Summers' Love, A Cute and Funny Cinderella Love Story (LPC Romantic Comedy Series) (23 page)

Moving with the pedestrian traffic, Stu eased across 57
^th
and hopped onto 5
^th
Avenue’s sidewalk. He glanced up at the building to the left of him, its white stonework shone brilliant in the afternoon sun. A rotating door in the center invited him into one of the most famous jewelry stores in the world; he pushed in with ease. He savored the rich scents of polished wood and loaded shoppers, breathed in deeply as he nodded to the guard on duty before making his way to the engagement ring display cases. He’d have to learn to live without this kind of luxury … one day. As for today …

He mentally assessed his checking account and how much he could spend.
Should
spend. Not that he cared right then and there. He had to let Kate know how much she meant to him. How much he loved her. No matter the cost.

“Welcome to Tiffany’s,” the man on the other side of the glass display case said. “Can I help you with something in particular today, sir?”

Stu smiled, mainly because he knew the effect his smile had on other people. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m looking for that perfect ring for—”

“—that perfect ring for that perfect lady because she’s going to be wearing it and saying this is the person I’m going to be with the rest of my life?”

And he thought he was the writer … “Something like that, yes.”

“Why don’t you tell me a little about your special someone so I can help you with your choice?”

“She’s …” Stu searched for the right words. “She’s …” He chuckled. “What if I said she’s elegance on a yacht? Or a picnic on a beach? A vision on a pier? How would that sound?”

The salesman raised a finger. “Ah. I think I have what may be the perfect ring for a woman such as you have described. Are you thinking white gold, yellow gold, or platinum?”

Stu shifted the Louis Vuitton bag from his right hand to join the one in his left. “Platinum.”

The clerk slid the door near his thigh and removed a stunning ring encased in black velvet. “Here you go, sir. This is called Tiffany Embrace, so named for the bezel of diamonds holding this brilliant two-carat solitaire.” He removed the ring and handed it to Stu, who tilted it toward the light.

“Positively radiant,” Stu observed.

“Would you care to look at it through a loupe?”

Stu looked up to the man. “Please.”

“You’ll find it flawless, I assure you,” he said, handing the small magnifying glass to Stu who placed his packages at his feet as he took it.

“You’re right,” Stu said. The ring was stunning, like Kate, and perfectly brilliant in every way. He was about to ask how much when again his phone vibrated in his pocket. “Hold on,” Stu said, handing the loupe and the ring back to the salesman.

A text from his realtor gave him the news he wanted to hear.
Yes. Let’s meet at 5. And no worries, I have a buyer who has been frothing at the mouth for your townhouse for nearly six months. An easy $2mill. Hallelujah, it’s a seller’s market.

Stu grinned as he returned the phone to his pocket. He looked up at the salesclerk. “I’ll take it.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Around the age of ten, Kate’s fourth grade class held a contest to see which student could sell the most popcorn. Kate’s family seldom ate popcorn. “Kernels ‘ill break your teeth,” her dad warned anytime she asked him to buy her a box at the movies. But Kate saw no reason why, with a safety disclaimer to potential customers, she couldn’t sell popcorn to the other families living in Pamlico County—many of whom did not have all their teeth, anyway. By Kate’s rough estimate, if a quarter of the county’s population bought a tub of Pop-A-Top Popcorn, Kate would sell . . . well, more than her small brain could calculate. Kate was just ten, after all. She wouldn’t learn percentages and fractions until fifth grade. But she felt certain by canvassing the county that she could easily sell enough popcorn to win the grand prize, which for prepubescent girls was the Holy Grail of hot: an autographed Backstreet Boys poster.

Even now, seated at an awards banquet table in the Pat Conroy Ballroom, Kate could not believe how naïve she was back then . . . and quite possibly still was. The very idea that she could win the top sales award was nothing short of ludicrous.

When it came to selling popcorn, though, Kate had help. Because her dad ran a seafood house and folks in the county loved his fresh shrimp and crab, Mr. Winston insisted that customers buy a bucket of popcorn with every pound of seafood. And the day they hung that ribbon around Kate’s neck was the proudest moment of her life.

Kate took a deep breath and surveyed the ballroom. Colorful floral arrangements adorned the tables; candlelight bounced off antique gold chandeliers. She felt out of place, both in the room and in her tight-fitting, black floor-length gown. Sure, her attire matched that of the other attendees and with her open toe stilettos and her hair pulled up, she could have passed for elegant, if not stunning. But fancy parties had never been Kate’s thing. Even so, she heard her father whispering,
I’m proud of you, Kitten. You done good.

“Psst,” Red hissed from across the table, and Kate cut her eyes toward her. The woman looked stylish in her bright yellow floor-length mermaid gown: a sharp contrast to spandex and work boots she’d worn at the taser party. “Where’s your date? I was hoping to dance with him.”

“He said he was coming,” Kate replied. “He had some business to wrap up in New York before he could catch a flight but … he said he’d be here and I’m sure he will.”

“Are you the least bit worried?”

Kate lightly shook her head. “No. You know men and their sense of timing.”

“Don’t I. My ex never could hold his powder more’n five minutes.”

Somewhat embarrassed by the remark, Kate let it pass without comment. She didn’t want to come out and say it, but right about then Kate felt a little put-out with Stu. He had phoned Monday evening to tell her about his meeting with his editor and how he insisted that when it came to putting
their
story between the pages of a hardback, he refused. “Once the publishing house is done with me, I’ll need every dime I can squeeze out of the house, the Jag …” She could practically hear him smile across the miles. “But I managed to buy you a little something special today,” he’d nearly purred.

She couldn’t imagine what and she didn’t want to play 20 Questions. Right then, the only thing she cared about was Wednesday night and the Tasmania Tasers Awards Banquet. “I’ll be there,” he’d said, “even if I have to drive.”

