Like the First Time

by Francis Ray

  “Please.” In two long-legged strides he was in front of her. “I want you here. I need to move on and this would help. We can go by the office and sign the lease.”

  Signing a lease was an irrevocable step.

  “You want to talk to Hamilton about it first?” he asked, as if sensing her unease.

  Lorraine glanced around the shop, loving it more with each passing second. The likelihood of them finding another location in such a high-traffic and desirable location was slim to none. “How much?”

  “Fifteen hundred dollars a month,” he said, then continued when her eyes widened at the low cost. “To go to two thousand dollars after the first year, then increase by five hundred dollars the next with increments built in.”

  “You could easily get five times that amount,” Lorraine said.

  “But I wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing the same delight and happiness in their eyes that I saw in yours and Margaret’s.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”

  “Deal.” There was no turning back.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  What was he doing here?

  Gray had asked himself that question several times since he’d parked his sports car in front of Claire’s house. If Claire needed money all she had to do was sell the place. The beachfront cottage was a prime piece of real estate, but he suspected its value was in what it represented to Claire as an achievement rather than what it would bring if she sold it. Her parents hadn’t been shy about telling him how proud of their daughter they were. She’d started a home place, something her father had wanted to do, but never had the financial means. Claire’s parents’ home on Sullivan Island had probably meant that much more because of the location. The island had been a major port of entry for African slaves. A few years ago a six-foot historical market was placed near Fort Moultrie to honor those who had arrived in bondage. With Claire’s strong sense of family, she’s do everything possible to honor her parents’ wish.

  Gray sighed and stuffed his hands into the front pockets of the slacks of his tailored suit. He was well acquainted with being relegated to carry on the family traditions. Neither his father nor his two sisters wanted to run Livingston Catalogue, nor had his cousins. He’d never understood their reluctance and gladly accepted that he was the chosen one. He understood Claire’s determination to keep her parents’ home, but it would take more than that to succeed in the rough economic climate.

  Indecision was not a trait Gray was familiar with. He had an analytical mind that cut through the crap to find what was essential and necessary to get the task done. He hesitated this time because he didn’t want to see the light go out of Claire’s eyes again and to know he was the cause. Yet, he also vividly recalled her face shining with hope when she left his study. He just hoped that during the past week reality hadn’t kicked her in the teeth.

  Enough stalling. He jabbed the doorbell.

  The door opened. A mixture of pleasant scents he couldn’t define welcomed him. Staring up at him was a petite, beautiful woman in a white shorts set. “Hello. Is Claire in?”

  The woman tilted her dark head to one side and sighed. “I’m definitely losing my touch.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Shaking her head, she waved his words aside. “Never mind. Inside joke. Claire is in the kitchen doing her thing.”

  A bit puzzled about the woman’s reaction and what Claire’s “thing” was, Gray followed her a bit cautiously, then came to an abrupt halt just inside the family room. Claire was pouring a creamy white substance from a quart measuring cup into rose shaped molds on a folding table, while another woman was placing clear glass containers on another table. It looked like an assembly line. A third table was laden with soaps, candles and a shrink-wrap machine.

  “Who is it?” Claire asked, absently moving to another mold.

  “Our business advisor,” replied the woman who had answered the door.

  Claire jerked around, sending a stream of thick, creamy liquid across the table. “Oh!”

  Gray quickly crossed the room and reached for the container. “Sorry.”

  “Stay back,” Claire advised, lifting one hand to punctuate her statement. “I can clean up the floor and the table a lot better than I can you.” Setting the measuring container down, she reached for the nearby roll of paper towels.

  “Point taken.” He stayed where he was.

  Claire kept throwing glances at Gray as she cleaned up the spill. Sticking his hands in his pockets again, he debated his visit. He had no idea why he always made her jittery.

  “Brooke Dunlap and Lorraine Averhart, my business partners. Ladies, Gray Livingston.”

  He shook the women’s hands, then nodded toward the tables. “Does all this mean you have a business plan?”

  “It does.” Claire offered him a small, shy smile and pointed to a black folder with red lettering on the occasional table in the living room. “Bliss.”

  “Your mother’s maiden name. She’d like that,” he said.

  Surprise and delight widened her dark brown eyes. “How did you know?”

  For a moment he simply stared. He’d never noticed that her eyes were so deep, nor the color so soothing. “I guess I remember your father saying once it was her maiden name and that’s what she was. Bliss. I’d forgotten it until now.” Probably because he’d thought he had that in his marriage and had been proven so very, very wrong.

  Sadness touched her face. “They loved each other very much.”

  “And you,” Gray said.

  Claire felt herself being pulled in by the sound of Gray’s voice and had to mentally shake herself to break free. She made a production of disposing of the paper towels in the trash can. Once the wax dried she’d clean up the rest. Gray always had the power to shake her. “Would you like to see what we’ve done?”

  “Very much,” he answered easily. “Grandmother used the products you left and said they’re among the best she’s had.”

  “Told you,” Lorraine said with an emphatic shake of her head. “Women will be clamoring for Bliss.”

