Summers' Love, A Cute and Funny Cinderella Love Story (LPC Romantic Comedy Series) (21 page)

Stu wavered, pen in hand, unsure of how much he should write about their most recent encounter, even in his journal. He sat in First Class on a flight bound for New York where, in a few hours, he would meet with his editor and explain why he willingly broke his contract with Little Brown Pelican Publishing. And while his pending appointment was cause for concern, the thing that had his stomach in knots was this business of keeping his thoughts in a journal.

A journal. Not a diary. And certainly not a prayer journal, since he still wasn’t one hundred percent sure there
was
a God to pray to. Foxhole prayers, deathbed conversions … these were the pleas of desperate men hoping for something or someone larger than themselves. But none of it meant that God was real.

In the past, he’d kept names in his Moleskine notebook. Names like Marge the cancer victim, and the names of other readers who had touched him in special ways. Sometimes he would even jot down quotes and interesting phrases.

But never his personal thoughts. And certainly not his prayers.

But Hattie’s stern words on the park bench troubled him enough to get him to start with the journaling he now struggled with. “You can do this, son,” she had said. “I have great faith in you. But it starts right here. You need passion, you need to love. You need to have your heart broken. And then you need to find the courage to put the pieces back together and move on.”

Oh, right. Like he hadn’t heard that sort of clichéd nonsense before. If not from Hattie then other simple-minded Christians.

“Everything happens for a reason.”

“God never gives someone more than they can handle.”

“When God closes a door, He opens a window.”

But what did that mean, exactly—“God opens a window”? Was He the all-powerful Oz behind a curtain spinning dials and pulling levers? Stu didn’t think so.

And yet he felt as if something had changed within him these past few days. Despite the impending doom of his writing career, he felt inspired, almost hopeful that things would work out. This, despite what had happened with Kate on the boat and now, more recently in the airport.

He turned to a blank page in his journal. In vivid detail he recounted the incident in the airport.

I caught up with Kate just as the agent was about to take her ticket. The agent looked at me and hesitated, giving me the opening I needed to ask Kate if she’d read my letter.

“What letter?”

“The letter I left under your door.”

“I haven’t been back to my place. I mean, I did go back for just a few minutes, but only long enough to … hey, what are you doing here?”

“Flying to New York. I have a meeting with my editor. If you’d read my letter you would know why. You?” She inched forward in the line and I did, too.

“Our big taser convention starts tomorrow in Charleston. I could quite possibly win salesperson of the year.” The last words brought light to her eyes.

Or something to that effect. Recounting the incident proved harder than Stu expected. Already he felt the temptation to embellish the incident by adding details that may or may not have happened. Babies in strollers crying, a businessmen yelling into his phone, TSA agents pulling a passenger from the line to search his backpack.

“So this is like a chance encounter, like two estranged lovers bumping into each other unexpectedly in a crowded concourse. Only we’re not lovers because we haven’t …” I looked around to make sure no one was listening, which, of course, they were. “… you know.”

“You’re forgetting the part where I told you I never wanted to see you again.” Her brows, perfectly arched and lightly penciled in, dropped a notch and scrunched together. “What time did you drop by my place?”

“A little after midnight. The lights were still on. Wait, the lights were still on! How could you not see the letter under the door?”

She shrugged, her eyes darting. “Maybe my brother stopped by. He called earlier to say he’d left his script at my place last week.”

Stu was no polygraph expert but he knew Kate was lying.

“If you’d read the letter you would have known that I emailed my editor to let her know I would be unable to complete the manuscript, that I was too close to the characters in the story. I am in breach of my contract. Or at least I will be. I am also positive my publisher is going to hire a Dream Team full of lawyers to sue me.”

“So?”

“Just saying, your identity is safe. I choose you over my career, Kate.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you expecting some sort of prize?”

No, not a prize, Stu was thinking as he reviewed his entry, but a little consideration might not hurt. What is it with women demanding men apologize and then throwing it back in their face? What’s up with that?

“Not a prize. Just a second chance.”

The ticket agent who gave me the “Don’t I know you” look. I shook my head, my way of saying, “Yes, but don’t ask …”

“Look, I have to board, now. I’m sorry I didn’t get your letter but it’s like I told you yesterday. I’m over us. You need to get over us, too.”

So that was that. She was gone and I needed to move on, too.

Stu closed his journal and tucked it into the inside pocket of his blazer. In some ways, writing it down made him feel better. Not great, but relieved. He’d done all he could to make up, to make things right. Closing his eyes he prayed silently: Now it’s up to you, Big Guy. Assuming there is a You. Spin those dials, pull those levers. Let’s see what you got. Stu leaned his chair back. I’m an idiot. Only a fool has a silent conversation with a God he doesn’t believe exists and expects his circumstances to change. And even if there is a God, why would he care one iota about my love life?

* * *

A short while later Stu’s plane taxied to the gate at JFK. He caught a cab to the downtown headquarters of Little Brown Pelican Publishing and stepped onto the sidewalk where he inhaled the stale odor of decay that he always attributed to New York.

He hoped his meeting would not last long. He had an appointment with a realtor at five. Since he felt certain he would be sued for breach of contract, there really was no reason to keep the townhome overlooking Central Park. Might sell the Jag, too … once he got back to Florida. Unload it before the courts seized his assets. All he needed to do was get
Summers’ Breeze
to the island. A beach, a boat, and time to write. If he had that he’d be a happy man.

