WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies: Viva La Valentine Edition (34 page)

“It just kinda happened.”

“So what happened to my ticket?”

“I sold it.”

Brad held out his hand, his championship ring
from his days playing for the Montana Grizzlies sparkling in the
light. “Pay up, my friend.”

Dave reached for his wallet and pulled out a
fifty, passing it over. He thought of Celia, the way a smile had
played across her incredible lips as she’d gone through his wallet
the night before.

“Fifty? For that seat?” Brad shook his head
and stood up to pocket the money. “Man, you got hosed.”

Doused was more like it. He wasn’t sure how
he felt about the fact that he couldn’t get Celia Mason out of his
head. His flight for Scranton left in four hours, he had a report
to update, and if he closed his eyes, he could still smell her
perfume. Give it a day, he told himself as he zoomed back in on the
spreadsheet before him. Don’t rush into something just because the
woman had gotten under his skin. He wouldn’t jump into another
disastrous relationship just because she tasted like sin and looked
like an angel.

Hours later, overnight case in hand and an
evening of takeout and file review ahead, he tossed his case on the
bed of a chain hotel and flicked on the TV for background noise. He
set his laptop on the small desk and got to work on his
spreadsheets with memories of Celia Mason flickering through his
overtired brain. With the report for his morning meeting finished,
he shut down the computer and stretched out on the bed, too
restless for sleep. He reached for the remote and thought a movie
might help settle his thoughts.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said as one of the
choices in the classic movies selection caught his eye. With the
punch of a button, he leaned back against the pillows and gave into
the woman who’d occupied too much of his thoughts for comfort.

• • •

Celia kicked a pair of dance shoes out from
under the couch and plopped down with a sigh. She wasn’t going to
get upset that David hadn’t called. What had she expected, really?
One night, a hint of a connection, and a fantastic parting kiss
didn’t mean he’d call.

Why wouldn’t he call?

When she heard the first notes of You’re My
Best Friend, she retrieved her phone from her purse and gave a
grumpy, “Hello?”

“I take it Mr. Wonderful hasn’t called?” Beth
asked.

“No.”

“Maybe he was like every other Valentine
present. Flowers die, dinner and chocolate get eaten. Maybe it
wasn’t supposed to last.”

“That would be an excellent explanation if we
hadn’t had such a great time. And we did, Beth. We really did.”

“Okay, you said yourself there’s a psycho
ex-girlfriend. The guy’s probably a little gun-shy.”

“I know you’re right. I’m just being bitchy
because I walked in, yet again, on Tara having sex.”

“I don’t know why you continue to share that
studio with her.”

“Mainly because I can’t afford it on my own.
Other than my ill-timed arrival home, our schedules generally mesh.
She’s usually gone to the show by the time I get home and I rarely
hear her come in.”

“I can’t imagine the nomadic life of a
dancer.”

“Well, she’s in great shape and has an active
sex life. Can’t be all that bad.”

“Are you eating chocolate?” Beth asked.

Celia looked down at the pint of Ben and
Jerry’s in her hand. “Maybe.”

“Do you still have the wine and the movie
from last night?”

“Yes.” The worn case of When Harry Met Sally
sat where she’d left it, on the coffee table next to her stack of
vintage cookbooks and the bonsai tree from her mother.

“I’ll be right over,” Beth announced. “Save
me some chocolate.”

• • •

When Celia got onto the subway the next
morning, she pulled out her phone and saw she’d missed a call from
David Willingham. From the time on the display, she figured she
must have been in the shower. With the kind of giddy excitement
she’d talked herself out of feeling the night before, she listened
to his message.

“Celia, it’s David. I know you know who’s
calling because you set up that little gadget right in front of me,
which means you either a) can’t hear your phone; b) have your
phone, but don’t want to talk to me; or c) desperately want to talk
to me, but are trapped under something heavy. I hope you’re not
avoiding my call because a friend asked about the game yesterday
and I couldn’t remember a thing about it, but I could still picture
that mole of yours that winks when you smile. Man, that’s a really
sexy mole. Anyway, when you get out from under that heavy object,
if you want to call me back, I’ll know it’s you and I’ll
answer.”