  “We already have a location on East Bay Street with reasonable rent, thanks to a contact of Lorraine’s. It’s old and quaint and beautiful,” Claire told him. “We plan to fill it with products that will pamper a woman’s body from head to toe.”

  “And make a man’s hands itch to get them on her?” Brooke said with a saucy laugh.

  Claire blushed, but managed not to duck her head. “Brooke is the director of marketing and is looking for the Man of Bliss to put on the Web site I’m designing.”

  Gray’s dark eyebrow lifted. “Why not a woman?”

  Claire’s unpainted lips twitched. “Same question I asked.”

  “Because although a lot of women are going to be buying the products for themselves, many of them will have a man in mind,” Brooke explained. “I want to find a man with the kind of raw sensuality that makes a woman want to buy the products in hopes of finding her own Man of Bliss.”

  “He’s got to be spectacular,” Lorraine said, her gaze going to Gray.

  “Look dynamite in a tailored suit or jeans,” Brooke said, studying Gray as well.

  “The kind of man that makes a woman look twice, maybe a third time,” Claire added thoughtfully, sizing Gray up as well.

  Gray folded his arms and shook his head. “Not in this or any other lifetime.”

  The women laughed. “Come on, I’ll show you what we plan to do,” Claire began, just as the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Brooke said. “Maybe it’s the FedEx guy and we can talk him into posing for the Web site,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  She was still smiling when she answered the door. On seeing the man standing there it instantly disappeared. “Yes?” she asked crisply.

  “Is Claire in?” John asked.

  Brooke was considering saying no when a little girl with sparkling black eyes stepped in front of John and sent Brooke a gap-toothed smile. There was a dark smudge on her amb
er-hued face, her white canvas tennis shoes had seen the worst of a mud pile, and she’d lost one barrette from her thick black shoulder-length plaits. “Hi, I’m Amy and I’m four. Claire is going to baby-sit me and Mark while Daddy goes to work.”

  Brooke wondered how such a sweet child could have a grouch for a father.

  John’s large hand lifted to rest gently on the little girl’s shoulder. “Hold on, honey, we don’t know if Claire’s in or if she can baby-sit.”

  “Dad, I told you I can handle it if you’re going to be gone just for a couple of hours,” Mark said, his hand on the strap of his backpack.

  Brooke switched her attention to the little boy, a three-foot-high version of his father, but without the disapproval Brooke always saw on his face. Mark was as neat as the little girl was ruffled. His white shirt was tucked neatly into his pressed jeans, his tennis shoes snow white.

  John’s other hand came to rest on his son’s shoulder. “I appreciate it, Mark, but it may be longer. I won’t worry if I know you and Amy are with Claire.” He looked at Brooke. “Is she home?”

  With three pairs of eyes looking at her Brooke couldn’t have lied to save her life. “Yes, please come in.” She retraced her steps back to the living area. “Claire, you have three visitors.”

  “Oh, my,” Amy said and started toward the table.

  “No, you don’t,” John said with a laugh, scooping up his daughter.

  “Hi, John,” Claire said, coming forward and making the introductions.

  With Amy still in his arms, John glanced around the room. “I wanted to see if you could keep the kids for a couple of hours. They’ve already had their supper, but I see you’re busy.”

  “Never too busy for a friend,” Claire said.

  “Just what is it you’re doing here?” John asked, looking around in confusion.

  Claire’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Making bath and body products,” she replied. “We’re going into business.”

  “Wow. That’s big news,” John told her with a wide grin on his handsome face. “You’ll be great.”

  “That’s what we’re counting on,” Claire said, smiling at her partners.

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed. About this baby-sitting thing, are you sure you can do it with all you have going on?”

  “I’m sure,” Claire replied.

  Obviously still troubled, John rubbed the back of his neck. “You know how inquisitive Amy is. I don’t want her to mess up things.”

  “I’ll be good, Daddy,” Amy said, both hands on her father’s cheeks.

  Brooke found herself saying, “Inquisitiveness is a trait that should be nurtured, not stifled.”

  John turned, and if looks could kill, she’d be knocking on the Pearly Gates.

  “She’ll be fine,” Claire said into the thick silence. “She can help. So can Mark.”

  Brooke refused to look away from John. The arrogant jerk. His wife was probably away from home on purpose.

  Finally John turned to Claire. “I’d appreciate it. Mom and Dad are at church. I should be gone two hours tops.”

  “Go. I have your cell number.” Taking Amy from him, Claire put the little girl on the floor. “They’ll be fine and you know I love having them.”

  John hunkered down in front of Amy and took her hands in his. “Be Daddy’s big girl and mind Claire. Don’t touch anything except food and water.”

  She giggled. “What if I have to go to the potty?”

  John’s lips twitched. “Smarty.” Giving her a one arm hug he pulled Mark to him with the other. “Take care of each other.” Pushing to his feet, he started for the door.

  Brooke watched him leave, her gaze unerringly going to his butt. Tight. In those jeans he was sin walking. Her face heated along with other unmentionable parts of her body. Her dislike of John increased tenfold, but she didn’t look away until the door closed and she noticed Claire watching her. Brooke flushed with embarrassment. What was she thinking with the man’s children there? Besides, she’d sworn off men.

