Charming for Mother's Day (A Calendar Girls Novella) (18 page)
Read Charming for Mother's Day (A Calendar Girls Novella) Online
Authors: Gina Ardito
I was ready to push my way inside, to set my little girl straight, when Colin cupped her cheeks in his hands. “You listen to me, princess. Your dad loved you. And he loved your mom, too. But he got sick in his brain shortly after you were born. He did things he would never have done if he was well. And what your dad did had nothing to do with you or your mom. That’s why no one told you. Because your mom and your grandparents didn’t want
you
to hate your dad for something he couldn’t help. You can hate the sickness that made him try to hurt you and your mom, but that wasn’t who he was in his heart, and it had nothing to do with you or how he felt about you. Okay?”
Her eyes rounded, and a tremulous smile touched her lips. “Okay.”
“Good.” He pulled her into his beefy embrace. “And for the record,” he continued as he rocked her in his arms, “I have loved both you and your mother from the first time I saw each of you—ten years apart.”
“Does Mommy know that?”
“She does now,” I said as I strode inside.
Both heads perked up, and now both wore broad smiles.
“Mommy!” Ariana’s smile weakened a bit, and she climbed off the stool, head bowed as she inched toward me. “I’m sorry I left school like that.”
I wrapped her in a tight hug and felt the last of my tension drain from me in a flood. “We’ll talk about that later. Right now, I just want to hold you and tell you I love you. No matter what. It’s always you and me against the world, kiddo.”
“And Chef Colin,” she added.
I looked up into his eyes, and the last vestiges of my former hard shell cracked and fell away. “And Chef Colin,” I agreed. “If he’ll have us.”
“Have you?” He wrapped his arms around both of us, creating a circle of love. “You’re all I ever wanted.”
“I love you,” I told him.
“I love you back,” he replied. “For keeps, Lucie.”
~~~~
Ariana
So in the end, I did figure out a way to make the prince and princess profess their love for each other. I didn’t get to give Mom the haiku I’d made her for on Mother’s Day, since I’d left it at school when I ran away that afternoon. But I got her a better present anyway: her very own Prince Charming who would love her forever. She and Chef Colin got married a month after Mom’s graduation. She left the Gull and Oar’s position as a maître d’ to work for a company that saves and restores historical buildings on the East End. She says it’s what she’s always wanted to do and now, between her family and her career, she has the life she’s always dreamed about.
I don’t know. I think there’s nothing better than being in the kitchen, creating delicious food for people who are hungry. And now, I get to spend lots of time in the Gull and Oar.
Daddy,
who legally adopted me after the wedding, says I’m the best apprentice sous chef he’s ever had.
And we all plan to live
happily ever after.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at another Calendar Girls story...
Other Books by Gina Ardito
Nobody’s Darling
(Book I of the Nobody Series)
Nobody’s Business
(Book II of the Nobody Series)
Nobody’s Perfect
(Book III of the Nobody Series)
Eternally Yours
(Book I of the Afterlife Series)
The Gift of the Magic
(Short Story in Mistletoe and Magic, a holiday anthology)
Duping Cupid
(a Valentine’s Day Short Story)
Duet in September
(Book I of the Calendar Girls Series)
Books by Gina
Ardito writing as Katherine Brandon
Kismet’s Angel
(Book I of the Kismet Series)
Kismet’s Revenge
(Book II of the Kismet Series)
Kismet’s Salvation
(Book III of the Kismet Series)
Available now!
Book I of the
Calendar Girls Series by Gina Ardito
Chapter 1
Nia
“It’s one lousy month, Nia. Come on! It’ll be fun.”
Seated inside our favorite local coffee shop, I stared in amazement at my twin sister, Paige. Staring at Paige isn’t exactly like looking in a mirror, by the way. She’s a candy box blonde, and I’m a redhead. She’s petite; I’m five-foot-ten—in flats. Her eyes are a really cool blue, mine are boring hazel. Yet, despite the disparities in our appearance, we’re generally more alike than not.
Generally.
This new scheme she’d divulged over our morning caffeine get-together would probably widen the gap between us. More than that, I had to consider the possibility she’d finally lost her mind. It was bound to happen, particularly after what had become known as the Kevin Event. I sighed.
Time to dazzle my other half with flawless logic.
“Not all guys ask for the waitress’s phone number during a dinner date, you know. In fact, the good guys actually pay attention to
you
. The whole time. Sometimes, they even call again.” Not that I knew by personal experience. My love life wasn’t any more successful than my sister’s these days.
Paige’s lips twisted like a strawberry Twizzler. “This has nothing to do with Kevin the Cretin.”
I quirked a brow until she visibly squirmed in the comfy wingback chair.
“Okay, it has
a little
to do with Kevin the Cretin,” she conceded. “But not entirely. I mean, let’s face it. You and I are both in a rut. Coffee, work, home, weeknight television, Friday night chick flicks. Day after day, week after week, nothing ever changes. I saw this psychologist on
Dara
the other day…”
Tilting my tall coffee toward my mouth, I stared at the ceiling to keep Paige from seeing my eyes roll. Not
Dara Fitzsimmons, that talk show host, again.
