Real Romance (7 page)

"Distasteful?" Joanne asked, puckering up her lips and examining her own image in the mirror. "Heavens, did I say that?"

Marie slapped her on the arm. "You most certainly did! At least, that's how I took it."

"Well then, love," Joanne said, fiddling with her braid and pinching color into her cheeks. "Maybe you got that wrong, too."

"Joanne!" Marie said, her eyes sparkling with disbelief. "You're not—"

"I am," Joanne said with a cryptic smile.

Marie tugged on her bedtime socks, thinking about Joanne's remarks. She was certain the other woman wasn't telling her everything that was going on between her and Chad. At least their relationship had a chance. All this fantasizing about David Lake was getting out of hand. It was wonderful to imagine that he was Prince Charming, the gallant swain that romance novels were made of. But it would only be a matter of time before cold, hard reality hit.

David was sexy, attractive—yes. But Marie needed more. A person she could talk to. Somebody with whom she could share a passionate love of life. She'd never really had that with Cecil, or—goodness knows—with sexy Paul. With Paul, it had been all smoke and fire, until the whole thing had entirely burned out and Paul had gone on to someone else.

With Cecil—well, there wasn't exactly fire, but the two of them at least could carry on a conversation, even if they didn't always totally agree. Cecil simply worked too hard at being eccentric. And, to Marie, eccentric wasn't something you became, it was something you were—like it or not. But Cecil seemed to like the image of the "starving artist" very much. Organic foods and vegetarian cuisine were his mantra, but when no one was looking he was sneaking off for fast food burgers at the edge of town. Marie knew this because she'd found a whole store of paper wrappers wadded up under the front seat of his car.

If she'd applied half the investigative skill she used in tracking missing merchandise to dissecting her relationship with Cecil, she would have seen him for who he really was sooner. As it turned out, he'd been hiding more than the burger wrappers. He'd concealed his lust for another woman and the very important fact that he'd finally sold that incomprehensible book! He'd never even let her read it. Hardly a testament to the trust between them.

Marie nabbed the romance novel off her nightstand and settled back against the headboard.

She was curious to see what direction her favorite historical novelist, B. B. Knight, had taken the noble MacMillan clan... and their ignoble forefathers. If there was anything that could take Marie's mind off her worries, it was a muscular man in a kilt.

David pushed the disconnect button on his cell phone for the third time in a row. She would kill him, that's what she'd do. He checked his watch and saw it was five past nine. Books & Bistro had just closed its doors, and Marie had been nowhere in sight.

"Went home early," Joanne had told him. And then she'd surprised him by slipping him Marie's cell number.

David wasn't sure what Marie had told Joanne about him, but from the elderly woman's encouraging reception, David suspected that she felt a whole heck of a lot better about him than Marie did at the moment.

Until he drew his final breath, David would be haunted by the total disillusionment—and shock—he'd seen in Marie's eyes. She hadn't stayed to hand over the glasses. Just turned tail and run like a frightened rabbit.

Caroline had advised him to go after her. But he'd known there was no way on earth he could have explained away what she'd seen right then. Better to give her time, he'd decided. Even though Caroline had huffed and somehow sided with Marie. Holy cow, Caroline had caused the problem! And there she'd stood, slipping her skyscraper shoes back on, telling him that he was the one making mistakes.

David inhaled deeply and tried Marie's number again. He was just about to hang up a fourth time when she answered.

"Hello?" she said, as his throat closed up. "Anybody there?"

"Marie, this is David. David Lake," he said, praying she wouldn't press
end call
.

Of course it was David Lake. How many other Davids did Marie know who sent shivers down her spine just from the sound of his voice?

"I know what you must think of me, but I wanted a chance to explain."

She wasn't speaking, so he plowed right ahead. "I know what you walked in on looked bad, but it wasn't what you thought at all. Holy cow, Caroline's my boss!"

"How convenient."

"Oh, no. It's like that," David stuttered. "She was just giving me some advice."

Marie wasn't altogether sure she wanted to hear this.

"Look, David, the picnic was nice and all, but forgive me if I say I've already figured you out."

"Think what you will, Marie, but none of it's true. I mean, yeah, maybe once..." Did he need a speech therapist or what? He couldn't seem to get words out and have them make sense. David ran a hand along the damp back of his neck. Thirty-five degrees out and he was sweating!

"Marie, a lot has changed about me that you don't know. You don't know me at all, in fact."

She knew him well enough and intended to keep it that way. More than she'd realized at first, Cecil had left her in a fragile state. Now was no time to go getting mixed up with a handsome optician who left her unable to see straight.

"David," she said calmly. "It's late, I'm tired, and I'm afraid I'm all talked out."

"Well, that's too bad," David said, his scowl almost visible through the phone, "because talking's precisely what I had in mind. Fun talk. Nothing heavy. Just you and me, a cup of coffee somewhere. We could get to know each other a little better."

Marie's heart skipped a beat. Hadn't she just been thinking...? No, she told herself, violently shaking her head. She wouldn't fall for it.

"Besides, I've been reading something I think you'd really like."

"Oh?" she asked, her damnable interest piqued. If there was any way to get to a bookstore manager, it was by talking shop. "What is it?"

"Now that wouldn't be fair for me to give away all my conversation in advance, would it? Let's just say you and I might have a lot more in common than you seem to think."

Marie bit her bottom lip, telling herself not to buy it. Not to be hopeful, stupid—or both. "I don't know," she hedged.

"One hour, one cup of coffee is all I'm asking."

