"If you're here for the party, miss, it's in the ballroom," he said. "Do you know where that is?"
"Oh, yes. I've been here before."
But tonight there was no overpowering display of plaid, no bagpipers, no flickering candles, no threat of the Loch Ness monster rising from the punch bowl. Just balloons and bowls of daisies.
And a ballroom full of people.
She hesitated there, in the doorway to the ballroom. But Mrs. Mackintosh spotted her and came swooping down to greet her.
"Happy birthday, Lucie!" she declared. "Come right in, dear. I'm so happy you made it. It just wouldn't have felt right to celebrate your birthday without you."
"I—I suppose not." She smiled as Mr. Mackintosh and Jessica sped over to hug her and kiss her on the cheek. "This is just beautiful," she said, gazing around, and she meant it. There were balloons everywhere, and streamers and paper lanterns, creating a sort of glowing blur of color. "I can't quite believe this is all for me. Is it someone else's birthday, too?"
"No, dear," Myra laughed. She pressed a cup of punch into Lucie's hand. "You enjoy yourself now. I'll be right back. I have to handle something or other to do with… Well, a surprise," she said with a wave of one hand.
Lucie scanned the ballroom. There were people everywhere, way more people than she thought she knew. But someone had clearly gone through her entire Rolodex. They were all wearing silly party hats and carrying bright paper horns, but she recognized teacher friends, the cast of last year's school play, her book group from the library, her yoga class, even Toby and T-Bone and some other huge guys who must have been the rest of their football team.
It seemed as if everyone she'd ever met had come to this crazy birthday party. Everyone except Ian. Or maybe he was hiding in a corner somewhere, making out with Feather.
Lucie shook it off. It was a lovely party, and Mrs. Mackintosh deserved better than a morose guest of honor.
"Hmm… I don't think I've ever been a guest of honor before," she murmured as she sipped her punch.
"Happy birthday, Ms. Webster!" A former student hovered at her elbow, dying to talk about what she'd been doing since she graduated, and Lucie gladly took the distraction. She was enjoying the tail end of a story about dormitory life at college when they were joined by, of all people, Baker Burns. Finishing her tale, her former student excused herself to get a cup of punch.
"Oh, Baker," she said immediately, "I'm so sorry. I never heard what happened to you that night. Is it only two weeks ago? Steffi's wedding. I mean."
"Oh, that." He shrugged. "I'll tell you the whole story sometime, but it really turned out, well, bizarre. Good bizarre," he added quickly. "But bizarre. I was already asleep, and this woman came bursting into my hotel room. This gorgeous woman. I still don't know why she picked my room or how she got in there—she's not clear on that herself—but she needed first aid and, well, some TLC." He grinned. "Turns out we really hit it off, and we've been together ever since."
"No…" Lucie's jaw dropped. "Don't tell me…?"
"Uh-huh. Her name is Feather," he said happily. "She's a little younger than I am, so I'm taking it slow, but I really think this could be something."
"How nice for you," she managed. "Is she…?"
"Here? Tonight? Yes, she is." He glanced around. "She didn't remember your name from the wedding, but, of course, this place is special to us, so she wanted to come to the party. I think she slipped off to the ladies' room. I'll try to catch you later to introduce you."
"She's in the ladies' room? And she doesn't know me by name? Oh, you know what, you don't need to track the poor thing down just to introduce her to me. I'm sure you're…" Lucie wracked her brain. "I'm sure you have better things to do, you two young lovers, you. I'm just really pleased that you came tonight, Baker, and that you are so happy with, um, Feather. You just never know what fate has in store for you, do you?"
"You can say that again." With the same dazed look of bliss radiating from his face, Baker disappeared into the crowd.
"It's time, Lucie!" Jessica cried. "Ta-da!"
"Time for what?"
But as she watched, wide-eyed, a man wheeled in a table overflowing with gaily wrapped presents. And right behind him, another waiter steered a cart carrying a huge, blazing birthday cake.
"I've never seen anything like that in my life," she murmured. Was someone going to jump out of that thing? Ian, in black velvet briefs with a silver star over the fly?
But no. Nothing like that. Sometimes a cake was just a cake.
