once upon a romance 08 - making a splash

by Laurie LeClair

  Danny popped a mac and cheese ball between his teeth. “Hmm…” With his mouth full, he nodded his head. “Of course.”

  “Show me,” Max coaxed, reaching out for one. Jonathan did the same.

  “Brothers.” Danny shook his head, grabbed up the bowl, and guided them to the recesses of the big room.

  “These are so—”

  “Delicious,” Jonathan finished for him.

  “Melt in your mouth cheesy explosion,” Danny added for good measure, shifting the bowl and offering them another.

  “You’re definitely my favorite brother, Danny,” Max said with a grin.

  “I know.” His confident answer caused them all to laugh.

  The tiny space Danny brought them to was a little cubbyhole of an area, no bigger than a small walk-in closet. “My office.”

  “Yours?”

  “Yep. I asked. They gave in.” He shrugged. “I am working part-time here, arranging the pantry, helping the chef with ordering supplies, my forte.”

  Max chuckled. Pride beamed through him. His brother had them all beat when it came to smart and charming. “Way to go, bro. High-five.”

  They slapped hands and so did Jonathan and Danny.

  “Another win for the Whitfields,” he said softly. Every victory was savored. The four orphans embraced the blessings that came to them, knowing it was a testament to their mom and dad.

  “How many jobs do you have now?” Jonathan shook his head as he grabbed more mac and cheese delights.

  “King’s Department store is numero uno. Then comes Marcus and Stu’s restaurants, King’s Café, and now Whitfield’s Sports Bar.”

  While his brother answered, Max looked around. There was a small makeshift desk along one side with a huge calendar/planner covering the wall above with events neatly written in many of the blocks.

  Danny shoved the bowl at Max.

  He grabbed it and then watched Danny bend down and retrieve something from a seemingly invisible shelf below the desk. He stood and held up the object. “Looking for this?”

  Chapter 6

  Annabelle charged out of the bathroom and searched for the cute guy named Max. The crush of people pushed and shoved her nearly all the way back to the entrance.

  At five four, she wasn’t a linebacker, but she could block and dodge. She forged ahead, elbowing and sliding through. Someone backed up, stepping on her bare toes.

  She muffled a bad word—okay, maybe two—and firmly jammed her hands in his back, moving him off of her.

  “Hey, watch out,” he said, turning to scowl at her. His glassy eyes and beer in his hand told her plenty.

  At eye level, she said, “Me? You’re the one smashing me.”

  “Stop shoving me, and I won’t.” He backed up, doing it on purpose again.

  “Ouch! Why you little—”

  “Trouble?” a tall man dressed in black slacks and a matching polo shirt asked. Security was written in white lettering on the left side of the fabric.

  “Nope,” she said, clamping her mouth shut.

  “Yes. She won’t stop pushing.” The little guy shot her a cocky glare.

  “What? No way.” She gulped hard. She lied. “Okay, maybe a little.” There, she had to fess up; she had to set a good example for her son. “I’m trying to find someone.”

  “Like a date?”

  The catty remark made her hiss again. “Not you, buster.”

  “Let’s break this up, all right?” The security guy’s sigh said it all. He’d been through this before. “Show me your passes.”

  “Passes?” Annabelle blinked.

  The annoying little guy flashed his hanging from around his neck. “They were handed out as security verified and certified. Don’t you have one?” That smile made her grit her teeth.

  “I came with Max.” Super Max, to you.

  “You don’t have one,” he said in a singsong voice.

  “What? Are you ten?”

  “Ma’am? Do you have one?” The security guy looked at her with sympathy in his dark brown eyes.

  “Max may have had one…” She tried to recall if he had one or not.

  “What’s this Max’s last name?”

  Annabelle felt the color drain from her face. She didn’t even know who he was. “I don’t know.” Her teeth chattered as the enormity of it hit home.

  Who was he? What had he done with Joey’s football? Her late husband’s football, passed down to their son, couldn’t be lost. It remained a piece that connected her son to his dad.

  Cold, hard dread sank to her belly, like a block of ice.

