Northwest Romantic Comedies: Boxed Set Books 1-6

by Lia London

  “Oh brother.” She rolled her eyes, but he noted the tinge of color in her cheeks.

  “My brother isn’t here.”

  “I know,” said Chieko. “His dreadlocks aren’t dangling in my face.”

  Barth leaned closer. “When did Garold’s dreads ever get close to your face?”

  A tubby, middle-aged waitress arrived with glasses of ice water. “You two lovebirds ready to order?” she asked.

  “Lovebirds?” Chieko jerked backwards. “Where’d you get that idea?”

  “Weren’t you holding hands?” The waitress shrugged. “Sorry. I guess I saw wrong.”

  Barth let his eyebrows dance in a teasing pattern at Chieko while she tried to place her order, and he took special delight in how much it distracted her. When the waitress finally turned to him, he could barely contain a chuckle.

  “Ow!” He yelped as Chieko kicked his ankle under the table.

  “You okay?” asked the waitress.

  “Yes, ma’am. Sorry about that.” He reached across the table and clasped Chieko’s hand. “I anticipate another brutal defeat in our thumb wrestling tournament.”

  Chieko blushed but did not let go, and the waitress gave Barth a knowing wink.

  “So, you’re okay sharing those two orders with the champ over here?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His eyes remained on the waitress, but his thumb softly caressed Chieko’s hand into position for a rematch.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Ouch!” squeaked Barth.

  Chieko pinned his thumb harder this time and watched his reaction with a triumphant gleam in her eye.

  “Why you sneaky little …” He glanced down at their hands. “You didn’t let go. You do like me!”

  “Ack!” Chieko recoiled her hand as if she’d been electrocuted.

  Barth shimmied. “Look who’s got the element of surprise now?”

  “I’m not surprised you’re acting like a twelve-year-old, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” he said with a mock serious tone. “But you know what I mean.”

  “There you are getting confused with little words again. Mean, mean, mean.”

  “You’re mean.” He grinned, the tip of his tongue showing between his white teeth. “Okay, I’m keeping my hands and my feet to myself,” he said with a pointed look at her. “Now tell me, Miss Chieko Ricola—”

  “Ryoko,” she corrected. “I’m not a cough drop.”

  “Ryoko. Is it your Japanese heritage that makes you so serious all the time, or is it just you?”

  Her mouth opened and closed rapidly, and she slouched back as if deflating. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you look afraid to smile, which makes no sense because you’ve got a beautiful smile. Why are you like that?”

  Chieko couldn’t answer because a smile pulled her lips too wide to speak.

  “Okay, now that’s what I’m talking about. I want to see that more. You light up the room with those shiny teeth of yours.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she covered her mouth with one hand, still smiling.

  “And the pink flush you’re getting on your cheeks is nice, too. Why don’t—Ow! Now why do you keep kicking me?”

  “Shut. Up,” she said through both hands. “Stop flirting. I can’t stand it.”

  Barth held still except for one eyebrow which rose and fell with calculated timing. “Oh really? I see it’s making you mad by the big grin on your face. No, you don’t!” He swung his feet into the aisle to escape her next kick and ended up toppling a toddler who ran into his legs like a speed bump.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” apologized the child’s mother, coming up two steps behind. “Zachary never watches where he’s running. He just plows right through people.”

  Barth waved away her concern. “Give him a football, then. He’ll be a great running back.”

  The mother and child continued on their way through the aisle, and Barth turned back to Chieko who now watched him with sparkling eyes from behind two fists.

  “Are you going to punch me now?”

  Chieko flexed her fingers open and placed them on her lap. “No. You’re funny. You put people at ease so quickly.”

  A bloom of joy opened in his chest. “You think?” He settled himself directly across from her, taking in her every facial feature before asking, “Do I put you at ease?”

  Her lips folded inward and her brow dimpled with obvious doubt.

  Barth held up a hand. “Don’t answer that.” He sighed and let his gaze wander around the surrounding booths while he grappled with the errant crush that wanted his heart’s attention. Crazy little crush. It would never go anywhere because he was a clown, and Chieko was a classy lady.