Celia stifled a scream and hurried off at her
stop and jogged up the steps to the street, all the while dialing
Beth’s number.

“He called! And you’re never going to believe
what he said.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

“He quoted When Harry Met Sally!”

“First of all, pipe down. I had more wine
than you did last night and my head is pounding. Second of all,
huh?”

“I told him I was going to watch the movie on
Valentine’s. He said he’d never seen it before and called it a
chick-flick. Then this morning he leaves me a message quoting from
the scene where Harry leaves Sally a message and gives her
scenarios as to why she’s not answering the phone.”

“Trapped under something heavy?” Beth
asked.

“Yes! Can you believe it? He watched the
movie.”

“Have you called him back?”

“I had to call you first, try to tamp down my
excitement before calling him back.” She tossed her coffee in the
trash bin outside MoMa and pushed through the swiveling glass
doors. Her heels clicked on the gray marble tile.

“Okay, I suggest you switch to decaf before
you call him. And Cel?”

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations. Go for it, girl.”

“I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous. Look, you’re a beautiful,
successful, single woman. You could have any man you choose. If you
choose David, he’s lucky to have you.”

“No wonder you’re my best friend.” She pushed
open the door to the staff offices. “I love you, Beth.”

“You, too, honey. Call me after, okay?”

“You’ll be the first.”

• • •

David jolted when his phone buzzed on the
armrest where he’d set it. One look at the display, at the picture
taken two nights ago in the muted lamplight, and he took a
steadying breath. “Hello?”

“Hey there.”

He detected the Southern lilt in just those
two words. “Not trapped after all? That’s good to hear.”

“You watched the movie,” she said.

“Well, I was in a hotel room in Scranton with
limited options. It was either that or porn.”

She laughed, and the sound of it curled his
toes. “Good choice,” she said. “So what did you think?”

“I think Meg Ryan should have won an Oscar.
That orgasm scene was priceless and a little bit scary.”

“Do you have to worry about that sort of
thing, David?” She’d lowered her voice and the intimate tone had
him picturing them in bed. Again.

“I do now, thanks to you.”

“I could make a comment, but I think it would
come back to bite me.”

“Did you just ask me to bite you?”

She let out another raspy chuckle and he felt
the blood drain from his head.

“Very funny,” she said. “What were you doing
in Scranton?”

“Meeting with a client. I’ll be back by noon.
Have dinner with me tonight? Eight o’clock? I promise tablecloths
and waiters.”

“Tablecloths and waiters are hard to
refuse.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

“That is most definitely a yes.” In the pause
that followed, he pictured her smile, the way her mole would squirm
between the folds of her eyes. “David, I’m glad you called.”

“I’m glad you called me back. I’ll pick you
up. Seven forty-five okay?”

“I’ll be ready.”

“See you then.”

Five

When the buzzer rang at exactly seven
forty-five, Celia smiled and looked around the studio apartment.
She’d shoved the evidence of her frantic outfit search into the
trunk at the base of her bed and sniffed in the scent of currant
from the candle she’d lit in the kitchen. With a quickening
heartbeat, she buzzed him up and waited at the door for him to
round the staircase. He stopped mid-stride when he saw her, angled
against the doorframe to best display her gray trousers, shearling
wedge boots, and low cut sweater with a black and white scarf with
bold splashes of red. She’d wanted to wear red for him.

Her mouth went dry as he regarded her from
head to toe and back again. He looked incredibly handsome wearing a
cabled sweater, herringbone wool coat, and a cocky smile.

“You look even better than I remember.”

“Ditto.”

He stood before her, smiling a sexy sideways
grin. “Hi,” he said and raised his hand to brush the back of his
knuckles over her cheek. The move was so tender, so unexpected, she
willed herself not to shiver.

“Hi yourself.”

He tempted them both by brushing his lips
against her once, and then twice, in the span of time it took her
to raise her lids.

“You’d better get your coat,” he said. “Or we
may not make it to the restaurant.”