  “See, I knew it.” The little guy looked her over swiftly and shivered. “She shouldn’t be in here.”

  “Ma’am, if you don’t have a pass, press credentials, or a personal invitation, I can’t let you stay.” Regret laced the security guard’s voice.

  “But,” she said, standing on tippy-toes and searching for Max. It seemed like everyone was head and shoulders above her. She couldn’t see anyone’s face.

  “Sorry. I’ll escort you out.”

  “Ta-ta!” The smirk on the little guy’s face rubbed it in.

  She clamped down on a curse word. Gigi, her mother-in-law, would be pleased at the restraint she used.

  As she dragged her feet beside the tall man on her walk of shame, Annabelle’s mind worked overtime. “The guard at the entrance let Max and me in. He’ll remember.” She shot out in front of her escort and raced to the door. Flinging it open, she rushed to the sidewalk, looking up and down. “Where?”

  People reared back, looking at her as if they’d catch a disease, as they walked around her to get by.

  Glancing down, she took in her still wet tendrils of hair, very damp dress, oversized men’s jacket, and her bare feet. “Look what the cat drug home,” she murmured, aware now of what she must look like to other people.

  “Ma’am?” the security guy asked, waving a hand to the two stout men standing guard with feet apart and arms akimbo in front of the doors, like matching pieces in front of a pharaoh’s tomb. All that they were missing were the headdresses and clothing.

  Neither one were the door guy from earlier. “Big, broad shoulders.” She stuck her hands out from her own shoulders to emphasis. “Where did he go? Is he on break?”

  “Clive?” the nice guy asked. “He left. He had a family emergency.” He nodded to the men nearby. “Handed the door duty over to the twins here.”

  She groaned. Her luck just ran out. “If you just let me back in, I could find Max. He’ll vouch for me.”

  “No can do. Orders.” He sighed, and then waved down a passing taxi. It screeched to a halt in the busy street, hitting a small puddle. Horns blared.

  “Looks like this is where I came in,” Annabelle muttered, choking up.

  “Yo, you want a ride or not?” the taxi driver yelled.

  Mr. Nice Guy guided her by the elbow across the last of the sidewalk, stepped down to the street level, and then walked her to the yellow taxi door. He even opened it for her and assisted her gently inside. He fished out a twenty from his pants pocket and handed it to the driver.

  “Where to?”

  Annabelle, in a monotone voice, gave him her address. Looking to the nice guy, she said, “Thanks for caring, at least. I owe you for the fare. What’s your name?”

  “Samson.”

  “Annabelle O’Connor. I have a landscape business specializing in water features. Mermaid Landscapes and Waterworks, ever heard of it?” At his nod, she continued, “Stop by and I’ll pay you back. And if you find a Max, tell him Irish is looking for him. And he better have that football.”

  ***

  Bone weary, she waited for Gigi to unlock the door. Annabelle had sped out so fast earlier she’d forgotten her ID and her key. The last of her cash, stuffed in her shoe—a habit from her school days—had gone to the first cabbie.

  “It’s late. After dark. Who is it?” Gigi pushed back the lacy curtain near the door and peered out.


  “It’s me, Annabelle.” She forced herself to answer.

  The lock snapped and the door clicked open. Gigi stuck her head around the corner of the door. “What in the world?”

  Her grin inched up. “I look a sight, don’t I?” Stepping over the threshold, she sighed, the tension dropping from her in an instant. “Oh, it feels good to be home.”

  “Oh, my! What did you get yourself into this time, Annabelle?” There was a hint of laughter in her words. Her mother-in-law closed and relocked the door.

  She threw up her hands. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Gigi giggled and gave her a swift hug. “Come on, sweetie. You can tell me all about it and I can tell you all about my news over a hot cup of tea. Heads-up. I got an interview tomorrow at King’s. Wedding dress seamstress.” She squealed.

  “So much for keeping your news a surprise.” Annabelle smiled, knowing Gigi had applied recently for one of the coveted spots in the new wedding wing at the famed store. She said a small thank-you to the gods for granting this special lady some good news and crossed her fingers for the dream job with benefits to follow. “That’s great, Gigi.”

