Homecoming in November (The Calendar Girls Book 3) (12 page)

“Yes, I’m sure. They’ll be able to assemble on the sidewalk outside, but no one can get inside without my express permission. And I’m only inviting you and Lucky. So, come on.”

“Okay. If you say so.” He tugged Lucky’s leash, and they strolled up to my porch in tandem. Amazing how well they suited each other, beast and man.

This was why I loved veterinary medicine: seeing a pet and owner in sync and happy together, thanks to some small act on my part, always delighted me. I opened the door wider to allow them past me, and my pride surged even higher when I watched Iggy take in the simple table I’d set.

“Wow. Is this a date?”

I blushed and reconsidered my handiwork with a more jaundiced eye. It
did
look a little too intimate with the lighting on dim and gleaming place settings laid out for two. Could I be more clueless? Well, there was no help for it now. All I could do was assure him a date was the farthest thing from my mind. And maybe up the wattage on the lighting. Surreptitiously, I slid the dimmer option higher, bathing the room in brilliant white light. “Let’s start with getting to know each other better, okay?”

“I can do that.” He sat at the table, unhooked Lucky’s leash, and the dog happily trotted to the food dish I’d placed in the walk-in pantry.

As predicted, Midnight, who’d been underfoot while I cooked, had disappeared.

I took the seat opposite Iggy and dug into my salad before attempting to come up with some kind of banal subject for small talk. “Ummm…Iggy. I’m guessing that’s short for Ignatius?”

“Close.” He pointed his fork at me. “Ignatz. It’s a family name.”

“I like it. It suits you.”

“It doesn’t suit anyone that isn’t a cartoon mouse or a German artist,” he replied. “Now, Jayne with a Y. That’s different.”

“My mom didn’t want me going through life as ‘Plain Jane.’ She added the Y because she thought it made my name look and sound more sophisticated.”

“Nothing plain about you, with or without the Y.”

I dipped my head. “Thank you.” His compliment pleased me more than it should have. I had to constantly remind myself this man had a reputation as a player. How many other women had fallen under his suave spell over the years?

“Easy, Jayne,” he said. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, I can go back outside.”

I squirmed in the chair. “You’re not making me uncomfortable.”

“Then sit back and relax. Your body’s wound up tighter than a trip wire.”

“No, I’m fine. Really.” I made a conscious effort to ease the tension in my bones and slide back from the edge of my chair. “There. See?”

“Uh-huh.”

Okay, he had a point. I picked at my salad, spearing a piece of romaine and cucumber slice on my fork. A fond memory floated in my head and I mentioned it out loud. “When I was little, my parents took me to the aquarium. After that, I thought all cucumbers grew in the ocean.”

He grinned. “Like sea cucumbers?”

I nodded. “I was only five or six at the time. What did I know?”

“I used to call radishes ‘bitter tomatoes,’” he confessed.

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-two.”

We both laughed. With the ice broken, we ate and chatted. Over the course of the meal, I truly relaxed. We shared childhood memories, favorite movies, and other banal topics—just like a date. Along the way, I discovered a complex man wearing the guise of simple soldier. Iggy was charming, witty, intelligent, and easy to talk to. I hated to admit that, maybe I had seen him as just a dumb Jarhead. But Iggy was so much more.

After dinner, he cleared the table while I washed the dishes. He dried and I put away. It was an easy hour, comfortable. When the last piece of silverware was placed in the drawer, I gazed up at him. “Thank you.”

“Hey. You made the meal. The least I could do was help clean up.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, yes, thanks for the help but…” I bit my lip. I should probably stop here.

“Tell me.”

“I haven’t done anything as ‘normal’ as this dinner in…I can’t remember when.”

“Anytime,” he replied, replacing the folded dishtowel on my oven handle. “I’m a fairly normal guy, you know. From a totally normal family. Regular mom, regular dad who died when I was still a kid. One normal sister. She’s married to a normal guy and they have two normal kids—”

“I get it, I get it. But you don’t. It’s me who’s strayed from normal. Once David died, normal fled, and I haven’t seen it since.”

He leaned one hand on the counter, his body so close to mine I could see the pulse pounding in his neck. “Well, then, this is the perfect time and place to rediscover it.”

A halo of white light burst through the kitchen window and shone a spotlight on us. Shielding my eyes, I strode to the blinds and yanked them closed. “Something tells me it’s going to take a lot more than my move here before I can get close to normal ever again.”

He pushed off the counter. “I’ll take care of them.”

“No!” I clutched his arm before he could reach the door. “That’ll only encourage them.”