Everybody was singing "Happy Birthday" at the top of their lungs, urging her to step up and blow out the candles, so she did. She laughed. It was a beautiful cake and a beautiful moment, and she realized somehow, through all the haze from the candles and the good wishes, that she really was thirty years old. Thirty. My, my.
"I'm thirty, I've never been to Paris, and I'm alone at my birthday party," she said to no one in particular. "And I don't know what's wrong with me, dwelling on these gloomy thoughts. Shame on me."
"Shame on you? There's no shame on you today, young lady." George Mackintosh pressed a plate of birthday cake and a fork into her hand. "It's your birthday!"
"It's really not," she tried to tell him. "It was really two weeks ago."
"Lucie, try the cake. You have to have the first slice."
"Oh, okay." Carrot cake. Her favorite. Who in the world knew that? "It's delicious."
"Good." Ian's father waited patiently until she was done with her cake, and then he took the plate, caught her hand, and dragged her over to the gift table. "Don't mean to rush you, but we're on a timetable here."
"We are?" But there was no opportunity to question him about the schedule. "Good heavens. I can't imagine where all these gifts came from."
"The people who love you," he said kindly, pulling a chair up for her.
Speaking of love, where the hell is your son? she wanted to shout. Where the hell is Ian?
She refrained. It was hard to yell at people when they were being so incredibly generous and nice. Jessica popped up to hand over gifts, apparently quite concerned that they be opened in a specific order, and Lucie obliged, oohing and aahing appropriately over the antique teapot from his parents, the M&M dispenser, the "Flirty at Thirty" T-shirt, and even the waffle iron.
That made her scan the ballroom for Steffi, but she didn't see any signs of her.
Kyle, however, did make an appearance, hobbling up on his crutches to drop a gift bag into her lap. "I wasn't late," he asserted. "I was just sitting over on the edge with my legs propped up. But I wasn't late. I swear I wasn't late."
"Kyle, it's okay." She smiled, wondering what all the fuss was about. "I don't care if you were late. I mean, good heavens, you have two broken legs. It's a miracle you're here at all. Not to mention the fact that you brought me a gift." She put aside the tissue paper and lifted out a pair of lavish lace handkerchiefs, just the kind of thing she liked to make sachets or trim camisoles with. "Thank you so much. These are fabulous. So, please, stop worrying."
"Well, I owe you a lot, after all, and Ian told me he'd break both my arms, too, if I was late, and…" He trailed off awkwardly as his little sister tried to elbow him without knocking him off his crutches.
"Ian did what? And what do you owe me?" she inquired, totally confused.
"Forget Ian. I wasn't supposed to mention him." He looked sheepish. "But as for the other, it's obvious. I owe you a lot for working so hard to get rid of Steffi. I mean, it was my own fault and I did deserve what I got and it really wasn't your problem. So what you and Ian did… Sorry. Not supposed to mention him. But, anyway, what you did was really great."
Lucie considered her words carefully. Nobody was supposed to mention him… But where was he? Instead, she asked, "And what did happen with Steffi?"
"Oh. I guess you haven't heard. Your dad fired the busboy, but sent both of them to the Dominican Republic for Steffi to arrange a quickie divorce." He grinned. "And I am out of the mar
riage without a whimper. Ian and I… Sorry. I, uh, we got our money, too. The sale of m-tosh.com went through a few days ago. So I'm doing great. And I'm never getting married again." He raised a hand off the crossbar of his crutch. "I swear."
"Oh. I see." She still hadn't quite taken in the part about Steffi and the Dominican Republic, let alone the big-money sale Ian had been waiting for. "Terrific. It sounds as if things are going terrific."
"Okay, enough with Kyle. Open my present now," Jessica interrupted, handing over a big box with an enormous bow.
Lucie was so overwhelmed with the crazy atmosphere of this party that she felt like she was operating on automatic pilot. Still, even if Ian never showed up, it seemed clear his family members were not going to let her leave unless she played by their rules and opened every last package. So she unwrapped Jessica's gift neatly and pulled off the lid. "Oh, wow. A new yoga mat and blocks and even a strap. Thank you, Jess. I love it."
