by Mara Wells
Riley picked up LouLou’s injured paw. Eliza had done a good job with the bandage, so she didn’t want to unwrap it yet. The poodle wriggled in her grip but didn’t act bothered by her foot at all. Riley prodded it gently, and it didn’t seem to cause LouLou any pain. Riley blew out a breath of relief. “LouLou’s apparently recovered from her ordeal.”
“She’s been racing around on that foot like it barely bothers her. I think she’ll be fine.”
“Is that your medical opinion?”
“Absolutely. But if you want to take her to a vet, I wouldn’t blame you. My medical degree is based solely on years of watching Grey’s Anatomy with my mom at an impressionable age.”
Riley laughed, really laughed. “Me too! My mom adored that show.”
Caleb didn’t join in, just watched her, lips quirked in a crooked smile. Finally, catching her breath, she said, “I’ll keep an eye on her paw, and I’ll take her in if it seems to bother her. In the meantime, I’ll go with your prognosis, Dr. Donovan.”
“Doctor. I like the sound of that. Should I have some business cards made?”
She threw a dog-bone-shaped pillow at him.
He caught it and raised an eyebrow at her. “You escalate to violence rather quickly, don’t you?”
“I don’t usually escalate to violence at all.” One hand curled in LouLou’s fur, she looked up, up, up at him. He hugged the pillow to his chest, and their eyes locked.
“Guess I bring out the best in you.” He leaned forward.
“You certainly bring out something.” Riley resisted the urge to prop herself on her elbows and lift her face toward him, but it frightened her how easily she could picture it. The distance between them closing. Their lips touching.
And then it did happen. Hands on the back of the sofa, Caleb bent down and brushed her lips with his. His eyes stayed open, watching her.
Her eyes were wide, too, and when his muscles flexed to pull away, she wrapped her free hand around the back of his neck.
“It’s okay?” His breath feathered against her cheek.
“It didn’t suck.” She stretched her neck the smallest fraction of an inch, and their lips met again.
One hand braced beside her head, he grazed his lips against hers, a back-and-forth motion that awakened a thousand nerve endings she’d forgotten she had. And they weren’t all in her lips. With only the slightest pressure, he had her yearning for more. She clutched his neck and pulled him closer.
A tongue licked her neck. But it wasn’t his tongue.
“LouLou, down.” Riley had to turn her face to the side to talk to the poodle, but LouLou wasn’t listening. She sprawled across Riley’s chest, tail wagging, watching Riley and Caleb with avid interest.
“That’s a little unnerving.” Caleb stayed in position, half bent over the sofa, one hand planted in the cushion, the other cupping Riley’s face. He traced her eyebrow with his thumb, and she shivered.
“LouLou, down.”
LouLou ignored her command. The poodle’s tail thumped double time, and then she sprang to all fours and barked excitedly at the telltale click and swoosh as the front door swung open.
Caleb froze in a kind of half push-up above Riley.
Riley recognized the fragrance—Chanel No. 5, of course—and the crisp clip, clip of heels on the tile. “It’s my grandmother,” Riley whispered.
Caleb executed a less-than-graceful roll onto the floor.
Riley sat up. There was her beloved dog, yipping happily at Grams, who promptly scooped her up.
“Not much of a guard dog, you useless thing,” Grams muttered. “How could you let a Donovan inside your home? If I’ve told Riley once, I’ve told her a hundred times you need to be sent to obedience school.” Grams made her pronouncement with all the dire threat of a parent threatening an unruly teen with military boarding school. LouLou licked her cheek.
“You have never said anything about obedience school. Not once.” Riley tucked the blanket around her hips, avoiding eye contact with both Grams and Caleb.
“Well, I’ve thought it.” Grams huffed.
Caleb was on his feet and on the move toward Grams. Riley couldn’t see that going anywhere good. “Uh, Grams, he was just leaving.”
“Not before meeting your charming grandmother.” He held out his hand to shake.
Grams offered her hand limply and scanned him head to toe. “Your grandfather was better looking. But you certainly have the look of a Donovan.”
