaled deeply and his chest swelled, the taut muscles rippling beneath cotton.

Marie blinked and continued. "I mean, in some ways it was. But look," she said, trying hard not to. Why, oh why, did her eyes keep roving over him? "What I mean is, there's been so much going on in my life, and if you can't be honest with me—"

"Honest?" He folded his arms in front of his broad chest and knitted his brow. "Just what is it you think I've done to deceive you?"

"You tell me," she said, clutching her book to her bodice.

David looked positively stupefied.

"Does this have something to do with
Publishers Weekly?"

She stood motionless, a hard look in her eyes beneath those charmingly tilted frames.

"Well, look, Marie," he said, giving a little laugh. "If that's all it is, I can explain. Not that I really understand why a simple little magazine would cause such a reaction..."

"It's just that it all started when Cecil—"

"Cecil?!"

"Sure, yes. Cecil, you know—"

"I know damn well who Cecil is, but I thought you said you didn't."

"Didn't I? I mean, no, I don't. Just a little—"

"Are you and Cecil in this together somehow?" she asked, eyebrows arching.

"Together? Wait. Whoa. I don't think you're getting-"

"Oh, I'm getting everything just fine. I might not be from your sophisticated background, David. But I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. You and Cecil devised some kind of plan, didn't you?"

Plan? Holy cow, what was happening here? This whole thing was spinning way out of control. He'd never seen her so furious.

"You hit on me, get me out of the way, so he can run off to New York with Diane."

"Diane? No—"

"Good job, David. Bravo," she said, a cold dismissal in her eyes."What with your talent, maybe you should join Cecil in New York. Hear they're in need of actors there."

"Marie, please."

She turned, and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

She looked back and narrowed her flaming eyes. "You lay one more hand on me, David Lake, I'll call security. Now, I've got a life to lead," she said, striding away. "I'm sure you've got one waiting for your somewhere, too."

Chapter Eleven

Mark looked over his shoulder and called back into the house. "Hey, Marie! There's some turkey with a bird on your doorstep!" She didn't answer.

"Just kidding, pal," Mark said, giving David a slap on the arm. "Come on in."

"Oh!" Meg, John's fiancée, rushed over. "You must be the guy! Marie told us last month she was getting married, but we all knew—-just knew—it couldn't be to that old boring Cecil!"

Despite her willowy frame, Meg looked pixie-like with her bridge of freckles and short red hair. "Johnny," she called, leaning back into the living room. "Oh, John-boy, come here!"

A tall, muscular man with jet-black hair appeared from around the corner, his dark eyes widening with surprise. "Well, hey there! You must be David."

"How did you know his name?" Meg questioned, swatting her fiancé on the rump.

"Talked to him on the phone."

David shifted the heavy turkey pan uncomfortably in his hands.

"Here, let me take that." A pretty ponytailed blonde with apple-dumpling cheeks appeared and lifted the roasting pan out of David's hands. "Honey," she said, talking to the lanky fellow behind her, "this is David, Marie's fiancé."

"No, wait!" David held out his hand.

But a dark-haired woman about an inch shorter than Marie walked over and used the opportunity to slip off one arm of his coat. "Your true love's here," she sang back into the kitchen in a lilting voice, before yanking the other arm free, then carrying his coat to the closet.

"What in the world is all the..." Marie strode into the front hall and froze, as an extremely tall brown-haired guy materialized at her back.

"You must be Jack. Jack Wagner," David said, stepping around Marie and stretching his hand out toward Teresa's husband. "Carolina basketball, right? ACC Championship year."

Jack gave a modest grin and nodded his big, square jaw.