  Still, if he could keep chiseling away at her defense, maybe he could score a real date with her someday, not just a long day of work.

  A few miles down the road, Chieko finally summoned the courage to speak her thoughts. “In answer to your earlier question, I think it’s probably just me.” She watched the painted white line slither by in the darkness outside her window.

  “Sorry, what are we talking about again?” Barth spoke as if waking from a nap.

  She shifted on the bench to face him, tucking one leg under the other. “When you asked why I’m so serious.”

  “Oh.” He gave a little frown. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it.”

  “No, you’re right. I…” She sighed. Why was she talking? To keep him awake? Had he made her feel that comfortable?

  Not exactly. His sheepish grins made her heart bounce every time.

  “My parents kind of lived and breathed the Asian-American stereotype. Super studious. Really stoic. Mega-hardworking. They put a lot of pressure on me to be smart in school and everything, but I didn’t meet their standards. I liked cheerleading more than calculus, and I didn’t pull A’s or even B’s most of the time.”

  “I hear you,” said Barth. “I didn’t start pulling good grades until my senior year, and then I had to start all over again in college. Had to study hard to stay eligible for football.”

  “I wish I’d had something like football where I could really succeed,” she mused.

  “Yeah, but then when it’s gone, you’re left with nothing.”

  Chieko stared at his dimly lit profile, startled by his admission. “Is that how you feel?”

  He gripped the wheel tighter. “Well, it’s probably no big deal to you because you’re on TV all the time, but for me, it felt pretty cool to get interviewed every now and then for making a good play. I was somebody for a while there, you know? A mighty Duck.”

  Chieko reached out and tapped his arm. “You’re still somebody.” When he didn’t answer with more than a noncommittal hitch of his shoulder, she leaned closer. “Barth?”

  “It’s nice of you to say, but I’ll be behind the cameras from now on. I’ve got nothing to say that anyone cares to hear.”

  Chieko frowned at this. “But you were the one asking all the best questions today. I was clueless. Parker doesn’t need me. This kind of feature story felt totally weird to me. You were brilliant.”

  “Maybe I liked the shiny toys.”

  Chieko took his hand in hers. The gesture, meant to comfort him, sent an unexpected thrill through her, and she panicked. Adjusting her grip, she changed the mood as quickly as she could. “Ready for a rematch?”

  “Sure.”

  They counted off together: “One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war.”

  Chieko watched their hands as he watched the road. White lines on a black road at night. Her pale fingers in his big, dark hand. He moved gently, dodging her attempts to pin his thumb, and then suddenly she stopped fighting. Her hand rested in his, and their thumbs glided slowly, tenderly around each other with a life of their own.

  Her breathing stopped, and she locked her eyes on his face. Though he did not turn to her, she knew he could feel the weight of her gaze.

  The
ir hands stilled, and Barth’s voice came softly: “I think I won this time.”

  Reluctantly, Barth pulled his hand free to grip the wheel as he navigated some tighter turns. Chieko’s body shifted beside him, and he feared he’d offended her. His fingers itched to brush over her smooth skin again, but he resisted. It wasn’t as if they were really holding hands. They’d been playing a game, nothing more.

  Still, the tenderness of the moment surprised him. When he’d gone on dates before, he’d always been in his rough-and-tumble, playful mode, but Chieko stilled him the more he spent time with her.

  Barth snorted at himself. This wasn’t a date. He needed to stop over-thinking a simple thumb war.

  Reaching over to snap on the heat, he asked, “So, when do you want to do the edits?”

  “Edits?” Chieko sounded sleepy.

  “Parker wanted us to create a mock-up episode.”

  Chieko frowned. “Oh. I guess I didn’t get that part. I thought we just needed to gather footage.”

  “Well, yeah. We’re doing that, too. But she said Guy wants to see how good we are at piecing things together.”

  “We have to piece it together, or you do? You’re the cameraman.”