God, give me strength.
Years ago,
Dara’s daddy bought a local cable station and found himself with an empty hour of airtime, which he offered to his daughter. Within one season, she’d become a syndicated voice for those ladies still maneuvering the shark-infested waters of fishing for careers and Mr. Right simultaneously. Paige, as one of Dara’s Disciples, not only watched the show every weekday, she firmly believed Dara Fitzsimmons held all the answers to the hunt for love and happiness. I, on the other hand, thought Dara was a prissy, sanctimonious, spoiled little rich girl who knew nothing about the Real World.
Just another checkmark in the Different column for us.
“Think about it.” Paige picked at the edges of the cardboard ring wrapped around the cup that held her mocha latte. “Every day for thirty days, you change one thing in your life.
One thing
. Easy, right? You take a different route to work one day, you go out for lunch instead of choking down a sandwich behind the counter.” Her index finger popped up near my nose. “One simple thing.”
Simple. Right. Over our childhood and teenage years, I’d learned to avoid anything Paige deemed “simple.”
In elementary school, Paige said sneaking our cat into school would be “simple.” In hindsight, smuggling Fluffy into the class had been easy. Keeping her hidden in my backpack for six hours? Not so much. Before we finished the Pledge of Allegiance, Fluffy had ripped her way out and dashed around the classroom like a whirling dervish, hissing, spitting, and scratching. Thirty manic minutes later, the janitor had cornered our poor calico and stuffed her into a drawstring bag while I sat in the principal’s office waiting for Dad to come to school. I lost television privileges and my allowance for two weeks over that little escapade.
At fifteen, Paige insisted we’d have no problem climbing out our bedroom window to meet our friends for a midnight rendezvous at the schoolyard without our dad ever knowing we were gone. And of course,
she
had no problem at all. I slipped on a patch of wet leaves, caught my foot in the rain gutter, and fell off the roof. Three manic hours later, I left the emergency room with my left arm in a cast and my father’s disappointment weighing down my shoulders. I lost my allowance for two months.
“Come on, Nia.” My sister’s urgent whine broke through my memories of those…
ahem
…good times. “It’ll be fun. And maybe it’ll break us both out of our funks.”
I was going to regret this. I knew someday soon, I’d be sitting somewhere—an alley, a police station—ruing the day I agreed to my sister’s
Thirty Days to Break Out of Our Funks
plan. Which made my quick surrender that much more pitiful.
At least no one could take away my allowance this time.
“All right, all right,” I relented on a heavy sigh. “I’ll do it. When do you wanna start?”
“Today. Right now. It’s September 1, the perfect time. From now until the thirtieth, you and I will both do one thing differently every day.” Her eyes took on an electric glint. “Me? I’m going to walk to work today. What about you?”
I took a sip of coffee to buy time—a stay of execution.
“Nia! Answer me.” Paige pushed a hand into my shoulder.
Coffee sloshed up to my nostrils, but thankfully, didn’t spill over the top and onto my spotless white blouse. As a precaution against further possible damage, I set the cup down on the table and grabbed a napkin to blot my upper lip. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t exactly had time to map this all out the way you obviously did.”
“Don’t you dare welch on me on the first day,” she warned in low tones, her lashes fluttering like a bat’s wings at me. “Don’t welch at all.”
“I won’t. I’ll come up with something. I promise.” I glanced at my watch. Twenty minutes to nine. “But right now, I gotta dash to get the store open.”
Before she could protest, I grabbed my purse from the seat next to me and sprinted out the door. As I settled into my car in the parking lot, I sighed again. Paige would only continue to nag me until I played along. Might as well give in right from the start. Leaving the gear in park, engine idling, I dug out my cell and dialed her number.
“Yeeeeeessss…?” she answered after the first ring.
“Just so you know, I’m going to take First Avenue to work today, okay?” Since my gift and souvenir shop, Nature’s Bounty, sat in the middle of Snug Harbor’s Main Street, this new route would make me late. But only by about five minutes, and it would get Paige off my back until tomorrow. Well worth the time sacrifice.
“Purr-fect.” Her satisfied smile bounced off satellites in space and zinged through my earpiece.
While fine hairs danced on the back of my neck, I gripped my cell phone tight enough to crush it. “I hope you get caught in a sudden thunderstorm on your walk to work,” I grumbled.
Paige only laughed. “Have a nice day, Nia. If anything exciting happens today, call me back. I’ll do the same.”
I hung up, shifted the car into drive, and took step one of this dumb thirty day challenge. Two blocks after I turned onto First Avenue, I remembered why I never drove this route to work. On the Thursday before Labor Day weekend, tourists poured into our tiny oceanside village by ferry, car, and—for the rich ones—private plane. All entrances into Snug Harbor used First Avenue as the main artery to beach homes, inns, and motels. At 8:50 a.m., the visiting throngs forced traffic to a dead halt.