  “Now, if I get the job, I can do my part around here.”

  “You always do. Where would I have been these last years without you helping with Joey? Huh?”

  They both knew it was true. This small family depended on each other.

  “Extra lemon and honey for me, okay?”

  “Will do. Rain’s starting up again. And where in the world did you get a man’s suit jacket?” She stopped in her tracks on the way to the kitchen, twirled around, and held her hands over her mouth. “You didn’t, did you?” She flung her arms around Annabelle. “I’m so happy for you, honey.”

  Enduring the tight embrace, she said, “I’ve never seen someone so happy to think their daughter-in-law got some.”

  She pulled back and fingered her still damp hair. “Two years is a long time, especially for a young woman.”

  “I hate to disappoint you, my dear.” She loved how this woman obliterated all the stereotypical mothers-in-law out there.

  “No?” She snapped her fingers. “Dang it! If you’d let me, I’d fix you up.”

  “Me? You can take my place, how’s that?” Gigi had a better chance at love than Annabelle would, especially since she’d sworn off it. Without waiting for a reply, she walked toward the hallway. “How’s our guy?” Her heart tugged. He’d been let down so many times and now she would be letting him down, too.

  “Wore himself out playing superhero games.” She hesitated. “His friend showed up, too.”

  Stopping and turning slowly, she asked, “Joseph?” A niggle of anxiety snaked through her chest.

  “The one and the same. Or should I say the one and only.”

  She released a pent-up breath. “In need of Imaginary Friend 101 training, asap.”

  “Maybe he sees things we don’t.” Gigi broached the sore subject.

  “His dad,” she whispered, knowing her son used his father’s name, his own full given name, as his friend’s name. She met her mother-in-law’s teary eyes. “I’m sorry.” They both hurt still.

  “He died a hero.” Her voice choked up. Then she glanced over her. “Go, clean up. Where in the world are your shoes?”

  “Long, long story, Gigi.” Before she left, she went to the older woman and gave her a tender hug and a kiss on her soft cheek. “Love you lots.”

  “Not more than me.”

  They chuckled at the familiar repertoire.

  A few minutes later, Annabelle peeked in on Joey. He was on his back, covers thrown off, and his arms stretched out above his head.

  “My superhero,” she whispered, thinking he was dreaming of flying again. Softly, she nudged the door open and snuck in. Her heart tugged and squeezed when she drew near. “My little boy is getting so big.”

  She drew the superhero themed sheet and blanket over him, tucking him in. Leaning down, she brushed back his hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. He didn’t move.

  Scanning his features, she sucked in a sharp, aching breath. He looked more and more like his dad every day. Dark auburn hair that had a mind of its own, the ridiculous sweep of long eyelashes that women long for, the slight little pout to his lip, and the big brown eyes when he looked at her all brought home the glaring fact of the emptiness in their lives.

  No, don’t go there.

  Step away from the tender spot.

  The minute Big Joe had died, she stopped calling her son Little Joe; he was the only one left and deserved to have that reminder tucked away and maybe someday it wouldn’t hurt so darn much for either one of them.

  Fat chance!

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself, O’Connor! Buck it up! Her shaky smile recalled Joseph’s pep talks over the years.

  Now, hugging his advice to her, she took one last lingering look at her child, her heart, and made him a promise. “I’ll do whatever I have to do for you.”

  I’ll find you that in-the-flesh superhero you can believe in again. Your dad may be gone, but there are others who can be an outstanding male role model to you to show you how to live in the real world.

  Joey’s teacher’s remarks still stung. “He’s lagging behind. He daydreams and has no sense of reality. If you don’t get a handle on this, we might lose him in the masses. And then he’s just another one in the system. You don’t want your child to be lost, believe me. I’m just trying to help now, before it’s too late.” The older woman did look concerned, but worn down.

  It was up to Annabelle to save her son.