Well, a beach, a boat, time to write,
and
Kate.

Chapter Twenty-five

Hold on. Are you saying Stu Summers apologized? To you?”

“Yes, but he didn’t mean it.”

Kate stood in the lobby of the Vendue Inn, just off East Bay Street in downtown Charleston. She had reservations at a Hampton Inn in Mt. Pleasant, but, given her new status as top salesperson of the quarter, the organizers of this year’s Tasmania Tasers' Stun Gun Convention had upgraded Kate to a private room at the Vendue, one of Charleston’s most prestigious small historic hotels. Now, after spending the previous night sleeping in an airport, all she wanted to do was check into her room, shower, and grab dinner. Instead, she found herself engaged in conversation with Red, her stun gun client, who was dressed in a loose-fitting russet blouse and a black skirt.

“Are you staying here, too?” Kate pointed to the floor, hoping the answer was “no.”

“I registered too late to get anything cheaper.” Red leaned closer. “They think they’re so classy, but I gotta tell you, between the vanilla candles and that enormous arrangement of flowers, it kinda smells like a funeral parlor in here.”

Kate hadn’t noticed. What she
had
noticed was the lingering aroma of time, as though she could smell the patina of the antique furnishings and the muskiness of the heavy draperies. “You can have my room at the Hampton,” Kate suggested.
Say yes … say yes …

“Naw, this is okay. I kinda like being downtown near the Straw Market and the bars. Besides, I’ve already unpacked.” The strength of conviction was in Red’s voice; Kate saw no point in arguing.

A clean-shaven, attractive young man whose nametag read “Malcolm” hung up the desk phone and stood, shooting a smile Kate’s way.

“I’m checking in,” Kate said.

“Excellent,” Malcolm said. He welcomed her to the Vendue Inn with an expression conveying sincerely feigned warmth. “The two of you?”

“Oh, I already have a room,” Red offered with a wave of her hand. “Unless you want to share …”

“It’s just me,” Kate replied before Red could finish.

“I’ll just need a credit card for incidentals,” Malcolm told her.

Kate chewed on her lip as she dug into her purse and fished it out of her wallet. If her American Express wasn’t maxed out already, it would be after this. Unless, of course, she made sure there were no …
incidentals.

While the desk clerk keyed in her information, Red pressed Kate on the issue of Stu. “So, are you saying he came to your home and slipped a letter under your front door? And you haven’t even bothered to try to find out what the letter says?”

“I
know
what it says.” Kate signed the guest agreement and handed it to Malcolm. “It says Stu Summers is a lying, cheating, double-dealing, lowlife. And I know this because the only reason he would take the time to write an apology letter is because he wants …” Kate looked around to make sure none of the other guests in the lobby were listening, which, of course, they were. “… you know. That’s all guys
ever
want.”

Malcolm briefly glanced up and went back to tapping his keyboard.

“But you haven’t actually read what he wrote, right?” Red asked.

“No, and I’m not about to call my mortgage company and ask that they give me the letter. It’s like I told you last night, I have bigger problems right now than trying to understand why some smooth-talking, best-selling author feels badly about how he treated me. Which, I might add, was totally out of line.”

“All right, then,” Malcolm said enthusiastically. “We have a nice room for you on the lower level. Do you need assistance with your luggage?”

“No, I can manage.”

He handed Kate her room key and credit card. “It’s around the corner and down the hall. Last door on your left.”

“Thanks,” Kate said, pulling her suitcase along behind her.

Red walked fast to keep up with her. “He didn’t assault you, did he? Summers, I mean.”

“Not physically. But what he did was almost as bad.” Kate stopped outside her room. “By the way, how come you decided to attend the conference? When you were at the party last week you seemed dead set against having anything to do with portable self-defense devices.”

“After I left the chapel yesterday evening, I had a chance to try mine out. Worked like a charm.”

Kate didn’t know whether to laugh or applaud. “What happened?”

“Remember how I told you at the party I share custody of my boys with my ex? This is his week to keep them. He likes to get them early on Sundays so they can watch football and NASCAR with him. Anyway, after I met you yesterday, I drove home with that box of guns. I called the gals, like you asked, and met them at a Starbucks. Oh.” She dug around in her purse and pulled out an unsealed envelope wrapped in a thick blue rubber band. “Here’s your money. Can’t believe I almost forgot.”

Neither could Kate. This stash would come in some kind of handy.

“Your hairdresser shorted you a twenty, by the way. Don’t want you thinking that was my doing.”

Kate inserted her room key and stepped inside, bracing the door open with her luggage. She allowed her eyes to graze across what her hard work had afforded her. Laced-canopy bed, chocolate on the pillow. Fresh flowers in a vase on the dresser. Nice. And she didn’t need Stu Summers to get it.
This
she had accomplished on her own.

She placed the envelope from Red on a nearby occasional table, then turned back to the door and her luggage. Red had leaned against the frame and, for a few moments, Kate feared Red would come in and plop down in a chair. Thankfully, Kate’s client remained in the hallway.

“So after I left Starbucks, I stopped off at Walmart to get some pork rinds and laundry detergent. As I’m walking back to my truck, this punk in a hoodie tries to snatch my purse. Good thing I had my Silent Assassin hooked to my pants. That carrying-case idea was a lifesaver. It’s like having a concealed weapon clipped to your hip. I lit him up. Didn’t even bother calling the cops. Just left the punk moaning in the parking lot.”