“Feeling lucky?” she asked as she gathered
her wrap, gloves, and clutch. The nervous feeling she’d had all day
instantly morphed into a tingling sense of anticipation. She
wouldn’t sleep with him tonight, despite her insane desire.

“I guess that depends on you.”

“Why don’t we start with dinner and see how
it goes?”

“Fair enough.” He opened the door of the cab
and she slid over to make room for him. He directed the driver to a
seafood place in Union Square.

“Very nice,” she said.

“Have you been here before?”

“No, but I’ve wanted to. As dates go, Mr.
Willingham, you’re already batting a thousand.”

“A baseball analogy? Please explain.”

“You’re prompt, you look good, and your
choice of restaurants meets my approval.”

“Let’s hope I’m not a flash in the pan.”

“Somehow, I doubt you will be.”

God, why did their entire conversation sound
like foreplay? Maybe because the vibe was back with a
vengeance.

His manners were impeccable. He opened doors
for her, helped her with her coat, pulled out her chair. If she
were dreaming, she hoped never to wake. They shared an appetizer
and a very nice bottle of wine as their feet mingled under the
table. For a restaurant she’d been eager to try, she couldn’t have
told anyone what she ordered or how it tasted, so focused was she
on the way the candle light brought out hints of gold in his eyes
and the feel of the callouses on his hands.

“So you haven’t said anything about your
father,” David said. “Is he a cop, too?”

Celia let the familiar ache fall, just as it
always did, right to the center of her heart. “He used to be. He
was killed on duty when I was eleven.”

He reached his hand across the table and
squeezed her fingers where they lay limp by her plate. “I’m sorry,
Celia. That must have been hard.”

“It was,” she admitted. “My mother was a mess
and my poor brother had to take control of us for awhile. He’s been
more like a father to me ever since.”

“Is this the cop brother?”

“Yes. My mother was furious when he joined
the force.”

“I can understand why.”

“I miss my dad tremendously, but Jeff is the
rock that holds us all together.”

He let go of her hand and leaned back in his
chair. “I’m surprised you live so far away from them. It sounds
like you’re a close family.”

“We are, and it was hard to move away, but I
love everything about the city.”

“I do, too,” he said. “The energy here, the
excitement. It feels alive and it makes me feel alive. Every time I
go home for a visit, I can’t wait to get back. It feels like the
center of the universe.”

“Yes,” she laughed. “It does. And statements
like that are why so many people hate New Yorkers.”

The waiter sidled up to the table, hesitant
to interrupt. “May I bring you a dessert menu?”

David looked at Celia with a question in his
eyes. “I’m stuffed,” she said.

“Coffee?” the waiter asked.

“Maybe after a walk?” Celia suggested. “At my
place.”

David nodded and asked the waiter for the
bill.

“Do you mind the walk?” Celia asked as they
strolled along 16th Street, hunched together in the chilly air.
“Cab rides make me dizzy after two glasses of wine.”

“If by dizzy you mean you may throw up, then
no, of course I don’t mind.” He looked across and down the street.
“I like this part of town. It’s got character.”

“It feels like home.” She jogged up the steps
to her apartment. “And here we are.”

“That wasn’t so bad,” he said. “But I can use
that coffee.”

She unlocked her door and stepped inside to
hold it open for him. “Coming right up.”

She watched him walk around her small studio,
saw his brows raise at the two beds with a room divider between.
“You have a roommate?”

“Yes, she’s a dancer in an off-Broadway
production of something or the other. I can never keep them
straight.”

He jockeyed his finger between the beds.
“This works for you?”

She shrugged and carried two mugs to the tan
fabric couch with an assortment of colorful pillows. “Mostly. She
works at night. I work during the day.”

He took a sip and nodded his approval. “So
you’re never here at the same time?”

The memory of Tara and…somebody having noisy
sex flashed back through her mind. “Occasionally our schedules
overlap, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Weird.”

“Well, I couldn’t afford this neighborhood on
my own and neither could she, so we make it work.”

“I guess you do what you have to do.”