She really did love it. And the handkerchiefs and the teapot and even the waffle iron. But finally, thankfully, the stack of presents began to thin out. She was on gift overload by now, not sure who'd given what or whether all this stuff would even fit in her Jeep. Now she understood the proverb about too much of a good thing, especially when she couldn't really enjoy the party, not while she worried that Ian was lurking by a pillar or behind a door.
Face it. He isn't waiting to jump out and surprise you. He isn't coming.
"Oh, look, just one more package," she said brightly, pointing to a small, flat gift left on the table. "Hand me that one, will you, Jess?"
Jessica glanced at her watch. "We're a little early for that one." She hesitated. "Do you want some more cake?"
"No, not really." She chewed her lip, peering at the mysterious last gift more closely. Don't get too excited, she commanded herself. It's not the right shape for a ring. And it's not some sweepingly romantic gesture from Ian because Ian isn't here and, besides, he would never give you a ring this way because he knows you wouldn't take it.
Maybe a bracelet? What would Ian think up if he were thinking up sweepingly romantic gestures?
"Probably underwear," she said under her breath. Something skimpy and sexy, something with bells and leather and corset strings, something only a guy would appreciate. Her mind was whirling. And he'd want her to model it for him, and even though it fit like a vise, they both knew she'd do it because she hadn't seen him in eight days and about now she would do whatever he wanted. "Are you sure I can't open that now?" she ventured. "What could it hurt—?"
"Nope." Jessica folded her arms, flicking her eyes down to her wristwatch again. "Not yet."
"Wait, wait, here's another present!" a gruff voice said heartily.
"Dad?" She looked up. Yep, that's who it was. Running in from the doorway, he was hauling a box even bigger than the one with all the yoga equipment, wrapped in garish birthday paper, garnished with a floppy orange bow the size of his head. "I'm really surprised to see you. What are you doing here?"
"Sorry I'm late. Your boyfriend threatened me with all kinds of things if I was late and I tried my best." He extended the gigantic box. "But here we go. I made it."
"Apparently there's some sort of timetable I'm not aware of," Lucie noted dryly. Focusing on Jessica, she asked, "Is it okay to open this one?"
"Uh-huh. Actually, you were supposed to do his present first, but he's late." She arched an eyebrow—shades of her imperious older brother—and glared at Don Webster. "He is very late."
"Then I guess we'd better take care of it ASAP." The sooner she got through this one, the sooner she got back to the puzzle in the flat package that she was almost certain was from Ian. So she ripped off the paper and ribbon carelessly and tossed them aside. "What is it, Dad? A beachball?" she joked.
But all it seemed to be was tissue paper. She kept poking further and further into the box, until she retrieved a thick envelope taped to the bottom. "Well, let me guess." But she already knew before she opened it or looked at the documents inside. "Did Ian… Did he arrange this?"
"He had something to do with it." Her dad backed up. "But it's yours now. All of it. It was your mother's and it's what she would've wanted and I'm sorry, Lucie. Anyway, it's yours now."
It was the closest to an apology—or even an understanding—she had ever gotten from her father. "Thank you," she said simply. "I think you know how much this means to me."
"Happy birthday, dear. And now…" He backed away nervously. "I have to be going. But happy birthday."
"Thanks." She smiled. "It really is. You never get everything you want, but you know, this birthday, I came about as close as humanly possible. Don't you think, Jess?"
"Urn, you have another present to open, Lucie." Her blue eyes were the same shade as Ian's when she held out the last gift. "Ready?"
"Ready if you are." Not undies. Not from Ian. She realized that now. He wouldn't direct his innocent teenage sister to hand over a box of slutty lingerie. So … what?
Her hand trembled as she pulled off the ribbon. It wasn't even wrapped, just a plain white box. When she lifted the lid, she was still bewildered. She picked it up, dangling it by the red cord. "But this looks like…"
It was a small plaid bag, just big enough to hold, oh, maybe a few condoms and a tube of Poisonberry Smog lipstick.
"What is it, Lucie?" Jessica asked with excitement. "What did he give you?"
"You remember, Jess. It's the purse the bridesmaids carried at Kyle's wedding." She shrugged. "That was the night we, uh, met, so I guess he's reminding me—"
"But what's inside?"