  “I was just checking to see if he might be a Bliss candidate.” The lie made her feel worse.

  “You think?” Claire asked, then said to Mark, “Please take Amy to the kitchen and you both can have a cookie and milk.”

  “I’ll pour,” Mark said, and caught his sister’s hand and went toward the kitchen.

  “I definitely think he has possibilities,” Lorraine said, emptying out the last oblong-shaped soap from its mold.

  Gray chuckled. “Poor man. But, for what it’s worth, you ladies seem to have a solid plan and are on the right path to succeed.”

  The women beamed at him.

  “Coming from you that means a great deal. Without your help this wouldn’t have happened,” Claire said, continuing to smile brightly.

  Gray shook his head. “It was you, Lorraine and Brooke who did the work. You didn’t sit around whining. You rolled up your sleeves and simply did. That takes guts.”

  “Thank you. I hope you can come to our opening,” Claire said, her voice and eyes full of hope.

  “If at all possible I’ll be there,” he assured. “I guess I better let you ladies get back to work. I’ll see myself out.”

  Claire watched him every step of the way. The door closed. Air fluttered between her lips on a sigh.

  “I think he kind of likes you,” Brooke whispered to Claire.

  Claire’s heart leaped. “Of–Of course he likes me. I told you what he did for my parents.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes and looked at Lorraine. “With any other woman I’d think she was being coy, but Claire’s too honest.”

  “I think it’s sweet,” Lorraine said, coming around the table.

  Claire frowned at the both of them. “What are you two talking about?”

  “Amy didn’t waste any milk and I put the glasses in the sink, Claire,” Mark said, coming back into the room with Amy.

  Claire faced the children. Amy had a new smear—chocolate—on her cheek. “I see you found the cookies all right.”

  Amy pouted. “Mark only let me have one.”

  “Too many sweets can rot those beautiful teeth that are going to come in during the next months,” Brooke said, squatting down in front of the little girl. “I’m Brooke. How about we go get you cleaned up and then you can help me?”

  Amy’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Really.” She came to her feet, then glanced back at the quiet boy. Something about him tugged at her heart. “Would you like to help, too?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She held out her other hand. The little boy quickly came to put his hand in hers.

  * * *

  An hour later they had finished wrapping the soap taken from the molds, left the freshly poured ones to set, and made plans to start on candles in the morning. They’d do one to two products a day for each of the bath and body sets.

  “I think we can call it a night,” Claire said, stretching her arms over her head. “Mark, get out your homework. Amy, why don’t you draw a picture for your daddy.”

  Amy raced for the backpack she’d left in the kitchen. Mark followed at a more sedate pace.

  Brooke’s gaze followed the children. “Amy has got to take after her mother. Poor woman, whoever she is.”

  “Their mother died when Amy was less than four months old,” Claire said quietly.

  “What?” Brooke jerked her head around. Her eyes briefly closed. “Oh, Lord. I’m so sorry.”

  Claire placed her hand on her shoulder. “You couldn’t have known. John works hard to be both parents and give them a good home. He’s a wonderful father.”

  Lorraine joined them, shoving the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Goodnight, partners. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “Good. After we pour the candles, we can go to the shop and meet with the contractor about the shelves,” Claire said. “I hope Hamilton doesn’t mind you spending so much time here.”

  Lorraine’s smile wavered, then fi
rmed. “Hamilton is a wonderful husband.”

  Frowning, Claire walked Lorraine to the door. “Lorraine, is everything all right?”

  “Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Claire watched until Lorraine pulled off, then closed the door and went to the kitchen. She was more than a bit surprised to see Amy in Brooke’s lap giggling. The rapt adoration on Mark’s young face was totally expected. He was a male.

  Brooke glanced up. “I’ve got the kids. You can work on the Web site.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “I’ll be in my bedroom if you need anything.”

  Claire went to her desk and had just clicked on the computer when the phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Hello.”

  Gray. Her heart actually fluttered.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “No,” she quickly answered. “Brooke is watching the children while I work on the Web site.”

  “Does John know he’s a Bliss candidate?”

  She smiled into the phone. “Not yet.”

  “You’re probably aware of this already, but try to make the site as user-friendly and inviting as possible.”

  “It doesn’t hurt hearing it again. Thanks.”

  “Well…?” He paused as if he wanted to say something else. “Good night, Claire.”

  “Good night, Gray,” she said and hung up with a big smile on her face.

  * * *

  “Daddy!” Amy launched herself out of her chair as soon as she heard the doorbell. Brooke caught her around the waist as she dashed by.

  “Whoa.” Amy had enough energy for six people. “Let’s make sure it’s your daddy before we open the door.” Taking the little girl’s hand, Brooke went to the front door and opened it.

  “Daddy!” Amy squealed and threw herself at him.

  John plucked her up into his arms. “You behave?”

  She giggled. “Didn’t you tell me to?”

  He had a smile on his face when he turned, but it slid away when he saw Brooke. “Hi, Mark,” he said to his son in an effort to ease the awkwardness.

  “Hi, Dad,” Mark said. “She really was good this time. Brooke let us help with the products they’re making, then told us stories while Claire worked on the Web site.”