“Encourage them to do what? They’re already trespassing, and you’re letting them get away with it.” He shook off my grasp and swept his arm wide to encompass the window overlooking my front yard. “What could possibly make all this worse?”

I didn’t dare explain my fear. He’d never understand how underestimating the power of the press had nearly ruined me once. I couldn’t take the chance a second time. I was already paying a heavy price for the mistake I’d made. Another mistake could destroy me. “Just leave them be. Okay? Please?” To my shame, tears pricked my eyes, and I looked away in the hope he wouldn’t notice.

No such luck. He took my chin in his hand and turned me around to face him. “I’m going to say this only once. Whatever you’re afraid of can’t be so horrible it can’t be fixed. I can help. I’ve seen a lot of horrors in my day, Jayne. I doubt the secret you’re trying so desperately to hide measures up. When you’re ready, you tell me.” His thumb traced my lower jaw. “I’ll still back you up, I promise.”

And there was my dilemma. By relying on him to stay by my side, I was playing right into Cole Abrams’s hands. My dinner roiled in my stomach.

“You should go,” I murmured, my eyes closed tight to keep from seeing the look of surprise on his face.

“Okay.” I didn’t have to look. The tone in that one word told me all I needed to know. I’d just baffled the crap out of him. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

“No, I think you should go home. I’ll be fine here without you.”

Belying my statement, the light invaded through the blinds, creating a starburst across my face, highlighting me as if I starred in some old jailbreak fifties movie.

“Okay,” he repeated with that same hint of disbelief. He didn’t argue, and I was fool enough to believe that meant I’d won. He leaned closer and brushed his lips against my cheek. I stiffened. “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I gave a curt nod and opened the back door for him.

“Lucky!” he called toward my pantry. “Come on, boy.”

With a jingle of collar IDs, the dog loped forward, and Iggy reclipped the leash. Man and beast strode from the house.

An hour later, after I’d readied myself for bed, I peeked out my bedroom window. His car still sat in the driveway, and his brights flicked on once, illuminating my front yard and the several people milling nearby. The reporters and cameramen raised their hands in front of their faces, and the headlights clicked off.

The crazy man planned to spend the night in his car in my driveway.

Terri

Aunt Andrea gave me the full stink-eye when I slinked back inside, Gary on my heels. There are all kinds of stink-eye, by the way. There’s the side stink-eye, which, I guess, these days, is called “throwing shade,” followed by a hundred different versions increasing in intensity and suckitude, but ending at the full stink-eye. The full stink-eye is a flat-out, in-your-face-and-I-don’t-care-who-notices glare that communicates disgust, disappointment, dismay, and every other dis- word in the dictionary.

I skittered past my aunt at her station in the kitchen and headed into the dining area. Time enough later for her to share all her dis- words with me.

“There you are!” a woman shouted from the front counter and pointed at me. “That’s her!” she said to Rachel.

For a moment, panic sped up my heartrate. I didn’t recognize this lady who apparently knew me, which meant I was probably blotto when I met her. She wore a tailored jacket and wool skirt with a pair of killer boots, their heels perfect for impaling a traitorous heart. Her hair was a subtle mixture of a dozen different blonds. Her makeup was impeccable. Nothing struck me as the slightest bit familiar about her. It was obvious we didn’t swim in the same social pool.
Please, God, don’t let me have plowed into her Mercedes or
vomited in her prize-winning rose garden.

Rachel looked over at me, her face expressing confusion, followed by a quick flash of fear. She probably thought she was the next to feel my burn. Lucky Rachel. I was more afraid of what the stranger might tell me I’d done to
her
a few months back and how much it might cost me to make amends.

“Remember me?” the woman asked as I approached with trepidation. “I was considering a tea party for my Halston’s birthday?”

Thank gawd! Relief coursed through me. “Oh, right,” I replied, my smile becoming brighter and more genuine. I
did
remember her. “Does this mean you’re ready to book now?”

“Yes.”

That one syllable converted my day from a dismal disaster (two more dis- words, by the way) to celebratory.  

“I showed Halston the brochure and let her sample one of the pastries—just a tiny taste, mind you, since she has a competition next month—and she loved it. She danced around the kitchen, all excited and happy. That was enough to convince me.”

I thought about some poor little girl, rationed to one bite of a sweet because Mama demanded perfection since her birth. I bet this Halston never got dirty, never had a hair out of place, and probably stuck to a twelve-hundred-calorie-a-day diet. Sympathy poked at old wounds. Some people shouldn’t become parents—not without passing a battery of tests and a full psychiatric profile.

On the other hand, what did I know? I was just a reformed drunk projecting my own pain onto a faceless child. Maybe precious Halston led a charmed life and didn’t mind her mother pulling her strings.