  Barth’s stomach pinched. She obviously didn’t want to spend any extra time with him. “Technically, he didn’t say, but I thought you’d want to have some control over what we—I—put together.”

  “Control? Do I seem like a control freak to you?”

  Barth shook his head. “Nuh-uh, don’t you go pinning that on me. I didn’t say that. I just thought you were the one with the experience in these feature things, and I don’t want to screw it up and make us both look bad.”

  Chieko yawned. “Probably not tonight, huh? It’d make it a super long day.”

  “And not early tomorrow morning because we’ll both be sleeping with the dead,” he agreed.

  “Well thanks for that lovely thought.” Chieko’s dry tone made him chuckle.

  “What’s a respectable hour?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll need time to shower and make myself look human.”

  “Aw, you don’t have to try so hard for me. I’m used to being with big, ugly, sweaty guys, remember?”

  “Are you planning on being a big, ugly, sweaty guy, too?”

  He shrugged. “I can take care of the sweat, but the rest of it is in God’s hands. I got no control over the big or the ugly.”

  “Barth.” Chieko’s voice came firm. “I am not flirting with you when I say this, so don’t get all excited, but you are not ugly. Big, yes. But not ugly. Now shut up and let me have time in the morning to get ready.”

  Barth felt as if the quarterback had just called the trick play that would send him up the left side with the ball. He might get run out of bounds in a few yards, but there would be a rush of glory and cheers from the crowd.

  Chieko didn’t think he was ugly.

  She’d soon discover he had no future for a long run, but he rejoiced in the approval now.

  “Okay, then. Noon?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Your place or mine?”

  “Isn’t your place on MarLee’s couch? Can we get anything done with all the commotion over there?”

  “It’s only me and Grammy and Pappy during the week. It’ll be quiet.”

  “You won’t make me play the dance game?”

  “Nope, but I’ll make you try some of Grammy’s leftovers.”

  “Oh, then I’m there.” Chieko smiled. “It might be crazy at her Sunday dinners, but the food is incredible.”

  ***

  Barth panicked. The clock on the microwave said 11:37.

  “Pappy, c’mon now. Can’t you read the Good Book in your chair? I gotta set up my computer stuff here. Chieko’s coming any second now.”

  His grandfather placed a finger on the page to mark his spot and looked up. “You two are having a date on a Wednesday at lunch?”

  “It’s not a date, Pappy. It’s my job.”

  The corner of Pappy’s mouth twitched. “So, you put on extra cologne for my benefit?”

  “I promised her not to be sweaty, Pappy.”

  “You took an extra long shower, Barth. If you’re still sweaty, it’s a date.” He refocused his eyes on the page. “I got seven more verses. You can wait that long.”

  “Bartholomew Jefferson, don’t you go setting up a bunch of mess on my table,” called MarLee from her bedroom. “We got lunch in a half hour, and—”

  “Grammy!” Barth whined. “I’m trying to work here. Don’t you see I’m trying to work?”

  She waddled into the room with her hands on her hips. “I see you getting yourself worked up over Miss Chieko coming for lunch. You need to relax and be yourself. She’s welcome here. We ain’t gonna bite her.”

  “But we’re gonna need a quiet place to work.”

  “Living room’s quiet until my show comes on.”

  “There’s no table in there, Grammy.” Why had he thought working here would be possible?

  MarLee clucked her tongue. “Oh, Pappy, the boy’s dyin’ here. Give him some space to be with Miss Chieko, and they can do their computer stuff. You and me can eat in the living room this once.’

  “Two more verses,” said Pappy raising a finger but not his eyes.

  Barth willed his grandfather to read faster.

  When at last Pappy heaved himself to his feet and tucked his large-print Bible under his arm, Barth snapped into rapid motion, removing the vase of flowers, the last of the breakfast dishes, and sweeping the crumbs onto the carpet.

  “I did not see you do that,” scolded MarLee.

  “I’ll vacuum after she goes, Grammy. I promise.” Barth placed a kiss on her cheek and gently shoved her towards the living room. “Your show is calling you.”

