Sweet Indulgences 2
This is the second volume of
Sweet Indulgences
. These sweet short stories are designed for the busy woman who deserves a few minutes of self-indulgence—on the bus or train to work, during coffee or lunch break, while waiting to pick the kids up, sitting in the doctor or dentist’s waiting room, sinking into a bubble bath before bed, or . . . well, I’m sure you get the picture.
Volume 2 contains three stories.
In
Lady in Red
, Anne feels as if Valentine’s Day is for everyone
other
than her—until an unexpected encounter proves otherwise.
In
Like Father, Like Daughter
, Margo plots to matchmake her widowed father on Valentine’s Day—and discovers that he has a similar plan.
Many years ago, Carol’s husband proposed to her on Valentine’s Day—but is there any hope of a romantic
Valentine Anniversary
?
Earlier versions of many of the stories in the
Sweet Indulgences
series were published by The Wild Rose Press, by Freya’s Bower, and in the magazines
Woman’s World, The People’s Friend, New Love Stories, Woman’s Weekly,
and
Woman’s Day
.
“I loved this book. It’s the perfect sweep-you-away story—smart, sexy, funny and touching…Susan Fox delivers an unforgettable read.”
Susan Wiggs,
New York Times
bestselling author, on
Home on the Range
“Emotionally compelling, sexy contemporary romance.”
Publishers Weekly
on
Love, Unexpectedly
“Fox delivers a contemporary love story sure to make readers go weak in the knees.”
Publishers Weekly
on
His, Unexpectedly
“This series is a must read for the great characters, sweet romance, explosive passion and thought-provoking view on life.”
The Romance Reviews on the Wild Ride to Love series
“You can’t go wrong picking up a Susan Fox book.”
Romance Reviews Today on
Yours, Unexpectedly
Published by Susan Lyons Books
ISBN 9780992020132
Copyright 2014
Susan Lyons
All rights reserved
Cover photograph by Susan Lyons
Cover design by
Book Graphics
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Valentine’s Day. Anne knew it was going to be bad, so she took extra pains with her wavy black hair and practiced a cheerful smile. She even put on her stylish red suit, the one that was supposed to make her feel confident and lucky.
So what if she’d broken up with her boyfriend? She was an independent woman and perfectly happy on her own.
Okay, so she could
do
confident. She didn’t feel lucky, though. Not one bit.
As she rode the bus to work, listening to the other riders enthuse about dinner plans, she tried not to feel envious. She reminded herself that Valentine’s Day was in fact the reason she had broken up with Peter. They’d been dating for six months and, while they got along all right, he’d never made her feel special. He’d always wanted them to spend time with his friends rather than be alone together. When he’d told her about the big Valentine’s Day party they’d been invited to, she’d finally realized he wasn’t the right man for her. Yes, she could have explained her feelings, and he might have agreed to a quiet dinner for two, but the truth was, he wouldn’t really have enjoyed it.
Valentine’s Day was for sweethearts—from ones who’d been happily married for decades, like her parents, to new ones who’d just met, whose smiles were full of hope and promise.
Peter didn’t fit anywhere on the sweetheart spectrum as far as she was concerned. Sad, because he was a perfectly nice guy. A woman would be lucky to have him. A woman who enjoyed being the life of the party more than she enjoyed sharing quiet moments with just one special man.
So, now she was manless again, and on the worst day of the year to be in that state. Oh well, better no man at all than the wrong one.
* * *
The office was buzzing with excitement and chat about everyone’s evening plans. Flowers and chocolates arrived, each delivery occasioning
oohs
and
ahs
.
That reminded her. Roger Jenkins, her partner at DJ Interior Design, was a real sweetie but as absentminded as they came.
She popped her head through his door, and he looked up from his computer. “Morning, Anne.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
His mouth formed an
O
. “Is it?”
She rolled her eyes. How could anyone be so oblivious? “You forgot?”
“Marilyn will kill me. But damn, I’m behind deadline on the quote for the Chamberlain Hotel. Could you possibly find something for her?” He gazed at her hopefully.
“Roger!”
“I’ll grovel, if you want. But we really don’t want to lose Chamberlain.”
She snorted. “You should be worrying more about losing your wife.”
“She’d never leave me. She says we’re soul mates. All the same, I wouldn’t want her feelings to be hurt.”
Anne groaned. How had this become her problem?
“Flowers and dinner out?” he asked in a wheedling tone.
“You don’t even have a dinner reservation? All the good places will be booked.”
“She’ll be really, really hurt. God, I feel terrible that I forgot. And the worst thing is, she always gets me something wonderful.”
He looked so pitiful, and Anne knew that the silly man loved his wife dearly, even if he was hopeless about remembering special occasions. “Oh, get back to the darned quote,” she said. “I’ll work something out. But you owe me, buddy.”
“I know, I know.” His face brightened. “Say, why don’t you buy yourself some flowers too?”