“Terrific,” I said. “Let me get my appointment book, and we’ll put something on the calendar for Halston and her friends.” Thank God I’d spent enough time with Paige, learning all she’d organized for me. Unlike when I didn’t even know I had business cards, I could now put my hands on ledgers, the appointment book, order forms, and new hire paperwork at a moment’s notice. Who said you couldn’t teach an old sot new tricks? I turned to Rachel. “Would you please seat Mrs.…?” I looked blankly at the woman. Had we ever been on a name basis? I couldn’t remember.

“Beaumont,” she provided.

I didn’t recognize the name, but I knew one of the Hamptons elite when I saw her. This woman and her little girl’s tea party could make or break my business by word of mouth. Whatever she and her princess wanted, I’d make sure they got. “Rachel, please seat Mrs. Beaumont in the east corner.” A good spot, in front of the window that faced the street, lots of light, cozy chairs, and a spacious table perfect for spreading out paperwork. “Feel free to order anything you’d like to try off the menu while you’re waiting.”

While Rachel grabbed a menu and escorted Mrs. Beaumont to the east corner, I pulled out the appointment book and ripped off the cellophane. I opened the book and bent it back and forth half a dozen times to crack the binding. The last thing I wanted was for Mrs. Beaumont to know she was my first.

I stole a quick glance in her direction, noticed her studying the menu as Rachel hovered nearby with her pad and pen. I swiped a pile of rainbow pastel sticky notes off the counter and scribbled names, dates, and times on a dozen of the suckers. I stuck them to various edges in the book. For good measure, I folded up several menus and wedged them between random pages. There. Now it looked like we had a ton of stuff going on.

I placed the book under my arm and strolled toward where Mrs. Beaumont waited. Whoops! Almost forgot. Veering to the right, I made a quick detour into the kitchen. As usual, Gary worked on some decadent creation that looked too beautiful to eat. This one was shaped like an open rose, golden and flaky with a high gloss on top he applied with a razor-thin pastry brush.

“Umm…Gary?”

He didn’t look up from his delicate work. Thank God, ‘cuz that kiss of his still sizzled in the air between us. “Yeah?”

“Remember I told you about the woman who wanted to book a tea party for her daughter?”

He frowned. I couldn’t tell if the expression was directed at me or the pastry rose. “No.”

“Come on,” I said with a nervous laugh. I couldn’t stop staring at his lips. The man had a sensual mouth—full and multi-talented. Stop! I mentally shook myself. Focus, Terri. The tea party. I’d told him about it. Hadn’t I? “You must remember. The woman who came in a week ago with her friends. Wanted us to cater her daughter, Halston’s seventh birthday party?”

“No. But let’s move on. What about her?”

“She’s here. Now. Ready to book. I thought you might want to join us to go over what she’ll want to serve. You said you wanted to be in on all the decisions. Plus, let’s face it, this kind of stuff is more your expertise than mine. You can make suggestions on what foods are best for a tea party, what the kids would like, and stuff like that.”

“You expect me to just drop everything and join you now?”

And for the second time in one day, I was the recipient of the stink-eye. “Well, I…umm…I guess I could start the conversation, settle her on a date and the overall stuff. Then you can come sit with us, once you’re finished in here.”

“Yeah? You think you can entertain her for the next three hours?”

“Three…” I swallowed. “…hours?”

His soft chuckle rippled down my spine. “No. I’m busting on you,
ma puce
. I’ll finish up here and join you in about fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Okay. That’s good. I can do that.”

He jerked his head toward the door. “Go. The longer you stand here gawking at me, the longer it’ll be before I’m done.”

I scooted fast from the kitchen and approached Mrs. Beaumont where she sat, sipping what smelled like our Earl Grey blend tea. “Sorry about the wait,” I said. “I wanted to let our
pâtissier
know you were here. He’s finishing up a particularly intricate sweet in the kitchen and will join us as soon as he’s able, to discuss your pastry selections.” I sat in the cushy wingback chair and placed the appointment book on the table between us. “Now, what date were you looking for?”

She took another sip of tea and swallowed while her face remained an impassive mask. She was probably afraid to show emotion and risk wrinkles. “The fifth of December.”

I puckered my brow to feign doubt. Let her think we might have a scheduling conflict. “The fifth,” I repeated. “That’s a Saturday, right?” I was totally bluffing, but I figured it had to be a weekend day if she wanted to book a kid’s birthday party.

“Sunday,” she corrected.

“Sunday. Right. Do you have a time in mind?”

“Early afternoon.”