He had started to apologize again, but Kate interrupted, explaining that she was about to get her picture taken with the company president. When he called back the next morning, Kate was in a safety training class. Midday, on her field trip to Patriot Point, he left a voice mail saying he was pretty sure he’d sold his townhouse, the one overlooking Central Park. “Hope you have a sofa I can sleep on.”

Kate frowned at the thought. So that made both of them homeless? Of course he still had the place in Ocracoke … not that she’d stay there without a gold band around her finger. And not that it mattered
right then.
Right then all that mattered was tonight. And his being there.

“In just a few minutes we’re going to announce this year’s salesperson of the year,” the speaker was saying. “As you already know, the winner of each division is based on the cumulative sales totals for that year. Most of you already know the names of the division winners. But this year’s top award goes to the individual who not only exceeds their sales quota, but also exhibits professionalism, integrity, and grace—qualities that have made Tasmania the industry leader in personal protection devices. Now, here to present this year’s salesperson of the year is the President of Tasmania Taser, Henry Flanders.”

Kate stood and joined the other attendees in their applause. An elderly man emerged from behind the curtain. He clomped his walker across the stage, pausing briefly to acknowledge the applause. Kate could see that Flanders had once been a tall, striking man, but as his bald dome reflected the glare of bright stage lights, Kate felt a hint of sadness. Flanders’ frail appearance reminded her of how her father looked those last few days in hospice care.

Hunched forward, Flanders leaned on the lectern and removed a folded piece of paper from his vest pocket. In a raspy, wheezing voice he read, “Whereas the late King James the Second, by the assistance of diverse evil counselors, judges, and ministers employed by him did endeavor to subvert and extirpate the Protestant Religion and the laws and liberties of this kingdom (list of grievances including) by causing several good subjects being Protestants to be disarmed . . .”

“Sorry, I’m late,” a male voice spoke softly into Kate’s ear, startling her.

She turned to see Stu sliding into the vacant chair next to hers. For a second, her heart quickened as more memories of them together on his boat, at the cottage, and outside the bookstore came rushing back.

“Did I miss anything?”

With a fresh tan and dressed in a black tux, the best-selling author appeared more handsome than ever. Kate had never known, much less dated, any man who commanded such a confident, powerful presence. Taking in the scent of his cologne, she looked deeply into his stunningly blue eyes. He looked at her as though she were the answer to every dream he ever had.

Kate squeezed his hand. “The only thing you’ve missed is the founder of our company reciting the Second Amendment in its entirety.” Her eyes rested on his. “I was worried you weren’t going to make it.”

“Connecting flight got delayed in Atlanta. What else is new?”

“Atlanta?”

“I know. Crazy, right? I swear if there’s a heaven we’re all gonna have to go through Hartsfield-Jackson.”

Kate started to laugh when she became aware of murmuring around her. Looking around she saw the stares, heard the hushed whispering. She could only imagine what they were thinking. Stu Summers is with. . .
her
?

Trying to calm the pounding of her heart, Kate said, “Oh, I forgot. You also missed our big stun gun demonstration.” She gestured across the table. “My client there took down a three-hundred-pound hog with a single shot.”

Stu pulled his gaze away from Kate and smiled at the woman. “Congratulations.”

To Kate’s surprise, Red appeared speechless.

Kate could not stop squeezing his hand. It felt so good, so right, to have him by her side. Like it was meant to be. “Thanks for coming.”

“You kidding?” he asked, sending a breath of spearmint toward her. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Speaking of the world, anything new with your editor?”

Stu’s expression turned dark. “Let’s not go there right now. This is your night.”

“I still can’t believe you would pick me over your writing career. I mean, I’m a nobody.”

“I meant what I said, Kate. You’re my princess, my Cinderella. Being here with you right now means more to me than any story I could ever make up.” He glanced toward the podium. “Now stop talking. I want to hear your name when it’s called.”

Kate cut her eyes toward Flanders. “Oh, Stu, I’m so nervous,” she whispered. “I knew after last week’s party I had a shot at winning our division, but when I learned I was also in the running for Salesperson of the Year, I nearly fainted. Other than getting a ribbon for selling popcorn I’ve never won anything.”

“You’ve won my heart,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “That’s something.”

Her heart skipped. Could this be for real? Was she
really
dating a New York Times bestselling author, a man so kind and thoughtful he would put her ahead of his career?

“And now I am pleased to announce this year’s winner of the Tasmania’s top sales person is …” A hush fell over the ballroom. Kate felt flush with anticipation. “Kate Winston!”

Thundering applause drowned out her gasp. Before it really sank in she’d won, Stu shot from his chair and pulled Kate onto her feet, giving her a hug that lifted her off the floor. When he released her, she turned toward the stage, her ears thundering with the applause and her head giddy from the hug. She took a step, then another and another, willing herself not to fall. If her high heels had been difficult enough on flat flooring, they were doubly dangerous as she worked her way toward the stage.
Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall …

She mounted the marble stairs. Below the stage in the area reserved for Tasmania executives, a videographer appeared, aiming a shoulder-mounted camera at her. She strode toward the podium, blinded by stage lights and with as much composure as she could muster. The emcee helped Flanders hoist the trophy off the podium and present it to Kate who posed for pictures and received a weak, grandfatherly hug from the company’s founder and president.

Kate’s magical moment ended too soon in a flash of digital cameras.

While the emcee gathered her notes from the podium and Flanders clomped away on his walker, Kate carefully descended the stairs. A crowded rush of chattering colleagues immediately surrounded her, offering congratulations and enthusiast handshakes. The next few minutes became a blur as she moved from person to person, receiving false praise.