“You knew my grandfather?” Caleb smiled, taking her hand gently in his own.
“Know him?” Grams studied him over her knuckles and wrinkled her nose. “He took my virginity, that scoundrel.”
“Grams!” Riley shoved a pillow against her face to keep from both laughing and combusting from embarrassment. “They were married,” she said for Caleb’s benefit.
“Briefly.” Grams clicked her tongue in that way usually reserved for morning show hosts who annoyed her into changing the channel. “Very. Briefly. I hardly remember it.”
“That’s, uh, wow. Okay.” Caleb clamped his jaw shut, and Riley smothered a smile. He was so clearly uncomfortable, but he rallied. “Hi, I’m Caleb.” He shook her hand and then seemed to have trouble knowing when to let go.
Grams extracted her fingers to scratch behind LouLou’s ears. “You think I don’t know who you are?” She set the poodle down and strode toward the couch. “Here to take over my building. Oh, Riley told me what you’re up to. And now I see it’s worse, much worse, than I thought.”
Riley straightened, flushing with guilt. How could she have let a soft pair of lips distract her from the imminent loss of her home, her job, her dog park? She was worse than Grams with her telenovela drama. At least Grams had thought she was in love every time she did something stupid. Riley had no such illusions. She was being stupid, and she should be grateful to Grams for interrupting before she did something even stupider.
But she wasn’t. Her heart beat a tad too fast in her chest. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the heat of his skin against hers, smell her own shampoo in his hair.
“And what is he wearing?” Grams’ voice rose in pitch. “Are those Aiden’s old things?”
Riley gave a mortified nod.
Grams tsked. “Riley, my tales of romantic woe were supposed to be dire warnings about the faithlessness of men, not an inspiration for how to pick a mate. Good Lord, it’s like you’ve never listened to a word I’ve said. How many times have I said it? Never give one of those skirt-chasing Donovans the time of day. And certainly don’t let them anywhere near your…” Grams rubbed the air in front of her, shoulder popping as she covered all the territory from shoulders to knees.
“You’ve never said that. Not once. You only talk about your first husband when you’ve had a few too many glasses of chardonnay.”
“I never have too much chardonnay.”
Riley sucked in her lower lip to keep from laughing. It was laughable, wasn’t it? Even Caleb looked like he was biting back a smile.
“Grandpa William mentioned his first wife a few times over the years. He never told me her name, but I do remember him talking about how beautiful she was. And smart as a whip, he’d say, which puzzled me when I was younger. How smart is a whip anyway?”
Grams wagged a finger at him. “Don’t try that Donovan charm on me. I am immune.”
But Riley wasn’t. She pictured a small Caleb sitting on his grandpa’s knee, wondering about whips. Frogs in the throat. A bird in the hand. She’d been jealous of her friends who carpooled. She’d imagined them sitting in a back-seat Jacuzzi while she had to walk to school. She’d been so disappointed when Emma’s mom took pity on her desire to ride in the car pool and picked her up one day. No Jacuzzi. No pool or pool toys. Just a bunch of kids strapped into the back seat playing drums on their plastic lunch boxes.
&
nbsp; “Right, Riley?” Grams pulled Riley out of the past with a sharp question.
“Sorry?” Riley shook off the image of a small Caleb asking cute questions and rested her chin on the pillow.
“I said I’d like to have a word with you.” Grams fixed a glare on Caleb. “Alone.”
“That’s my cue then, isn’t it?” Caleb pulled on the too-short sleeves of the sweatshirt and eyed the door behind Grams. “I was just leaving.”
“I bet you were.” Grams snorted and stepped aside.
Caleb grabbed a plastic Publix bag full of his wet clothes off the counter and walked barefoot to the couch. He dropped a quick kiss to Riley’s forehead.
“You’re all right?”
“Of course.”
His eyes narrowed. “Of course.”
“Of course.”
He straightened. “I’ll call you?”
“You’re a funny one.” Grams cleared her sinuses. Loudly. “Riley won’t be taking your calls, not after she hears what you’ve done.”