“Well, let’s see what we’ve got available.” I opened the book and flipped to December. By sheer luck, I’d tacked a pink sticky note on the corner of the box marking the fourth. I picked up the note and pretended to study it, keeping the words too close for Mrs. Beaumont to read. “Hmmm…would two o’clock work for you?”

“So long as they’re here ‘til four. And I’ll expect you to provide all the party goods: tablecloths, dishes, balloons, streamers, etc., as well as entertain them with games. I’ll take care of the party favors.”

Well, thank God for that, since she’d lost me at party goods. Clearly, there was more to throwing kids’ parties than I’d anticipated. I’d have to find an expert to give me some pointers. Off the top of my head, I couldn’t think of a single person I knew who was a kid expert. None of my friends had a family. Maybe Josh Candolero? He didn’t have any kids, but he did have a coupla sisters. He was cozy with Francesca these days. She could probably talk to him for me.

Over the next few minutes, while she sipped her tea, we discussed a few more details, and I struggled through small talk until, at last, Gary showed up. I made the introductions and sat back, allowing him to take over the conversation and wow her with his charm.

“I understand you’re our first party client,” he said.

I stifled a grimace. There went all my carefully planned subterfuge.

“I want something unique for Halston’s seventh. Terri has assured me you can do gluten- and lactose-free.”

His gaze shot to me, dark with menace. Whoops. In my excitement over Mrs. Beaumont’s return, I had totally forgotten the caveat she’d tossed at me last week. And Gary didn’t look enthused to pick up the challenge.

“Mrs. Beaumont, I’m sorry,” he said, his tone smooth as a mirror, “but that’s a tall order I don’t think we can provide. While I could devise some gluten-free desserts with puff pastry, butter and cream are basic staples in French cuisine. I don’t think I could do a proper tea party justice with such limitations.” He got to his feet. “I’m sorry we wasted your time, but I’m afraid you’ll have to find another party site for your daughter.”

“Oh, Halston’s not my daughter. She’s a Hovawart.”

Okay, now I was confused. Mrs. Beaumont hardly looked like the nanny type. Still, what did I know about the Hamptons elite? “Perhaps,” I suggested, still eager to make this deal work, “we should speak to her parents then? Mr. and Mrs. Hovawart?”

Mrs. Beaumont’s expression turned icy as she stood and retrieved her purse. “For heaven’s sake. Is everyone in this backwater town an idiot? A Hovawart is a breed of German working dog.”

Well, crap. That blew up fast.

While my face flamed with embarrassment, Gary tossed back his head and laughed himself stupid.

♥♥♥♥

Jayne

For the next several days, he remained in his car in my driveway at home, or in the parking lot at the office. He never approached me and only communicated by headlights and nods. Regardless, he kept his promise: he didn’t abandon me.

Who
was
this man? Had Dom known Iggy would stick like a barnacle? Of course he did. That was why he asked him to watch over me.

On the fourth night, I was sitting in my kitchen, debating on whether or not I should say the heck with the reporters and let him in, when my doorbell rang. I would’ve ignored the ringing, but I figured it had to be him. The reporters wouldn’t have the nerve to be so brazen. And he wouldn’t come to my door unless he had a good reason.

I opened the door and faced a frantic-looking Iggy, his brow furrowed with worry lines. “Something’s wrong. My mother may need to see a doctor, or I might have to drag her to the emergency room.”

“Go,” I told him, waving a hand to shoo him out to his car. “What are you waiting for?”

“I can’t leave you alone.”

“Yes, you can. I’ll be fine.”

He shook his head, and scrubbed a hand over his head. “You’re a doctor. You should come with me.”

“I’m a vet!”

“So what? You still know more about medical stuff than I do. You’ll know if she needs to go to the hospital.”

“Call 911.”

“God, no. She’d never forgive me.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“If I call an ambulance and they pull up in front of the house, sirens screaming, and draw out the neighbors, she’ll be mortified.”

“You’re kidding.”

“You don’t know my mother. Please, come. I’ll feel better knowing you’re with me, and she’ll listen to you because you’re a doctor.” Before I could remind him again, he held up a hand. “She doesn’t need to know you’re a vet.”

“I don’t want to lie to the lady.”

“You won’t have to. I’ll introduce you as Dr. Herrera. She can assume the rest on her own.”

“I don’t know, Iggy. If she’s embarrassed about an ambulance coming to her house, how’s she going to react when I show up with a gaggle of reporters on my heels?” I gestured at the people loitering on my sidewalk.

He dismissed my concerns with a simple wave. “Totally different issue. As long as the news van doesn’t bring the neighbors out to the street, to wonder what’s happening, she’ll be fine with it. Mom doesn’t like to draw attention to herself.”