  Number one on her agenda was to get that football back, signed, and delivered to Joey. That should put a smile on his face. And that should help him see there were real live people to connect with, not imaginary ones to cling to.

  Why did a flash of Max’s face come to mind?

  Chapter 7

  Annabelle trudged to her room and slid down on the side of the bed. She leaned forward and held her head in her hands. Something poked into her.

  Frowning, she sat up and patted the front of the suit jacket. Something was there. How could she have not felt it before now?

  She dug in the front left pocket. Empty! Next, she flipped the jacket open and searched inside. “A pocket?” The black lining nearly hid the slash of an opening.

  Sliding her hand along it, she snagged it and worked three fingers in. “Got you!” Gingerly, she extracted the object. Flat. Slim. Rectangle. “And leather.”

  She gasped.

  Her heart stilled.

  With shaking hands, she flipped the thin black wallet open. The picture on his driver’s license smiled back at her. “Figures. He even looks great in this. You’re not normal, Max,” she said to the picture.

  “His address,” she barely breathed, picking it up to hold to the bedside lamp. “Max. Huh, not a nickname. Whit—fudge! He’s a Whitfield!” Blood rushed from her face and then, as she thought about any incriminating things she called Jay, heat whooshed back in her cheeks.

  “Jock. Whitfield jock. That’s it, right?” Her memory escaped her now.

  Annabelle swallowed hard. “Cousin? Brother?” Why hadn’t she done any digging beforehand? Why hadn’t she known he was related?

  “Never mind. The address. That’s it. You, my friend, are going to get that football back. Tonight.”

  ***

  Max Whitfield came into the kitchen, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. It felt great to finally get home, only to be caught in a downpour racing for the door. Danny beat them all to it, even clutching bags of to-go boxes in his hands. That guy had stashed them in his little hideaway to bring home.

  Shirtless and with workout pants on, Max came into the large room.

  “You’re slow, bro,” Jonathan said, holding up a wing. “Grab some before Danny eats them all.”

  “Jay and Paige are on their way, so we got to leave them some,” Danny said, munching on a celery stick dipped in dressing. In his other hand, he
had a half-eaten wing.

  “Let’s get the sparkling grape juice out for a toast when they get here. Celebrate the Whitfields.”

  Maybe, just maybe, he’d tell them, too. A pang of unease shifted through him.

  Hey, guys, I’m ditching that lucrative career that Jay worked so hard to earn the big bucks to send me to law school for. Yeah, I’ll be lucky to make a tenth as much and I’m going to walk the beat instead. He groaned inwardly.

  Would any time be a good time?

  At least Jonathan was adamant on becoming a doctor. The family still had that to fall back on.

  “Eat.” Jonathan eyed him, apparently sensing something. “It’s that girl, isn’t it?”

  This time he groaned out loud. He went to the counter and picked up the football and tossed it in the air. Irish!

  It wasn’t signed. Yet. He’d get Jay to do that pronto. But how in the world could he find her? Maybe she’d go back to Whitfield’s Sports Bar tomorrow looking for him and it.

  Yeah, that sounded reasonable.

  He breathed a sigh of relief.

  Then he looked up to see the large block calendar Danny kept over the desk area. The date flashed before him.

  How could he forget? It was the day to turn in his application for phase one of the testing process tomorrow.

  He’d forgotten because he hadn’t written it down, hadn’t wanted to clue his brothers into his plans until…when? It was a done deal?

  Max sighed, leaning his hips back against the counter. Bingo!

  Apply, take umpteen tests—medical, background check, including a polygraph, psychological, civil service—get accepted, and then drop it in their laps. That had been a free-flowing plan in the back of his mind for weeks now.

  But he couldn’t do that to them. Not like that.

  Time to fess up. Anxiety nibbled at him, fraying the edges of his thoughts.

  “Doorbell,” Danny said.

  “Huh?”

  “Max, someone’s at the door.”

  He came to and heard the shrill ringing. “I got it.”

  “That’s probably Jay and Paige,” Jonathan called out after Max. “We forgot to move the SUV for them, so they could come in through the garage, instead of the rain.”