Riley gripped the back of the couch. “What has he done?”
Caleb took a step backward, crinkling the plastic handle in a tight grip.
“What have you done?” Riley swung her legs to the ground and hopped to one foot.
“Margo says they’re holding a special City Commission hearing this week. He knew before he ever showed up here that he was going to throw us out of our homes.” Grams propped her hands on her improbably tiny waist. She still loved a good foundation garment.
“Caleb?”
He cleared his throat. “I did file some paperwork with the city. My grandfather may have called in a few favors to get it expedited.”
Riley glared at the couch cushions as if they’d betrayed her, but the real traitor was LouLou, who’d circled over and was sitting at Caleb’s heel for all the world like she’d been obedience-trained to do so. She gazed up at him with the same fondness she had for tiny bites of chicken.
“How expedited?” Riley’s voice was low, but he heard her. He just didn’t answer.
“Margo says tomorrow.” Grams quoted her longtime friend and former mayor of Miami Beach. “She may be retired, but people still tell her things.”
“Tomorrow?” Riley leaned heavily on the couch arm. Her whole body felt achy, like the day before the flu strikes hard. She wobbled in her one-footed stance.
“Tomorrow.” Caleb squatted to give LouLou a few scratches behind her ears before standing again. “Guess I’ll see you there?”
“Oh, we’ll be there,” Grams muttered.
Riley touched a finger to her lips, rubbing away the memory of their kiss. “Lose my number.”
Chapter 8
The large conference room at City Hall was comfortably decorated in the city’s signature pastels—pinks and pale blues—but Caleb couldn’t relax. He shifted on the padded chair, checked the time on his phone for the fifth time in as many minutes, and watched the door. So far, no Riley. He should be worried about his presentation. The fact that he was pivoting from a complete condo conversion to a slightly different, less radical approach after less than twenty-four hours to get his facts and figures in order should’ve had him sweating. And he was sweating, but not from any lack of confidence in his business plan. No, he simply couldn’t forget the image of Riley’s face when her Grams dropped the bomb yesterday.
He would’ve told Riley himself. Of course he would’ve. Not at that exact moment. But a later moment, for sure. She didn’t have to look so betrayed by the information. He’d been up front with her at the dog park about his intentions. He hadn’t hidden anything from her. Not really.
Then it happened. The door swung open, and Riley’s grandmother swanned in, a tiny woman with a big poof of powder-white hair and a formfitting coral business suit. Behind her, dressed in black slacks and a drapey hot-pink top, Riley limped in. She was walking on her own, a good sign, but definitely favoring her injured foot.
Caleb stood. “How’re you feeling? How’s LouLou’s foot?”
Grams breezed past him like he didn’t exist.
“We’re fine.” Riley addressed the American flag pin holding his navy-and-red-plaid tie in place.
She limped away, taking a seat on the other side of Grams and about as far from him as it was possible to get in the room. An older man sat on Grams’ other side, a paper cup of coffee in his hand.
One by one, the commissioners ambled in, taking a few minutes to make the rounds and greet the handful of people already gathered.
“Good to see you, good to see you!” Commissioner Santos greeted Caleb with a wide smile and firm handshake. “Thought your grandfather might make an appearance today. How is he?”
“He sends his greetings.” Caleb pumped Santos’ hand. “He’s sorry he couldn’t make it, but now that he’s retired, he’s got a standing golf game on Tuesdays that he never misses.”
“Now, that’s the kind of life I’m looking forward to one day.” Santos wasn’t anywhere near retirement age and, by all accounts, was looking to leverage his City Commission position into state politics. He was on the young side of middle-aged and looked good on television with his dark skin and gleaming white teeth.
“I believe we only have one thing on the docket today, so let’s get it over with.”
Commissioner Jackson, a former school principal turned politician, frowned at Santos. It was no secret the two were often at odds. She opposed commercial development on the Beach, while Santos was all for anything that brought more tax dollars to the city and more tourists to the local businesses.