  The doorbell rang, and Grammy winked from behind her bottle-thick glasses. “So’s yours. You be good now.”

  “Sorry, I’m early. I overestimated how bad traffic would be.” Chieko stepped inside, noting immediately the spicy-sweet scent of his cologne. Her cheeks flushed to see his pressed shirt stretching across his broad shoulders as he held the door for her. “You got dressed up after telling me not to?” she teased.

  “What, this old thing? I just rolled out of bed and answered the door.”

  “Ha!”

  Chieko recognized MarLee’s raucous laugh from down the hall.

  “Hi, Grammy MarLee,” called Chieko, her eyes fixed on Barth’s embarrassed grin. “Good to see you again.”

  “Girl, if you can see me from there, you got super powers,” called MarLee.

  “Grammy, you know what she means!” Barth’s dropped shoulders and look of defeat brought a giggle to Chieko’s lips. He raised a finger and hissed, “Now don’t you go laughing at me. You know how Grammy is.”

  “I know she can hear you even when you whisper,” said Chieko, rocking forward on her toes to bring her face closer to his.

  “Got that right!” called MarLee.

  Chieko raised her brows in amusement. A part of her yearned for another long, relaxing day with Barth. She’d even stuck to jeans and tennis shoes again, though she’d selected her most fashionable sweater to compensate.

  Barth’s hand moved to her back as he closed the door behind her.

  She froze at the gentle shudder his touch sent down her spine, and it took her a moment to breathe again. Aware of their cramped quarters in the entryway, she looked up into his eyes. “Should we relocate now, or are we going to review the vids here by the door?”

  “Aw, now you know I got everything set up for you all comfortable. I’ve been ready for ages, just waiting on you and your beauty rest.” He ushered her through the kitchen to the table. “And I can see you got a good night’s rest because you look extra—”

  “Oh my gosh, make it stop!” said Chieko with a groan. “Don’t you ever stop flirting?”

  “No, he don’t!”

  “Grammy MarLee, I am trying to work
here!” Barth’s exasperation brought silent tears of laughter to Chieko’s eyes.

  “Let’s work, then,” she said, nudging Barth in the ribs.

  They settled down at the circular table to face Barth’s laptop, and he brought the screen to life. “I got all the takes uploaded into twenty-five files, no cuts. This might take a while, but I thought we should see which segments have the best footage.”

  “Sounds good,” said Chieko, acutely aware of how little she knew about the editing process. At KGW, she relied on the cameraman and producers to do most of the final polishing work. Suddenly, the expectations Parker had set sped far out of reach.

  Folding her hands into her lap, she drew a deep breath and readied herself for the painful process of watching herself and figuring out how to choose the best twenty minutes to send to Parker.

  An hour passed during which time Chieko felt more and more useless. In so much of the footage, Barth’s voice could be heard off camera asking the questions. The few times he filmed Chieko talking, he’d chosen flattering angles, but as per Parker’s instructions, he emphasized Amelia and Martha’s work at the nutcracker museum.

  “I thought you were doing the interviews,” said MarLee, appearing beside Chieko with a plate of food. “How come Bartholomew’s doing all the talking? Can’t even hear him good.”

  Chieko bit her lip. “That would be because he’s better at thinking up a million questions than I am.”

  Of course. Barth had actually gone to college and studied journalism. Chieko had merely fallen into the reporting world by accident thanks to her stint on Who Wants to Be a Soap Star.

  “I can separate out the sound from the video, so maybe—if Amelia’s answers don’t make sense without the question before it—we can dub you in asking them.”

  “With a voice over.” Chieko nodded and took the meatloaf sandwich MarLee offered her. “Good idea. You got the equipment to do that here?”

  “Yeah, but we still need it quiet to make voice recordings,” said Barth with a pointed look at MarLee.

  “I can’t guarantee that, Barth,” said MarLee. “My show starts in a few minutes, and there’s no place soundproof in this house. Maybe you two can do that part somewhere else.”