Flowers from her partner, as thanks for doing him a favor? No. If she couldn’t have romantic flowers from a man who adored her, she didn’t want any flowers at all.
First, she’d try her luck with the restaurant reservation. One of her favorite places had been closed for renovations, but she’d seen yesterday that they’d just reopened. Maybe the rest of the world hadn’t noticed yet.
Her hunch paid off, and she scored a window table. Roger was
so
going to be in her debt. Grinning at her coup, she headed to the florist.
She didn’t feel like grinning when she found herself surrounded by people buying flowers for their loved ones. This really was the worst day of the year to be alone. Maybe she should have hung onto Peter for a few more days.
When she finally made it to the front of the line, she deliberated for a moment. Roger might be forgetful, but Marilyn deserved to know how much he loved her. So, instead of the conventional red roses, Anne chose the kind of exotic flowers Marilyn loved and asked the florist to create a special arrangement in a classy ceramic vase. She picked a card with a romantic message and wished she’d thought to have Roger write a personal note. Even more, she wished Valentine’s Day would soon be over.
When she got back to the office, she was stunned to find flowers on her desk. These weren’t red roses either, but a lovely arrangement of early spring blooms—hyacinths, tulips, and baby daffodils—in a bed of moss, all in a woven basket. Who on earth? Was Peter trying to get back together?
If so, would she take him, just for tonight?
No, of course not. Lonely she might be, but not manipulative.
She ripped open the tiny envelope. The handwritten message read: “For my special girl, on a special day. Love always, Tony.”
Her mouth fell open. How darned sweet—for the special girl who knew Tony. As for her, alas, there were no Tonys in her life.
“Wow! Gorgeous flowers.” Carol, her assistant, paused in front of Anne’s desk. “Who are they from?”
“Tony.” Anne shook her head. “And before you ask, it’s a case of mistaken identity. I have to find the person these are really meant for.”
“I’d be more inclined to find the guy who sent them!”
“Don’t I wish,” Anne agreed. She had a sense that Tony, unlike Peter, was a keeper. The kind of man who appreciated a woman and let her know it.
Fortunately, the gift card had the florist’s name on it. Anne phoned and explained the problem.
“So sorry for the mix-up,” a harassed female voice said. “Valentine’s Day is a nightmare.”
“You can say that again,” Anne muttered.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Can you check your records? The arrangement is quite distinctive.”
She described it, and the girl said, “I remember. We made that one up specially. Let me just . . . Oh, yes, the sender is Tony d’Amato. Where did you say they ended up?”
“With Anne Damian, the fourth floor of the Metro Tower.”
“That explains it. They’re supposed to go to Anita d’Amato on the thirty-fourth floor. The delivery man must have misread the order. I’ll have him go back and pick them up.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll hop on the elevator and take them up.” Today it seemed to be Anne’s mission to help other people’s Valentine’s Days go smoothly.
With some regret, she carefully lifted the arrangement, went out, and buzzed for an elevator. When it came, two men were inside. Both wore the usual dark suits, but where one looked like any other businessman, the other had an air of masculine vitality with his curly dark hair, tanned face, and broad shoulders. He grinned. “You’ve got an armful. What floor do you want?”
“Thirty-four.” How friendly—not to mention charming and sexy—his smile was.
He studied the flowers more carefully. “If I were a betting man, I’d bet you were from the florist.”
She laughed. “You’d lose. I’m an interior designer.”
He’d been frowning slightly, looking puzzled, but now his gaze left the flowers, and his warm brown eyes focused on her face. “Really? I’m in the home renovation business.”
The elevator pinged, and she was glad when the other man got out.
“Renovations? Gee, I’d have expected overalls and a tool belt.”
“That’s my normal uniform. But today’s special. I’m taking my mother for lunch.”
“That’s sweet.” This man looked to be another keeper, like Tony.
Settle down
,
he’s bound to be married.
A handsome, sexy, considerate guy like this couldn’t possibly still be single.
“If I were—” she started, just as he said, “That’s an—” They both broke off, and he said, “You first.”
She cleared her throat. Did she really have the guts to ask this question? Oh, why not, it was perfectly innocent. “If I were a betting woman, I’d bet you’ll be taking your wife for dinner too.”
He shook his head, his lips curving up and his eyes sparkling. “You’d lose that bet. No wife. No girlfriend. No dinner date.”
Okay! That was way more information than she’d asked for, though it was everything she’d wanted to know. Was he just unusually chatty for a guy, or was he taking pains to let her know he was single?
The elevator pinged again, and she gave a silent curse. Just her luck that he’d get off when things really got interesting. But he didn’t. Instead, a courier got on and punched a button.
Anne barely noticed. The “no date” man was gazing at her so intently that heat rose to her cheeks. Hurriedly she said, “What were you going to say before? When we spoke at the same time?” Had he, by any chance, been going to ask if she was involved with anyone? Hey, she was wearing her lucky red suit. That had to count for something.
“Hmm? Oh, I was going to comment on those flowers. That’s an unusual arrangement.”