Commissioner Jackson crossed over to where Grams and Riley sat, greeting both with a hug and an “It’s been far too long, Gloria. Whatever have you been up to?”
Ignoring Santos’ pointed throat-clearing, the two older women launched into a long discussion of bunco strategies while Riley looked on with a fond smile. One by one, the other four commissioners filtered in, followed by a harried Caroline Weir, recently elected mayor and the person Grandpa William had advised Caleb he’d most need on his side. Before he had time to greet her, though, Commissioner Jackson took her seat.
“Let’s call this special session to order so we can all get back to work.”
Ouch. Caleb arranged his face into a neutral expression. It was clear which commissioner he’d have to win over. The other commissioners took their seats at the long table at the front of the room, but Caleb kept his focus on Jackson. She was known to be tough on developers, but she was only one person. Surely, the board would follow Santos’ lead.
“One agenda item; let’s get to it.” Santos rubbed his hands together. “And not much to discuss, either. You’ve seen the proposal from Caleb Donovan?”
Four commissioners nodded. Jackson thinned her lips and shuffled papers in front of her.
“All in all, a solid proposal. Beautifies an overlooked neighborhood, enhances our potential tax base, will bring in more residents for local business.” Santos looked left down the table and then right. “Any discussion or should we approve it now?”
“Excuse me?” Jackson’s voice growled. “I don’t believe we’ve had time to properly vet the many ramifications of Mr. Donovan’s hastily filed plan. For example, I believe the building in question has a number of fixed-income residents living there. What will happen to them?”
Santos covered the mic in front of him and whispered something to Commissioner Graves on his left. He uncovered the microphone. “We hear your concerns, Claudia, but residents can be relocated to more suitable housing. I’m sure Donovan will make them a fair offer.”
Grams gasped, hand to her throat. “Leave my home of over thirty years? How heartless can the commission be?”
Santos shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable.
“Obviously, we need to consider the impact on the community.” Commissioner Jackson jotte
d down notes on the papers in front of her. “No decisions have been made, Gloria. This is far from a done deal. I, for one, need more information to make an informed decision.”
“Stronger tax base, beautification. We’ve got all the information we need.” Santos pointed at the papers in front of him.
Jackson sniffed. “I don’t find these projections very convincing. Nor do I like the rushed nature of these proceedings. I move that we delay until we have time to fully consider the proposal and also have time to solicit feedback from the community.”
“We speak for our communities,” Santos snarled. “That’s why they elected us.”
“Which is why we should listen to them.” Jackson straightened the papers by tapping them on the desk, aligning the edges. “Shall we reconvene in a week? Gloria, Riley? I expect you’ll want to gather some testimonies, perhaps present something to the board yourselves?”
Santos’ mouth opened as though he would protest, but three other commissioners quickly stated their support for a delay to gather more information. Santos’ jaw clapped shut like a snapper catching a tiny fish as it swims by.
“We’re agreed then.” Jackson stood. “Always nice to see everyone.” She exited the room, fairly floating on her sensible half boots.
Caleb rocked back in his chair, a bit stunned by how quickly everything had gone. Grandpa William told him it was practically a done deal, that Santos was on their side and had the ear of the whole Commission. Caleb’s only job was to show up, be personable and presentable, and then appreciative when the Commission voted their approval. Now he wasn’t sure what to do. Approach Santos? That was what his father would do, slap him on the back and offer to take him out for a drink. A cigar. Maybe some steaks at Smith & Wollensky’s or some stone crabs at Joe’s.
What Caleb really wanted to do was walk over to Riley and ask how she was feeling. How was her foot? Was LouLou fully recovered from her dramatic escape in the rain? Would Riley be interested in a drink? A cigar? Steaks or stone crabs?
Grams pointed two fingers at her own eyes and then at him. Riley turned to see who her grandmother was threatening with the famous I’m-watching-you gesture, and when her gaze crashed into his, she froze, hand midway between her shoulder and neck as if she were about to brush her hair back but suddenly forgot to move.