Well, she thought, fanning her romance book out on her chest with a sigh, what would one cup of coffee hurt? Even the fourteenth-century heroine of the book she was reading had decided to give her dastardly hero another chance.

"When and where?" she asked, sounding resigned.

The whole staff of Books & Bistro pressed their noses to the frosty glass and watched as David held his cell phone high above his head and did a celebration dance around the gravel parking lot.

And he didn't even care what they thought.

Chapter Seven

David pulled up to the small white house with the dormer windows and wicker porch swing, and smiled in reflection. Somehow it seemed just like her. All homespun and comfortable, but pretty and inviting. Its neat front walk was lined with tapered boxwoods, while the large red oak near the center of the yard filtered morning sunlight through its turning leaves. A vision of a tire swing hanging from one of the old oak's sturdy branches came to mind. But David quickly dismissed it and hurried up the steps to the house. He was ten minutes late already.

Marie checked her image in the hall mirror for what seemed like the hundredth time. If this was such a casual thing, then why did she feel like a schoolgirl about to entertain her first beau? She yanked the rubber band out of her hair, deciding the ponytail looked too perky. She was going to get better acquainted with David, not audition for the cheer-leading squad.

She adjusted the straps on her corduroy jumper, thinking maybe she'd tried too hard to look conservative. One of the sweater dresses would have been better. David had never been able to take his eyes off her when she'd been wearing one of those. Of course, David always seemed to check her out no matter what she was wearing, and in a strange way Marie found that extremely stimulating. No other man, including Paul, had seemed so totally smitten by her appeal.

The doorbell rang, nearly jolting her out of her shoes. She took a quick second look at the way her loose wavy hair fell about her shoulders, and decided it was okay. But, oh God, her glasses!

Marie lay a sweaty palm on the doorknob, knowing it was too late to do anything about those now.

"Hi!" she said, pulling back the door.

The crisp scent of autumn rushed past her, carrying his musk oil scent, and she nearly fainted.

"Hi," he said, one hand coyly tucked behind his back. He smiled and his eyes seemed as blue as the morning sky. "I brought you something."

"Oh, you shouldn't—" Marie started to protest, but when he whipped out a jumbo bag of candy-coated chocolates, she changed her mind.

"Why, thank you!" she said, hating herself for blushing. "How did you know I had a weakness?"

"All women..." David started to say, but he caught himself. Smart move, he chided himself. The playboy image is precisely what she's looking for.

He chuckled and shrugged his wide shoulders.

"Well, to hear Debbie tell it, all women love chocolate."

"Debbie?"

"My sister."

"Oh, the one who's getting married!"

"Ah, yeah. Right."

Marie smiled.

"Say," he said, motioning toward the door, "we seem to be letting an awful lot of heat out. Should we get going, or are you going to ask me in?"

Marie turned every shade of red on the spectrum, thinking he didn't know the truth in his words. Her internal combustion engine was fired up and running—right away with her reason.

"Oh, here," she said, "I'm so sorry. Yes, please come in while I get my coat."

David stepped through the threshold and into the sweetest-smelling house he'd ever been in. There was a lingering scent of cinnamon, fresh flowers, and—he swore—something that smelled just like gingerbread. For all intents and purposes, he could have stepped back in time and walked right into his grandmother's home in rural North Carolina.

"Nice place," he said, looking around. Although a bit cluttered, everything was neatly arranged. There were some nice pieces, antiques, David thought, but mainly just comfortable furniture that had seen a lot of living. "Real settled."

"Settled?" Marie asked, sticking one arm into her coat, as David walked over and hoisted the rest of it onto her shoulders.

"Yeah. Not much of a bachelorette pad, if you know what I mean. Reminds me of my grandma's house."

She pushed her glasses up on her nose and buttoned up her coat. "In a good way, I hope."

David's smile was genuine. "In a very good way, Marie," he said, his voice pleasantly husky. "I loved my grandma's house. You live here with your folks?"

"Mother died when I was young, my dad—last year," she said, taking pains to keep her eyes on her keys.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Well," Marie said forcing a brave smile. "Don't be too sorry for me. I've still got some pretty good memories of my mom, and my dad was a terrific father to all of us."

"All of you? How many are there?"

"Well," she said, seeming to brighten at the opportunity to show off her family. She crossed to the upright piano at the end of the living room and picked up a picture frame.

"This is Johnny. He's the oldest and has just gotten engaged to Meg. This was taken at their engagement party in July."

She pointed to a photo of another man who looked a lot like Johnny but wore a mustache. "This one's Mark. And this is my sister Jill with her husband Dan, and this one's my baby sister Teresa with her husband Jack."

Her sisters—one blond, the younger one brunette and resembling Marie—were pretty women. But, as far as David was concerned, Marie outshone them both.

"Quite an attractive bunch."

"We hold our own," she said, smiling proudly. "How about you? You have a big family?"

"Just me and Debbie." David gave her a wry smile. "She's the oldest, but you'd never know it."

"And your parents?"

"Dad's in banking down in North Carolina. Mom's made a career out of the Junior League."

"How wonderful she can volunteer."

Yeah, David thought. If only she'd spent a comparable amount of time with the only two children she had. If only his father understood that a man was worth more than the money he made—or in David's case, didn't make.

"Shall we go?" Marie asked, looking down at her watch. "I do need to be at work by noon, and it's almost ten-thirty."

"Your chariot awaits," David said, holding back the door. "Watch your step."

Which was precisely what Marie intended to do, especially since she had the sinking feeling that the rug was somehow going to get pulled right out from under her.