"Oh. Inside. I didn't think…" Carefully, not anxious to spill a pile of condoms in her lap in front of a minor, Lucie separated the fabric folds and peeked inside.
"It's…" Something shiny. She fished it out and held it up. "A key."
She already knew and she was already on her feet. Of course she should've trusted him to know exactly the right sweepingly romantic gesture. She breathed a sigh of relief and joy. "It's the key to room 203."
Euphoria and anticipation splashed through her veins, pushing her out of the ballroom, but she turned back. "Jess, thank you so much and please tell your parents thank you, too. I love all of you."
"Go!" Jessica yelled impatiently. "He's waiting for you."
She went. Lucie's feet felt light enough to fly up the stairs, but her hand was shaking so hard she could barely get the key in the lock. "Oh, sure, now you fumble. When it counted, you worked like a locksmith."
But finally, the key turned, the knob rotated under her fingers, and the door slid open. She was having trouble breathing and her heart was in her throat, but otherwise, she was feeling just fine.
Lucie stepped over the threshold.
She saw an array of candlesticks, maybe six or seven, giving the room a flickering glow. She saw the big four-poster with its heavy drapes, a silver bucket holding a bottle of champagne on ice, and a crystal bowl brimming over with familiar packets, the condom kind. There was even another birthday gift—just when she was thoroughly sick of birthday gifts—wrapped and set next to the bowl.
But no Ian.
Maybe he was in the bed behind those curtains. Maybe he wanted to reenact the whole thing and she was supposed to strip and jump in there with him. Yes? Or no? If she peeled off her clothes, would she feel stupid when he came bounding into the room with a bagpipe band to recreate the Scottish mood of their first night together?
Just when she was about to swoon with frustration and indecision, telling herself she could not take one more second of this Invisible Man routine, he stepped out from behind the bed, his hand on the footpost.
She'd never seen him in a tuxedo. Stunning. Sweepingly romantic. "Wow. Black tie. And here I thought I might find you naked in the bed, waiting for me."
"Looking forward to that?"
Mischievous, she whispered, "Maybe."
But a pause hung between them. Ian crossed to her. Not touching her—purposely, she sensed—he
asked softly, "So, am I forgiven? I took the tape to your father, Lucie. I didn't blackmail him, though. Well, not the way you meant—"
"Ian, it's okay. I just saw him and he doesn't seem to be any the worse for wear. And we both got what we wanted. Pandora's Boxers. Kyle's freedom." She smiled, restless, anxious. "You know me—I don't hold a grudge. Doormats don't hold grudges."
"Lucie, you are not a doormat and I am so sorry I ever said that." His eyes were imploring. "I got all mixed up with pride and stupidity. I wanted to give you something."
"Quit beating yourself up." She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. Touch me. Take me. "I'm not mad. Do I look mad?"
"You look incredible." The light in his eyes had shifted. No more apologies. Now his gaze held heat and a potent flame of desire. That was more like it. He reached out one finger to touch a tendril of her hair, to follow its path down her neck and around the slippery, fragile strap of her camisole.
"I missed you," she said simply.
A crooked smile curved his lips. "God, I missed you. You just don't turn a man on like that and then walk out, you know?"
"I know how you feel." Brother, did she.
"But I have to tell you the truth. I love you," he said darkly. "I want forever with you."
"You don't have to promise that. I know how you feel about long-term relationships," she tried, sliding her hand over his cheek and his hard jawline. "You were very up-front about that."
Couldn't he see that she just wanted to go to bed with him, to make love about twenty times really fast or really slow or whatever he wanted? Couldn't they do that and then talk about forever?
But Ian didn't give up. "Lucie, I know I'm not exactly husband material. You were very upfront about that. But the weird thing is, I think we could do really well together. Jeez, listen to me—now Kyle's telling me marriage is for idiots and I'm the one telling him it could be fabulous if you just find the right woman."
"Um, Ian," she interjected, hoping to get a word in. "Are you asking me to marry you?"
He got very wary all of a sudden. "No, not if you don't want me to." He paused. "Do you want me to?"
JUST A LITTLE FLING Page 16
